Chapter 24 #4
“Or it’s two birds with one stone,” Laurie encouraged. “He even magnanimously promised union compliance for all.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” Chary said, “but then that makes even less sense to me. Because those gaffers were every one of them union salts, weren’t they? Why have those men killed?”
Laurie heard that. His mouth snapped shut.
“In fact, I will sit down and read it,” Chary said quickly. “I’m sure you address that. Perhaps to make our non-union status look even more villainous?”
“You— They were salts? It doesn’t say it anywhere, because I didn’t know that. I was told specifically— Irving said— What?” Laurie sat heavily back down on the bed. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“No,” Chary admitted. “I didn’t. Perhaps because you thought I might be the one murdering them for trying to unionize.”
“You’re a cuckoo in the nest! A boss kind of cuckoo! You really knew men were proselytizing unionization and didn’t do a thing about it?”
“No, I didn’t,” Chary said, inexplicably hurt.
Cuckoo? He stole no eggs nor food. Didn’t he not?
Was taking the place of one gaffer workingman stealing?
Sitting in a nest that wasn’t his? He owned the nest. “I told you, I’ve never stood in the way of unions at Wright Glass. My father didn’t, either.”
Laurie looked skeptical. Did he really still see Chary only as a rich man and nothing else?
“It’s simply not as easy as a button-switch, unionizing.
We haven’t bent to the Glass Bottle Blowers’ because their exclusivity demands would mean replacing nigh on our entire workforce.
If you do come shadow me tonight, you’ll see easily what I mean.
But they aren’t the only means to unionization. Just the bullies.”
“I like to think of it as necessary leverage against limitless capitalist power, but go on.”
Chary would, thank you very much. “A union can start small. I knew it was going on, but Mr. Border never approached me ‘proselytizing,’ as you say. Plenty of others around me. I give you one Columbia-educated guess why.”
“You’re white,” Laurie said at once.
“Yes. He was trying to form a branch for—”
“Anybody browner than you and I,” Laurie finished. “Oh, God.” He put palms over his eyes. “No, that’s a different motive entirely. This is a different story entirely. Again. That’s beyond exclusionary; it’s…”
They both stood in silence a moment. A different motive. It was sobering, put like that: that four men might have died for trying to make a change against something unjust. Against a different kind of monopoly—that of race.
Laurie reached out. “Hand me that draft. It’s completely off-base if that madman isn’t behind all of it. God, or maybe any of it.”
“No.” Chary clutched the papers protectively. “I still wish to read this one. Off-base though it may be.”
Ankle or no ankle, Laurie lunged. Chary put the draft behind him and stepped back.
“C’mon,” Laurie said, laughing. “Mine ego is in shreds and scrambles, Chary, I beg of you. Hand it back.”
They scuffled for a minute, giggling, until Chary was merciful—more to the point, his robe was coming undone—and gave the papers back. They were both out of breath.
Laurie tore the papers with one dramatic rip. “Too many bloomin’ villains. Who next? Usually, it’s just capitalistic greed.”
“Oh, indeed. You return quickly to form. Greed in every body.”
“Not in every body,” Laurie said, waving. “It’s just that scum rises.”
Chary had no idea what to say to this. Was he scum, third-generation, forever slimed? Would he always be so to Laurie?
Laurie was too deep in his own threads to notice Chary’s missing ones. He sighed. “This story will take months. It’ll need a finer hand than this sensationalist junk.” He tossed down the papers. “If there turns out to be any union involvement at all…” He grimaced. “Criminy.”
“Still, do come and shadow me tonight,” Chary beseeched. He put his hand in Laurie’s. “For the sake of the boys. Or the sake of your editor. Lord knows, I may end up owing him myself. Can you not do two things at once? Do both?”
Laurie laughed. He tugged him closer. “Can’t I? God, this whole thing would’ve been so straightforward if you’d just been the man I expected you to be.”
“A villain who’d murdered his brother?”
Laurie shrugged.
“An inheriting rich man? Greedy scum?” The wealthy man that he truly was and always had been? In his absence, August was haunting him again. A hell of a deception, Chary. Would Laurie have given him the time of day if he hadn’t thought Chary disinherited, sympathetic and queer and wronged?
“A Tjofabier Raberding.”
Chary nodded. “S-sorry to disappoint.”
“Mm-hmm.” Laurie leaned in. “C’m’ere, Chary Wright, and disappoint me some more.”
“But how could I ever live up to such sterling expectation?” Chary teased; and oh, if only he weren’t half-serious.
“I know you can.”
Oh, Lord. He couldn’t, but he also couldn’t help it. Chary kissed him.
Laurie Tulley wouldn’t be the man he was if he couldn’t see nuance. Circumstance and cause and context. He had to hope it would be enough.