Chapter Two

This may very well have been the best performance of Giovanni's life. The energetic feedback of the onlookers encouraged him in a way he'd never thought possible: the astonished, the applause, and especially the knowledge that it was all for him, goaded him into pushing himself beyond his limits, and there was no fear to hold him back. Even Papa looked impressed!

Then the young man with the pretty blue eyes and the red hair and lips walked into the exhibition room. Despite the crowd, Giovanni's eyes went right to the stranger; he stood out. His fair skin seemed to faintly glow in the crowd of sun scorched laborers. In addition, his elegant clothes and formal manner also called attention to him. Was he royalty?

All this flashed through Giovanni's mind in an instant. He pulled out all the stops for the remainder of the performance, hoping to give the refined gentleman a real spectacle.

By the time his act finished, Giovanni was short of breath, perspiring heavily, and had lost sight of the alluring stranger.

"Blast it," He cursed.

He managed to slip away from the family under the pretense of exploring the Fair, barely bothering with his dressing in his haste to find the stranger. Giovanni dashed through the Midway, hopes of locating the other young man dimming with every footfall. There were simply too many people in the crowd, even if most of them were dark, or rough like him.

The young man, with his expensive suit and elegant deportment, did stand out in the crowd though, and Giovanni found him again by an ethnographic life group. Giovanni hid himself behind a cart and observed the striking figure that had captured him so from a distance. The lovely blue eyes were studiously observing the plaster figures, delicate lips muttering observations (no doubt of the brilliant variety) only he could hear.

The man wasn't handsome by any traditional measure, but to Giovanni he was lovely. He was slender, fair, and delicate looking, much more like a woman than a man. In fact, he didn't have mustache or beard, despite being a good age for it. Otherwise, he looked quite fashionable. Giovanni felt a sense of awe with regards to the stranger.

Realizing once again that he himself was sweaty, and wearing a patched and faded suit that was terribly out of style, if it had ever been in style to begin with, he hesitated. He ran a hand through his thick yellow hair, breathed into his hand to confirm that his breath was foul, and then shrugged because there was nothing to be done for any of it now.

"Hello there." Giovanni stepped out from behind the cart and offered the man a dazzling smile.

Which he ignored, still looking at the display. Giovanni cleared his throat and tried again.

"Hello there sir. Enjoying the fair?"

"Hm?" The man turned to face him, and Giovanni fought not to swoon when the clear blue eyes fixed on him. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were talking to me. Yes, the fair's quite agreeable."

Giovanni cast about for something else to say, but all he came up with was, "That it is."

The man regarded him with amusement. Giovanni felt his face get warm. Then the gentleman extended his hand. "Hartley Rathaway."

"Giovanni Giuseppe."

For some reason, hearing his name provoked a more genuine smile from Hartley. "That's quite a name."

Giovanni frowned, hoping against hope that the young mister Rathaway wasn't unfavorably disposed towards Italians (a lot of Americans seemed to think all Italians were dark, and as such rarely identified Giovanni as belonging to that race until they heard his name).

"Just so you know," Giovanni started defensively, "The Italian race of people have accomplished many remarkable things. My Papa was going on about how the classy folks over at the White City have been gawping at all our art, or even people just trying to be half as good as us Italians."

Hartley laughed, but it was a pleasant sound devoid of mockery. Giovanni smiled in response to it.

"It sounds like our fathers would have an interesting time together. Mine believes that Italians are lazy as any other people of Latin blood, or else they're all anarchists, and he won't hire them anymore."

"You don't agree, do you?" Giovanni asked, with an air of nonchalance he didn't feel.

"No, of course not. I've just returned from being abroad, and my romps through Italy left me with a fine impression of your people."

Giovanni nodded approvingly. "Seems like you oughta be with the classy folk up at the art galleries. What brings you down to the Midway?"

"Just…knocking around and seeing sights, I suppose. I've been to plenty of art galleries and lectures, but your family's performance was the first bit of acrobatics I've seen. I found your act impressive Mr. Giuseppe."

"What, those old tricks? I was just warming up!" Giovanni boasted, though that wasn't the case. In fact, he wasn't sure he could manage another performance like that, even with another dose of his new tonic.

"Perhaps my ignorance in regards to your trade is showing, but I would think that the warm up would come before the exhibition." Hartley's eyes were shining with amusement, and Giovanni felt his face grow warm again.

"No, you've got it about right. So, er, what is your trade?" Good God, was he going to ask about the weather next? What was wrong with him? It's not like he'd never seen a gentleman before.

