Pennies and Dimes
Specs sells each newspaper for a penny, yet here he is talking to someone without a dime.
Author's Note: I believe the newsies meet a lot of people as they work because there's so many characters in a crowded city. Sometimes the most interesting relationships are friendships, and friendship plays such a core role in Newsies. Without it the story couldn't exist. I wanted to bypass romance and explore a complex friendship.
Disclaimer: All recognizable names and places are not mine.
-Repeat
Specs stood on the sidewalk determined to sell his last ten newspapers. In the late afternoon it may have been a wasted effort - too few wanted a paper at that hour - but he stood out there watching for customers with a sharp eye, just in case.
Another man walked past, ignoring him, and Specs sighed. Some days being a newsie was harder than others. A lot harder. In fact, between rotten headlines and low pay, they were downright awful. Luckily he knew those problems had solutions. The simple answer: cheat. Every newsie in New York exaggerated the headlines, he knew that for a fact. It was part of the job, so who was he to suddenly gain morals and go the straight and narrow? The extra coins in his pocket never weighed down his conscious.
He just tended to cheat a little more often than everybody else. Baby born with three heads! ... Well, even Specs had to admit, that may have been pushing it.
The one thing he couldn't fix was the lack of customers. No fibbed headline could match that, no matter how good. And right now that was exactly his problem. Shouting only worked during the morning rush, but after that became useless - not to mention annoying. Besides, his voice was tired.
He broke even hours ago. Barely even, he reminded himself. So the need to sell wasn't desperate, but he looked down at the papers in his hands and thought of the ten to fifteen cents they could bring to his pockets. Any sane street kid knew it was too good a chance to pass up.
If Specs were thinking rationally, which he wasn't, he would have walked away already, cutting his losses and accepting a smaller dinner. Worst came to worst, he could physically eat the damn papers, he thought sarcastically. Sooner of later he had to give up, so why not get it over with now?
No, he could stick it out for ten more minutes. Ten more cents, Specs reasoned, ten more minutes.
He stepped backward to lean against the brick building, relieving his tired legs. No sense in waiting uncomfortably.
He glanced around, watching the street again, rethinking his decision not to follow Bumlets to City Hall. Knowing his surroundings was second nature to a newsie and every other street urchin in New York. If not it meant life, death, or a permanent handicap, so he didn't think twice as his eyes swept over the lively street, watching everybody in sight.
He saw many things, none of them a concern to him. Young kids playing across the street, likely to loose the ball in their possession if they weren't more careful. A girl stood against the same building as him, not more than a few feet from himself. Harmless. Still Specs took a step to the right, comfortably putting more distance between them. A man walked toward him wearing an ironed shirt. Not a button out of place or a smudge on his white collar - a potential customer, if Specs ever saw one.
He walked away from the wall, straight into the path of the on coming man.
"Buy a paper?" Specs asked politely.
Uninterested, the man shook in head before looking away. He planned to easily move aside, walk around the newsboy, and continue passing.
Specs wasn't giving up that easily. He persistently stepped into the man's way again.
"Please, just one paper? No, please mister. One paper. Only a penny." He pleaded earnestly as the man tried to brush him aside. "I ... I need the money for my sister, she's real sick." He begged. For a moment he half believed himself. Playing the part, his eyes widened behind his spectacles, begging with a hint honesty and desperation.
And Dutchy said he couldn't act...
Though none of the newsies would admit it, they too all begged on occasion. Shameless, yes, but better than sleeping in the street or skipping a third meal. Briefly Specs wondered who else used that excuse today. A few names crossed his mind ...
Whether or not the man believed him, Specs couldn't tell. All the same, without looking the white collar tossed a coin to the ground and kept walking. Feeling more like a the street rat he was, Specs bent down to pick it up a single penny. Lousy tightwad, he thought. Not even a nickel for a sick girl, the man must not have believed him that much.
Standing back up and pocketing the coin, he went back to the wall before looking around again. To his surprise the girl, she had to be about his age and no older, was watching him too. Her dark brown eyes flickered upward to meet his without embarrassment that he caught her staring.
"You're a newsboy, aren't you?" She asked him in modest curiosity, confirming what she witnessed.
His jaw nearly dropped in sheer surprise. What kind of question was that? Obviously he was, even the sightless bums in Blind Man's Alley recognized a newsie when they heard one. Hell, all Manhattan did. He didn't know if she was ignorant or just stupid. Maybe both, but Specs' patience wore too thin by now.
"Yeah, you want a paper?" He asked sarcastically, scolding her for such a stupid question. To confirm the point he held out a newspaper to her, even though he didn't expect her to take it.
A young woman like her had no money, not a dime to her name, and no use for a newspaper. Ignoring his brash attitude, she politely shook her head. "No."
He shrugged, figuring it was worth a try anyway and turned away from her back to the street. Another empty minute went ticked away as Specs and the girl stood against the building. Why she stayed there, he had no idea. At least he had a good reason for loitering. He couldn't think of any for her. Then, to his left, the building's door opened. He glanced over hoping for another customer but found a child instead ... so much for another sale. A young boy about ten years old with sandy hair and freckles dotting his nose walked out lazily and looked past him.
