By: Racetrack's Goil
Author's Note: Yep, I've started a new story. For all the Ace of Hearts readers (if you're still here), don't worry, I'm not going to abandon it. It's still my favorite one to write. Having another story helps me broaden up more, and also this is in third person, which also helps too.
For those of you who have watched the movie "Annie", I'm sort of using that plot. Except there are a whole lot of differences. The time, the kids. But the whole rich-person-invites-poor-kid thing is from that movie.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine.
Ahm, the breaks don't work now for some reason so let me just say it starts here:
Julia did not like Brooklyn. She didn't like it at all.
First of all, it was dirty. While she didn't mind messiness itself too much, this...this…grime that seemed to get everywhere – on her clothes, in her hair, seemingly into her lungs – was intolerable. Second of all, she discovered to her profound horror, that she was slowly getting lost. The directions to Brooklyn Lodging House were simple and she knew now that it had been too simple. She had not expected so many incredibly little streets that seemed to be leading off to anywhere and everywhere.
Julia Baines did not get lost.
"I need to find a better job," she muttered under her breath, scowling as the end of her practical, long skirt trailed mud. Rattled, she unceremoniously bunched together its front and trudged on, still complaining quietly. Now she had to spend hours cleaning the skirt; she knew her boss would never allow his secretary to work wearing muddied clothes.
"Lovely, lovely, lovely."
She didn't mean that bit about the better job though. Some people would kill to have hers. She had been honored that George Gammon, possibly the wealthiest business man in New York after the infamous strike against The World paper, had actually hired her, Julia Baines, as his personal secretary. Her family had been ecstatic. She had been ecstatic. However, the months working under him were definitely proving that it was no easy job. She had to take care of the innumerable calls, his work papers, his wants, and even occasionally manage the money. Still, the pay was good. Not to mention the reputation.
Now she wasn't sure if this new project was either one of George's whims or another endeavor to popularize his figure in the media. She grimaced and shifted her bag. Probably the former, she thought darkly and re-gathered her skirt again in an effort to keep it from the ground. Why did he have to pick Brooklyn along with Manhattan and Queens? Why not Harlem's or some other stupid newsie borough?
On top of it all, she couldn't figure out how Mr. Gammon knew about stupid newsie boroughs. Information came to him in the strangest ways and he always knew about things. It was unsettling. Frowning, she shook off her thoughts and glanced around.
It was then when she noticed a young boy, dressed in ragged clothes, sleeping at one end of the street. She gripped her bag and strolled purposely towards him, hoping he wasn't one of them thief sorts. Upon a closer look, she saw he had to be around ten or twelve, with a rather oblong, oddly-shaped face. He was sleeping with a frown on his lips as though he was not at all happy with the dreams he was having.
She reached over to wake him and tapped him on his shoulder lightly. He opened his eyes to see her leaning over him and gave one loud shout of surprise, jerking violently. The shout was unexpected and made her gasp and jump back in alarm. The boy scrambled to his feet clumsily and stared at her. After a beat, she cleared her throat and adjusted her skirt yet again, annoyed with her reaction.
Oh, so very professional, she berated herself. Bouncing around like an immature teenager instead of a woman with an important job assigned by a millionaire.
"Who're you," the boy asked suspiciously, blue eyes narrowing into a glare. She pasted a smile on her face. My, what a sweet, sweet boy.
"Hi there. I'm Julia Baines, but you can just call me Julia."
"What?"
My, what a sweet, smart boy!
She smiled wider and he glared harder. "I'm looking for the Brooklyn Lodging House; mightn't you know where it is?"
He blinked and scowled darkly, rolling his eyes expressively. "'Course I do. I live dere."
"You do? That's lovely!"
Goodness. I sound like an over-enthusiastic school teacher.
He nodded, no longer scowling but didn't lose that suspicious glint in his eyes. "What do ya want with da house? Are you one of Spot's gals?"
She was startled. "Uh…ah…excuse me? Spot?"
He rolled his eyes again, obviously thinking whoever had never heard of Spot was a loser in his book. "He's our leader. He's da greatest newsie in New York. King of Brooklyn. An' you best not mess with him."
Julia tried not to laugh. The boy's tone was so unquestionably reverent that it was just plain old funny. The inane delusions some boys get in their younger years. And I was under the impression that Spot was a large dog.
"So," Julia cleared her throat again, "What's your name, dear?"
