September 1st, 1990

September 1st, 1990

At home, England

Millie and I enjoyed a few cocktails with dinner at Muswells, followed by a fun night at the Milton Keynes Bowl, watching Andy from Erasure dominate the stage, wearing the most outrageous costumes. Adamski was the opening act but he was so good he had everybody up dancing, long before Erasure came on.

“I really like your house,” Millie commented, as we settled on the couch after the concert, wine in hand.

I glanced around. “I have so much stuff.”

“Did you have all this when you moved in?”

“I’d say about half. The other half is all new.”

“Looks really nice,” she smiled.

“Thanks. I want it to be comfortable and inviting.”

“I wonder what Ben will have to say about it.”

“Ben?”

“Yeah, remember him? That guy you went out with for too many years.”

“I don’t know if he’ll ever come here,” I said, not daring to look at her.

She sighed deeply. “Of course he will.”

“He might not.”

“He will,” she said, sneering. “I guarantee it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

She shook her head. “Trust me, he’ll somehow find his way in.”

“Maybe I won’t let him in,” I said, the wine taking effect.

“You will.”

She’s probably right.

 

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