The Mustache That Terrorized the Grand Canyon
The Mustache That Terrorized the Grand Canyon
Martin Pindle held his phone at arm’s length, tilted his chin three degrees toward Arizona, and tried to determine whether his mustache looked rugged or criminal.
The Grand Canyon behind him was magnificent.
Martin barely noticed.
The mustache required supervision.
A gust pushed at his shirt and made the synthetic hairs flutter against his upper lip. He immediately pressed two fingers beneath his nose, pretending to scratch an itch while actually checking the adhesive.
Still attached.
Good.
He looked at his phone.
Not good.
The photograph showed a nervous forty-two-year-old man standing in front of one of the great natural wonders of the planet wearing something on his face that suggested he had recently escaped from a dinner-theater production about railroad ownership.
Martin deleted it.
He had paid twenty-four dollars and ninety-five cents for the Frontiersman Deluxe, not counting tax, and he expected more from it.
The packaging had described it as PROFESSIONAL QUALITY FACIAL HAIR FOR STAGE, FILM, COSTUME, AND HISTORICAL PRESENTATION.
Martin had focused on “historical presentation.”
He had ignored “costume.”
That had been deliberate.
A man wearing a novelty mustache was ridiculous. A man wearing professional-quality facial hair for historical presentation was prepared.
Martin raised the phone again.
The late-spring afternoon had brought hundreds of visitors to the South Rim. Families crowded the railing. Tourists leaned into panoramic photographs. Children dragged souvenir water bottles along the pavement. Men wearing technical backpacks large enough for polar expeditions stood twenty yards from restrooms.
Several people held their hats against the wind.
Martin considered doing the same with the mustache.
He decided that would look suspicious.
Near the railing, an informational sign read:
SECURE LOOSE BELONGINGS. STRONG AND UNPREDICTABLE WINDS MAY OCCUR.
Martin approved of the sign.
Loose belongings were a serious problem.
His mustache was not a belonging.
It was attached to him.
Currently.
A foam ranger hat flew off a six-year-old and smacked into a trash can.
Martin pressed the Frontiersman Deluxe again.
He had backup adhesive in his right shorts pocket. Tiny tube. Professional theatrical facial adhesive. Waterproof, sweat-resistant, supposedly capable of holding a fake beard through a stage sword fight.
He had brought it because he was not an idiot.
He was a man who prepared for contingencies.
A voice barked from behind him.
“Sir.”
Martin turned.
A gray-haired man stood beside a tripod, wearing a photography vest with enough compartments to suggest he had personally annexed cargo pockets.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
The man pointed sternly.
“You’re in my composition.”
Martin glanced around.
He was standing in a public overlook containing approximately two hundred people.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re intersecting the lower-right quadrant.”
Martin moved two feet left.
The man looked through his camera.
“Worse.”
Martin moved right.
“You’re on top of Vishnu Temple.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means your head is where the geology goes.”
Martin stepped backward.
The photographer exhaled.
“Stay there.”
Martin stayed.
The camera strap across the man’s chest was embroidered DENNIS POMEROY.
Dennis bent toward his viewfinder.
“I’ve been waiting forty-seven minutes for this light.”
Martin nodded.
“Understood.”
“No.”
Dennis kept looking through the camera.
“No?”
“You do not understand.”
Martin looked at him.
Dennis adjusted a dial.
“I have been tracking the cloud shadow for forty-seven minutes. The composition has reached a very narrow window.”
“I’ll try not to interfere.”
Dennis shot him a quick look.
“That would be ideal.”
Martin turned away.
He raised his phone again.
He needed one convincing photograph from this trip.
That was not unreasonable.
He had come to the Grand Canyon alone because six months earlier he had decided he should become the sort of man who traveled confidently.
The phrase had sounded excellent in his kitchen.
It sounded less convincing after three days of checking hotel locks twice and asking restaurant hosts whether eating alone at a table for two violated any seating policy.
Still, he had made progress.
He had flown by himself.
He had rented a car.
He had worn a broad-brimmed hat for part of yesterday.
He had purchased the mustache.
The mustache was supposed to pull everything together.
Martin had noticed, after reviewing several years of photographs, that his face did not communicate adventure. He could stand on a cliff, beside a waterfall, or next to an animal large enough to overturn a car, and somehow still look as though he had come to remind everyone about an invoice.
The problem, he concluded, was his upper lip.
It lacked authority.
So did certain other areas, but they were less easily addressed with twenty-four dollars and ninety-five cents.
He angled the phone.
Rugged men did not smile broadly. They squinted into distances.
Martin squinted.
A woman walking past whispered to her husband, “Do you think it’s real?”
Martin’s stomach dropped.
Her husband glanced directly toward him.
“I doubt it.”
Martin looked at the canyon.
The woman said, “It seems too straight.”
Martin’s heart hammered.
The husband replied, “Probably metal.”
Martin slowly turned.
They were looking at the railing.
He exhaled.
Calm behavior reduced embarrassment.
This was one of Martin’s personal rules.
Embarrassment, he believed, was mostly created by reaction. If a person remained composed, nobody could tell he was embarrassed.
This theory had never worked.
Martin believed it anyway.
He lifted the phone.
“This is the one,” he whispered.
Behind him, Dennis said, “Please don’t move.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re moving your head.”
“My head is attached to me.”
“Then stabilize the whole unit.”
Martin frowned.
Dennis returned to his camera.
Martin pressed the shutter timer.
Ten seconds.
He took his position.
Nine.
He turned his shoulders.
Eight.
He angled his jaw.
Seven.
Wind tugged at his shirt.
Six.
The mustache tickled.
Five.
Martin ignored it.
Four.
A hard gust struck the overlook.
People shouted.
Hats tilted.
A folded map erupted from someone’s hands and slapped against a stroller.
Three.
Martin felt something cold touch his upper lip.
Two.
His mustache was gone.
One.
The phone captured a photograph of Martin grabbing his bare face in horror.
He did not see the image.
He was already turning.
The Frontiersman Deluxe had not fallen.
It had taken flight.
“No.”
The mustache rose over a stroller.
“No, no.”
A gust carried it over the walkway.
It spun once.
A tourist ducked.
The mustache clipped the edge of a selfie stick, bounced upward, crossed in front of Dennis’s camera, and continued.
Dennis yelled, “What the hell was that?”
Martin ran.
“My—”
He stopped himself.
The mustache passed through the open loop of a tote-bag handle.
A woman screamed because she thought it was an insect.
It climbed again.
A child pointed.
“Hair!”
Martin shoved through two tourists.
“Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me.”
The mustache descended toward a woman standing alone beside the railing.
She was perhaps fifty-seven, with short brown-and-silver hair, sensible walking shoes, and the compact posture of someone who returned shopping carts even in bad weather.
Martin lunged.
Too late.
The Frontiersman Deluxe landed directly beneath the woman’s nose.
Perfectly centered.
She froze.
Martin stopped three feet away.
The woman’s hand paused halfway to the cap of her water bottle.
Her eyes moved slowly downward, attempting to inspect her own upper lip.
Nobody spoke.
Then her shoulders shifted.
Her back straightened.
One hand slipped into a jacket pocket.
She turned to the man beside her, who had been photographing the canyon.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.
The woman looked over the railing.
“Beautiful? Sure. If you like holes with ambition.”
The man blinked.
Two people nearby laughed.
The woman gestured toward the canyon.
“Look at this place. Somebody starts digging, gets halfway to the center of the earth, then apparently takes lunch.”
More laughter.
Martin stared.
The woman had not sounded like this before.
He was almost certain.
He stepped forward.
“Excuse me.”
She turned.
Martin reached for the mustache.
She slapped his hand away.
“Buy me dinner before you start renovating the face.”
The people nearby laughed harder.
Martin lowered his hand.
“I’m sorry, but I need that.”
The woman touched the mustache.
“You need this?”
“Yes.”
“I need better knees. Life’s cruel.”
“It belongs to me.”
The words came out louder than he intended.
Several tourists turned.
Martin felt his scalp heat.
He corrected immediately.
“I mean it originated in my immediate possession.”
The woman looked at his bare upper lip.
Then at him.
“Your possession had a parole hearing?”
“It was attached to me.”
A pause.
The woman looked at him.
The crowd looked at him.
Dennis, now standing twenty feet away with his camera in hand, looked at him.
Martin realized what he had said.
He adjusted.
“Temporarily.”
The woman grinned.
“Even your face rents.”
Martin swallowed.
“Could you please return it?”
