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By Root 665 0

the way women’s feet sloped. He kept his eye on the door handle, and when the handle moved, he tried to put his foot back on the floor and he lost his balance and wrenched his leg. He took the slacks off and put his jeans back on, with the new socks still on under them. But then he changed his mind again. He put the slacks back on, and the shoes. The shoes were tight. He wished they had had the next size up. He wished he could see himself from the back. If he saw himself from the back he might get a fresh perspective. He might know whether or not his body had anything like a feminine air. The mall was a place with hundreds of people in it, maybe a thousand people, and none of them knew him. He could walk through it once and see how it felt. He decided to go to the drugstore and buy himself a hand mirror so he could look at the back of his body in the mirror. He could not remember the last time he had seen the back of his body, or if he had ever seen it.

It was hard to find something as small as a hand mirror among the multitudes of products in the drugstore. As he searched he came across the hosiery rack, and decided to buy a pair of extra-sheer stockings for a five-foot-nine person weighing between 145 and 160 pounds. The shoes might feel more comfortable with stockings instead of the socks. As he carried the stockings past an island stacked with pots of makeup, a man spoke. The man was bigger than Wayne, with hair that came to his shoulders. He had a kind face. He held a brush with a gold handle.

“Would you like to have a consultation?”

“What?”

“I am here for Lancôme. If you would like, I can show you how to apply colours that are best for your face. You have no obligation to buy anything. If you do not have time I understand completely.”

The man had the kind face of Robin Williams. He looked like the kind of man who would be riding on a motorcycle through the hills with a little boy, his son, in a movie. The movie would be all about how he tried to take care of his son through heartbreaking circumstances. He was looking at Wayne now and offering him a makeup consultation with no trace of irony. There was nothing quizzical in his face. Either he believed Wayne was a woman or he had chosen to treat him with dignity. Wayne could not tell which. There was a stool under a lamp and Wayne sat on it.

“Women’s beauty goes beyond appearances,” said the man who looked like Robin Williams. “It is an emotion on the very surface of your skin.”

“I’ve never worn makeup.”

“We believe every woman is beautiful. I am not going to do anything to your face that will be harsh or look unnatural.”

“I wouldn’t know the first place to start.”

“We start with a coat of foundation.” The makeup artist dabbed a dot on Wayne’s face. It was hard for Wayne not to laugh at the idea of foundation coated on his face. The procedure reminded him of painting walls. But the makeup artist had such a sympathetic face, and was so careful with his touch, Wayne did not want to hurt him.

“I am going to blend the foundation on one half of your face and show you.” Wayne closed his eyes and let the makeup artist brush the paint on his cheek and eyelid, his forehead and chin. He wondered what the artist’s real name was. He was afraid he might accidentally call him Robin. There was something incredibly relaxing about sitting in the stool under the white light and having your face brushed so gently. Wayne wondered if the makeup artist had any idea how it felt to receive his work.

“If you go out,” the artist said, “and it rains, even if you swim, it will be all right. It will not run or smear. Even if you cry. Life is life after all, and maybe you will cry.”

He said this with kindness, and Wayne had a sense of the world being a place where everyone had the sorrows he had, whereas, before sitting here with Robin Williams, the world had been a place where most people coped much better than Wayne did. Wayne pictured everyone in the rain with their sorrows, which were quiet, personal sorrows of every kind, and Robin Williams had studied them all. Did every woman