AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We lounged outside a small meat market where the owner, an older woman with bright yellow hair and a laugh that shook the cobblestones, informed us that she was the mother of Arturo Peralta, the union rep at farm 20. It seemed the good people here knew me somehow. Probably word of a handsome gay gent with killer vests had spread far and wide over the lands of Tuscany. Or, and this was probably why, people who worked at mill 20 were in the crowd and knew me from seeing me there.
“He is so happy now,” she said as she buzzed around the tiny table sitting on the sidewalk, delivering us cups of ridiculously strong cappuccino while shooing away the natives who wished to linger and gawk. “Go home! You never see two men eating at my caffè before?” she barked in Italian as she chased after a few old men, using the hand towel from her shoulder to swat at them. “Go! Stop being so old!”
“Sorry if we cause a problem,” Donvino said, his eyes much clearer now that he had food and coffee in his belly.
“Is not a problem for us,” Signora Peralta said, hands on her rather robust hips, as she watched the old coots shuffling along. “They are old, set in their ways, but many here are happy for new young blood at the farm. Signor Bonetti has done big things already. Given us a bus for the workers and rolled in the Tiber with his Italian boyfriend. Why would we not love you both?”
She waved at the young dude from the restaurant down the street as he walked to us with takeout food containers in his hand. They had a brief discussion as the containers were passed to us, most dealing with slow shipments and bad fishing. I thanked the server again, tipped him a few more euros, and sat back down to finish my coffee with Donvino.
“You two rest. When you go home, tell Signor Bonetti the senior that we all love Bonetti Farms here. Also, if you wish to mention my little butcher shop, please do. Tell your papà that he is welcome here anytime. Was that not the best prosciutto you ever have?”
“It was indeed,” I said with a warm smile, for it was the truth. The meat had been perfection, the melons sweet, and the salty olives on the side had been a delightful touch. “I will make sure to mention Peralta Meat Market when we talk next.”
She beamed, kissed my cheeks, and then went back inside to return to work. Donvino sat with the sun on his face, his eyes closed, and his hand cradling his cappuccino.
“How are you doing?” I asked, wishing that my wet underwear would dry faster. Was there anything clingier than wet briefs?
“I am feeling funny,” he confessed, his head still back, the tip of his hair still damp.
“Three bottles of wine will do that to a man,” I teased, taking my bare toe to rub his calf under the table. The coarse hairs on his leg tickled.
“Sì, it will, but the wine is mostly gone now.” He exhaled so deeply that his shoulders rose and fell, and then his eyes cracked open. He studied me from under heavy lids. “I have never felt this way.” He sat up, his gaze now holding mine. Two kids on bikes streaked by, pulling shouts from Signora Peralta inside the shop to get off the pavement. My lessons had paid off nicely. I hoped my tutor was feeling better. I’d call my aunt this evening to check. “I feel as if people are not hating us for being together.”
“Not all, certainly. A few will. I’m not going to blow smoke up your sweet ass here. You will run into those people who will never accept a queer couple. They refuse to learn and change, and that’s their loss, for the world is filled with glorious people that they will never meet based on their closed minds. You may never get those kinds to expand their minds. Now, that being said, some people start out biased but are willing to grow and learn, to be accepting despite possibly being confused or unsure. And then there are the amazing folks like Signora Peralta, our families—”
That made him stiffen up, I was sorry to see. “I do not think my family will accept me.”
I reached around the platter holding the melon rinds to place my hand over his, still holding that small brown mug.
“I think some do already,” I reminded him. He stared at me and slowly bobbed his head. “The others may need some time. We can be gracious enough to give them a chance or two, don’t you think?”
“She called me unclean and slapped me. Does that deserve another chance? I do not know.”
Wow, okay, that was…harsh. “Perhaps she just needs time. Some people come around to ideals more slowly than others. I know you love your grandmother, so perhaps giving her a little grace is not a bad thing.”
“I do love her…so much. She and Alessio raised me when my father died. I want nothing more than to make them proud of me in some small way. I know I will never be the hero Papà was, but I hoped I could be a rower for my country. Now that dream is broken. I do not have the skills or the money to do what my father had to give up to be a family man.”
“Why don’t you let someone help you? My aunt said she has offered many times to sponsor you.”
“I have pride,” he shot back by rote.
“So did many other athletes and artists. The Medicis come to mind. They funded DaVinci, Michelangelo, and Rapheal, who went on to be kind of big.” He frowned at the tiny joke. Oy vey, did he have pride? “Just reconsider taking some financial help. Why should your dreams wither up?”
As if you have room to talk, steamer trunk slayer.
“I do not want your money.”
“Good, because I don’t have any to give you, but my aunt does. She supports the arts and athletics is part of the arts.” He cocked a disbelieving brow. “I bet the gladiators had patrons.”
“The gladiators were mostly slaves, criminals, or prisoners of war.”
I blinked. Well shit. “Okay, fine, bad example. How about the Olympians? I bet some of them had patrons so they could train and bring glory to Rome.”
“Hmm, yes, that is true.” He seemed less offended the longer we talked. “Many athletes were given funds by patrons, city states, and athletic guilds.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I like to read about ancient Greece and Roma,” he replied, his shoulders loosening as a scooter with two young women passed by, both checking out Donvino. I waved them along with a flick of my hand. Jezebels. “Okay, you make a point. I will consider a sponsor. That makes you happy, yes?”