She crossed her arms.
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine.”
“So is cholesterol. You don’t see me chasing that.”
“I paid for it.”
“Well, there’s your mistake.”
Martin looked around.
More people were listening.
He moved closer and dropped his voice.
“The wind removed it.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose.
“Did you file a custody dispute?”
“It was not voluntary.”
“Call the sheriff. We’ve got facial abduction.”
A little boy laughed so hard he dropped his water bottle.
The woman nodded toward him.
“Finally, a critic I respect.”
Martin reached again.
She stepped back.
“Stop grabbing.”
“I’m not grabbing you. I’m retrieving an item.”
“It’s on my skin.”
“Yes.”
“Then at the moment it’s zoned residential.”
Martin clenched his jaw.
“Please.”
She touched the mustache again.
Something about her expression softened for half a second.
Then the grin returned.
“No.”
Martin stared.
“No?”
“No.”
“Why?”
The woman looked around at the people who were now watching her.
A few were smiling.
One was filming.
She seemed to notice them all at once.
Her posture became even more theatrical.
“Because I’ve been sensible for fifty-seven years and apparently that was a clerical error.”
She turned and started walking.
Martin followed.
“Wait.”
She kept going.
“Ma’am.”
She stopped.
“Elaine.”
“What?”
“My name’s Elaine.”
“Elaine, please give me the mustache.”
Elaine considered him.
“No.”
Then she walked away.
Martin hurried after her.
As he passed the loose-belongings sign, he glanced at it.
The sign had nothing to do with this.
Nothing.
Elaine Wexler gathered an audience faster than Martin could lose one.
Within five minutes she had mocked a man’s trekking poles, interrupted a family photograph, and asked a woman wearing a hydration vest whether she was planning to cross the canyon or invade it.
The problem was not that Elaine was never funny.
She was.
That was making everything worse.
A cheerful woman holding a yellow tour paddle stopped with a bus group of twelve people.
Her badge read KAYLA ORTIZ — DESERT STAR TOURS.
Kayla watched Elaine for thirty seconds and smiled broadly.
“Oh, this is fantastic.”
Martin turned.
“No.”
Kayla blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“This isn’t fantastic.”
Elaine pointed to Martin.
“He’s my morale officer.”
“I’m not anything.”
“Exactly. Good title.”
Kayla’s group laughed.
Martin stepped in front of Elaine.
“Could you just stand still for five seconds?”
Elaine looked at the tourists.
“You hear this? Five seconds. A lifetime in his company.”
“Elaine.”
“What?”
“The mustache.”
“Still here.”
“I need it.”
“You’ve mentioned that.”
“I’m trying to resolve this privately.”
Elaine glanced around at the crowd.
“You picked a terrific venue.”
Martin lowered his voice.
“If you give it to me right now, nobody has to know where it came from.”
Elaine stared at his bare upper lip.
Then she looked at the crowd.
Then back at him.
“Everybody knows where it came from.”
Martin’s face tightened.
“No, they don’t.”
A man in Kayla’s group pointed toward Martin.
“It was on him.”
Martin looked at the man.
“You saw?”
“Yes.”
“How clearly?”
The man frowned.
“Pretty clearly.”
“What angle?”
“What?”
“The angle matters.”
Elaine turned to the group.
“He cross-examines eyesight.”
Martin ignored her.
“To be precise, did you see it attached to my face, or did you simply see it in close proximity to my face?”
The tourist stared.
“It flew off your face.”
“Technically, that’s not what happened.”
There was a pause.
The tourist looked confused.
“What part?”
Martin had no answer.
Elaine slapped him lightly on the shoulder.
“He’s going to make an excellent defendant.”
Kayla laughed.
Martin looked at her.
“Please don’t encourage her.”
“Sorry.”
Kayla was not sorry.
Her tourists were visibly more interested in Elaine than they had been in whatever Kayla had intended to tell them.
Elaine noticed too.
She walked toward a couple holding a selfie stick.
“Picture?”
The woman smiled.
“We’re trying.”
Elaine stepped directly behind them and posed with one hand under her chin.
Martin saw what she was doing.
“No.”
The phone clicked.
The couple checked the photo.
Elaine’s mustached face floated between their heads.
The husband burst out laughing.
The wife did too.
“Can you do another?”
Martin stepped forward.
“No more.”
Elaine put an arm around him.
“Here’s my husband. He specializes in endings.”
Martin removed her arm.
“I am not your husband.”
Elaine pointed at him.
“See? Chemistry.”
Kayla’s group laughed.
Martin leaned toward Elaine.
“I’m going to take it now.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“I mean the mustache.”
“So did I.”
Martin waited until she turned toward the tour group.
He moved behind her.
One clean motion.
Pinch and pull.
He reached.
Elaine ducked without looking.
Martin’s hand closed on empty air.
His momentum carried him into Kayla’s yellow paddle.
The paddle smacked him in the chest.
Kayla grabbed it.
“Oh!”
“I’m fine.”
Elaine spun around.
“Pickpocket.”
“I was not picking your pocket.”
“Face pocket.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Then keep your hands out of it.”
A teenager stood ten feet away holding a phone.
He wore a dark sweatshirt despite the warm afternoon and had the emotionally neutral expression of a person whose expectations for humanity were already low.
Martin pointed at the phone.
“Are you recording?”
The teenager looked at the screen.
“Yes.”
“Please don’t.”
He kept recording.
“I’m asking politely.”
“Okay.”
Martin waited.
The phone remained pointed at him.
“Are you going to stop?”
“No.”
“What’s your name?”
“Trevor.”
“Trevor, this is a private matter.”
Trevor looked around at forty people.
“No.”
Martin inhaled through his nose.
“Please don’t upload it anywhere.”
Trevor shrugged.
“Wasn’t planning to.”
Martin relaxed slightly.
Trevor added, “My family group chat’s enough.”
Martin’s relaxation ended.
Elaine leaned toward Trevor’s camera.
“Get my good side.”
Trevor asked, “Which one?”
Elaine pointed at him.
“Kid’s got instincts.”
Kayla rummaged through her bag.
Martin saw the object too late.
She handed Elaine a compact wireless tour microphone attached to a small belt speaker.
Martin stared.
“What are you doing?”
Kayla clipped the speaker onto Elaine’s waistband.
“People in the back can’t hear.”
“That was helping.”
Elaine switched on the microphone.
Feedback shrieked.
A dozen people turned from the canyon.
Elaine tapped the mic.
“One, two. Three declined to participate.”
Laughter.
Martin reached for the microphone.
Elaine pivoted.
“No touching the talent.”
“You’re not talent.”
The crowd made an interested noise.
Elaine stared at him.
Martin immediately regretted the wording.
She raised the microphone.
“My manager has chosen violence.”
“I am not your manager.”
“Assistant manager.”
“I’m not associated with you.”
“We share a mustache.”
“No, we do not.”
“You did.”
The audience laughed.
Martin felt his face burning.
A voice cut through the crowd.
“You two.”
Dennis Pomeroy approached carrying his camera with both hands.
Martin looked at him.
Dennis pointed toward Elaine.
“She ruined my frame.”
Elaine peered at the camera.
“Your frame looks fine. Face is another matter.”
Dennis’s expression hardened.
“I was executing a seven-image exposure bracket.”
Elaine nodded gravely.
“Tragic. Any survivors?”
“I had ideal light.”
“You should’ve taken a picture.”
“I was taking a picture.”
“Well, now we’re getting somewhere.”
Dennis turned to Martin.
“You need to control her.”
Martin’s mouth dropped open.
“Me?”
“She’s with you.”
“No, she is not.”
Elaine lifted the microphone.
“He says that in public.”
“We met six minutes ago.”
Dennis frowned.
“I watched you chase her here.”
“Because she has my—”
Martin stopped.
Elaine waited.
Dennis waited.
Kayla’s group waited.
Trevor’s phone moved closer.
Martin cleared his throat.
“She has property connected to an unresolved matter.”
Dennis looked at Elaine’s mustache.
Then at Martin’s bare lip.
His eyes narrowed.
Martin pointed at him.
“Do not infer.”
Dennis’s face changed.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“What?”
“That was your mustache.”
Martin stiffened.
Elaine raised the microphone.
“Allegedly.”
Dennis stared.
Martin said, “Technically, that’s not what happened.”
Dennis threw both hands up.
“It flew off your face!”
“That describes motion, not ownership.”
“What?”
“Ownership is separate from trajectory.”
