So, Kate and Spot decided that another flashback was in order before we continued with our present day (or more present day lol) drama…I clearly have no control over these characters. Is anyone actually reading this? I hope so, and I hope you don't think it's awful! Leave me a review to let me know either way. I'm feeling so unsure about this when I get no feedback. Also, I just like getting feedback period lolol, doesn't everyone on here? Anyway, I hope if anyone is reading this, you like this update!
Chapter 16
Brooklyn, November, 1902
Something had felt off all night.
Spot found himself again scanning Kate's face in the low light of the pub booth across from him. Her green eyes were darkened and distant as she sipped distractedly on her pint, her eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty.
She had seemed pleasant enough when he had met her in front of her tenement that afternoon, listening affably as he shared a few anecdotal tidbits from his last few days at work and easily answering any query he posed in turn.
Until he mentioned how tired she looked.
"Jesus, Kate—look at the circles under your eyes. You been pullin' all-nighters? Is that why I haven't seen ya around?"
His tone was joking, but her face grew surprisingly hard at his observation before she muttered, "What? Now you're going to give me hell too?"
One look at his raised eyebrows, however, seemed to steady her back into a more agreeable state as she rubbed her hands over her face and sighed. "I am tired—you're right."
He remained silent, waiting for her to further explain the sudden sharpness in her tone. Or maybe finally divulge some information regarding the real topic he was hoping to discuss—the new, mysterious source of income keeping Kate busy for the past several weeks. So busy that she had been little more than a shadowy presence in all other spheres of her life.
But instead of offering any sort of substantial reply to either of these subjects, she smiled, grasping his hand in hers and saying, "I'm also starving, so let me buy you dinner to make it up to you."
And after only a moment of hesitation, he found himself swallowing his other queries back down, hoping that the evening would offer better moments for him to bring the subject up, before he followed along beside her.
Truthfully, his outward affect may have appeared blasé over the last several weeks, but he had become more than just a little concerned about Kate's tight-lipped absence as of late. Lonely too—dare he say that he actually missed having her around as much.
The fact that Julia had also been kept mostly in the dark about her friend's latest endeavor had definitely not eased his mind any either. But what had really left him unsettled was the information Julia had shared when she had worriedly approached Spot about the issue earlier on in the week.
"Maybe she'll tell you what she won't tell me," Julia had offered dejectedly as she had walked beside him on his way home from work.
"You ain't her ma, Julia, give her some space," Spot evenly replied with a smirk, while also silently hoping that what she said would be the case. "Besides, she was doin' other shit down by the river before this and it didn't bother you. Why is this different?"
Julia glared at him before rolling her eyes. "Well, I know her mother, and that's enough information to have anyone worried about Katherine's well-being, not to mention that Katherine has quite the track record for involving herself with shady characters. But as far as how this is different than the other odd jobs," Julia sighed looking away. "We've known Leonora and her family for years. So, when Katherine started working with her sons, I didn't think twice. But now that it's winter and the encampment has moved further south for the season, she took up with some new group. And I don't know these men from Adam."
"Men?" Spot echoed, attempting to downplay the sudden rise of insecurity and jealousy in his chest.
"Yes, men," Julia emphasized, giving him a meaningful look. "Men a bit older than you involved in some organizing efforts over there, having her run around doing God knows what at all hours. All she'll say is they are letting her do important work and that she's getting paid for her ideas."
"What in the hell does that mean?" Spot couldn't help but ask, a far greater worry filling him in turn.
Kate had made short mention of this new job to him several weeks prior, but she had given him no details, so he had assumed it was just more of the same. But now that Julia was shedding light on Kate's activities, Spot felt somewhat imprudent for not having queried her further.
Especially considering Kate's penchant for reckless behavior.
Spot was certainly no teetotaler when it came to sex, booze, fighting and gambling. There was a calculated thrill associated with those types of activities, and he had always been an expert at walking the line between risk and danger.
But Kate was an entirely different story.
It wasn't until they began spending most of their nights together that he became aware of the more troubling ways she managed her internal chaos. And her unhealthy level of alcohol consumption was the least of his worries.