"Annie!" He called. "Mamma's lookin' for you."
Specs followed his line of eyesight, looking at the girl to his left, Annie.
She sighed audibly, but showed no more reaction. "Tell her I'm not back yet." She stated matter-of-factually, as if it would solve the problem.
The kid ignored the command and put his hands on his hips, proving his sister's answer wasn't as simple as she implied. "She's askin' for ya."
Even if the boy hadn't admitted they were family, Specs could have easily guessed. Arguments between siblings sounded the same. He should know, living with twenty-five "brothers" the last seven years. With mild interest he watched them, already silently deciding which would be the victor.
Annie's dark eyes flashed in warning, "I'm busy -."
"With what?" The boy demanded boldly, seeing through his sister's lie. She wasn't doing anything and he knew it.
"Talking." Annie gestured to Specs. The younger boy eyed Specs, questioning what business she had speaking to a newsie. The gaze fell between curiosity and a protective glare, warning the stranger away from his older sister. "Tell her you couldn't find me and I'll be come in a few minutes." She finished.
"You're gonna get it." The boy warned.
Hands on her hip, Annie held her ground. "Go."
It was a battle of wills, but she finally won. After shooting her one more meaningful glare, the boy grudgingly went inside.
Specs looked over Annie again, reading her reactions to the argument. She sighed in irritation, unhappy about the confrontation, but probably less thrilled to be forced back inside. Leave it to her family to interrupt her few moments of freedom.
"I'm sorry." She apologized when she caught him watching her again.
Indifferent, he shrugged. It was too late in the afternoon to sell any more papers and he knew it.
As if the interruption never occurred, Annie picked up their conversation where she left off.
"Is your sister really sick?" She asked skeptically, remembering what he told the white collar man before.
"What do you think?" Specs answered flippantly. He just accepted the lost profit of his last newspapers. Ten cents completely wasted. His eyes swept over her respectable dark blue skirt and white blouse before stopping on her face. Her eyes told him she was serious.
Annie calmly stared him down with the same shameful glare he had given her before. "All newsboys are liars."
So she did recognize a newsboy, he thought - maybe she had even met his friends. Specs couldn't deny newsies were liars by trade, even the most honest of fellows. One way or another they all lied. If nothing else they lied to themselves by pretending they had fine life.
She pegged him instantly. And even though she had just insulted him and his profession, he couldn't help but have the smallest ounce of respect for her for doing so. Any other girl would have kept her mouth shut when he approached and walked back into the kitchen when her mother called.
"Yeah?" His fast mouth retorted more playful than serious, "Not all liars are newsboys."
He pegged her too. Specs eyes met hers again as he caught her small, knowing smile.
Two Weeks Later
Specs preferred a change of scenery. It was one of the benefits of owning no fixed corner of the city to sell on. Crowds on the cobblestone bricks drifted in, out, and away like the current of the East River, and Specs knew better than to be a rock in the center, letting the current wear him down as it rushed past him, when he could be swept along with the rhythm of daily life.
Yesterday he walked a maze-like route that led him north all the way to East Village Burrow. 'Course he stopped at the border, not thinking it wise to enter alone. Specs told himself he could have held his own if an issue arouse, but he was more likely to flat out lose himself in the unfamiliar streets. Kloppmann would get a laugh at that one when Specs came back to the Lodging House past curfew because he took too many left turns.
A seasoned veteran of the New York back alleys confused - A newsboy lost. Ha! Just like Brooklyn's Spot Conlon asking real nice, saying please and thanks. It just don't happen.
Today though, Specs meandered through the city, not interested in taking a complicated journey. Not worth wearing down the soles of his boots, he figured. So he found his feet leading him to streets he'd passed through before. Even the wandering newsies revisited old selling grounds.
Last night it rained. Heavy. The granite slabs in Central Park took a beating just as bad as the roof and windows on the second story of the Lodging House. Most all the newsies wandered in early, done with the early fall chill, and soaked in bleeding printing ink.
Specs himself managed to fare ten minutes worth of sky water, enough to clog his ears and render him blind and deaf to the buildings before him as a lovesick Mush. That boy always had a gal prancing through his daydreams. As Specs shamelessly stripped and clothed himself in a pair of dry long johns, Mush sat on a bottom bunk and recounted a tale of one of the girls he met to Bumlets. Some pocket sized little darling tall as his knee in a starched smock gave him a whole nickel just for a single paper. Instead of taking the tip 'cause she never would have known the difference, Mush dug out four pennies from his pocket and sent the sweetheart on her way. He's would never rip off a cute kid. Hell, none of them could.