Dennis looked genuinely offended by the sentence.
Kayla laughed so hard she had to lower her paddle.
Elaine put an arm around Martin again.
“He handles legal.”
Martin stepped away.
“I don’t.”
Dennis looked at him.
“You people are doing this for attention.”
“No.”
“Social media.”
“No.”
Trevor said, “Could probably get some.”
Martin swung toward him.
“Stop helping.”
Dennis raised his camera.
“I want one photograph without either of you in it.”
“Then photograph literally anywhere else.”
Dennis looked appalled.
“I have selected this composition.”
Elaine pointed toward miles of canyon.
“You got a whole spare one over there.”
Dennis’s jaw tightened.
A shuttle announcement sounded in the distance.
Kayla checked her watch.
“We have a ranger talk in eleven minutes.”
Elaine looked at her.
“Ranger talk?”
“Geology.”
Elaine’s face lit up.
Martin saw it and felt fear.
“No.”
Elaine raised the microphone.
“Education has gone unsupervised long enough.”
She started walking.
Kayla’s group followed.
Trevor followed.
Dennis followed because anger had apparently become his itinerary.
Martin hurried after them.
“Elaine, stop.”
She kept going.
Martin passed another view of the canyon, spectacular in the afternoon light.
He did not look at it.
Ranger Celia Brandt was halfway through explaining sedimentary rock when Elaine arrived.
The presentation area had benches, a shaded board, and roughly fifty people who had come expecting geology.
Celia wore the calm expression of someone who had explained dehydration to people holding empty water bottles for years.
“The upper layers visible from the rim were deposited in ancient environments over immense spans of time—”
Elaine raised Kayla’s microphone.
“Any security deposit?”
Celia stopped.
A few people laughed.
Celia looked toward Elaine.
“Excuse me?”
“If the layers have been here that long, somebody must’ve paid a deposit.”
Celia gave a small professional smile.
“We don’t generally describe geologic deposition in rental terms.”
“Missed revenue opportunity.”
More laughter.
Martin whispered, “Elaine.”
She ignored him.
Celia continued.
“The Colorado River contributed to carving the canyon over millions of years—”
Elaine raised a hand.
Celia saw it.
Martin silently begged her not to call on her.
Celia was a ranger. She believed in questions.
“Yes, ma’am?”
Elaine lifted the microphone.
“Who approved the depth?”
Several people laughed.
Celia blinked once.
“The depth?”
“Yes. Completely excessive. You could remove forty percent and still have plenty of canyon.”
A man in the front row laughed loudly.
His wife elbowed him.
Celia folded her hands.
“The canyon is not a designed structure.”
“Then who do I complain to?”
“Nobody.”
Elaine looked scandalized.
“What kind of business is this?”
Martin stepped closer.
“Please turn off the microphone.”
Elaine turned it toward him.
“Management is nervous.”
“I’m not management.”
“Morale officer.”
“I’m neither.”
Celia’s eyes moved toward Martin.
He saw suspicion developing.
Elaine continued.
“And what’s with the river?”
Celia said, “What about it?”
“Terrible placement. It’s way down there.”
“That’s where rivers generally are.”
“Convenient answer.”
A child laughed.
Elaine pointed at the canyon.
“Elevator access?”
“No.”
“Shade?”
“Limited.”
“Food service?”
“Not in the canyon from this overlook.”
Elaine shook her head.
“Millions of years in development and nobody thought about customer experience.”
A woman in the second row turned around.
“Can you be quiet?”
Elaine leaned toward her.
“I can. I simply chose a different path.”
“We’re trying to listen.”
“To geology?”
“Yes.”
Elaine looked at the woman’s husband.
“Long marriage?”
The husband covered a laugh with a cough.
The woman glared.
Martin grabbed Elaine’s elbow.
“Enough.”
Elaine looked down at his hand.
“Manager gets physical.”
He released her immediately.
“I am trying to prevent you from getting removed.”
“Then book stronger venues.”
Celia stepped forward.
“Ma’am, please turn off the microphone.”
Elaine sighed.
“Critics.”
She clicked it off.
Celia looked at Martin.
“Sir, are you affiliated with this woman?”
“No.”
Elaine said, without the microphone, “He discovered me.”
“I did not.”
“Are you conducting a performance?”
“No.”
“Is she?”
“No.”
Elaine raised a finger.
“Debatable.”
Celia looked at the mustache.
Then at Martin’s bare face.
Then at Kayla.
Kayla smiled helpfully.
“I thought they were performers.”
“We’re not.”
Dennis spoke from behind them.
“The mustache is his.”
Martin turned.
“Dennis.”
Celia looked at Martin.
“Does the mustache belong to you?”
Martin heard the clean, simple question.
He could answer yes.
He should answer yes.
The correct answer was yes.
He looked at the fifty people in the presentation area.
Then at Kayla.
Then at Trevor’s phone.
Then at Elaine.
A drop of sweat crawled down his back.
“That’s a surprisingly complicated question.”
Celia stared at him.
“No,” she said. “It isn’t.”
Celia moved Martin twenty feet away from the crowd.
She took out a small incident form and clicked a pen.
Martin felt worse immediately.
“Can we avoid paperwork?”
“No.”
“Nothing illegal occurred.”
“I haven’t said it did.”
“Then paperwork may create a false impression of severity.”
Celia looked toward Elaine, who had resumed speaking to people despite lacking amplification.
“Describe what happened.”
Martin glanced at the group.
Elaine was telling a man that his binoculars made him look suspicious of Utah.
Martin lowered his voice.
“There was an unexpected wind event.”
Celia looked at the trees, clothing, hats, and dust moving in the persistent canyon breeze.
“Wind.”
“Yes.”
“Continue.”
“A cosmetic object became detached.”
“The mustache.”
“An artificial facial accessory.”
“The mustache.”
Martin hesitated.
“Yes.”
Celia wrote.
Martin leaned toward the form.
“What are you writing?”
“Artificial mustache.”
“Could you write facial accessory?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I want the person reading this later to know what happened.”
“Artificial mustache creates a comic tone.”
Celia looked at him.
“The tone is not being created by my handwriting.”
Martin looked away.
Celia continued.
“Was the mustache attached to you?”
Martin swallowed.
“At an earlier point.”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Did you deliberately remove it?”
“No.”
“Did you throw it?”
“No. Technically, that’s not what happened.”
Celia stopped writing.
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“Accuracy.”
“It makes you sound guilty.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Martin did not like that answer.
Celia glanced at the form.
“Did Ms. Wexler take the mustache?”
“No.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“No.”
“Did she request it?”
“No.”
“Did it become airborne because of wind?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a posted warning about securing loose belongings?”
Martin stiffened.
“That depends on terminology.”
Celia pointed toward the sign visible near the walkway.
“There is a sign.”
“I saw the sign.”
“You were wearing a removable object in strong wind.”
“Attached to my body.”
“It left your body.”
“That does not retroactively make it luggage.”
Celia stared.
“I did not call it luggage.”
“The phrase loose belongings implies personal property carried by a visitor.”
“The mustache was your personal property.”
“It was affixed.”
“Poorly.”
Martin took offense.
“The adhesive was adequate under normal conditions.”
“This is the Grand Canyon.”
“I understand that.”
“The sign literally mentions unpredictable winds.”
“It does not mention mustaches.”
Celia wrote something.
Martin leaned in again.
“Did you write failure to secure personal property?”
“I wrote ‘visitor disputes classification.’”
Martin straightened.
“What are the options?”
“Lost property.”
“It isn’t lost.”
“Visitor disturbance.”
“That sounds severe.”
“Unauthorized entertainment.”
“I’m not entertaining anyone.”
Behind them, Elaine’s voice rose.
“I’ve seen better strata in a deli sandwich!”
The crowd laughed.
Celia looked at Martin.
He looked away.
“Costume-related interference?” she asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I’m not wearing a costume.”
Celia looked directly at his bare upper lip.
Martin’s jaw tightened.
“It was one cosmetic element.”
“Would ‘airborne facial disguise’ be accurate?”
“No.”
Celia wrote it anyway.
Martin’s mouth opened.
“Please cross that out.”
Elaine suddenly moved away from the presentation area.
Kayla followed.
Trevor followed.
Martin saw them.
“Where are they going?”
Dennis said, “Souvenir shop.”
Martin’s eyes widened.
He took one step.
Celia held out a hand.
“We’re not finished.”
“If she gets inside a store—”
“What?”
Martin stared toward Elaine.
