CHAPTER FOUR
In her mind's eye, Roz had conjured the image of the gentleman bearing the appellation of Spot Conlon, Fearless Leader of Brooklyn, to resemble a mutilated mess something akin to that of Frankenstein's monster. Although, try as she might to dissuade herself from the handsome curves of his face and strong planes of his body, the man seated before her on the bunk bed resembled nothing of the literary monster.
This, of course, rendered her to feel all the more childish at sitting in this man's bedroom and inquiring for his hand and marriage.
The plan had struck her ever so suddenly, and although utterly wild, had seemed so fabulously fail proof. It had remained so even as she had stolen out of Devon's estate and into the balmy summer night only to follow the cobblestone roads to the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House.
Indeed, her plan had seemed absolutely perfect up to the point where she had actually professed the question in point to him. For in the moments afterward, an unbearably heavy pregnant pause hung between them. He did not even seem to register her query in all its fullness. His eyes did not bug comically out of his skull and his jaw did not drop to the floor. The only gesture he made was a slight tilting of his head to the left. His eyes were still fixated upon her.
Roz could not bear the unnatural silence, and she rose out of the chair suddenly, pacing to the far corner of the room. She turned over her shoulder and regarded him. The words flowed from her lips as easily as they did from her pen to the paper. "Before you rush to answer, I suppose I should explain my rationale for even proposing such a rash thought to you."
Spot cocked a brow at her words, and she thought she noticed a corner of his lips turn up in a hard to bridle grin. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, and leaned back further in the bed until his back was pressed against a wall. He said nothing. She continued.
She sighed deeply. "After our not so clandestine meeting earlier this night in front of all good society it is implied now that I will never marry a husband of good breeding…that because I was found with you, all good connections I could have hoped for with a good match will be ruined. You see…tonight was supposed to be my debut into society. A debut is…"
He raised a hand in her direction. "Although I may not be living in high society myself, Red, I know what these fancy debuts are you richies get all your feathers in a ruffle for."
Roz felt the heat creep back into her cheeks and she averted his eyes from his. Mistake one; do not underestimate his intelligence just because he is a newsboy. She closed the distance between them, halting beside the bunk bed and leaning against its wooden support beam. She decided to be blunt. "Quite frankly, I could give a damn about what high society thinks of me or if I'm a debutante. Point is, my brother-in-law is under the impression that my connections are lost for good. Point is, he's hiked up my dowry now to a hefty sum, and he's willing it to offer it to any man that would marry such a girl in my standing."
His stare remained flat, and she could feel the acid dripping off each syllable. "And just how much is your brother-in-law selling your pretty little ass off for?"
She dropped down onto the edge of the bed beside him, never breaking his gaze. "Ten thousand. Free and clear."
He stared at Roz a moment longer, before issuing a bitter chuckle and pushing himself off the bunk and to his feet. He continued to laugh, even as he dug into his pants pocket to retrieve a cigarette and match. He laughed even as he lit the cigarette and took a long drag. The laughter died only as he exhaled sharply, the smoke escaping through his pursed lips. Then he turned to her, and his once dull stare flashed dangerously. She noticed the muscles in his back had tensed.
"So let me get this straight here, Red. You don't know me and I don't know you. The only reason I do know you is because I was pushed out Georgiana Walker's window and for whatever reason in hell you fell at the exact same time as me and I just so happened to land on you. And now because of that, your perfect little reputation is ruined. But now, you think you can just stroll into here, into Brooklyn, into the lodging house, into my room with the thought that 'Oh dat Spaht Cahnlan, dat doity ole' leahdah of Brooklyn, he's a good foah nuttin' bummah and of coise I would wanna marry ya foah a little bit a cash!"
With the sudden stealth of a large cat he was upon her, back arched and taut arms on either side of her, palms flat on the mattress. His face mere inches from Roz's, his eyes flashed treacherously. "Let me tell you, Red, I don't know what you rich girls say about me in your gossip circles, but you don't know shit about me. And you, Miss Rich Bitch with a silver spoon shoved up your ass, you actually have the audacity to come here, to me, and think you could sway me to marrying you for a cash bribe? Are you truly that ignorant?"
He elicited a disgusted noise and pushed away from her, inhaling deeply on the cigarette.
She felt the knot immediately in the back of her throat, and the hot tears came more quickly than she would have liked, spilling down her cheeks. "No…that's not what I was thinking…I was not thinking ill of you…but I maybe thought that you can't be a newsboy forever…and some money would help…and it only would have been for a couple months…and then you could have walked away with half…I'm sorry…I…"
Roz, who could not remember the last time she had actually shed a tear, broke down into sobs in the Leader of Brooklyn's room. She buried her face in her hands as her shoulders shook uncontrollably.
