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“I’m not telling you. Yet. What about your clients? Who are they?”
“We’re a religion, not a business,” August said. “They’re not ‘clients’ to me. They’re patrons.”
“Who are your patrons, then?”
“There are a few people left in this world who still worship the Olympians. Like you, for example, with your statue of Aphrodite on your mantel. And others who still believe. We find each other.”
“Just women?”
“Men and women. Both. Neither.”
“Like androgynous and nonbinary people?”
He shrugged. “Them, too. But also fawns, satyrs, nymphs, one particularly amorous cloud.”
“I am going to proceed,” she said, “on the assumption that you are a sane person who occasionally says insane things like ‘the Greek gods exist’ and ‘I’ve had sex with a cloud.’”
“A safe assumption,” he said.
She wasn’t entirely sure about that.
“So...you have sex with worshippers of Eros?”
“Correct.”
“And your patrons pay you in tribute to Eros, and you use that money to buy, among other things, cubist furniture and fish tank fireplaces.”
“And lost, missing and stolen Greek artifacts,” he said. “Especially anything related to the Cult of Eros. The bulk of them were destroyed when the temples were torn down, but sometimes they turn up at the auction houses or in museums.”
“Noble,” she said. “I can certainly respect wanting your treasures returned to your country.”
“Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned conquering, Lia? Finders keepers, stealers reapers, and all that?” he said, his tone mocking but not cruel.
“When I was a little girl, I thought the Elgin Marbles were toy marbles that a security guard at the British Museum had confiscated from a Greek boy named Elgin. I could never figure out why there was an international incident over a little boy’s marbles. I felt like an idiot when I got older and learned the Elgin Marbles were stolen Greek statues.”
“That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard,” August said. “Is it strange that’s given me an erection?”
Sane man. Insane statements. Lia pressed on.
“Are you careful with your patrons?”
“Do you mean do I break them, lose them in airports or spill wine on their white trousers?” he asked.
She stared at him, lips in a straight line.
“I have no venereal diseases,” he assured. “Wait. That’s not what they’re called anymore, is it? I assume that was your question.”
“That was my question.”
“Any other questions about my genitals?” he asked. “I’m happy to discuss them with you. Display them. Show you pictures. Work up a PowerPoint presentation.”
“No more questions there, thank you. As for money, you have it, I assume?”
“I’m comfortable.”
She raised her eyebrow.
“It’s safe to say I won’t need to be visiting the employment office anytime soon.”