He imagined breakable merchandise.
Props.
Crowds.
The mustache.
“I need to go.”
“Mr. Pindle.”
“I’ll come back.”
“You have already said that twice.”
“Technically—”
Celia pointed the pen at him.
“Do not.”
Martin ran.
Elaine entered the souvenir shop and immediately put on sunglasses large enough to qualify as protective equipment.
Martin found her beside a wall of canyon mugs.
She held one up.
“Fourteen dollars.”
“Elaine.”
She looked inside.
“Empty too.”
“Give me the mustache.”
“You’re obsessed.”
“I’m not obsessed.”
Trevor appeared beside a rack of postcards.
“You ran here.”
Martin ignored him.
Elaine examined the mug.
“Fourteen dollars for a cup with a hole on top.”
“Most cups have holes on top.”
“Management speaks.”
“I am not management.”
Kayla entered with several members of her group.
“Everybody, please stay together.”
Elaine pointed toward a rack of magnets.
“Take one. Apparently this is how they stop the canyon from moving.”
Kayla laughed.
Martin stepped in front of Elaine.
“I am willing to make an exchange.”
Elaine lowered the mug.
“For what?”
Martin scanned a novelty display near the register.
Plastic ranger badges.
Foam animal noses.
Cheap cowboy mustaches.
He grabbed one.
“This.”
Elaine stared.
The replacement mustache was thin, black, and shaped with the confidence of a punctuation mark.
She looked insulted.
“You brought me a dead eyebrow.”
“It is a mustache.”
“It’s a typo.”
“It serves the same basic purpose.”
“What purpose do you think I’m serving?”
Martin lowered his voice.
“You were normal before mine landed on you.”
Elaine leaned closer.
“That’s a terrible thing to say to a woman.”
“I mean you weren’t doing this.”
“Living?”
“Insulting strangers.”
“I prefer outreach.”
“You heckled a National Park Service geology talk.”
“It needed energy.”
“You demanded to speak with canyon management.”
“Nobody’s taken responsibility yet.”
Martin held up the replacement.
“Take this one.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It has no authority.”
Martin looked at her.
He hated that he understood exactly what she meant.
“This one is unused.”
“So is a traffic cone. I don’t want that either.”
“I’ll buy you anything else in the store.”
Elaine looked around.
“Anything?”
Martin regretted the sentence.
“Within reason.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“Management.”
“I’m not your manager.”
Elaine returned the mug to the shelf.
Martin tried another tactic.
“I’ll pay cash.”
“For what?”
“The mustache.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five dollars.”
Elaine stared.
Martin waited.
She burst out laughing.
“You spent twenty-five dollars on this?”
“Approximately.”
“On purpose?”
“It was selected for quality.”
Elaine touched it.
“I’ll give you that.”
“Fine. Fifty.”
Elaine shook her head.
“One hundred.”
A woman nearby turned.
Martin lowered his voice.
“That is four times its retail value.”
Elaine grinned.
“Now you’re negotiating with the talent.”
“I’m negotiating with a stranger wearing my property.”
Kayla had come close enough to hear.
“Is this part of the act?”
“No.”
Elaine said, “Contract dispute.”
Kayla’s eyes lit up.
Martin turned to her.
“Do not make that face.”
“What face?”
“The face where this becomes more interesting to you.”
Kayla smiled wider.
“I knew you two were professionals.”
“We are not professionals.”
“What was the mustache for, then?”
Martin froze.
Elaine waited.
Trevor raised his phone.
Martin saw no safe answer.
“It was part of a photographic concept.”
Kayla nodded.
“Character work.”
“No.”
“Costume comedy?”
“No.”
“Historical persona?”
Martin hesitated half a second too long.
Kayla gasped.
“I knew it.”
“You knew nothing.”
Elaine reached toward Martin’s shorts pocket.
He stepped back.
“What are you doing?”
Something white protruded from the zipper.
Elaine snatched it.
Martin’s eyes widened.
“Give me that.”
She read the label.
“Professional Theatrical Facial Adhesive.”
Kayla slapped both hands together.
“Yes!”
Martin grabbed for the tube.
Elaine held it behind her back.
“This proves nothing.”
Trevor said, “It kind of proves theater.”
“It is cosmetic stabilization compound.”
Trevor looked at the tube.
“It says theatrical adhesive.”
“That is the manufacturer’s terminology.”
Kayla nodded eagerly.
“And it’s for fake hair?”
“No.”
Trevor read.
“Suitable for wigs, beards, mustaches, prosthetics—”
Martin pointed at him.
“You do not need to read packaging aloud.”
Elaine opened the cap.
“Don’t.”
She squeezed gently.
Martin reached again.
“I said don’t.”
Elaine stepped away.
“What, is it dangerous?”
“No. It’s extremely strong.”
Kayla’s eyebrows went up.
Martin realized his error.
Elaine looked interested.
“How strong?”
“Strong enough.”
“How long?”
“Several hours under performance conditions.”
Elaine looked at the mustache.
Martin lunged.
She tucked the tube into her jacket pocket.
“No.”
“That’s mine too.”
“You own half my outfit.”
“This is not an outfit.”
Dennis entered.
He looked furious.
“There you are.”
Martin closed his eyes briefly.
Dennis approached.
“I have now lost three compositions.”
Elaine turned.
“You lose things a lot.”
“You walked directly through my foreground.”
“I’m allowed to walk.”
“Not there.”
Elaine looked around the souvenir shop.
“Good news. There’s no foreground in here.”
Dennis pointed at Martin.
“You need to put an end to this.”
“Working on it.”
Dennis stopped.
Martin realized he had admitted involvement.
Dennis’s eyes narrowed.
“So you are involved.”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I am involved in resolving it.”
“Because it’s your mustache.”
Martin rubbed his forehead.
Elaine picked up a plush bighorn sheep.
She tucked it beneath one arm.
“Meet the new assistant.”
Martin reached for the mustache.
Elaine blocked him with the stuffed sheep.
Martin grabbed the sheep.
They tugged.
The sheep made a squeaking noise.
Trevor laughed.
Martin let go.
The sheep flew backward and knocked over a stack of foam ranger hats.
Dennis lifted his camera on instinct.
Click.
A foam hat landed on Martin’s head.
The entire group went silent.
Martin stood wearing an enormous tan foam ranger hat.
Elaine looked at him.
“This is your best look all day.”
The shop erupted.
Martin ripped off the hat.
“Enough.”
A clerk hurried over.
“Please stop handling the merchandise.”
“I’m sorry.”
Elaine put the sheep back.
“Management will cover damages.”
Martin pointed.
“Stop calling me management.”
The clerk looked at Martin.
“You’re responsible for the group?”
“No.”
Kayla said, “He’s Elaine’s manager.”
“I am not.”
Dennis said, “He owns the mustache.”
Martin glared.
Trevor said, “He owns the glue too.”
Martin turned.
“Trevor.”
The clerk looked at all of them.
“I don’t care who owns the mustache.”
Martin stared.
Those were the most beautiful words anyone had spoken all day.
The clerk continued.
“I need you all outside.”
Elaine saluted.
“Finally, leadership.”
She walked toward the doors.
Martin followed.
“Give me the adhesive.”
“No.”
“Elaine.”
“No.”
“Where are you going?”
She looked through the glass toward the shuttle area.
“Transportation.”
“For what?”
“Larger audience.”
Martin stopped dead.
“No.”
Elaine walked out.
Kayla followed.
Trevor followed.
Dennis followed.
Celia entered through the opposite door just in time to watch all of them leave.
She looked at Martin.
“What happened?”
Martin pointed toward the door.
“She has the adhesive.”
Celia’s eyes narrowed.
“The theatrical adhesive?”
“Cosmetic stabilization compound.”
Celia stared.
“Yes,” Martin said. “The theatrical adhesive.”
By the time Martin reached the shuttle loading area, Elaine had enough audience to create factions.
Nobody had planned factions.
They happened anyway.
Elaine stood near the boarding zone with Kayla’s microphone.
“Attention, shuttle passengers. If your bus is late, remain calm. It can smell fear.”
Half the crowd laughed.
A woman with a stroller said, “Can somebody shut her up?”
A college-aged man replied, “She’s funny.”
“She insulted my baby carrier.”
“What did she say?”
The woman’s husband looked uncomfortable.
“She asked if the baby had filed a building permit.”
The college student laughed.
The woman glared.
Dennis stood on a bench.
Martin pointed at him.
“Get down.”
“I’m organizing complaints.”