"Ah, Jesus H. Christ," Spot hissed at her emotional display. "Don't do that. Don't cry. I hate it when dames cry."
She felt the mattress fluctuate as he sat down warily beside her. He spat the remains of the cigarette to the floor and snubbed it out with a toe. "For Christ's sake, stop that, will you, Red." His tone was quieter, more soothing.
The sobs quickly dissipated, and she peeled her fingers back from her face, regarding him cautiously with red-rimmed eyes.
He snorted. "So, in that dramatic display, I took away the knowledge that you had me in your highest thoughts the entire time, of course thinking nothing of yourself, because, at my age, I can't be a newsie forever and I would need to start a life of my own at some point…"
She hiccupped through the waning tears.
He continued. "…And I would walk away with half, is that not what you said?"
She nodded.
"And if would be only for a few months?"
She nodded again.
"And what would happen once those few months came to an end?"
Roz removed her hands from her face, and folded them pertly in her lap. She straightened and stared forward. "Annulment."
"Ah, I see, an annulment." His cat-like grin stretched ear to ear and she could not even witness it. "And on just what grounds would you pursue an annulment from me?"
She turned to him, her eyes flashing. Her breathing was jagged and labored, and her cheeks were burning. "Infidelity. That's an easy one. With a reputation like yours how could it not be believed?"
His eyes glittered impishly and he arched a brow as he crossed his arms over his lean chest. "Now I thought you came here to propose to me, not insult me."
Roz elicited a disgusted shriek and rose with a start to her feet. She turned to him, her once neat chignon history and the wild red curls falling around her face. "I was a fool, an absolute fool for coming here. I apologize for wasting your time. Good day to you, sir." She started for the door, placing her hand on the knob with all intentions of flinging the forsaken piece of wood open and escaping into the night, never laying eyes on Spot Conlon ever again if she could help it, when she was halted by him placing a strong hand upon her wrist.
He must have been right behind her, for his hot breath danced along her ear canal with each word. "What did you really expect me to say?"
She turned slowly over her shoulder until she was facing him. He was mere inches from her. Roz felt her breath involuntarily bate in her throat. She was suddenly overcome by self awareness of the fact that she had truly never been alone in a room before with a man, discounting her brother-in-law. Because of this, her senses sharpened tenfold and she was suddenly, painfully aware of everything in his room; of how deep the night's darkness truly was save for the faint glow of the kerosene lamp that played off his features, of how he towered before above her, the gentle, rhythmic breathing of his bare chest so close to hers, of his scent…the scent of nicotine and whiskey and of the streets…and of his face.
She raised her eyes to his, to his face so close to hers. Indeed, this man was no monster as her mind had attempted to conjure in vain, he was anything but. His eyes glittered and the stray hair that fell across his hair burnished gold in the light of the lamp. Indeed, self awareness crept into every crevice of Roz's person until she could not bear it any longer. She turned away from him.
"I don't know," she murmured.
"I want to know one thing," he queried.
"What?" she cried, jolted by his question, breaking free of his grasp and retreating to the vanity chair that she had once occupied.
He leaned with his back against the doorway, blocking any flight she may pursue, whether the gesture was intentional or not. He fished a cigarette from behind his ear and placed it between his lips. "Why?"
"Why?" she echoed, crinkling her brow in confusion.
"You heard me," he said, lighting up. "I want to know what would drive a richie like you with everything at her feet to come here, to me, Spot Conlon, Leader of the Brooklyn fuckin' newsies and ask me to marry you for some little scam."
Roz sighed wearily and stared at her hands. She pondered his question. As a writer, her brain could conjure any number of myriad stories to mislead him with. Although, she quickly thought against the notion, for she had come to discover in her short time knowing him, that Spot Conlon was one not likely to be easily deceived. He would be able to sniff out her fanciful lies and call her out on them. Best then just to tell the truth.
Resigned to her fate, Roz spoke. "Aaron Walker." Before he could interrupt her, she continued. "But you would know him better as Georgiana Walker's brother. I am afraid that he overheard my brother-in-law Devon make his offer about raising my dowry to ten thousand to whatever man would marry me. And I am very much afraid that he would act upon it."
He snorted. "So you marry another richie and live out your life happy and content with your tea parties and fancy schmancy balls. What's so wrong with that picture, Red?"
