The mid-40s are that time in a gay man's life when his major paradigm shifts from sexy to Sansabelts. But when Barry Grooms's partner of twenty years is killed on Barry's forty-fifth birthday, his world doesn't so much evolve as it does explode.<br><br>After navigating through the surreal conveyor belt of friends and family, he can't eat another casserole or swallow much more advice on what constitutes grief. Still numb, he leaves his homestore and design business in the care of others as he escapes to Key West, then New York. There he gets a thankless new job working for a crazy lady in a poncho, then has too many drinks with a narcissistic Broadway actor. Next it's a nude exercise class that redefines flop sweat, and from there he's on to a relationship with a man twenty years his junior.<br><br>Yet no matter how great the retreat from the man he used to be, life's gravity spins Barry back to the small town where he grew up for one more ironic twist that teaches him how to say goodbye with grace.

The Cool Part of His Pillow

One weekend afternoon, when the phone rang, I had answered the upstairs extension, Mom down. She spoke a greeting first. I listened, careful not to breathe. This man’s name was August, like the month. August was worried Dad would find out, one hint that he’s a friend or an associate of some sort. This was clearly a confirmation of a previously arranged rendezvous.


Maybe August was Gus, an installer Mom occasionally accompanied on larger projects. He had a German accent. This guy didn’t. I hoped it wasn’t Auggie, a jewelry store manager who always seemed to be staring at your watch or necklace. Worse yet, what if was that fellow known as Gusto, who’d opened squalid rent-to-own outlets after “sneaking in from Baltimore,” the town criers sniffed.


Chapter 93