He saw the true extent of Kate's escapist tendencies firsthand— things to which very few others in her life had been privy. The dangerous situations she threw herself into as a means of distraction followed by the numbing drugs she sought out in the devastating aftermath.
Behaviors that Julia and Leonora had been struggling to counter for years.
However, Spot had strangely found himself not only further pulled to Kate in the wake of this darkness, but also committed to maintaining her well-being despite it. He had spent quite a few nights calmly persuading the pretty, intoxicated girl off roof ledges, or gently steering her out of shady opium dens.
He had been quick to discover that Kate's self-destructive tendencies were preceded by certain warning signs—a list of triggers that would almost always push the girl into seeking unhealthy reprieve. In fact, much to Julia's surprise and relief, Spot became far more successful than anyone else in redirecting Kate's cycles of despair.
He personally had no taste for those types of highs anyway, always opting for the feeling of self-control over blissful numbness. And while Kate's behaviors greatly concerned him, he knew any chastisement of such tendencies would only push her further into harm's way.
But circumventing Kate was nearly impossible when no one who cared for her knew where she was and with whom she was spending her time.
The blonde girl sighed, bringing Spot back to their conversation. "I don't know. But I think you can see that this is more than me just being motherly now, right?"
Spot shrugged, unsure of what to say beyond, "I'll try to talk to 'er when I see 'er next. But I dunno if it'll be any different with me."
And so far, it hadn't been.
True to her word, Kate had bought him dinner at a pub that had become one of their favorite go-to spots. But all attempts at bringing up any of her current activities were met with such skillful evasion he was almost more impressed than irritated by the end of the meal.
Though he was certainly more worried, and much more confused.
So, hoping a few drinks might produce a less guarded conversation, Spot had encouraged her to stay at the pub a while longer. And, surprisingly, with a half-smile and a shrug, she had agreed, downing the first pint in minutes before offering to buy the second round.
But when she had returned from the bar, her expression had turned from calm to sour, her eyes angrily darting back toward a group of somewhat nicely dressed young men and women that had just walked into the barroom.
Spot's eyes slowly traveled toward the small group making their way to the bar as well, the three men looking to be only slightly older than he was, the two girls around the same age. The whole group was certainly not dressed in their finest eveningwear, but they did stand out from the other day laborers filled within the space.
"Do you know them?" Spot asked as he turned back to Kate's now glowering look aimed in the same direction.
"Know is a strong word," she muttered, still not breaking her harsh stare. "But yeah, I've become somewhat acquainted with two of that group over the last few weeks. The one with the mole on his chin and the one with red hair—Stewart and Albie."
Spot turned once again to scan over the group members, noting the two Kate had named. And just as he was about to face back toward Kate to ask one of the many questions now filing through his brain, he noted the red-headed man, Albie, looking straight toward Spot's displeased tablemate, smirking arrogantly and then winking, before slipping his arm around one of the two girls he was standing beside.
Spot tore his eyes away in time to see a fury pass over Kate's face before her own eyes dropped to her hands, both fisted in frustration upon the table. He watched as her cheeks tinged slightly red. But he couldn't tell if it was from anger, embarrassment, or perhaps a bit of both.
"Who are they?" he ventured, bending his head down to try to meet her gaze as an uncomfortable uncertainty began to fill his chest. But she only sighed and looked away.
"Just some university students," she finally replied, taking a large sip of her drink as she spared a glance toward the group again. "Idealistic university students."
Her tone sounded cynical, but she didn't elaborate further, so Spot nudged, "Some of the new people you've been workin' with over the last few weeks?"
Kate shrugged after another hefty swig of alcohol. "Yeah, I was working with them. But not anymore."
"Wait," Spot quickly replied. "You quit? When?"
"I don't know," Kate said, clearly uninterested in elaborating. "Early last week sometime?"
Spot's eyes widened at her in confoundment. "You only started this new gig three weeks back, right?"
She nodded, her eyes again darting in displeasure toward the group still standing by the bar.
But Spot found he could not contain the irritation that began to seep into his voice as he posed, "That means you were only really at this job that first week—so what the hell have you been doin' all the rest a' this time, Kate?"
