Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Look at me. I’d gone for daily walks in the park, eaten croissants by the dozen, and had visited fancy boutiques on the Rue Saint-Honoré with a wide-eyed lover who’d sighed with pleasure as he’d snapped photographs of designer storefronts. I’d taken him on a tour of the opera, stood in a bloody long queue to see Napoleon’s tomb, and had walked along the river so often that the vendors greeted us now with a friendly “Bonjour.”
Who was I?
I couldn’t answer that one, but I knew this was a dream. Better than my imaginary travels with the faceless man by far. Still, I knew I’d wake up one day and it would be over. Winnie would be gone, back to his fabulous life in Los Angeles. I had no doubt he’d return with a renewed sense of purpose, ready to tackle his goals, even if that meant a change of employment. Whatever had to be done, he’d do it. Winnie was fearless.
And I was…lucky to know him.
I swiveled my chair toward the figure lounging on the sofa, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. Winnie was terribly distracting.
The hem of the deep purple ensemble he called “jajas” rode high on his leg. It was actually a caftan, the type of garment I associated with retirees who played bridge whilst smoking cigarettes and swigging martinis poolside. It shouldn’t have been sexy in the slightest, but the silky fabric draped enticingly over his sharper edges and lithe curves. Winnie looked more like a model posing on a chaise than a fledgling student of Egyptology.
I brushed off the twinge of guilt that he wasn’t out exploring the city, but I was selfishly pleased he wanted to be with me. Besides, it was bloody wicked out there.
Rain slashed the sky diagonally and blew orange and red leaves along the street at the Jardin des Tuileries as afternoon gave way to evening. All that was missing was a roaring fire and a dog at the hearth.
Winnie seemed cozy enough, a computer balanced on his knee, his eyes glued to his screen. He occasionally hummed and made a production of stretching his long limbs across the cushions like a femme fatale in a Hitchcock film, but otherwise, he was engrossed.
I opened my mouth to ask what he was reading just as a message flashed on my computer.
Gerard: Have you discovered anything new? I have a theory I’d like to discuss with you. Are you free to talk?
Yes, but Gerard was the last person I wanted to talk to at the moment. I’d text him later and let him know that his project would have to wait until after the conference. I simply didn’t have the time.
I closed my laptop, stretching my arms above my head as I wandered to the sofa. “Did you find anything interesting?”
Winnie glanced up with a jolt. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” I sat on the opposite end and pulled his feet across my lap, arranging the silky fabric to cover his ankles. “Are you cold?”
“No. In fact, I’m hot and bothered.” He fanned his face theatrically and scooted closer to me, his legs hooked over my knee. “Look at this. I found the gay couple in Gerard’s naughty pottery piece. They were buried together in a loving embrace with their noses touching. According to my research, that was usually reserved for husbands and wives. And get this…their epilogue says, ‘Joined in life, joined in death.’ ”
“It’s not an epilogue, it’s an epitaph.”
“Yeah, yeah. This article says homosexuality wasn’t uncommon in the ancient world, and their relationship must have been approved by the pharaoh. I even got their names for you, so ta-da…research complete!” He smacked his hand on my knee and grinned. “Tell Gerard to suck it!”
“Well done. Unfortunately, that’s not the same couple.”
He frowned. “How do you know?”
“Different timeline.” I gestured at the screen. “Khnumhotep and Niankhkhnum are thought to be the first recorded homosexual couple in history. They shared the title of overseer of the manicurists. The hieroglyphs and painting in the tomb tell their story. They were each married to women, had many children, and worked for the king as trusted servants. Some historians have said they’re brothers, perhaps even twins, but the art and text suggest something undeniably more intimate. And yes, they must have had royal support and lived in a time where sexual fluidity was accepted. The writing on the one Gerard showed us is more like a receipt.”
“A receipt? For sex?”
“Yes, an ostracon is a notepad. A postcard of sorts for making lists, tallying grievances. Ancient Greeks and Romans used them to vote on individuals to be exiled. It’s where we get the word ostracize.”
Winnie gasped. “You mean…their gayness might have been used against these men?”
“There’s no way of knowing for sure, but yes, it’s a possibility.”