“Why are you on a bench?”
“For visibility.”
“Get down.”
Dennis raised a notebook.
“If you have experienced photographic interference, unauthorized commentary, personal insult, or unwanted insertion into a composition, come over here.”
Three people joined him.
Then five.
A man wearing a fishing hat approached.
“She said my hat looked like a collapsed gazebo.”
Dennis wrote.
“Personal insult.”
The man nodded.
“It kind of does,” Trevor said.
The man glared at him.
Across the loading zone, another tourist shouted, “Leave her alone!”
Someone else applauded Elaine.
Kayla stood between two groups wearing the determined smile of a tour professional facing events no training video had covered.
“We have a range of guest reactions.”
Martin pushed toward Elaine.
“Give me the microphone.”
Elaine swung it away.
“No.”
“This has stopped being funny.”
A man nearby said, “No, it hasn’t.”
His wife said, “Yes, it has.”
They began arguing.
Elaine pointed at them.
“See? I bring couples together.”
Celia arrived.
Her voice carried without amplification.
“Everybody, lower your voices.”
People actually did.
Martin was impressed.
Elaine leaned into the microphone.
“Ranger’s back. Somebody complained about the depth again?”
Celia looked at her.
“Ms. Wexler, microphone off.”
“No.”
Celia’s eyes sharpened.
“Off.”
Elaine clicked it off.
Martin almost applauded.
Celia turned to him.
“Retrieve your adhesive.”
“I’ve been trying.”
“No. You’ve been chasing the mustache.”
“Related objectives.”
“Your adhesive is now in possession of someone who is behaving unpredictably.”
Elaine called, “I can hear you.”
Celia replied, “Good.”
Elaine touched the mustache.
A gust passed through the loading zone.
The left edge lifted slightly.
Martin saw it.
His body moved before his judgment did.
He lunged.
Elaine turned.
Martin caught the left tip.
His heart exploded with relief.
“I have it.”
Elaine grabbed the opposite side.
“What are you doing?”
“Let go.”
“You let go.”
“It’s mine.”
“It’s attached to my face.”
“Barely.”
Elaine tugged.
Martin tugged back.
For three deeply humiliating seconds they stood six inches apart, each holding one end of the fake mustache while the middle stretched between them.
The crowd fell silent.
Trevor stepped closer.
“Perfect.”
Martin looked at him.
“Do not say perfect.”
Dennis raised his camera.
Click.
Martin shouted.
“No pictures!”
Dennis took another.
“Evidence.”
“This is not evidence.”
“It is literally evidence.”
Elaine pulled.
Martin pulled.
Celia stepped toward them.
“Stop.”
Martin shook his head.
“If I release it—”
“You’re going to hurt her.”
Elaine said, “That would be bad for morale.”
“Stop talking.”
“I can’t.”
“That’s the problem.”
A strong gust hit.
Kayla’s paddle twisted.
A map slapped into Dennis’s shoulder.
Martin’s grip slipped.
The mustache snapped back onto Elaine’s face.
The crowd groaned in unison.
Martin stared.
“No.”
Elaine immediately reached into her jacket.
Martin saw the adhesive.
“No.”
She unscrewed the cap.
“Elaine.”
She squeezed a small amount onto one loosened edge.
Martin lunged.
Celia blocked him.
“Do not tackle her.”
“I’m not tackling her.”
“You are shaped like you’re about to tackle her.”
Elaine applied adhesive to the other side.
Martin’s face went white.
“Do not press that down.”
Elaine pressed it down.
Firmly.
Both sides.
Then she smiled.
“Unionized.”
Martin closed his eyes.
Kayla whispered, “That was good.”
Celia looked at her.
Kayla stopped smiling.
Martin approached Elaine carefully.
“Do you understand what you just did?”
“Improved retention.”
“That adhesive can hold for hours.”
“Excellent.”
“It’s designed for stage use.”
“Finally.”
“It will hurt if we pull it off.”
“Then stop trying.”
Martin looked at Celia.
“This changes things.”
Celia’s stare suggested she had already worked that out.
Elaine switched on the microphone.
“Good news. The mustache has benefits now.”
The crowd laughed.
Dennis climbed onto the bench again.
“This is unacceptable.”
A man shouted, “Sit down, camera guy.”
Dennis pointed at him.
“I have documented damages.”
“To what?”
“My compositions.”
Someone booed.
Someone else cheered.
The two groups began arguing again.
Elaine looked delighted.
“Now we’ve got opening acts.”
Martin rubbed his hands over his face.
He could not simply pull off the mustache anymore.
He needed Elaine to agree.
He needed persuasion.
Martin was not good at persuasion.
He was good at explanations nobody asked for.
That was different.
Celia stepped beside him.
“What are you going to do?”
Martin watched Elaine.
“I’m going to make her want to give it back.”
Celia looked at him.
“How?”
Martin swallowed.
“I’m thinking.”
“That concerns me.”
“It concerns me too.”
Martin decided to flatter Elaine.
This was the worst idea available to him, which explained why he chose it.
He waited until the shuttle crowd had thinned slightly.
Dennis was still collecting complaints.
Kayla was attempting to keep her tour group on schedule.
Trevor sat on a wall editing nothing and watching everything.
Martin approached Elaine.
“You know, you’re good.”
Elaine stared.
Martin forced himself to continue.
“At this.”
“At what?”
“Performing.”
Elaine’s eyes narrowed.
“Go on.”
Martin knew immediately he had made a terrible mistake.
“You have timing.”
Elaine straightened.
“Natural.”
“Sure.”
“Presence.”
“Some.”
“Command.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“Charisma.”
Martin stopped.
Elaine waited.
“Fine. Charisma.”
She slapped his shoulder.
“I knew you’d come around.”
“I have not come around.”
“Management always resists talent.”
“Listen. Professional performers maintain their equipment.”
Elaine touched the mustache.
“You want it.”
“It needs cleaning.”
“No.”
“Inspection.”
“No.”
“Re-adhesion under controlled conditions.”
“It’s adhered.”
“Too much.”
Elaine shook her head.
Martin pushed.
“A professional has to know when to rest a prop.”
Elaine stared at him.
Then smiled.
“You’re representing me.”
“No.”
“You’re talking career.”
“No.”
“Management.”
“No.”
Elaine turned toward Kayla.
“He’s my manager!”
Kayla’s head snapped around.
“I knew it!”
Martin threw his arms up.
“You did not know anything!”
Kayla hurried over.
“This actually solves a scheduling question.”
“No scheduling.”
“People are asking where Elaine appears next.”
“She does not appear next.”
Trevor spoke from the wall.
“Big crowd at the next overlook.”
Martin turned slowly.
“What?”
Trevor held up his phone.
“People were asking where she was going.”
“And?”
“I said west.”
“Why?”
“You were already walking west.”
“That is not an event announcement.”
Trevor shrugged.
“It became one.”
Martin stared at him.
Kayla checked the path.
“There’s a major overlook that direction.”
Elaine took the microphone.
“Excellent.”
“No.”
“Manager, negotiate.”
“I am not your manager.”
Elaine reached into her pocket.
She produced a crumpled souvenir receipt.
On the back, in blue ink, she had written:
MANAGEMENT AGREEMENT
I, MARTIN, AGREE TO MANAGE ELAINE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
Martin stared.
“What is this?”
“Our contract.”
“I did not sign this.”
Elaine pointed to the bottom.
Martin’s signature was there.
His mouth opened.
“When did I sign this?”
“Souvenir shop.”
“That was the credit receipt.”
“You should read before signing.”
“This writing was not there.”
“Prove it.”
Martin turned toward Celia.
She had walked close enough to hear.
He held out the receipt.
“This is obviously not binding.”
Celia read it.
She handed it back.
Martin waited for support.
None came.
“You agree with me, correct?”
“I agree that you should stop signing things without reading them.”
“This is not enforceable.”
“Probably not.”
“Probably?”
“I am a park ranger, not your contract attorney.”
Elaine slapped Martin’s back.
“She’s jealous of management.”
Martin looked at the receipt again.
“I haven’t agreed to anything.”
Celia stared.
Martin added automatically, “Technically.”
Celia’s eyes narrowed.
Martin stopped.
Elaine began walking west.
Kayla raised her paddle.
“Desert Star guests, we’ll continue toward the next overlook with our unexpected bonus experience.”
Celia turned.
“No.”
Kayla stopped.
“No?”
“You will not organize this.”
Kayla’s smile weakened.
