By Erica Orloff
I am Lily, a brand new York newspaper columnist, mom of 2, divorcee of 1 and associate in crime to Michael, English professor, novelist and ally extraordinaire. we have been pals ceaselessly -- good, for the reason that I approximately burned down our condo construction whereas attempting to prepare dinner. Michael and i've weathered disco, undesirable model, undesirable perms, undesirable boyfriends -- for either one of us -- my failed marriage, parenthood and writer's block. Laughter has helped -- and so have the martinis. yet now we are facing our largest problem: the C be aware. And if i've got my method, Michael should be giving up his freewheeling bachelor methods and settling down as soon as and for all. simply because i've got a few very particular needs for who may still take over parental accountability while i am long past. in fact, I refuse to take this mendacity down -- even if the medical professionals inform me to lie down and close up. simply because even if i am ill, i am decided to put on my excessive heels and lipstick. i am gonna glance solid or die attempting, dammit.
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Extra info for Do They Wear High Heels In Heaven?
Sample text
But I draw the line at pulling a Katie Couric and getting a colonoscopy. My breasts can get smashed. ” 5 Michael O nly my sainted Sicilian mother could have given me a name like Michael Angelo. Nothing like stacking the cards against a kid in grade school. ” I’ve heard them all. ” Gay, with a moniker like mine, a mother who still believes I only need to meet the right woman, and a father who won’t speak to me because apparently my being gay is a reflection on his manhood. Add to that people hate me because I’m beautiful.
Let me sleep on your sheets and eat on your plates? Do you know that when Sammy went home to say goodbye to his family back in Ohio that they made him eat with plastic cutlery? They were afraid to mingle his stuff with theirs in the damn dishwasher. ” She looked down at the wedding ring on her hand and then stood up and hugged me. “If you’re sick, Michael, yes, I will take you into my home. ” It felt enormous, this thing she’d said, there between us. I started to cry and held onto her. I hadn’t been able to cry at a single funeral.
I may have been macho on the outside, but inside I was chicken. The thought of admitting I was attracted to men terrified me. But the feeling was there, like a spider on the wall in the corner. Every once in a while, I’d shine a flashlight beam on that spider. Examine it. Then I’d turn off the flashlight, too afraid of whatever else was lurking there. After I accepted, to myself, that I was gay, I was terrified of being outed. And after I was finally outed, there was a new fear—AIDS. And it was Lily who made me shine the flashlight on that fear.