Her green eyes darted to his, seeming at first surprised by his tone. But then a steeliness began to solidify on her face, her voice low as she challenged, "What difference does it make to you?"
Her eyes studied him even more intently as he fumbled for an answer—any answer other than the one that was on the tip of his tongue. Because I missed you. Because I'm worried about you. But all he managed to produce after several seconds of silence was a haphazard coverup of his true feelings on the matter.
"Well, because…because I'm askin'. Because I wanna know. I mean, why is it a secret? Shouldn't you be able to tell me shit like this?"
She scoffed, her eyes narrowing in what looked to be exasperation. "I don't think my ability to communicate has any bearing on whether or not I share something with you, Spot."
"What about the fact that I asked you?" he argued, his own eyes narrowing stubbornly.
"Oh?" she said dramatically, putting a hand to her chest. "So now the rule is we're answering any question no matter what? Because I'm game if you are—but I get to go first."
She stared hard at him, waiting for his answer, but it was too late. Between the rising jealousy he had felt at the thought of her spending so much time with other men to the fact that she was now acting as though he held no importance at all, he was fully overdone.
He shook his head, his jaw tight in anger as he hissed, "Dammit, Kate! Why can't you just answer the question? Why do we have to play five rounds of fuckin' word games first?"
"Because," she countered in kind, her eyes now also ablaze. "I'm tired of being the only one brave enough to answer the tough questions. And I don't know if you've noticed, but every time I do give you answers, you seem to have an issue sticking around afterwards."
Spot felt his chest contract somewhat at the blow she had dealt, but he remained stubbornly poised in opposition anyway, showing no hint of surrender. And after a moment's pause—where Spot could've sworn he saw hurt pass through her gaze—Kate shook her head, adding tartly, "Yeah, that's what I thought. Besides, it's just as well everyone keeps assuming I spent all my time with those two prats, regardless of our differences in," she waved her hand, seeming to look for the right word, "I don't know, ethical standards. Though I'm also glad to be done with them."
But just as Kate sent another irritable glare their way—Spot at the ready for a second round of angrily countering her evasions—he and she both nearly jumped at the voice of a short, young barmaid who appeared suddenly beside their table, two drinks in hand.
"Uh, 'scuse the interruption, but uh," the young girl turned her head back toward the bar, before quickly facing front again. "Two whiskeys for you, then."
She hurriedly placed the two glasses on the table and went to turn away, but Spot even more swiftly asserted, "Wait, we didn't order these."
The girl stopped awkwardly, looking back and forth between the table and the bar. "Yeah, uh, it's them gentlemen over there." She pointed toward the end of the bar to the face of a smirking dark-haired man with a mole on his chin.
"Stewart," Kate hissed.
"Uh huh," the girl nodded. "He said to tell ya cheers to your future, uh, classless end—endev—"
"Endeavors?" Kate finished for the girl.
"Yeah," the girl said, looking wholly uncomfortable with being put in the middle of the situation.
"Thanks," Kate said with a tight smile, nodding toward the barmaid who looked relieved to be released from her difficult position as she scurried away.
Kate's eyes were all fury as she raised her glass toward the man across the room who did the same. "Son of a bitch," she growled.
But Spot simply dragged the second glass toward him, sarcastically posing, "Well, do you think you can summon enough bravery to answer a simple question—should I be worried about my drink being poisoned or drugged?"
Kate rolled her eyes, but replied, "I'd be surprised if either one of them would be that motivated—or that clever."
"Just makin' sure," Spot quickly responded, still irked by her prior accusations. "You said they went to school. Didn't know if they were studyin' chemistry."
Kate almost spit out her drink trying to contain her laughter. But after a moment of composing herself and swallowing another sip, she said, "No, something far worse. Philosophy."
"Well, you certainly seem to know a helluva lot about two people you claim to dislike so much," Spot mentioned in a casual tone, though he cursed the squeeze of jealousy that again took hold of his chest.
"I agree, it is a bit strange. Especially because two complete strangers told me more about themselves in one week than you did in one year," she shot back, her gaze unwavering.
He glared at her. "Yeah, well, I guess we can't all be fuckin' philosophers. Some of us have actual work to do and bills to pay."