“Our group is already scheduled to walk that direction.”
Celia looked at Martin.
He said nothing.
Elaine raised the microphone.
“Excellent. Organic attendance.”
Martin hurried after her.
Celia caught his arm.
“What are you doing?”
“If she thinks I’m her manager, she may listen to me.”
“She has not listened to you once.”
“She may if I frame it professionally.”
“You’re escorting her to a larger audience.”
“I know.”
“You’re helping the problem move.”
“I know.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I don’t like it either.”
Celia released him.
“This is the worst possible solution.”
Martin nodded.
“I know.”
Then he followed Elaine.
The larger crowd made Martin finally understand the scale of his mistake.
People were waiting.
Actually waiting.
Dozens of tourists stood around the overlook area looking back along the path.
Some had heard about Elaine.
Some had seen Trevor’s clips.
Some had been told a “mustache comedian” was coming.
One family believed it was an official ranger program.
Martin heard the father explaining this confidently to his children.
“It’s probably about local history.”
Martin stopped walking.
“No.”
Kayla smiled at the crowd.
“This is a fantastic turnout.”
“It is not a turnout.”
Elaine lifted the microphone.
“People of the canyon!”
A cheer went up.
Martin turned pale.
Celia arrived behind him.
“You need to end this.”
“I’m aware.”
Elaine pointed at the canyon.
“Still here, I see. Nobody’s fixed it.”
The crowd laughed.
Dennis arrived with six irritated tourists.
He pointed toward Elaine.
“She ruined my once-in-a-generation light.”
Someone in the crowd shouted, “You said that an hour ago.”
Dennis looked offended.
“It was different light.”
Elaine turned toward him.
“He’s right. This light has matured.”
Dennis ignored her.
A woman beside him said, “She called my jacket a baked potato.”
Elaine examined the shiny insulated jacket.
“Reflective baked potato.”
The woman glared.
A man stepped forward.
“I came here for a spiritual experience.”
Elaine looked him over.
He wore hiking sandals with multiple straps.
She lowered the microphone.
“You dressed for captivity.”
The crowd laughed loudly.
The man’s face reddened.
“This isn’t funny.”
“Not with those sandals.”
Martin moved toward Elaine.
“Stop.”
Elaine turned.
“Manager wants notes.”
“I want this finished.”
“Always leave them wanting less.”
“You have succeeded.”
A family approached Kayla.
The mother said, “We want a refund.”
Kayla blinked.
“Are you with Desert Star Tours?”
“No.”
“Then you didn’t pay us.”
“I want compensation for the disruption.”
Elaine pointed at Kayla.
“Give them store credit.”
“For what store?” the mother demanded.
Elaine shrugged.
“Any store. Let commerce solve it.”
Martin stared at the crowd.
Some loved Elaine.
Some hated her.
Most were staring.
All because he had been afraid to say one sentence.
Yes, the mustache was mine.
That was all.
He had imagined laughter.
Perhaps there would have been laughter.
Thirty seconds.
Maybe a minute.
Instead he had created a multi-location public disturbance with factions.
He had debated federal signage.
He had become the disputed manager of a woman he did not know.
His novelty facial hair had its own complaint coalition.
Martin looked at Trevor.
“I’ve behaved like an idiot.”
Trevor nodded.
“Yeah.”
Martin waited.
Trevor kept looking at him.
“That’s all?”
“You nailed it.”
Martin sighed.
He walked toward Celia.
“I’m telling everyone.”
“The truth?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
Martin looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Why you bought it?”
His courage wobbled.
Celia saw it.
“All of it.”
Martin swallowed.
“Yes.”
He reached for Kayla’s microphone.
Elaine pulled it away.
“Not yet.”
“Elaine.”
She turned toward the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this has been an adequate rehearsal.”
Martin froze.
“No.”
Elaine pointed farther west.
“But I understand our grand finale awaits at the next overlook.”
The crowd reacted.
Martin’s eyes widened.
“What grand finale?”
Elaine smiled.
“The one you booked.”
“I booked nothing.”
Kayla said, “Technically, we are all moving west anyway.”
Martin looked at her.
“Do not use that word.”
Elaine started walking.
The crowd followed.
Celia shut her eyes briefly.
Martin stared at the moving audience.
“This cannot be happening.”
Trevor walked past.
“It definitely is.”
The procession toward the final overlook became less dignified with every hundred feet.
Elaine walked in front with the microphone.
Kayla’s yellow paddle bobbed beside her.
Dennis followed because he wanted documentation.
The complaint group followed Dennis because they wanted vindication.
The pro-Elaine group followed because they wanted entertainment.
Families joined because everyone else seemed to know something they did not.
Martin tried to overtake Elaine.
He failed repeatedly.
A man stopped him.
“Is she really your client?”
“No.”
A woman asked, “Did you write her material?”
“No.”
Someone else said, “Where did you get the mustache?”
Martin kept walking.
“A novelty shop.”
There.
He had said it.
The person shrugged.
“Cool.”
Martin almost stopped.
That was the reaction?
Cool?
He had destroyed an afternoon over cool?
Another tourist stopped him.
“Was it expensive?”
“Twenty-four ninety-five.”
“That’s not bad.”
Martin stared at him.
The man walked away.
Martin’s humiliation, once exposed, appeared to bore people.
This discovery was deeply offensive.
The wind increased.
Maps flapped.
Sun hats tilted.
One water bottle rolled down the paved path until a tourist trapped it with a shoe.
Celia caught up.
“Wind’s picking up.”
Martin nodded.
“I know.”
They passed the loose-belongings sign again.
Celia looked at him.
Martin looked straight ahead.
“I’m not discussing it.”
“Good.”
A hat flew.
Celia caught it.
Martin kept walking.
Ahead, Elaine’s mustache remained attached, though one edge looked darker with sweat.
Martin noticed.
“The adhesive might be weakening.”
Celia looked.
“Can it?”
“Yes. Strong does not mean permanent. Sweat, skin oils, constant movement—”
“Constant talking.”
“That too.”
Elaine’s voice carried back through the microphone.
“I heard that.”
Martin shouted, “Good.”
Elaine laughed.
Trevor walked backward filming.
Martin pointed at him.
“Please watch where you’re going.”
“I am.”
“You’re walking backward.”
“I’ve got the screen.”
“That is not the same.”
Trevor looked past Martin.
“Hats.”
Martin turned.
Two hats lifted from heads.
One landed on a bench.
The other sailed into a shrub.
Wind pushed harder.
Martin looked toward the final overlook.
It was packed.
He felt his stomach tighten.
Celia stepped beside him.
“This is where you tell the truth.”
Martin nodded.
“Yes.”
“No qualifications.”
“Yes.”
“No definitions.”
“Yes.”
“No technically.”
Martin frowned.
“I understand.”
Celia looked at him.
Martin added, “I do.”
They reached the crowd.
Kayla took the microphone.
Her professional smile had survived everything.
“Thank you, everyone, for joining this entirely unscheduled addition to your afternoon.”
Celia said, “Kayla.”
Kayla immediately amended.
“Which is not an official program.”
Celia nodded once.
Kayla continued.
“Please remain behind all railings, secure loose items, and enjoy the view.”
Elaine reached for the microphone.
Martin got there first.
He took it.
The speaker popped.
Hundreds of people looked at him.
Martin’s mouth went dry.
Dennis raised his camera.
Trevor lifted his phone.
Elaine folded her arms.
Celia stood beside the crowd with her incident report still tucked into a pocket.
The Grand Canyon filled the horizon behind them.
Martin looked at it.
For perhaps the first real moment all afternoon, he actually saw it.
Then somebody shouted, “Say something.”
Martin looked back at the crowd.
“My name is Martin Pindle.”
Someone yelled, “We know.”
Laughter.
Martin nodded.
“Apparently.”
He took a breath.
“The mustache Elaine is wearing is mine.”
Silence.
Then a few murmurs.
Martin continued.
“I bought it before this trip.”
Elaine leaned toward the microphone.
“For ruggedness.”
Martin moved the mic away.
“I’m explaining.”
“Improve the pace.”
Martin ignored her.
“I bought it because I wanted to look better in vacation photographs.”
Someone laughed.
Martin felt heat rise in his face.
He kept going.
“I thought it made me look rugged.”
More laughter.
“Possibly distinguished.”
Someone shouted, “It didn’t.”
The crowd laughed harder.
Martin nodded.
“Yes. I have since received enough evidence.”
Even Celia looked slightly amused.
Martin continued.