Specs greeted who he found in the dormitory already (Dutchy, Kid, Snitch, Pie Eater, and Skittery surprisingly untouched by rain, but still pragmatic and glum as hell) but let his mind drift aimlessly. Much to his amusement the little shrimp Mud who slept below Jack took the upper bunk in Cowboy's absence. Serves him right if he comes back late after dinning with The Mouth's family, Specs thought. Still, Jack spotted the intruder already asleep underneath a picture of Roosevelt pinned to the wall and hauled the kid off and onto his rightful mattress.
Specs fell asleep to the rhythmic pounding of rain against the window above his bed. Beside him Dutchy did the same. Luckily, the early morning wake up call came from Kloppman's croaked voice and not the pin pricked smattering of more water. Didn't help anyone's mood that the New York skyline disappeared into thick cloud cover. The Golden Dome of the World building looked dull and as washed up as the men who worked inside it. Still, prospects for sales remained hopeful.
There's always a sucker that wants a paper.
Stepping in the wet mud and God-knows-what else kicked up by the city's over abundant population dampened Specs' mood slightly. Try walking in it for hours.
It's like the rain cleaned the city but left the dirt and smell behind at the bottom of the washtub for the next shmuck to deal with.
Specs found himself making good money for such a bleak day. Even if the weather commanded it the bustle of New York stopped for nothing. Dreary days came and went going unnoticed and taken for granted just as often as the sunny ones. 'Welcome to New York!' The little smug voice in his head sung proudly.
Specs kept walking until he caught sight of a familiar figure - that girl he'd met weeks before - the blue skirted liar. What was her name? If she hadn't been standing in front of the same brick wall wearing the same worn blue skirt and white blouse he'd never have recognized her. Girls like that roam New York a dime a dozen, except without any real dimes in their apron pockets.
Except this time he remembered the Blue Skirted Lier, whatever her name was. Since they first met two weeks ago Specs hadn't spared the girl a passing thought. Why should he? It's not like he ever planned to run into her again. He's got his own life, own problems and none of them revolve around women unless he's trying to sell them a newspaper.
Like last time she stood with her back against the rough outer brick building, not quite watching the street around her like Specs, but more lost in her own head.
Specs knew the look. Lots of fellas got the same glassy-eyed stare when they thought no one payed attention. Just zoned right out and wouldn't even notice a carriage if it came barreling at the poor bastard. Not that any of them ever checked out in the street, not surrounded by a hundred people with a buck to be made.
Turned out, she wasn't as lost as he guessed because she recognized him as he passed. Her eyes raised from the ground to him with interest.
"Is this your regular block?" She asked.
He expected their conversation last time to be a once only thing, just settling whatever curiosity she had about the newsboy profession so both of them could then go about their business as if they never spoke. That's how most strangers interacted with newsies, trying to pretend they didn't exist unless convenient to remind themselves an even lesser class existed in the Lower East Side's slums. He certainly didn't expect her to make conversation with him again. Not a nice girl like her.
But she did.
And by a 'nice girl' he meant someone with a home. Maybe a future. Except, she grew up in the same level of poverty and came out luckier. Her blouse wasn't new and hadn't been washed any more recently than his clothing. It's obvious in the way it's written on her face she'd rather seek the illusion of company with a newsie than cast him aside. A 'nice girl' are gracious words she's willing to give her.
"No. I keep walking. Better for business when I move with the flow."
"Ah, makes sense. There's not much," she gestured to the street, which while populated wasn't lively, "'flow, here." She finished lamely.
That's why Specs had just been passing through on his way back to the square, two papers in hand. Not bad for afternoon edition. Still, he had hoped to sell them rather than eat the loss.
"This your spot or somethin'?" He returned. "You're always out here."
She actually smiled, a little blush coloring her pale cheeks. For as often as he caught her outside Specs figured she didn't feel the sun's rays often. The downfall of being a woman. "I guess. I live inside, but it's nicer out here. Quieter, calmer."
Specs couldn't begin to imagine what lay in the building that could have her rushing outside to a moderately busy Manhattan street to feel calm. He didn't want to think about it too hard, so he didn't.
"Annie!" A piercing demand of a woman screeched from inside the building behind them. Annie jumped. Specs tried not to think too hard again.
"I have to go now. Will you come back again?" The hope in her eyes looked more like a plea.
"Probably. You?" The question was only fair. He firmly believed she couldn't ask him without answering it herself.
"Yes." Flat, but honestly spoken with an inferred, I'll be here until I die.
"See you then." Specs walked away. She turned around and went back into the tenant building.
A few steps later it occurred to him he should have waved, tipped his hat, or done something for a lady. Even if she didn't look like one, didn't act like one conversing with a newsboy on the sidewalk. Underneath the sweat and weariness there was a lady, reason told him.
But Annie was a lady as much as Specs was a gentleman. Ladies don't live in crowded tenants and gentleman don't make minimum wage selling smeared ink.
At least they were equals.
Maybe he would stop by again. Specs thought about it as he traveled back to Newsies Square for the afternoon edition. He knew better than to encourage her or himself. If Annie's got any silly idea of being rescued and swept off her feet she's chasing after the wrong newsboy. Still, they could both benefit from a familiar face. A friend.