Granted, he'd never seen a gentleman that saw fit to converse with the likes of him before. Nor had he met a gentleman with such entrancing eyes. Giovanni wasn't even tempted to pick his pocket; he would have been perfectly content to stand there observing the other young man as long as he would allow it.

"I've got no trade to speak of, though my father would like to see me heap abuses on my fellow man as he does with our mills."

"O-oh." Giovanni endeavored to hide his discomfort at the statement. Plenty of his countrymen had taken on the dangerous, thankless burden of millwork for the sake of their subsistence, and accordingly talk of mills had become one of his father's chief ways of ensuring obedience whenever he or his brother displeased the man. "You, er, don't sound enthused with the prospect."

"Indeed I do not."

The two stood in silence for another few moments, Hartley looking expectant while Giovanni cast about wildly for something to say that might prolong the conversation. Finally, his frantic mind settled on the obvious. "Well, if you're not used to tramping around grounds like these, would you like me to accompany you? I can't imagine you'd get on half as well on your own."

"I think I'd like that very much."

Giovanni offered his arm, and without a moment's hesitation Hartley took it.


Talking with Giovanni proved much easier than Hartley initially believed it would. Though he no longer fell in with most of his father's views regarding other races and other classes, the old prejudices were still Hartley's initial impulses and he had to consciously overcome them. Giovanni seemed to be exactly the kind of person that Osgood and Rachel Rathaway believed a gentleman like their son would have nothing to converse about.

He was surprisingly intelligent for a performer, though he obviously lacked a formal education. His charm and pleasant features certainly didn't detract from his appeal either.

Their conversation kept circling back to the mills, though Hartley wasn't intentionally bringing it there. His family business was more on his mind than he'd thought, apparently. Rather than being put off by Hartley's bleak musings, Giovanni seemed concerned. It was...pleasant. He'd never encountered a sympathetic ear for his views before, unless you counted workers or socialists, and as they were only interested in business Hartley couldn't count them as friends.

"I don't get it though," Giovanni said after a thoughtful pause. "Shouldn't you be happy about getting to take over the mills? You'll get to change things then, won't you?"

"I'm not sure I will," Hartley admitted. It was the first time he'd given voice to this particular fear, and he felt lighter for sharing the burden. "And that's what I'm afraid of. What if my father is right? What if there is no other way to run a business? I'll have to choose between letting my family down and doing what I feel is right. And if the mills collapse, it won't just be my parents and myself who suffer for it. Even if the mills aren't providing satisfying jobs, they are jobs and I'm sure the workers would rather have them than not."

"Well, I think that no matter what, they'll be better for having someone who sees them as more than machinery in charge."

"Perhaps. I wish I could just change the entire system. Disrupt it all, start from nothing, and rebuild it so that it's fair and just."

Giovanni laughed. "You're sounding like an anarchist Mr. Rathaway. That's supposed to be my right by birth, remember?"

"I bow before your experience. Pray forgive my rudeness," Hartley returned. Giovanni laughed again, and Hartley couldn't remember ever hearing a more enchanting sound.

'Watch yourself Rathaway. You're going to get yourself into another fine mess if you don't.' It was a shame he rarely paid attention to that reasonable sounding inner voice of his, because he was sure it would have kept him on an honorable path.

At the moment, however, he couldn't say he particularly cared much for honor.

"You know Mr. Giuseppe, I have been wondering if a little anarchy might not be...healthy for some of the gentlemen in my class. In the long run, it may prove beneficial for their instruction."

Giovanni tilted his head, considering his companion. "Why Mr. Rathaway, whatever could you mean?"

There was no rational reason to believe this to be true, but somehow Hartley knew without any trace of a doubt that he didn't need to be afraid to express his true beliefs or intentions to Giovanni Giuseppe. He took Giovanni's arm again and they started along the pathway together.

"I think we ought to pay a visit to the White City."


They were going to get arrested. No, not just arrested. Well, perhaps Hartley would only get arrested. He was a gentleman after all. Giovanni they'd probably hang.

Perhaps the tonic had done its job too well. Giovanni had an insistant feeling that if he hadn't imbibed what he'd titled his 'Flying Elixir' (for the floaty feeling the tonic gave him, the one that made him feel he was walking on air), not only would he never have approached an eccentric young man from another class like Hartley, but he most certainly would not be planning on starting a fire in one of the exhibit halls in the White City.

Hartley smiled at him, and Giovanni felt his insides lurch in that wonderful way they'd done when he'd first taken a sip of his completed tonic. All his worries seeped out of him and he struck the match. He remained gazing at Hartley in a daze until, doubled up with laughter, Hartley tugged on his arm and the two began to run.


