Jerry Sparks was a flamboyant Vegas entertainer. Androgynous and famous for misdirection, no-one was quite sure whether he was gay or not. In those days, one did not enquire too carefully either. He left a trail of broken hearts behind him, male and female.

His act consisted of setting various things on fire, and then putting them out by lying on them, eating them or jumping into or onto them. He was the lounge lizard’s Evel Knievel.

Then one day, he was caught. He set fire to a coat, and the owner of it took exception to the conflagration, delivering an almighty slap. It was love at first sight, and from that day Jerry and Rose were inseparable. Flitting from one glittering event to another, they lived the high life.

The inevitable happened. A life of wild parties takes it’s toll, and one day when Jerry woke up, he did so next to the cold body of Rose.

They say it broke him.

They say he moved to a dull one horse town, and became a preacher in a religion that was not his, to try to atone for evermore.