July 10th, 1989
Christopher’s apartment – Seventy Third Street, New York
I woke up in Frankie’s room with the phone ringing. I turned on the light and watched in amusement as Frankie, with her eyes still shut, banged the palm of her hand around the night table, searching for the phone.
“Hurghmmmm…” she groaned, picking up.
“Who is it?” I mouthed.
“Robert,” she said through a yawn, making her way out of bed. Sitting on the edge of it with her tanned legs crossed, she uttered, “Uh-huh,” over and over again and rolled her head in a gesture of boredom. Pursing her lips, she gave me a questioning look, while she peeled the crusty remains of the bagel from her face.
Went clothes shopping during the day then joined the long queue in Times Square for whatever theatre tickets were available. We managed to get two great seats for the Booth theatre, where we saw “Shirley Valentine,” tonight. The lengthy wait in the heat and humidity was well worth it to see Pauline Collins in such a fine performance.
After the show, we hailed a cab and headed for Coconut Grill, where I’d arranged to meet Christopher. He was as polite and lovely as always and I know I’ve mentioned it before but I find guys with good manners very attractive.
The three of us had a great time together but I know Frankie was disappointed when Robert didn’t show up. She asked Christopher if he knew where Robert was and all he said was, “Robert does his own thing.”
We (yes, I’m including everyone) should probably have stopped drinking at Coconut Grill, but we didn’t! Christopher took us to a place called Juanitta’s, where it slipped my mind that tequila and I are not friends. After reacquainting myself with my long lost enemy, we came to Christopher’s apartment. And drank more!
Christopher said Frankie and I were welcome to spend the night and offered us his bedroom (the spare room is tiny and has no bed) but I insisted we’d be fine on the couch. Christopher gave me a shirt to wear, with a pair of what he called “workout pants.” He looked embarrassed when I told him what pants are in the UK.
Frankie soon fell asleep and in Christopher’s tiny kitchen, we kissed.
Now I’m at the other end of the couch and even while she sleeps, the sequins on Frankie’s dress continue to sparkle.