Page 8 of By Any Means

“About… questions?”

Not about questions. Obviously. About other things. Things beneath flannel union suits that he might wish to see after all.

Laurie’s confused face was very good, but he was not an actor. “What I oughta be askin’ ya?”

“Whatever you want,” Chary said, foolishly, and meant it. “Within reason,” he added.

Laurie blinked. “Ah,” he said softly. He coughed. “Better not, friend.”

“But—” Chary swallowed his protests, his confusion. “Have I entirely misunderstood?”

Laurie rubbed at the back of his neck.

Oh, Lord. “I have,” Chary said. “No, of course, better not. Quite. Well, say— I have an excellent cook? Would you—supper, at the least?” He cursed. “Lord. I do apologize. Not at the least. There’s no least. I mean to say—without expectation. Or questions, I suppose. As friends?”

No. It was plain on Laurie’s face. No.

“Not supper, either,” Laurie said. His ease of speech had gone too. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been suggestive with you. Because I don’t, not with...” He jerked his chin forward, to the whole of Chary seated there, stiff and tongue-tied. Chary, who bitterly, desperately, in that moment, wished he were more like August. Just for a moment.

No. He didn’t truly wish that. But he very nearly did.

And since Laurie couldn’t possibly have meant queers… “Not with rich men?”

Laurie nodded once.

“Oh, come on, now,” Chary demanded. “Why don’t you say the real reason? Just say it. The truth, for the first time today. For once. I’ve never actually heard it said before, in fact.” Say I’m not attractive enough.

“I’ve not li…” Laurie grimaced again. “That is the reason. Never done it with a rich man.”

“Never.”

“No. See, the balance is wrong between us.” He put hands in jacket pockets. “And that’s even with us both being white.”

“White?” Chary said, baffled. “Balance? Wrong? I hardly chose to be born my father’s son.” And wasn’t that an understatement. He was never supposed to have led Wright Glass; nonetheless, he was doing so. “You mean to say you consider all these things upon a normal circumstance of being propositioned for assignation?”

Laurie shook his head. “Ten-dollar tongue,” he murmured. “No, not a normal one,” he said significantly. “Just the queer ones.”

He wasn’t a coward; he held steady and never looked away. That was almost worse.

“I would have—” Chary stopped. He had to go, get out of there, before his mouth got him into even more trouble, in speaking or in its sudden trembling, and giving himself away. Giving anything away. It was for the best. It truly was. “Well!” he said helplessly. “I am sure you are aware what I would have.”

Laurie bit his lip, looking actually regretful. “Sorry.”

“I am sorry,” Chary said. “You’re as allowed to change your mind as I am.” He picked up reins. “Lovely to have met you, Mr. Moore. I wish you all luck in your future… questioning.”

Laurie nodded. “Safe travels, Chary Wright. You’ve been kind.”

Kind? No. He hadn’t been, not really. Selfish, careless, wanting, yes. But not kind.

Chary drove off, slowly, turning around on the bench more than once. The last time he looked, Laurie lay reclined on the station bench, arms and ankles crossed, his cap over his eyes.

3

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