"Beets."
"Beets?"
"Dat's what I said. Beets."
Alright. Beets. Talk about putting people down.
"Who on earth gave you that such a name?"
"Spot did. You got a problem with it?"
Well now.
"Look," she paused, bending so she was meeting his eyes levelly. She smiled her 'for-little-kiddy-kids' smile, "Beets, darling. How about you take me to the Brooklyn Lodging House? Does that sound good to you? I have some business there I have to take care of and I need a big boy like you to take me there."
Beets absorbed her words and then tilted his head before actually smiling. It made his boyish eyes completely disappear. Julia was just glad of a positive reaction. She was never good with children, but apparently she had won the boy over, because he immediately took her hand in his small, sweaty ones, still grinning.
"Don't worry, miss. I'll take you, you can count on me. Just watch yoah manners when you meet Spot."
Look who's talking about manners, she thought, very much amused with the boy's awe of his leader. She allowed the boy to take her bag, one part of her faintly interested in a somewhat dispassionate, intellectual manner at how children's minds were so fickle. A smile there, a specific word there, and then they were just practically in love with you. Julia snickered inwardly. She was being very unprofessional, but her thoughts were her thoughts. As long as she didn't show what she was thinking.
Back to business, Julia…
Beets walked quickly despite his short legs and Julia had to stretch her own legs to keep up. The two of them made an interesting pair: A dirty little boy with a kind of self-important look on his face and a business-like young woman with an apprehensive expression on hers.
Soon enough, they were walking out of the alleys and she was grateful for some manner of cleanliness. It also grew crowded and Beets led her right through a bustling market place. Considering it was growing near lunch, she decided to later buy some food for the trip back.
Then they were quite suddenly on cobbled streets. Julia used her free hand to brush back a few strands of hair that had escaped the bun at the back of her head. "We nearly there?"
"Yep," Beets answered, stubbornly hefting the bag and not answering as Julia quickly told him she could take it back. She looked around. Closely-built apartments and buildings lined the streets and she absently registered them. Barber…bookstore…general store…she looked ahead and smiled, somewhat relieved. Newsboys Lodging House. Finally.
Beets let go of her hand suddenly and before she could stop him, ran ahead to the House with an odd gait because of the bag he was hauling at his side. She sighed and quickened her steps. The boy entered, thoughtlessly slamming the door behind him, and she winced as she heard him shout at the top of his lungs.
"Guys! Guys! Dere's a pretty lady who wants to see Spot!"
With a low growl, Julia quickly slowed down to a dignified walk and then paused to take a breath, staring at the closed door. Newsies were made up of boys, mostly teenageboys, meaning they were simply raging with hormones. After an announcement like that, she was not about to dash wildly inside. After all, she reminded herself yet again, that she was representing George Gammon. She was a millionaire's secretary. She needed to choose her words wisely, she needed discretion, and most of all, and she should remain absolutely composed and unfazed through anything that could happen. She couldn't afford messing this up. With that thought in mind, she lifted her chin, opened the door, and strode calmly inside.
It was an empty, broken down lobby, though 'lobby' seemed too much of a word. But she didn't really notice the room. It was the smell she noticed. She instinctively recoiled, biting back a cough. The entire place positively reeked. She bent down to brush off her skirt with her hands in an effort to regain her composure. Keeping her head down, her mind automatically analyzed what was assaulting her senses. Sweat…dirt…and a certain, rough, masculine smell that wasn't very pleasant. She bit her lip, brushed her skirt one last time, and then straightened.
"Heya, dollface."
She found herself no longer in an empty room, but in one full of males. She caught sight of Beets. The boy was still clutching her bag. Good. She quickly glanced around. Some of the ragged faces were interested, a very few were smiling, but the majority of the faces were all either glaring or smirking at her. And to think, she thought amusedly, she was probably older than everyone here. Mere boys, the lot of them, though many didn't look it.
Still, there was something unnerving about the young man who had spoken. He had a gold-topped black cane slung through his belt loop, which she found puzzling, as it wasn't exactly your typical accessory. She settled her best neutral and 'all-business' gaze on him, observing the way he was casually leaning against the desk behind him with a smooth confidence that only came when one deserved it. She found that more interesting than his looks, which were too boyish for her tastes.
Quickly, she smiled at him and extended a hand. He glanced at it once and raised his eyebrows slightly before clasping it. She shook his hand firmly and then released. "My name is Julia Baines. I'm here on business under George Gammon, owner of the New York Sun."
