Why had he asked her to serve Mr. Gould and himself? Why not the maid or the butler? She took care of children, she didn't pour drinks and lights cigars for rich old men. But Peter Gould and Jacob Castellane weren't exactly old men, they were probably in their late 30's, and both relatively attractive men. Although, the more they drank, the less attractive they became, and they kept on drinking well into the night.
Sadie tried to blend in with the woodwork, wishing she could sit down and rest her legs. The grandfather clock struck eight o'clock; she'd been standing there for nearly four hours just waiting to refill their tumblers with ice and liquor. Their conversation ran a straight line from railroads to money, from the mafia to money, from Mr. Gould's factories to money, and continued on to how to make more money. She wondered if Mr. Gould knew that the count had married his sister for the family's money. But Peter Gould's money and his sister's money were two different entities from the beginning, so maybe he didn't care.
Finally around nine o'clock, Mr. Gould asked for his coat and hat. Sadie fetched them for him. The men made their farewells and Sadie returned to the sitting room to clean up the mess.
"Thank you Sadie," the count stood in the open doorway. She looked up confused. Thank you? Bosses don't thank their servants...
"You're welcome, sir." She said under her breath, not knowing quite how to handle this. He stood awkwardly in the doorway. She tried to ignore his presence, hoping he'd just go away. She tried to empty a heavy glass ashtray, but it slipped out of her hands, spilled onto her skirt, and landed on the wooden floor where it broke in half. Shit! Sadie looked up guiltily. The count turned and left the room without a word.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He needed some air. Perhaps he had too much whiskey. God he hated whiskey! Such a disgusting American drink. It smells like piss, it burns his throat, and it weakens his mind. Now good Frenchmen drink wine, smooth, sweet, like a good woman. Like that governess...
Jacob wished he could slap himself for those thoughts. He couldn't even place what it was that attracted him to that woman; she was fiercely average looking, with only freckles and that mane of red hair to separate her from every other girl in New York. Perhaps it was that scene in the garden... He wrapped his heavy wool cape around him and headed out, realizing there was no need for this covering on a New York summer night. Cursing, he stepped back into the house. James, the butler, stood waiting to take the cape with that smug look on his face. It took all the strength he could muster not to knock that smirk off his butler's face.
"I've decided not to go out," he muttered, and mounted the stairs. Instead of stopping at his floor, he continued up the stairs to the third floor where the servant's resided. He had never been to this floor before, so he didn't have a clue where to go. He opened the first door he saw. The room was empty. Frustrated, he tried the second. Bingo.
As he burst in, Sadie whirled around; only half dressed, holding her stained skirt in her hands. She attempted to cover herself with the skirt as he stepped in and closed the door.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Mush hadn't heard from Sadie since the day they'd met. He was half afraid to return after the incident with the dogs. Maybe she got scared off, or wasn't allowed to see him again. Thinking about their rendezvous during his matched kept his energy level way up. He was averaging two more rounds per match. Race was so happy after he won the last fight, that he actually kissed him. Naturally, Mush soaked him good for that.
He was almost scared to see her again. He'd been doing so well boxing lately because of his frustration for her, that if he saw her, would it jinx him? Race and he had won so much money over the last week alone that they'd been able to pay their rent, pay off Race's debts, and even buy new clothes. Race had insisted that they'd need suits, so they both bought brand new wool suits tailored for them.
In short, Mush was becoming famous. At least for his fifteen minutes. All of a sudden, his friends came out of the woodwork, he had spending money, and even girls followed him around. He was even visited by the infamous Spot Conlon, who used to reign over the Brooklyn newsies, but was now working his way up in the Irish mafia. Spot's visit was not a friendly one although they had been friends once. He stopped by before a fight to tell Mush that he going down in the 16^th round, or else he would go down to the bottom of the Hudson. Mush chose the 16^th. Luckily, Race bet accordingly.
Sadie tried to blend in with the woodwork, wishing she could sit down and rest her legs. The grandfather clock struck eight o'clock; she'd been standing there for nearly four hours just waiting to refill their tumblers with ice and liquor. Their conversation ran a straight line from railroads to money, from the mafia to money, from Mr. Gould's factories to money, and continued on to how to make more money. She wondered if Mr. Gould knew that the count had married his sister for the family's money. But Peter Gould's money and his sister's money were two different entities from the beginning, so maybe he didn't care.
Finally around nine o'clock, Mr. Gould asked for his coat and hat. Sadie fetched them for him. The men made their farewells and Sadie returned to the sitting room to clean up the mess.
"Thank you Sadie," the count stood in the open doorway. She looked up confused. Thank you? Bosses don't thank their servants...
"You're welcome, sir." She said under her breath, not knowing quite how to handle this. He stood awkwardly in the doorway. She tried to ignore his presence, hoping he'd just go away. She tried to empty a heavy glass ashtray, but it slipped out of her hands, spilled onto her skirt, and landed on the wooden floor where it broke in half. Shit! Sadie looked up guiltily. The count turned and left the room without a word.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He needed some air. Perhaps he had too much whiskey. God he hated whiskey! Such a disgusting American drink. It smells like piss, it burns his throat, and it weakens his mind. Now good Frenchmen drink wine, smooth, sweet, like a good woman. Like that governess...
Jacob wished he could slap himself for those thoughts. He couldn't even place what it was that attracted him to that woman; she was fiercely average looking, with only freckles and that mane of red hair to separate her from every other girl in New York. Perhaps it was that scene in the garden... He wrapped his heavy wool cape around him and headed out, realizing there was no need for this covering on a New York summer night. Cursing, he stepped back into the house. James, the butler, stood waiting to take the cape with that smug look on his face. It took all the strength he could muster not to knock that smirk off his butler's face.
"I've decided not to go out," he muttered, and mounted the stairs. Instead of stopping at his floor, he continued up the stairs to the third floor where the servant's resided. He had never been to this floor before, so he didn't have a clue where to go. He opened the first door he saw. The room was empty. Frustrated, he tried the second. Bingo.
As he burst in, Sadie whirled around; only half dressed, holding her stained skirt in her hands. She attempted to cover herself with the skirt as he stepped in and closed the door.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Mush hadn't heard from Sadie since the day they'd met. He was half afraid to return after the incident with the dogs. Maybe she got scared off, or wasn't allowed to see him again. Thinking about their rendezvous during his matched kept his energy level way up. He was averaging two more rounds per match. Race was so happy after he won the last fight, that he actually kissed him. Naturally, Mush soaked him good for that.
He was almost scared to see her again. He'd been doing so well boxing lately because of his frustration for her, that if he saw her, would it jinx him? Race and he had won so much money over the last week alone that they'd been able to pay their rent, pay off Race's debts, and even buy new clothes. Race had insisted that they'd need suits, so they both bought brand new wool suits tailored for them.
In short, Mush was becoming famous. At least for his fifteen minutes. All of a sudden, his friends came out of the woodwork, he had spending money, and even girls followed him around. He was even visited by the infamous Spot Conlon, who used to reign over the Brooklyn newsies, but was now working his way up in the Irish mafia. Spot's visit was not a friendly one although they had been friends once. He stopped by before a fight to tell Mush that he going down in the 16^th round, or else he would go down to the bottom of the Hudson. Mush chose the 16^th. Luckily, Race bet accordingly.