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“So you prefer more intimate greetings?” He took a drink of wine.
“I suppose so, yes.” I’d not really pondered on such things before. “They’re not really accepted over here, though, kissing people on the cheek. Imagine going up to some American man and pecking him on the face. You’d get punched or shot.”
“True. There is a vibrant aversion on the part of many men to intimacy in any form.” He sighed deeply, then lowered his cup to the table. “Which is an interesting segue for us to take into the matter of why you’re starring in films that you find distasteful.”
“Hmm,” I murmured around a huge bite of clam and veggies. He gave me a smile that pulled up just one corner of his appealing mouth. I gulped softly and then pointed my soup spoon at him. “Don’t these philosophical symposiums work better when various ideals are being tossed back and forth?” He nodded, his smile growing wider as he sat forward a bit. “So that being the case, shouldn’t I be askingyousomething for you to cogitate about?”
“Yes, we can certainly do that. Ask away but do take care. I have been known to Pythagorize on occasion,” he warned as he placed both elbows on the table, the flowing sleeves of his kaftan pushed up to show off toned forearms sprinkled with dark blond hair.
“I’ll make sure we have some tissues on hand.” He chuckled softly. “Earlier you mentioned that we hosted symposiums. Would the ‘we’ be other professors or your partner?” His playful expression shifted subtly. “Did I cross a boundary?”
“No, of course not. You told me about your unpleasant situation this afternoon, so it’s only fair that I share equally.” It felt wrong of me to let him talk about something distressing when I’d really only shared a glossy version of my situation. “Yes, it was my partner, Bradley. He was a mathematics professor at the same university where I taught. Younger by about ten or so years, brilliant man, handsome, swarthy, much like you. We had a mad, passionate relationship. One of those love affairs that you fall into totally unawares. He had a startling quick mind, a love of all things chocolate, and a weakness for depressing foreign films. We were together for many years, then finally legally wed when the law changed and allowed us to do so. I took him to the Cannes Film Festival for our honeymoon.”
“You loved him a lot,” I chanced to say. He nodded his eyes filled with melancholy.
“I did. Losing him and our son shattered me. They’d been on the way to pick up a pizza for dinner. Such a simple, run-of-the-mill thing, going to get a pizza. They never made it to the pizza shop. A drunk driver plowed into them, killing both of them instantly.” He paused to take a sip of wine, his gaze dewy with unshed tears. “They had wanted me to go too, so we could all play the old Pac-Man machine while we waited but I begged off. Too many papers to grade.” Another shaky sip. “I should not have been left behind. I should have died with them.”
“No, Gibson, no, please don’t say that,” I whispered, my throat tight with emotion.
“I don’t feel that way now, don’t worry. But for years I did. I even tried to join them once but a friend found me before I could swallow the sleeping pills. Survivor guilt is crushing. I could never look at another term paper again after that so staying on the faculty was pointless. The town held too many memories, as did our home, so I sold it all and found a little hamlet by the sea to hide away in. And that is how I came to be here on Kesside Isle, and eventually, meet a brilliant man like you.”
I sensed it was time to let him be on that subject. “I’m far from brilliant,” I hurried to say to change the subject. “I never went to college.”
He shrugged as a wash of relief moved over his face. “Some of the brightest people that I have ever met never went to college. Some barely graduated high school. There’s a veritable wealth of knowledge that can only be gained by living life. So many famous people have gained great success without secondary education. The main goal of college, in my humble opinion, is to help open minds to thinking outside the confines of what mommy and daddy have spoon-fed them for eighteen years and to build character. Both of those things can be done merely by letting the hardships and joys that life deals us soak into our souls. Bill Gates is a college dropout, and he’s done rather well for himself.”
I nodded. “Thank you. Not having a degree has always made me feel inferior to incredibly smart people like you.”
“Pfft. I’m not any smarter than you. I just like to talk a lot about dead Greeks and drink wine.” My eyes rounded. “No, it’s true. Perseverance is a large part. Luck comes into play as well as I had a family that could afford to send me to college for years and years. My father was a wealthy man who cared little if I spent years in school striving for a degree in philosophy. Which, he was keen to remind me, was a useless major as it would never bring me the kind of monetary paybacks his degree in business had blessed him with.” He sighed. “That was a bone of contention until he died from a massive stress-induced coronary.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, it was many years ago, but I still miss him.” He drifted a bit but came back to the discussion. I didn’t mind him taking a moment to reflect. It gave me time to admire him openly. When his light gaze moved from the ether to me, I quickly looked down at my empty crock of soup. “Would you like more?”
“No, thank you. I’m going to pick at this tray of cheese and figs.”
He grinned, then pushed the platter to me. “Enjoy! Where were we?”
“I asked you about your partner,” I said, plucking another fig from the platter. “And I feel as if that was incredibly nosy.”
A light breeze danced across the table, the smell of the pines heavy here among the trees. The pine scent mingled nicely with the aroma of the ocean.
“It’s fine. People are curious creatures. I asked you here to try to delve into your past, the reasons that you make movies you find offensive, and possibly pick your brain about other things. Also, you’re an incredibly handsome man and sitting here looking at your face over my soup is a very pleasant way to spend an evening. I enjoy Oregano, but she’s not much of a conversationalist. She simply cannot grasp any of Neitzsche’s prose.” I felt my cheeks warm. “If you’d like more details about Bradley and Zach, Iwillneed more wine.”
“No, please, I shouldn’t have brought it up. I mean…shit, I’m sitting here lamenting over the world knowing I like lacy things cradling my balls and you’ve been through some real loss.”
Gibson reached around our empty soup crocks to tap the back of my hand. My sight lifted from my lap to where his fingers rested on my knuckles and then flicked up to his face.
“Elias, there is no echelon one must move through when it comes to grief, loss, and trauma. I’d say that you being exposed to the world by a man you cared about in such a heinous way is fucking awful. No, please, let me finish my thought or another will pop up and I’ll be off on some windy speech about determining what age we should hold children accountable for their actions. While there are stages of grief, yes, loss is loss. And your loss of the sense of privacy is profound. You’ve been violated by someone you cared about. That’s a deep and toxic wound that requires time to heal. I’ve not had the world watching me grieve, it was just a few colleagues and friends riding it out with me. I’m sorry for what that bitch put you through.”
That made me snicker. “Thanks. It just seems so pissy of me to be whining about what some asshole on Instagram thinks about my being gay when you’ve lost so much more. Who gives a damn string of movies? They’re all shit, anyway. Every last one. I hate them.”
He placed his hand over mine, his palm resting on the back. “Then perhaps you should find a way to let this experience, rancid and painful as it is, steer you to a new path. Something that you can do with that beautiful face and clever mind that will make you feel good inside.”
“And what about you?”
He gave me a weary smile. “Oh, I’m in a place now that’s comfortable enough. I exist.”
“But is merely existing enough?” I asked, rotating my hand under his until his rough palm and my smooth one were touching. Our eyes met, gazes holding, the scent of sweet wine and falling pine needles washing over us.
