“Not in any formal way.”
“What’s your area of study?”
“I don’t have one. I’m not a student here.”
There is a prolonged silence, during which time Giovanni stares down his nose at the young man. I am reminded of when I first made Gio’s acquaintance in the courtyard of the villa. He had just emerged from the pool, looking sleek and gorgeous, and appraised me in a similar manner, like I was a mere commoner unworthy of his attention.
“Tell him your name,” I say to Gio and give him a nudge.
“Giovanni Ricci,” he says with the slightest nod.
“Nice to meet you, Giovanni,” Efi says brightly. “We hold seminars here twice a month if you’d like to come again. We’re always looking for new and challenging perspectives. I can give you our Instagram handle or add you to our group chat?”
Efi holds up his phone as an invitation. Giovanni seldom carries his own when we’re together, and it is not with him now. He waves one hand dismissively at the young man and says to me, “Sir, will you answer on my behalf?”
“Giovanni would love to join your group chat,” I tell the earnest young man and relay Gio’s phone number to him. Giovanni scowls at me.
“I’m a foreigner who lacks tact and social graces,” Gio says bluntly. “If you have to block me, I won’t be offended.”
“Well, we wouldn’t be Socratics if we weren’t open to new and radical ideas. It was nice meeting you, Giovanni. I really enjoyed our exchange and as an aside, I agreed with your points.”
Gio only nods, looking vaguely mystified by the interaction. After Efi has moved on, I say to him, “Your first impression can be a bit prickly.”
“I never know what people want from me, and most of them are lying anyway.”
How could he believe that of such an adorably earnest young fellow? “That is a terribly pessimistic view, Gio. Why do you think this way?”
“My friends back in New York always wanted something, to fuck or to have me blow them or get them high, to get them into an exclusive club or restaurant. They didn’t want my company. They weren’t interested in my thoughts and ideas. But they pretended they were, and then they betrayed me, and that’s why I don’t have friends.” He crosses his arms, resolute in his opinion.
“Surely you must have hadsomefriends who didn’t hurt you?”
“My only friends were the people Master paid to spend time with me, like Rico and Anthony. Even you, Sir, you are not my friend.”
He is so cold sometimes, and I curse the monsters who hurt him so cruelly. I have the urge to hold him tightly, if only to smooth his jagged edges. I lay my hand on his shoulder instead. “I am not your friend, but I am your Dominant and your lover. I am the man who takes care of you, and I am very interested in your thoughts and feelings.”
His posture, which has been rigid since our arrival, finally relaxes.
“I’m sorry, Sir, I know that you are, and I am grateful for your care. I just get a little defensive with strangers. It’s like I want to hurt them before they can hurt me.”
“Understandable, but Efi seemed like he was interested in you because of your thoughts, not your body or your money, so I’d like you to give these people a chance. Try to be friendly on the group chat. Will you do this for your Sir?”
“I won’t block him right away,” Gio says, his only concession.
“That is a very good start.”
It’sa couple days later as I’m taking a break from work that I find Gio out by the pool, but instead of taking his afternoon swim or even soaking up the sun, he is hunched over his phone under shade of theloggia, furiously typing with both thumbs.
“Sir, I cannot take it anymore,” he laments to me without looking up from the screen. “They are comparing Parmenides’s theory of unity with Heraclitis’s theory of becoming, and they are getting itall wrong.I mean, how can one thing exist timeless, uniform, and unchanging? The very idea is ludicrous because we are always evolving. With every decision we make and every mistake, our lives are altered, and we become something else. You can never step twice into the same river!”
I straddle the lawn chair behind him and rub his bare back, then kiss his shoulders, inhaling the sun-sweet scent of his skin while he argues with his peers, relaying their responses to me in heated fragments. This goes on for quite a while, much to my amusement, until I must return to my home office for a conference call. Later that night at dinner when I ask him about it, Giovanni discounts it as an aberration.
“It’s only because they were discussing my favorite philosopher. They had clearly not studied his original Greek texts, only the Italian translations. They were misinformed.”
“It seemed to me you were having fun,” I say, wanting him to acknowledge it.
“Fun? Hardly. I was irate.”
“You were participating.”