Roz released a cry and rose to her feet, her eyes flashing. Her voice was high and impassioned. "Because!" she cried, "because marrying a wealthy man like Aaron Walker and living my life out in a flurry of tea parties and fancy balls is not how I want to live out the rest of my days. As I said before, I truly don't give a damn what high society thinks of me, and I stand true to that very notion right now. I want nothing more in life than to say to hell with society and live in a cottage on the sea-side and just simply write! But do you honestly think Devon would allow that for me? Devon means well and he loves me, but he would never truly allow me to pursue my true passion. If Aaron Walker overheard Devon and asks for my hand in marriage in exchange for the ten thousand then do you honestly think he would allow his little wife to be a horror novelist? Of course not! I know I speak as though I am a mad hatter, but I truly think it was fate that we met tonight, Spot Conlon, in the manner that we did! Because if I did marry you, if I did dupe them all into believing that I truly had been seeing you all along, then it would be at least a way for me to still hold onto my dream. You get the dowry, we pretend to be in marital bliss for a few months, we get an annulment and each walk away with half."
She strode across the room and stood before him, her pleading gaze locked upon his. "I am not asking you to do this for me. I am not asking you to feel any sympathy whatsoever for my plight. But what I am asking you is to at least consider what you stand to earn in this business deal. I cannot even begin to fathom how difficult it is to live in the streets. But I know that you also cannot be a newsboy forever. You obviously appear of age and are going to have to go out into the world soon and make a living for yourself, out of the safe confines of the lodging house. I am simply asking you to consider this though as you consider my business proposal. For a few months of enduring a false marriage, you would have five thousand dollars to your name when finished, and this would allow you to have something to live comfortably on."
She finished speaking, cheeks flushed and breathing labored. He only stood regarding her, back still leaning against the doorway, and gaze flat. His lips formed a circle and he blew out a perfect smoke ring. He finally spoke. "What about my needs, Red?"
The question astounded her. She hadn't even considered what needs this man may derive from such a fallacy. Roz was flabbergasted. "What…needs?" she inquired tensely.
The cat-like grin overtook his handsome features in a moment. His eyes glittered surreptitiously from under the wayward strands of hair that fell across his brow. He moved away from the doorway, inching closer to Roz, until he was standing over her. She was once more staring into his lithe torso, at the rusted key that hung about his neck on a worn strand of leather. He bowed his head, placing his lips to her ear. His hot words filled her ear and she elicited a muted sigh.
"You knew of my reputation when you came calling upon me with your little business proposal, Red. Did you really think I would accept without you giving any thoughts to my…carnal needs as a man?"
Roz uttered an audible gasp and immediately brought a hand to her mouth. She took a step back from him, and caught his gaze. His eyes smoldered and he still wore the same lazy grin. He knew his words had found the chink in her cool armor by the stupendous shade of crimson her skin changed to. "Are you seriously entertaining the thought that you want me…to…to…with you?" she stammered.
He shrugged, inhaling deeply on the cigarette. "I see nothing wrong with it, Red. After all, if we are to be married, then it is perfectly acceptable within the eyes of the law that I, as husband, should have access to my bride as I see fit…"
She released a cry of incredulity, her jaw dropping at his audacity, as she backed away clumsily from him. In doing so, she unceremoniously fell over the vanity chair that she had once occupied, bringing her to the floor in a flurry of red curls. She pushed the tangles of hair out of her eyes with a vengeance as she looked up at him, finding he had followed her across the room, and stood above her, still puffing idly on his cigarette.
She involuntarily brought a hand to her silk robe, clutching it shut. She searched his cool blue eyes, yearning for some semblance of sanity. "But…but what about the girls you already see? Plenty of husbands commit infidelity…"
His wicked smile grew. "Yes, Red, I am sure in your circles they do. But, this marriage has to be believable, and affairs and broken hearts can be messy and leave behind tell-tale trails of adultery. If you truly want it to be believable, I am going to have to abstain from my girls for a few months."
Roz opened her mouth to protest, when the words died upon her lips, manifesting in a small grunt. A sudden thought stuck her mind akin to lightening, and her eyes widened. Her voice was high. "Wait…does that mean you accept?"
Spot released a small chortle, as he took the cigarette from his lips and flicked it to the ground. He bent as the waist slightly, extending her an arm. "You sure drive a hard bargain, Red."
Her gaze still focused on his, Roz placed her hand lightly upon his arm, as his hand locked down forcefully upon her wrist. The electricity that surged through her body at the touch was undeniable. He pulled her roughly to her feet, and she wobbled a bit before regaining her center of balance.
He sighed audibly, and raked an uncomfortable hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess that means I accept, although every sane thought in my head is telling me I'm crazy." He extended a finger, shaking it toward her, "But I accept, Red, only if you agree to my terms."
