It’s late. Ethan opens his door. “Hey, stranger.”
🎵 “Urgent” – Foreigner 🎵
Milly puts a bag in his freezer and then slides her hand into his.
“I thought maybe we could—”
Her lips silence him. Milly pulls Ethan towards the bed, then pushes her single finger on his chest. He falls backward onto the mattress with a willing grin. She climbs onto him. The first time, they remove just enough of their clothes to get after it like she’s going for a land speed record. The second time, they strip and go for endurance.
Afterward, Milly combs out her hair with her fingers. She sits on the couch wearing the snake-and-record T-shirt.
Ethan hands over a pad.
Milly glances. “This article is about you.”
Smiling, he nods.
She reads aloud: “Ethan’s definition of Antique Music is about feeling. He says, ‘While Antique comes from decades around the Millennium, it doesn’t mean rejecting AI. Antique doesn’t mean embracing the Old World, either.’ Ethan sifts through his collection of records, numbering in the thousands, to curate his sets. ‘Vinyl is tangible. We now live in a culture where things aren’t as they seem. It’s considered rude to ask about anyone’s past because of all that’s happened. Antique means it’s OK to remember. Antique takes us back to a place where there was room to breathe. Antique turns back time until it feels like there’s all the time left in the world — to just dance.’ If the growing crowds at Ethan’s DJ nights are any indication, it feels just right.”
“That’s nice.” Milly looks up. “Congratulations.”
“You read well.”
“I was home-schooled?”
Ethan laughs. “There’s something else.” He presents an old movie poster: Millie. “Pre-Code Hollywood, one of the first talking pictures and scandalous for its time — about this crazy divorced lady.”
She stares at Ethan blankly.
“Sorry, Milly.”
She gives him a tiny smirk. “I spell my name with a ‘y.’”
He sighs in relief.
They watch The Blues Brothers on his big screen.
Milly chuckles. “I like the music. The cities were so pretty then. But they’re ruining everything for the Church lady!”
Ethan grins at her blunted assessment. “That’s not the funny part, it’s this guy”—he points at John Belushi—“He died young. The most talented people are tortured souls.”
Milly sighs. “Let’s not watch this.”
He presses pause.
She retrieves the bag from the freezer and reveals a pint of real ice cream.
Ethan’s eyes grow wide. “The good stuff, so expensive! Been a while, thanks.”
They share a spoon. Milly takes three bites and is done. Ethan eats most of the pint.
She kisses the dribble off his lips. “Keep some for yourself, for later.” She puts it away and sits back down.
Ethan shrugs. “You’ve been working a lot, huh?”
“On my feet.”
Ethan pats his lap. Milly extends her legs. He smiles as he rubs her arches.
She moans softly. “Bliss.” Milly closes her eyes and leans against his couch.
“We could hang out at your place if it’s easier. I’ve never seen it.”
“My bed is too small.” Milly drifts to sleep on his sofa.
She wakes Ethan in the morning in his bed. “One more time?”
He obliges with a smile. Milly rolls him on top of her, just like their first night. She lets out a long sigh after they finish together. Ethan stares, smiling, as she dresses.
Milly twiddles her fingers. “See you Friday.” Then she’s gone.