"George Gammon? The millionaire?"
She laughed a little at Beets' shocked outburst. The young man shot him a look and Beets reddened. By this time, the glares faded and most of the boys looked curious now. How could anyone associated to the famous newspaper giant have anything to do with them? Julia was, however, used to the reaction and continued in her usual, official manner, "I'd like to see someone in charge of this place. I need to talk to him privately."
The only person who seemed unimpressed was the boy she was talking to. She was glad of it, happy that someone here wasn't swayed simply by names. He no longer was looking at her with that glint in his eyes, but one corner of his lips curved upwards enigmatically. "George Gammon, eh?"
"Yes."
"You want someone in charge of dis place or in charge of us?"
She cocked an eyebrow. Well, well. I think I've figured out who you are.
"I suppose there's a difference?"
He flashed her a lean, wolfish grin which made her give him a disapproving frown at him. She needed him to get serious. It wasn't like she enjoyed having guys younger than her flirting away. "Dis ain't no orphanage, Baines. We ain't under any adult charge. Da old bat in charge of dis collapsing wreckage is Bill, and if he can actually hear you, maybe dis…businessof yours might work out."
Everyone snickered and she pressed her lips together into a humorless smile. Problems with adult authority. That might not really work out with Gammon, but we can work around that. Julia ran a tongue over her teeth before nodding. "I think I understand your point."
She swept a gaze across the room again, chewing her lip in thought as she ignored one boy who blew her a kiss. No one seemed exactly bright here, other than the boy she was talking to. Beets was too bad-tempered and Mr. Gammon would tire of him quickly. No one else really stood out at all. She frowned slightly and realized that they were all beginning to become riotous at the lack of action on her part.
She turned back to him. "What's your name?" Beets' young hero, I reckon.
He crossed his arms over his chest. "Spot Conlon."
Julia exhaled. He had to be at least eighteen or nineteen, even if he looked younger. It was his manner, the way he moved. She nodded again and crossed her arms as well. "Spot. We'll talk outside. Beets? My bag, please."
Beets came forward, gave her the bag, and scuttled away so quickly that she couldn't say her thanks. Spot watched with an impassive face, and watched Beets go with a stony face. Then both Spot and Julia walked outside, the latter feeling his eyes trained on her. Before she could start speaking, however, she felt him grab her elbow and turn her around so she was facing him. Caught off guard, she found herself instinctively drawing back under that stormy gray stare, surprised at the intensity of his angry gaze. Quickly though, she felt anger course through her veins.
"What do you think you're-"
"Look, miss," he cut her off, tightening his grip, "I don't care if you're some underling of Gammon and honestly, I wouldn't care if you're da blasted Queen of England. But," he leaned forward, eyes flashing, "I don't like your attitude. We ain't lower dan you an' you ain't better dan us. We ain't gonna take no orders, either, so stop givin' dem."
Why of all the…
The only thing Julia now was concentrating on was to make sure her face wasn't expressing any of her current emotions. Annoyance and indignation, naturally. How dare he talk to her like that? She fought back a snarl, telling herself that losing her temper now would ruin it all. Disappointing Gammon wouldn't do at all. Then, slowly, she felt trudging admiration at Spot's self-confidence and pride. Then worry. Was it over then, before she had even made or mentioned Gammon's offer? Then a surge of determination. No, it wasn't over. Not while she had anything to say about it.
She met Spot's eyes again, firmly pulling her arm away from his grasp. "I understand," she said evenly, in a tone she would have been proud of if she wasn't so deep in her act. Spot didn't blink, didn't move, didn't look away. Just watched her. Refusing the urge to cough to fill the silence, she then reached into her bag and pulled out a few papers and a pen. "So I'll get straight to the point with you."
"Good."
She cleared her throat and gathered the papers into an even pile. Ignoring the unreasonable tension, she shifted into her business mood, reciting the words she had prepared. "George Gammon is inviting four guests to spend three weeks at his house and to attend the party he will be hosting at the end of those weeks. Since the strike," she continued, "He has always had a great interest in newsies, a great admiration, so to speak. So he-"
"Publicity," he cut her off flatly. "He wants us for publicity. To bloat up his already bloated up self."
She paused, trying to find footage. Then quickly, so quickly that that pause didn't seem to have been there at all, she answered, "That's right."
