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again.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, how does he do it?” murmured Adin.
    “I’m beginning to feel mocked,” said Donte sourly.
    Adin caught his hand. “Apologies, Donte. Truly. If you are
    who—and what—you say you are, then I apologize from the
    bottom of my heart. I’ve read only a few pages of that
    manuscript. It’s beautiful, the art and the entries. They were
    highly skilled and lyrical.”
    The elevator doors opened at the lobby. “After you,” said
    Donte, ignoring the looks on the faces of the maintenance men
    who had apparently been called in to deal with a rogue elevator.
    Donte continued to talk while they waited for the doorman
    to get them a cab. “I know what you think. When people of this
    age look at that journal, all they see is sex. It is Boys Gone Wild, the Florentine edition.” He looked at Adin. “Don’t look at me
    like that. I know what you called it, Renaissance pornography.
    So thought de Sade, that awful little shit.”
    “Do you dare,” asked Adin, stopping in his tracks, “to
    compare me to the Marquis de Sade?”
    “You collect manuscripts like mine, yes? You are the
    quintessential American man who reads those glossy sex rags
    for the articles. Certainly, it is compelling that Tanya enjoys long walks on the windy moor at night, needlepoint, and Labrador
    retrievers. But is that why you read it? I think not.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Adin quietly as the doorman opened the
    cab door for them. Donte automatically tipped him.
    “For what?”
    Adin told the cabdriver the address, and the cab pulled out.
    “I don’t think you understand my interest in that manuscript,”
    said Adin, pulling his seat belt around and clicking it into place.
    He raised his brows at Donte when he didn’t do likewise, but
    Donte raised his eyebrows back as if to say, Hello, already dead .
    “Oh, right, where was I? I’m a professor of literature, Donte,
    and among other things, I specialize in antique erotica. In fact,
    my credentials are such that people pay me to search out and
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    authenticate manuscripts for private collections, museums, and
    academic institutions.”
    Donte gave that some thought. “So this makes you the
    Indiana Jones of what you call antique pornography.”
    “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Adin teased.
    “All I see is an acquisitive man with a healthy disrespect for
    authority.” Donte looked out the window. “Someone for whom
    the private lives of kings and princes and priests are merely
    fodder for prurient speculation.” He returned his gaze to Adin.
    “Tell me that I’m wrong. Tell me that you see the authors of
    your manuscripts as people, like you, with a tiny little sliver of
    mortality to sustain or enjoy or endure in any way they have to.”
    Adin was silent.
    “I speculate that you cannot place yourself in the shoes of
    these men, that you think you are far superior and above the
    normal cravings and desires these books represent.”
    “You can’t really believe that.”
    “But I do,” said Donte. “I believe you have it all very neatly
    sewn up. Tariq in Frankfurt, who offers the opera and his
    perfectly lovely flat. There must be others, perhaps located in
    major cities all over the world. Tonight, I am Don Giovanni de
    Los Angeles. Will someone else be disappointed this evening?
    Was someone expecting you?”
    “No. Except my sister. We were going to have dinner, but I
    asked her if we could do lunch instead.”
    Donte rumbled with laughter. “In the daylight.”
    “Yes.”
    “While you dine, caro,” he said, “I will fill you in on what
    you can and cannot expect from me, in the interest of fairness.
    At least some of it. It wouldn’t do to give out all my secrets.”
    The cab pulled up to the curb, and Adin removed his wallet
    to pay the driver. “Thank you,” he said to the man, who looked
    at him with curiosity. Adin smiled and exited the cab. Donte
    followed him, rising easily to his full height, and closed the