They tore breathless through the White City, with childlike exuberance lighting their faces until they were returned to the relative safety and anonymity of the Midway.

Giovanni guided them to a secluded nook just off the path, between two attractions with barely enough space for them to stand side by side. It was dark, and no one else seemed to care to venture that way.

Hartley was still clasping Giovanni's strong brown hand. He looked down at his own slender white one, and thought the image a good representation for what he felt. The strange young man was supporting him, lending him the strength nature hadn't seen fit to bestow upon him. He wondered what he was giving the brash Italian boy in exchange.

"Isn't this a laugh? It took a posh white gentleman to make an anarchist of me," Giovanni said with a smile. Their hands were still clasped.

"Well, your instincts shewed themselves. The fire certainly seemed to excite your Latin blood."

"Yeah, so what's your excuse?" Giovanni laughed.

Hartley grinned. "The same excuse as of old. I'm not well."

"Says who?"

Hartley eyed him quizzically. "Everyone, always and forever."

Giovanni looked at him with a seriousness Hartley didn't imagine the situation to warrant. "I think you're perfect."

Hartley's breath caught in his throat. His entire life, he'd only been exposed to criticism and correction. He found himself in the singular position of receiving a compliment, and thoroughly unprepared to accept it. Now it was Giovanni's turn for a quizzical look.

"Is everything alright Hartley? You're not feeling faint, are you?"

He was, but not in the way Giovanni suspected. Forgetting himself entirely, even more than when they'd started the fire, Hartley kissed his wild Italian boy.

Once he'd done it, he expected to be roughly shoved away. This wasn't a Parisian salon, or even a private sitting room, and he had no reason to expect Giovanni to be acquainted with the practices of the intellectual elite of Europe; he was a commoner, after all. Lower even, a performer. Hartley would have expected him to complain about such bizarre feminine treatment, if he'd bothered to think before acting. How to explain that he was simply appreciating Giovanni's beauty in the only way that made sense?

To his surprise and relief, he wasn't shoved away. The two young men shared a chaste kiss, and when the kiss was broken Giovanni smiled at Hartley with a fair bit of confusion in his mischievous blue eyes. "I think you're a trifle confused."

"I…that is, I…I am sorry," Hartley finally uttered in halting speech. "I did get carried away, but I'm not confused. I, er, well…I've been among men that, um, take other men for lovers. But I shouldn't have done that. It was rather too forward for our level of acquaintance."

Giovanni wonderingly touched his lips with his hand. "Seems like there should be something wrong about two men acting loverly."

"I like it. In fact, I rather prefer it to courting with the fair sex," Hartley admitted, feeling hopeful. He hadn't been shoved yet, after all, though he may have gone too far again. It was difficult to tell with Giovanni looking dazed and dreamy.

"Hm. Can we try that again?" Giovanni finally asked.

"Certainly."

They kissed again, but even before their lips touched, Hartley felt his passions excite. A thousand fantasies flitted through his mind in the space of time it took Giovanni to close the short space between them, and give him that wonderfully warm tingle on his lips. He thought of how easy it would be to slip away from the great fair with this new lover, to go further west where his parents wouldn't dare follow. How lovely the days would be if only he could keep in the company of his golden hued Italian.

And then the dreaded shove actually came. Now that he wasn't expecting it, Hartley had no chance of recovering his lost balance. He landed hard on the ground, his ankle turning worryingly under him as he went.

The physical pain didn't bother him, though he suspected he'd find a nasty bruise where he'd struck a paving stone. The expression of mingled terror and disgust on Giovanni's whitened face had stolen all his attention.

He wanted to ask Giovanni about the violent change in his temperament, but Hartley couldn't push the words past his constricted throat.

Giovanni was trembling, a fine sweat starting to form on the handsome forehead. "That was-you're unnatural. Keep away from me Hartley. I want nothing to do with your sort."

Hartley didn't regain the power of speech until Giovanni had already fled their shadowy nook for the crowded path beyond. Even then, he couldn't manage anything useful, just a quiet sob of shame and loss.

The sound was enough to discover his hiding place. A fat old woman with a brown face and only the barest bit of English found him. She said something in her poor English and some other uncivilized tongue, but Hartley didn't hear even the words he knew. She gave him a soiled handkerchief, then hurried away in much excitement, returning some minutes later with an officer.

"He is, he is sir! A white gentleman, is. No purse, no, with foot hurt. Robbed he is. Reward?"

"Goodness! Easy now son, can you tell me what happened?"

Out of convenience, Hartley took up the woman's story about a robber. The officer helped him back to his rooms, and the woman received her reward from Hartley's horrified parents.