Page 34 of By Any Means

“What’s the problem with this wig of yours?” he asked. “It won’t come free? What did you use for adhesive?”

Chary rubbed at his arms. “Casein glue.”

“Wood glue?” Laurie said, incredulous. This time, he reached in true request. “Sorry, can I?”

“No,” Chary muttered, but he lifted his chin.

Laurie made gentle, fingertip contact once more. He felt where the adhesive had crusted—and jerked his fingers away from a hot, raw strip of skin by the temple where the beard had been tried, again and again. “Ouch,” he said in sympathy. “I must’ve put my hand straight on this.”

Chary made a dismissive noise. His eyes were now firmly closed.

“I’m sorry. What in thunder was wrong with spirit gum? Put your chin up farther. Yeah.”

“Spirit gum is unreliable in the heat of the shop,” Chary said. His voice sounded flat, tired, like he was in a trance. “The continuous burn is thousands of degrees. Casein glue is water-soluble but sweat-proof—usually. I’ve done the formula a hundred times, but I’ve been distracted… exhausted, really.”

“I bet. D’you have any jelly?”

“Jelly?”

“The petrolatum slick. Vaseline.”

Chary’s brow lines warped into confusion—then knowledge—then reluctance. His lashes, though overshadowed, were as they should be, feathery and soft and light-brown. Across the flattened jut of nose, the sharp cheeks, he had freckles to match.

“No. Sorry. No hidden lover here.”

“Guess I’ve made more than a few assumptions,” Laurie said quietly.

Chary bit his lip. “You and all of Manhattan.”

Right. Because, eventual heir or not, he had still been infamously disinherited as a boy. The unwanted queer. It struck him then: I’m not out at the shop. A place Chary spent forty, forty-eight hours a week. Which was the role? Normal-passing workingman or the rich man who refused to hide? Who couldn’t hide, not after being outed?

Laurie stepped back. All the way. “Good thing I have it, then.” He pulled out the little Vaseline jar.

Chary’s eyes popped open, whiskey-gold. He swallowed, flushed to his hairline.

“You… carry that around? Regularly?”

“Not regularly. Picked it up at Bennett’s on the corner. Just in case.”

“In case of… what?”

Did he think Laurie meant sex? “Not that,” Laurie said hastily.

“No,” Chary agreed.

“Ah, look.” From his right pocket Laurie brought out three little bottles, all thankfully unbroken. He tossed them onto the bed, one after another. “I brought ethanol. Acetone. Glycerine. Ivory soap…” A palm-sized box. “Pearline, that’s washing soap…” A paper bag of flakes. “If none of that works, we might need a miracle. Or a safety razor.”

“A razor.”

“You’d have remembered eventually, I bet. Even so, it wouldn’t be my first option.”

“No, I agree.” Chary pawed through the pharmaceuticals at his side. “This is… quite a lot. Thank you. Even if it was only to sweeten me into talking. Or… otherwise.”

“Maybe, maybe not. You were in there awhile. It didn’t sound like jerking off.”

Chary flushed very red for man who had just confronted and turned down otherwise. “How do you know so much of disguises?”

“Ah, that’s the job, some days. And I know a man. Can’t grow his own mustache to save him.”