“I was wearing it at the earlier overlook. The wind blew it off my face. It crossed the overlook and landed on Elaine. She did not steal it. I did not throw it. We were not performing together. I am not her manager. Kayla did not hire us. There was no organized act.”
Dennis called out.
“You followed her all afternoon.”
“Because I wanted it back.”
Elaine touched the mustache.
Martin continued.
“I did not admit any of this because I was embarrassed.”
A pause.
“That was stupid.”
Trevor said, “Yeah.”
Martin looked at him.
“Thank you.”
Trevor lowered the phone slightly.
Martin faced the crowd.
“I thought admitting I wore a fake mustache would be humiliating.”
The anniversary husband shouted, “Everybody already knew.”
Martin stopped.
“What?”
Trevor nodded.
“Yeah.”
Dennis lifted one hand.
“It was obvious.”
Kayla smiled.
“Very obvious.”
The woman in the shiny jacket said, “Painfully.”
Martin stared.
“You all knew?”
A man near the back called, “You kept trying to grab it.”
Another said, “You had glue.”
Someone else added, “Also you had no mustache.”
The crowd laughed.
Martin looked around in disbelief.
“You knew the entire time?”
Trevor shrugged.
“Pretty much.”
Martin lowered the microphone.
Several hours of strategic concealment disappeared in one sentence.
Elaine leaned toward him.
“Strong management.”
Martin gave her the microphone.
“I’m done.”
Elaine took it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the scandal has broken.”
Martin looked at her.
“Give me the mustache now.”
Elaine’s grin faded slightly.
“No.”
“Elaine.”
“No.”
“You heard everything.”
“I heard you bought it.”
“Yes.”
“You wore it badly.”
“Yes.”
“It came to me.”
“It blew to you.”
“Destiny has weather.”
Martin stared.
“It’s not yours.”
Elaine touched it.
“It feels like mine.”
“That is because you glued it to your skin.”
“A commitment you’ve never shown.”
Dennis shouted, “Can we conclude this?”
Elaine turned.
“You’ve been taking pictures for four hours and still haven’t found one?”
Dennis’s face reddened.
Celia stepped forward.
“Ms. Wexler, the amplified performance is finished.”
Elaine looked at the crowd.
Some booed.
Some cheered.
She grinned.
“Mixed reviews. Healthy.”
Celia extended a hand for the microphone.
Elaine gave it to Martin instead.
He handed it to Celia.
Celia turned it off.
Martin faced Elaine.
“Please give it back.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Elaine’s expression changed for the first time all afternoon.
She looked uncertain.
Without the microphone, her voice was quieter.
“I like who I am with it.”
Martin stared.
“You’ve made six strangers formally complain.”
“Seven.”
Dennis raised his notebook.
“Seven.”
Elaine looked at him.
“See? Growth.”
Martin lowered his voice.
“You’re exhausting everyone.”
“I’m entertaining them.”
“Some of them.”
“That’s entertainment.”
“You insulted a child’s hat.”
“The hat knew.”
Martin closed his eyes.
Wind struck hard.
A foam ranger hat lifted off a child nearby.
Celia caught it against her chest.
“Secure loose belongings!”
Martin looked toward Elaine.
The left edge of the mustache fluttered.
His eyes widened.
“Elaine.”
She pressed a finger against it.
Another gust hit.
A map flew open.
Receipts skittered across the pavement.
Kayla grabbed her paddle with both hands.
Dennis protected his tripod.
A souvenir bag rolled through the crowd.
Celia raised her voice.
“Hold hats, papers, and lightweight items!”
Martin shouted, “The mustache is loosening.”
Elaine touched it.
“Your industrial glue is failing.”
“It’s theatrical.”
“Not helping.”
A gust pushed everyone sideways.
Martin watched the mustache peel another millimeter.
“The adhesive is breaking down.”
Elaine looked at him.
“Why?”
“You’ve been sweating.”
“How flattering.”
“You’ve also been moving your face constantly.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Press it down.”
Elaine did.
The wind intensified.
Someone’s brochure launched upward.
Trevor tracked it with his phone.
Martin shouted, “Trevor, stop filming paper.”
“It’s moving.”
“The canyon is moving visually all the time.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Dennis crouched behind his camera.
“This light.”
Martin looked at him.
“Do not start.”
Dennis stared at the horizon.
“This is exceptional.”
“Everything is flying.”
“The atmosphere is excellent.”
A receipt hit Dennis in the forehead.
He removed it.
“Still excellent.”
The mustache lifted halfway from Elaine’s lip.
Elaine grabbed it.
Martin moved toward her.
“Hold it.”
“I am holding it.”
Another gust hit.
Kayla’s yellow paddle whipped sideways.
Several hats rose.
The foam ranger hat flew again.
Celia missed it this time.
People shouted.
The mustache peeled completely free.
Elaine’s hand snapped shut.
Too late.
The Frontiersman Deluxe launched upward.
Hundreds of people watched.
Martin stared.
“No.”
The mustache climbed above Elaine’s head.
Rotated.
Dropped.
Caught a crosswind.
Martin ran.
Celia shouted, “Stay away from the railing!”
“I know!”
The mustache remained well over the paved area.
Martin lunged.
It floated past his fingers.
He stumbled over the base of a binocular viewer.
Recovered.
Kayla’s paddle swung into his shoulder.
He spun.
A child’s foam hat rolled beneath his shoe.
Martin stepped on it.
His leg shot forward.
He windmilled.
Dennis took photographs.
Click.
Click.
“Dennis!”
“Instinct!”
Martin regained balance.
The mustache descended.
He reached.
A souvenir bag hit him in the chest.
He slapped it away.
The mustache rose again.
Trevor pointed.
“Left.”
Martin went left.
“No, your other left.”
Martin changed direction.
“This is my left!”
“Then more left.”
The mustache dropped toward Dennis.
Dennis was looking through his camera.
“Dennis!”
Dennis ignored him.
The mustache slapped across the front of his lens.
Dennis pressed the shutter.
Click.
The crowd shouted.
Dennis lowered the camera.
“What?”
Martin ran to him.
“The lens.”
Dennis looked at the front.
His face changed.
The Frontiersman Deluxe stretched across the glass.
“No.”
Martin peeled it off.
Dennis looked at his screen.
The image loaded.
Everyone nearby leaned closer.
The canyon looked magnificent.
Perfect light.
Clear ridges.
Deep shadows.
A golden sky.
Across the upper half of the photograph floated a gigantic dark fuzzy mustache.
Dennis stared.
Nobody spoke.
Elaine looked over his shoulder.
“That’s your best one.”
Dennis looked wounded.
“It cannot be.”
Martin said, “It is pretty good.”
“It is ruined.”
“It has character.”
“It has hair.”
Dennis scrolled backward.
Stopped.
His entire body went still.
Martin noticed.
“What?”
Dennis said nothing.
Martin leaned over.
The previous photograph showed Elaine at the height of the gust, pointing dramatically toward the canyon.
Martin was behind her in mid-lunge.
Celia held one arm out while a foam ranger hat flew above her.
Kayla’s yellow paddle cut diagonally across the crowd.
Several loose hats and papers hung across the frame.
The late sun lit the canyon walls.
It was spectacular.
Dennis enlarged it.
His breathing changed.
Martin stared.
“That’s incredible.”
Dennis looked offended.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Dennis.”
“It was not intentional.”
“Does that matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Dennis looked at him.
“I am a photographer.”
Martin nodded toward the screen.
“Apparently a very good one.”
Dennis hated this.
Martin could see it.
“It violates the composition I planned.”
“It’s better than the composition you planned.”
Dennis’s jaw flexed.
“I need a minute.”
Elaine laughed.
Then stopped.
Martin turned.
The mustache was no longer on her face.
Elaine stood still.
Her shoulders had dropped.
The bright theatrical energy was gone.
She looked at the crowd.
At Dennis.
At Martin.
At Kayla.
At Celia.
At Trevor’s phone.
“What…”
Elaine’s voice sounded completely different.
“What is happening?”
Martin looked at her carefully.
“Elaine?”
She touched her bare upper lip.
Her eyes widened.
“Why are all these people looking at me?”
Nobody answered.
Elaine saw the microphone in Celia’s hand.
“Was I speaking?”
Trevor approached.
“Yes.”
Elaine looked at him.
“Do I know you?”
“No.”
“Why are you filming me?”
“Documentation.”
Martin almost laughed.
Elaine turned toward him.
“Why are you dirty?”