"Well, some of us manage to do the work, pay the bills, answer questions and push the boundaries of modern thought without a problem. But all that gets us is asinine bullshit from everyone else," she hissed, downing the rest of her whiskey in one swift gulp.
"You certainly think highly of yourself," Spot couldn't help but taunt as he quickly swallowed his remaining drink as well, smacking his cup down on the table.
"I just know what I'm capable of," she huffed in response, falling back in the booth with her arms crossed over her chest. "And if you'd ever bother to let your fucking guard down, you would find that you too are capable of all sorts of praise-worthy things. But you're a coward, so I guess we'll never know."
For some reason, it was that comment that truly enraged Spot. He saw red as he banged his fist on the table, pointing his finger at Kate in warning. "Where the fuck do you get off passing judgement on me like that? You talk a big game, but if push ever came to shove, I'd bet money you'd be the first runnin' for cover. You're a scared little girl—a naïve kid pretending her way around real people with real lives. So, do us all a favor and shut the hell up about shit you don't understand anyway."
He knew he had gone too far—been too cruel—when the steeliness in her gaze faltered. When she sat there silently for several moments, with nothing else to say. No quick comeback. No greater insult. Nothing.
Finally, she shrugged, her eyebrows furrowed, asking softly, "Is that what you really think of me?"
But before he could answer, or apologize, the clinking of glasses being placed on their table made them both turn their attention to the frazzled young barmaid who had again brought over two servings of whiskey.
Kate's jaw set harshly as she closed her eyes and shook her head. "Two whiskeys for us?"
"Yeah," the girl said sheepishly, backing slowly away from the table. "He said to tell ya cheers to all the men in the world."
Spot thought Kate might actually combust. Her face became bright red, her eyes chaotic when she gritted out, "Go away."
The girl quickly scurried off, Kate grabbing the drink so tightly her knuckles turned white, before she tilted her head back and downed it in one swift swallow.
And so, the next hour passed in a somewhat tense silence, Kate's eyes directed off into the distance, almost as if she were ignoring the fact that Spot was sitting right across from her, while he pointed his stare in any direction other than hers.
But after a fourth round of whiskey had been sent their way, Spot found himself done with the moody silent treatment he was receiving. And feeling he had shown patience enough, he quickly rapped his knuckles on the table in front of the distracted girl, saying, "Kate, as much as I don't mind the free booze, I've had enough of the cold shoulder and weird toasts. I think it's about time you tell me what the hell is goin' on with those two…philosophers."
"You were the one who told me to shut the hell up about everything."
Her voice slurred slightly as her eyes snapped to his, a lingering irritation reflecting through the drunkenness within her gaze. "I mean, what do you want me to say? All the things I'm thinking and feeling?"
"How 'bout answerin' the very specific question I just asked?" he responded evenly, watching her face struggle to maintain its impassive façade.
Her eyes, however, burned brightly with all sorts of uninhibited emotional chaos. And he was taken aback by just how quickly his anger and irritation had seemed to subside over the last hour.
And just how strong the surge of desire was that now filled his body instead.
"Why? What do you care?" she scoffed.
He sighed at her petulance, while again feeling want—not annoyance—pool within his stomach. "'Cause they're clearly tauntin' you and I'm tired of sittin' here watchin' it."
"Then maybe you should leave," she said clearly as she tilted her head in wait.
The uninhibited defiance in her tone should have made him furious. It should have made him stand up right then and storm off. No one talked to him like that. No one. And there was no mistaking Kate's intention. Her words had been quick and incisive, as if daring him to walk away—to show her how little he cared. How little she mattered. But what he felt in turn was nothing close to anger or indifference. A lustful squeeze pulsed within his chest at her moxie while the steady need to protect what was his began to settle his racing thoughts.
Dammit, why the hell did she affect him like this?
"I mean, it's so unfair of me to impose any of my naivety on you. Really, I should be ashamed of myself." She grabbed the full glass of whiskey, taking a heaving swallow before continuing, "Or are you just bored—in need of some entertainment? I didn't realize you were expecting a show."