Smart guy. Gammon'll just love him.
Spot was just looking at her, in that infuriating manner. She unconsciously crossed her arms again, not backing down. Then, quite suddenly and again, to her surprise, he broke into a charming smirk. "Sounds good. Keep talking."
She shrugged. "I'm just doing my job," she said, she herself breaking into some casualness. "Anyway, we'll pick you up tomorrow or you may come to his house at anytime; either way'll be fine. That is, if you're interested."
"Three weeks, eh?"
"Yes."
"Dat's a long time."
"It'll be worth it."
"Yeah? And who else'll be going?"
"Some boys from Manhattan and Queens."
His eyes flickered once, sharply, with visible interest. "Dat so?"
Julia decided that he didn't deserve an answer. Repeating things wasn't something she liked. She was growing impatient, annoyed at how long this was taking her. She had thought it would just take a quick talk, a quick explanation, a quick signature of consent from a guardian or something of the sort (well, apparently there was no such thing, so the subject himself would have to do). Why was it such a hard decision to make? The offer was an once-in-a-lifetime thing; it would never happen again. One was supposed to feel awed, special, and flattered, not suspicious and wary like this Spot Conlon was obviously feeling. Maybe she should pick someone else…but no. Gammon would just about hate the others in the building.
"Dat thing 'bout a party…?"
Julia opened her mouth to brush the questeion off and then choked back the words. Spot was too smart for that. Honesty was probably her best choice, considering how her previous reply about 'publicity' had seemed to work. "Colleagues, business parters, some 'distant' friends, reporters. To put it in a very crude, basic way, it's like a 'get-to-know-them' dinner, for a better relationship in the business. Seeing you four would-"
"Publicity again."
"Yes."
"Touchy 'bout it, isn't he?"
She shrugged, not wanting to overstep the line. He was her boss at any rate. Spot was silent and impassive for a moment more, as though evaluating her once again. Then he moved to sit down on the sidewalk carelessly and she distantly noticed a key spilling out from his open shirt, tied around his neck. She flicked her eyes back up to his face. His lips were twitching. "So, tell me, what do I have to do?" he asked, leaning back on his arms.
Mission accomplished. I am good.
"Sign these papers right there." She fished out a pen and handed it out to him. Belatedly, she realized that most of these street boys never learned to write. Read, maybe, considering he was a newsie. But not write. Then her worries vanished as he quickly wrote his name, in an uncaring manner, right above the line at the end of the papers.
'SPOT CONLON'
It was in a bold, large script, not necessarily messy, but very…careless. How many times had she used that word? Then he handed the papers back. "Dis oughta be interestin'," he drawled smoothly, pulling himself up to his feet with natural grace. He twirled the pen once before giving that to her as well. "No worries there," Julia answered, matching his tone with hers.
Then, as she watched with interest, the smirk disappeared from his face. He studied her and then he held out a hand, just the way she had done before. A hint of a smile touched his lips. "Gammon's either foolish or brilliant for hirin' you."
Julia took the hand, wondering if it was a compliment or an insult. He shook her hand firmly and then drew back. He tipped his hat, still slightly smiling, and then he turned away. As he entered the Lodging House, she realized with that handshake, he was showing her that she had earned something. It was only when she started back on her way when she realized it was respect.
Respect.
Interesting.
She knew right then and there, that she definitely hadn't made a mistake in picking Spot Conlon. He deserved respect and he gave respect when one deserved it. Not half-bad, the guy. At least the first one went well. She smiled. No regrets; he was practically perfect. His mood swings were exactly like Gammon's. The little publicity stunt was going alright. Then she looked around to get her bearings. Alright, the Bridge was supposed to be over on her right. It was the most direct way to both Manhattan and Queens. Which one first?
She shrugged to herself, not really caring. It didn't make any difference.
Next stop: Manhattan.
Author's Note: I'd really appreciate it if you tell me what you think, 'cos I never like starting new stories if they aren't any good. Oh, and Julia does not hook up with Spot. Julia's too stiff and uppity and Spot, though he was flirting with her, was just doing it because it's what he does. They both have no interest in each other in that sense. Spot gets another girl anyway. And Julia gets another guy. She's not the main character in this, by the way. So it's alright to hate her. I'm not that fond of her either.
I'm writing the next chapter already and also the last Ace of Hearts one is getting there.
So do review.