"Hit me," Race muttered.
"You sure?" Mush replied.
"Yeah, I know what I'm doin', hit me," he repeated.
"All right, but don't be mad if it ain't da right card," Mush said, flipping the card. "Ok, fellahs, show 'em," he said, revealing his hand. 18, not too bad.
Race grimaced and showing his cards said, "I bust."
Jack smirked slyly, "Blackjack boys, read 'em an weep. Bettah not take tomorra off."
"Dat's it, I'm gonna try my luck wit craps," Race said, throwing his cards grumpily at Mush, and walking over to the corner where Bumlets was running the craps game.
Specs was sitting on his bunk, unwilling to participate in the nights entertainment. He'd found a lively young messenger from Brooklyn, and asked him to deliver the letter to Tara's apartment. He gave the boy a nickel, to ensure the letter a speedy delivery. All he could do now was wait. Wait and hope. His face had gone very pale, and all night the other newsies were asking him if he was ok.
Some guys from Brooklyn had found their way to poker night at the Manhattan house, and Smoke, a good friend of Specs, had tagged along. They strode into the room with a commanding presence, led by their infamous leader, Spot Conlon.
Smoke scanned the room, looking for his forlorn friend. Word traveled fast in the newsie community, and he'd heard about his heartbreak about an hour after it had happened. Spotting him leering at everyone in the room, he rushed over. "Hey Elliot, how's it going?" he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.
Specs blinked confusedly, as he wasn't really used to hearing his real name said by anyone else but Dizzy. "Oh, Scott. Heya," he said rather disconsolately. He had a gut feeling that Smoke had come here to try and cheer him up.
"So, I guess the poker hasn't started yet? Had any luck with at craps or blackjack?" he questioned, skirting the obvious purpose of his visit.
"Haven't played. Just been sitting here, torturing myself about Tara. That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it," he sneered bitterly.
"I admit, I'm here 'cause Runt told me you gave him a letter to give to her," replied Smoke, looking at the floor.
"Who's Runt?"
"The kid you gave the letter to."
"I figured as much, but how do you know him?"
"Hm, well, I do kinda live in Brooklyn, and he's the self-proclaimed 'Little Terrror of the Brooklyn Lodging House' not to mention Skip O'Grady's brother," Smoke said, rolling his eyes. Usually Specs was more sensible than this.
"Right. Stupid question. So, are you going to tell me to forget about her? To stop trying to win her back?" Specs said, agitated.
"Yeah. You really are being daft about this. The girl cheated on you, stomped on your heart, and had a new guy within the hour, who, I heard from a reliable source, had been seen with her three weeks ago, necking in the back of Irving Hall. You're better off without her, and there's a ton of worthy girls out there. Why, in Brooklyn there's this sweet girl, you'd love her…" he said, staring up at the ceiling dreamily.
"I'll tell you what I've told everyone else. I love her, and I know she still loves me. She's just afraid of commitment. I know my letter'll win her back, and if it doesn't, I'll learn to move on," he said, shaking his head.
"Well, just take your mind off it for now. Runt already delivered the letter, and it's out of your hands. Let's get in on some Blackjack, c'mon, whaddya say," Smoke said, grinning and brushing his ash-colored hair out of his face.
Specs frowned, then sighed. "You're always talking me in to something or other, aren't you? Like in secondary school, when you convinced me that… well, better not dredge up old memories now," he replied, nearly beaming. He and Smoke went way back. They'd grown up together in Boston, and somehow reunited after a fateful fire took the lives of both their parents.
Smoke, grinning all too mischievously, elbowed Specs hard in the ribs as soon as he got up, and Specs responded by decking Smoke soundly across the jaw. The other newsies stared up from their gambling in shock, but Specs and Smoke just laughed, each rubbing their injuries. The newsies that were looking at them went back to playing their games, and the two boys joined the nearest poker game.
"Five card stud, one eyed jacks wild, boys," Spill said, dealing them in. She looked up at both of them, and her eyes lingered upon Smoke's hair. He was used to this, and just sighed.
"No, I don't know why it's like this, yes, it's always been this way, and yes, I did try washing it," he said right as Spill was about to say something.
"Oh, nah, I wasn't gonna ask dat. I was just gonna tell ya dat deahs some fuzz in ya hair," said Spill between giggles.
Smoke ran his hands through his hair a few times as his cheeks turned slightly pink. "It's just, well, usually people comment about my hair," he said bashfully. As long as he could remember, his hair had been a very dark grey color.
"Undastandable," Spill replied, dealing the cards.
Dizzy meandered her way through the room, half looking for her brother, and half looking for Les. She caught a glimpse of Specs and Smoke at Spill's table, and hurried over. It'd been a while since she last saw Smoke, and he was like another brother to her. "Scott! Heya, how's it goin'?" she greeted, hugging him fiercely.
"Hey kiddo, they have you talking like a newsie already?" he asked, grinning.
She scrunched up her nose and replied, "I can be sophisticated should I choose to be, but I feel more comfortable tawkin' newsie tawk." Dizzy grinned broadly, and socked Smoke soundly in the stomach.
"Oof, you're getting too good at that, I shouldn't have taught you to fight," Smoke said, smirking.
"Hey now, I was the one that taught her to fight," Specs corrected.
"Oh yeah?" Smoke challenged.
"Yeah," Specs replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Ask her. Danielle, who taught you how to fight?" Smoke asked.
"Neither of ya. Jack an' Les taught me," she said, smirking.
The boys were exasperated, and shooed her away. "Go find Les," Specs muttered, mulling over his poker hand. "Gimme two," he said.
