Chapter 6Dressed after his second shower of the day, Warwick was staring up at the ceiling and listening to “Bolero” via his phone. Lawrence had once mentioned how the song wasn’t written as an erotic tune, even if it had that connotation now.
* * * *
It was the night of the concert in New York, a night Warwick couldn’t help but revisit often. They’d just walked in the front door, into their rather traditional living room, cozy and warm, and the first thing Lawrence did when they arrived was jack up the thermostat to battle the chilly March air.
Warwick had started the conversation at the very beginning of the train ride back to Boston.
“That one tune, ‘Bolero,’” he’d said. “It never fails to put me in a randy mood.”
And they continued down that path with illicit words and some public
