Charlotte was in a good mood. For the most part, things were going her way. Troy was pretty well under her thumb. She was convinced he would give her the shirt off his back if she asked.
But right now she had to focus on Race. After Troy had left, Charlotte had run into Race selling newspapers ona street corner. He had told her he would be back by six and then he would take her out.
Charlotte was now busying herself while waiting for Race by unpacking. She tried to think of what to say to Race tonight. She wanted to ask him about the fortune, but it was too soon. Then a thought struck her.
A rich man often has rich friends. And it would be perfectly normal of her to ask if he had any friends and then desire to meet them. If he did have rich friends…she may never have to work again!
Charlotte found herself too excited to unpack. She shut her small suitcase and plopped down onto her bed. It wouldn't be lond and then she would havbe all the money she would ever need!
She would have a beautiful house down South. Next to the woods. And a stream. She would never have to wear the same dress twice. She would be invited to high-class parties! And every woman would be jealous of her grace and beauty. And of course, her money.
Charlotte was brought out of her daydreaming when she heard voices. She opened her door to find newsies beginning to pour in from outside.
There was Race. He was coming to talk to her.
"Sorry, Charlotte. We can go now. Is Tibby's ok?"
"Of course," Charlotte let loose one of her charming smiles and followed Race out the door.
Charlotte took advantage of the opportunity and plunged right in. "Race, do you have any friends here?"
"Yeah. All dem guys in dere is me pals."
"I mean any friends outside of the lodging house?"
"Oh. Yeah. One, I guess."
"Just one?"
"Yep."
"Well, I would like to meet him."
Race cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Well," Charlotte began, caught a little off guard. She smiled sweetly. "Because he's your friend."
"He lives in Brooklyn. 'Spose I could take ya tamarra if ya really want."
"Oh, Race!" Charlotte said adoringly as she looped her arm through his. "You're the best!"
Race laughed. "But I should woin ya, Spot is…shoi of 'imself."
"Sure of himself?"
"Very shoi of 'imself."
Charlotte let the conversation rest at tat wondering what exactly this "Spot" was like.
Hmmmm. What do ya think? More to come but please review!