He rolled his eyes while also being fully aware that he was the partial impetus for this current emotional spill over. But there was something more to it than that—almost as if she were inviting him to keep pushing her. To keep upping the ante.
And there was the fact that the more alcohol he consumed, the more willing he became to admit that he had missed this—this banter, this range of emotional connection. As well as the way her hair fell messily around her face, and the scrunched-up look she unknowingly gave him when she was deep in thought.
How his hands felt on her hips, in her hair—how her mouth tasted.
And even though he knew that adding fuel to her current drunken turmoil would only create a further mess, he couldn't stop the easy prod he gave to take the chaos a step further.
"Depends on what show you had in mind."
A smile grew on her face. "Something worth your while."
Because just as much as he was offering to feed her fire, she was actively siphoning more of the fuel.
And all else be damned if he didn't want to witness the explosive result.
Kate stood purposefully, though she immediately gripped the table to steady herself as the amount of alcohol she had consumed registered within her body. Spot stood too, moving to help her, but she quickly recovered, nodding to him as her eyes blazed with tenacity. And before he could say a word, she began marching somewhat slantedly to the other side of the room.
He followed a few steps behind her, knowing which table she was heading for, but unsure of what exactly she had planned once she got there. But he stood shocked when she stood before the group of clean-cut gentlemen and simpering ladies, clapping her hands loudly together and proclaiming, "Excuse me! Everyone! Begging your pardon, but we've some special guests here with us tonight, and so I believe they deserve a special welcome!"
Spot looked around somewhat anxiously, but most of the other patrons cheered drunkenly in response, very few eyes turning away from Kate's confident stance. The two women at the table looked aghast at the brazen girl in front of them, whispering to one another and giggling with the unnamed man beside them. Stewart and Albie, however, looked both surprised and alarmed by her grand gesture.
"Susannah, if you'd just quiet your voice, perhaps we can have a private conversation—" Albie started.
But Kate quickly interrupted, hissing, "Oh, I think the time for subtlety has passed. Besides, you said you wanted an authentic experience, right?"
It took Spot a moment to realize that Kate was the "Susannah" they were referring to. But before he could deduce anything further from the lie she had told them, Kate's voice sounded loudly throughout the barroom again.
"You see, Brooklyn, these two men here, Albie and Stewart, are university students studying the great thinkers of old! But they also are very industrious chaps and took it upon themselves to start a side business in a field I had never heard of before." She paused, her eyes coldly regarding the table. "What was it you told me, Stewart? Slum tourism?"
Spot's eyebrows shot up while the rest of the bar murmured in displeasure, Kate continuing solidly, "Apparently, there's money to be made from taking rich socialites on tours of laboring areas in the city so that these fine ladies and gentlemen can get a good gander and chuckle at the way us hard-working individuals make a living!"
Boos and cries of disgust sounded around them, the well-to-do women and man looking wholly uncomfortable at the fuss being made, but Kate only had eyes for Stewart and Albie whose faces had paled significantly.
"But I don't find it all that funny," Kate angrily declared. "Walking around, looking at homeless children in the streets and men and women working sixteen-hour days, in dangerous conditions, just to put a meager meal on their table. All while you get to go back to your mansions, wasting more food in a week than any of us could afford in a year. And this, after a day of gawking and laughing at hard-working people for the thrill of seeing how the other side lives!"
Another chorus of angry heckles filled the space as Spot watched on in utter awe. But Kate held her hand up for quiet, and shockingly, the room went still at her command.
"But we, the working people of New York, are far more gracious and forgiving than our supposed upper-class betters give us credit for. And we'll happily give you the experience you paid so well for. Here's the thing, though," She paused, walking a few steps nearer to their table. "For a real, authentic experience, you're gonna have to get a little dirty."
And before Spot knew what was happening, Kate lifted her boot up to their table—filled with all sorts of different food and spirits—then kicked as hard as she could. The scratched wooden top immediately toppled against Albie, Stewart, and their guests, food and drinks splashing all over their faces and clothes, the women squeaking in distress and the men howling in discomfort.
And after a breath, the barroom erupted in deafening cheers, alcohol seeming to spray everywhere from all directions.