Roz gulped, and against her better judgment, extended a hand. Spot took it within his strong grasp, and they shook on it.
He released her hand, and it fell limply once more to her side. Roz felt the air had been utterly purloined from her lungs and she felt paralyzed, her feet cemented to the ground beneath her.
He issued a drawn-out hoot from across the room, and she raised her eyes to him. He had been pacing in a circle, his fingers intertwined in his hair, and his head shaking furiously. He halted suddenly, and caught her gaze.
"You're fucking crazy, you know that?"
She smiled weakly. "That's what they say about all the great writers."
***
Spot Conlon played chivalrous knight to Roz's damsel in distress as he escorted her back to the uptown estate that housed her. The time, somewhere around two in the morning, he surmised.
The streets were nearly barren, and Roz walked in step beside him, staring straight ahead and prattling gleefully away to him, recounting her life story to him. For as it was her plan, they would have to pretend as though they actually knew each other—actually loved each other—and had been wrapped up in a scandalous affair for quite some time.
He chained smoked the entire way, not saying a word.
As she had spoken, he had half-heartedly paid attention. She had said something about her parents dying in a carriage accident when she was a child, and how her now brother in-law had taken in her and her sister in before marrying said sister. He was more concerned with, as he puffed away on his cigarettes down to the butt, the gentle swishing of her round hips as she walked to and fro, the way the thin material of her silken robe hung off her frame, the way the tangles of red curls fell around her face, and the way the glare of the streetlight illuminated her pale skin.
Right now he was silently concerning himself with the way her red stained lips moved as she spoke. Though, the lips fell still suddenly and he found that she had halted abruptly. His reverie was shattered and the noise of the world once again found his ears. She had stopped on the corner of a crossroads underneath a streetlight. Spot finally looked around. He was not the least bit surprised to find that the squalid surroundings when they had first departed the lodging house had long since vanished, and in their place stood the magnificent castles that lines the streets of uptown. He turned his gaze toward her once more. Her eyebrow was arched and those red lips were pursed.
"I daresay, but this whole journey I've spoken of nothing but myself. You've hardly said a word about yourself."
He shrugged half heartedly and dropped his eyes from her piercing green gaze. "What is there really to say about a bummer like me? Parents are dead. I'm all on my own. Don't really need to know much more."
If she rolled her eyes in his direction, he did not take heed. His eyes were too busy scanning the opulent mansions that stood on either side of them.
She cleared her throat. "Well, sir, I wish to thank you for walking me home." He finally looked at her again. She stood, the streetlight casting a halo of light over her, looking as scared shitless as he felt inside. She elicited a nervous titter. "Well, this is my stop." She motioned with her head to a sprawling estate that was a few houses down from where they stood. "I suppose I will see you tomorrow then?" Her inflection rose at the end of the question, as though to ascertain some hopefulness.
He took a long drag on his cigarette. Tomorrow? What was tomorrow? Oh, yes, he was to muster all his sanity and approach this Devon Northfordshire, posing as his sister-in-law's illicit lover who wanted to make an honest woman out of her by asking for her hand and marriage…
…and that ten thousand dollar dowry.
He nodded absentmindedly in response. "Sure, tomorrow, then," he murmured.
A corner of those red lips was pulled into a bridled smile, and she ducked her head in direction. "Well, until tomorrow, then." She turned on her heels and stepped out of the hazy glow the streetlight cast and into the darkness of the night. He could notice her form disappearing, slipping away into the blackness, when he called to her suddenly. She stopped and regarded him over her shoulder.
"I want to know what you were doing. I want to know why you fell when I did."
He could not behold the glorious shade of crimson her pale skin took on, but she answered candidly. "I knew you were with Georgiana Walker. And I thought if I caught her in the act with you…it would ruin any chances of her every attaining a good husband. As I was trying to look in her window…I fell from the trellis…"
A silence fell between them before she finished, "But now I suppose the joke's on me, right?" There was a tinge of bitterness in her in her sweet voice. She flattened herself against two wrought iron fences that each stood guarding an affluent estate, and disappeared into the night.
She was gone.
Spot stood his ground for a few minutes, gazing at the spot which she had once occupied. He felt the tremors come to him immediately, as they wrought their way through his entire body. He immediately flicked the butt of his old cigarette to the cobblestones and placed a new one between his lips, lighting it, and inhaling immediately.
He needed at least once vice to calm his insurmountable nerves.
He may have just very well made a deal with the devil, but what a very pretty devil she was, indeed.