Martin looked down.
Dust covered both knees.
“There was a chase.”
“Who were you chasing?”
Martin held up the mustache.
Elaine stared at it.
Then at him.
“No.”
Martin nodded.
“Yes.”
“How much do I remember?”
Martin thought.
“Do you remember complaining about the canyon?”
Elaine frowned.
“What kind of complaint?”
“Depth.”
Her face changed.
“Oh no.”
“River placement.”
“Oh, God.”
“Elevator access.”
Elaine covered her mouth.
Kayla said gently, “You also did some audience work.”
Elaine looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
Trevor held up his phone.
Elaine watched herself on-screen insulting Dennis’s camera vest.
Her eyes widened.
Trevor swiped.
Elaine heckling geology.
Swipe.
Elaine with the stuffed sheep.
Swipe.
Elaine calling Martin management.
Swipe.
Elaine mocking the hiking sandals.
Elaine took one step backward.
“I need to lie down.”
Celia pointed toward a bench.
“Sit.”
Elaine sat.
Martin looked at the mustache in his hand.
He folded it once.
Celia saw.
“Do not put that back on.”
Martin looked at her.
“I am offended you think I might.”
“I’ve spent several hours updating my expectations.”
Martin put the mustache in his pocket.
Dennis was still staring at his photograph.
Martin leaned over.
“You okay?”
Dennis said, “I may have taken the best photograph of my life.”
“That sounds good.”
Dennis looked at him.
“It was an accident.”
“So?”
Dennis stared at the screen again.
“So I hate it.”
Celia finished the incident report on a bench near the visitor facilities.
By then the crowd had mostly dispersed.
The anti-Elaine faction had lost momentum because Elaine was sitting quietly with both hands around a bottle of water.
The pro-Elaine faction had also dispersed because there was no longer anything to cheer.
Kayla had reunited most of her tour group.
Dennis stood nearby, repeatedly checking the photograph he claimed to resent.
Trevor remained.
Trevor seemed prepared to remain until something else happened.
Martin sat beside Celia.
He no longer cared what she wrote.
That surprised him.
Celia read from the report.
“Airborne artificial facial hair transferred between visitors due to wind.”
Martin nodded.
“Fine.”
Celia looked at him.
“No terminology objections?”
“No.”
“Unauthorized amplified performance.”
“Fine.”
“Disruption to ranger presentation.”
“Fine.”
“Retail disturbance.”
Martin sighed.
“Fine.”
“Shuttle-area crowd conflict.”
“Fine.”
“Failure to secure loose personal property despite posted warnings.”
Martin opened his mouth.
Celia looked at him.
Martin closed it.
“Fine.”
Celia wrote.
Elaine sat on the other end of the bench.
She looked miserable.
“I called his vest what?”
Trevor answered.
“A wearable junk drawer.”
Dennis looked over.
“It is a technical photography vest.”
Elaine winced.
“I’m sorry.”
Dennis looked suspicious.
“You are?”
“Yes.”
He seemed disappointed.
Elaine looked at Martin.
“And I called you my manager?”
“Repeatedly.”
“Did I pay you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Martin stared.
Elaine gave him a weak smile.
“Sorry.”
He laughed despite himself.
It came out before he could stop it.
Elaine looked relieved.
Martin said, “You were impossible.”
“I believe you.”
“You stole my adhesive.”
“I believe that too.”
“You glued the mustache to yourself.”
Elaine touched her upper lip.
“There’s residue.”
“You may want proper remover.”
“I assume you have some.”
Martin reached into his bag.
Elaine stared.
“You brought remover?”
“I prepare for contingencies.”
Trevor said, “Except wind.”
Martin looked at him.
Trevor did not change expression.
Martin handed Elaine a wipe packet.
She took it.
“Thank you.”
Dennis approached.
He held out his camera.
“I made a minor adjustment.”
Martin looked at the image again.
The photograph of the chaos was even stronger now.
Elaine pointed toward the canyon.
Martin lunged behind her.
Flying hats crossed the golden light.
Celia reached for the foam ranger hat.
Kayla’s paddle tilted.
The canyon itself remained immense and dignified behind all of them.
Martin stared.
Dennis said, “The tonal balance was already unusually strong.”
Martin nodded.
“It’s great.”
Dennis frowned.
“I did not ask for your opinion.”
“You walked over and showed it to me.”
“I wanted you to understand the circumstances.”
Martin smiled.
“You love it.”
Dennis looked horrified.
“No.”
“You do.”
“I respect certain technical characteristics.”
“You love it.”
Dennis put the camera against his chest.
“I may submit it.”
“To what?”
“A regional landscape competition.”
Martin pointed at himself.
“Am I a landscape?”
Dennis looked at the image.
“You are unfortunately central.”
Martin laughed.
Dennis narrowed his eyes.
“I may crop.”
“You’ll ruin the composition.”
Dennis froze.
Martin enjoyed that too much.
Kayla arrived.
“Excellent news.”
Celia did not look up.
“No.”
Kayla stopped.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Experience suggests I should begin there.”
Kayla smiled.
“Our guests are back on schedule.”
Celia continued writing.
“Good.”
“They’ve also rated today very highly.”
Martin groaned.
Kayla turned toward him.
“They loved the unexpected bonus experience.”
Celia’s pen stopped.
Kayla immediately corrected.
“The unplanned non-official incident.”
Celia resumed writing.
Trevor stood near the railing holding his phone toward the canyon.
Martin noticed.
“You’re taking a picture?”
Trevor nodded.
“Finally.”
Trevor checked the result.
Martin waited.
“Well?”
“It’s fine.”
Martin stared.
“Fine?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s the Grand Canyon.”
Trevor looked at it.
“Still.”
“You have filmed three hours of mustache logistics.”
“Things were happening.”
Martin had no response.
A park employee walked over carrying a clipboard.
She looked at Elaine.
“Ms. Wexler?”
Elaine tensed.
“Yes?”
“I understand you expressed some concerns earlier about visitor facilities.”
Elaine slowly turned toward Martin.
Martin slowly turned toward Celia.
Celia stopped writing.
The employee held out a page.
“This is our visitor-feedback form.”
Elaine stared at it.
Nobody moved.
She took the paper.
Read the heading.
Her shoulders straightened slightly.
Martin’s eyes widened.
“No.”
Elaine looked at him.
“What?”
“You’re doing the posture.”
“What posture?”
“The posture.”
Elaine touched her bare lip.
There was no mustache.
She looked at the feedback form.
Then at the canyon.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Well.”
Martin stood.
Elaine said, “I do still have concerns about the elevator situation.”
Celia looked alarmed.
Elaine smiled.
Then handed the form back.
“Kidding.”
Everyone exhaled.
Elaine laughed.
“Good grief. Look at you.”
Martin pointed.
“Too soon.”
Celia signed the incident report.
“Finished.”
Martin looked at the word FINISHED.
He liked it.
Dennis checked his photograph.
Kayla checked her schedule.
Trevor checked his phone.
Elaine cleaned the last adhesive from her lip.
Martin reached into his pocket.
His fingers touched the Frontiersman Deluxe.
He pulled it out.
Everyone nearby noticed.
Elaine leaned away.
Celia stared.
Dennis raised his camera slightly.
Martin looked at the mustache.
Twenty-four dollars and ninety-five cents.
Professional quality.
Historical presentation.
He walked to the nearest trash bin.
Dropped it in.
Returned.
Elaine watched him.
“That it?”
“That’s it.”
“No dramatic farewell?”
“No.”
“No lesson?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Martin sat.
A gust moved through the visitor area.
Nothing happened.
Martin relaxed.
Then Trevor looked toward the trash bin.
“Uh.”
Martin closed his eyes.
“No.”
The Frontiersman Deluxe rose slowly above the rim.
Wind carried it into the air.
Martin opened his eyes.
Everyone watched.
The mustache floated across the pavement.
Dennis lifted his camera.
Elaine stood.
Celia put down the incident report.
Martin took one step.
Then stopped.
He had chased it enough.
The mustache spun toward another tourist.
Martin folded his arms.
“Technically, that’s no longer my problem.”
The wind changed.
The mustache veered.
It landed perfectly beneath Ranger Celia Brandt’s nose.
Nobody moved.
Celia went still.
Martin’s mouth opened.
Celia slowly turned toward him.
Her shoulders shifted.
She looked down at the completed incident report in her hand.
Then back at Martin.
“Pindle, I’ve seen cleaner paperwork in a baboon enclosure.”