"Two for da guy with da glasses an' hat," Spill said, giving Specs his two requested cards. "Any for ya, Smoke?"
"Just one, please," he said, sighing, tossing his discard, and picking up his newly dealt one.
Everyone at the table was wearing a poker face, when finally Spill said, "I call," and showed her cards; a pair of tens and a pair of threes.
Specs smiled and held out his hand, a full house, winning him this round, and a couple of pennies. Smoke had nothing, and Spill frowned slightly. Ruse joined their table, taking the empty seat next to Specs.
"Hoid about Tara. Dat's da breaks, huh?" she said sensitively.
"Yeah, I guess," he muttered in response. Although lady luck seemed to be favoring him for a change, he couldn't shake the impending feeling of despair. A voice in his head kept pestering him, telling him that Tara wouldn't show, and that he'd be left sitting alone on the docks tomorrow.
"I'm real sawry, I know she meant a lot to ya," Ruse said, draping a slender arm over Specs' slumped shoulders.
Immediately Specs drew away from her. He gave her an apologetic look, collected his winnings, and hastily left the table. Smoke glanced ruefully at Specs, but turned back to the poker game he would win. He hesitantly stuffed his spoils into his pockets, and tailed Specs out of the bunkroom, up the stairs and to the roof.
"She's just a girl," he said, his voice nothing more than a whisper.
"But she was my girl."
"You've had others, how'd you get over them?"
"She was my first."
"You're joking!"
"I'm not."
"You used to be popular with the ladies back home, if my memory serves."
"Times change. Think any of the girls 'round here know about my life back in Boston? Other than that's where Danielle and I are from."
"You don't tell people either?"
"No, I try to remain relatively secretive about that, and I tell Dizzy to be as vague as she can about Boston. Luckily, she doesn't remember much."
"One of the brighter points of amneisia."
"Yeah, but she fells horrible that she has no memories of our parents, or much of anything before we came to New York."
"I had no idea it was that bad."
"It was. Can we stop talking about it?"
"Sure. And hey, about Tara, don't worry about her. I happen to know of at least three girls who'd jump at the chance to even catch your eye."
"Don't. Just don't. If I can't be with Tara, I don't want anyone else."
"All right, I won't bring it up again. You're sure? There's this one girl-"
Specs looked mournfully on his friend, his glance cutting Smoke's words short. "What about you? Have you had any success with girls?"
"No. I think it's the hair. My roguish good looks are somewhat offset by the gray tint my hair has."
"And here I always thought it was your never-ending pomposity and all around ornery behavior."
"I'm charming when I need to be."
"And only when you need to. You should try being agreeable some time. Girls really love the sensitive man routine. Even more so when it's not a routine."
"Hey, I'm not compromising for a girl. When I meet the right one, she'll take me with all my faults-"
"-And she'll try to change them."
"You have no faith left in girls, do you?"
"I do, I have faith that Tara will come back to me."
"Hate ta hear dat, 'cause I seen 'er messin' wit dat guy," Ruse said, breaking the temporary silence that had fallen over the rooftop.
"How long have you been up here?" Smoke inquired, scowling.
"I folla'd ya up heah, so I'se hoid it awl," she said, her voice hushed.
"Why did you follow us, and how did you know she was fooling around with another guy?" Specs said solemnly.
Her head dropped, and she took her hat off of her head. She said nothing, until Smoke walked over and nudged her with his elbow. "Live in the same building. Walls ain't so thick, an it wasn't like dey was keepin' it secret," she whispered
"That saves me a trip to Brooklyn, then," Specs sighed. "I guess girls just aren't worth all this heartache, or trouble, for that matter."
"Oh, don't give all 'a us da kiss off, jus' cause one lousy goil broke ya hawt. If all 'a us goils did dat, you'se guys would be up shit's creek," Ruse scolded.
"How'm I supposed to trust a girl named Ruse?"
Ruse blushed, "'S just a name. Folks don't usually know what it means."
"Well I do. What led you to chose that as your moniker?" he asked.
"Tawk less hoity-toity, if ya please," she said, slightly annoyed.
"Nickname," Smoke supplied.
"T'anks. It ain't my nickname. My muddah named me it. She told me what it meant 'afore she passed on. Said eva' since I w's born I was a tricky little demon. Snuck around, real secretive like. Say, what's you'se guys' real names, I toldja mine," Ruse said.
"Why does it matter?" Smoke asked defensively.
"Well, I guess it don't really. Can't a goil be curious?" she questioned rhetorically.
"Curiosity killed the cat, and more than enough nosy people," Specs sneered.
"You gonna hold a grudge against all us goils fa what Tara did?" she shot back angrily.
"Yes," he huffed, and nodded to the door.
Ruse stomped to the door, and could be heard from the stairwell, cursing the male gender, but particularly, Specs. Smoke stared worriedly at his emotionally exhausted friend. He'd never seen this frantic side of Specs. He was most often a good-natured person who never had an unkind word for anyone. "Elliot, don't let her have this kind of power over you," he said supportively.
"Just go back to Brooklyn, Scott. When I want your advice, I'll ask for it," he sneered. "I only want to be left alone," he added in a softer tone.
"Don't do anything stupid," Smoke began.
"Go," Specs cut in.
Smoke looked over his shoulder sadly. It killed him to see his best friend this way, as he was sure it killed Specs himself. He slunk down the stairs and out the front door, nodding a downcast goodbye to Kloppman behind the front desk before heading back to Brooklyn on his own, as Specs sat on the roof, and eventually fell asleep.