Mrs. Donnelly was in a tough position. She leaned the kitchen chair back
on its back legs and balanced there. She should really have started dinner
already, the girls should be coming home from the factories soon and would
be starving. They often never got lunch breaks and the factories were hard
dirty work, but when the bell rang at the end of the day, those poor girls
ran home with energy that Mrs. Donnelly admired them for.
She nervously chewed on dried spaghetti and remembered how her mother always told her she would crack her teeth that way. She had to make a decision about Ophelia before the girls came home. Mrs. Donnelly had to be strict about her rules or else her boarding house would come to resemble a brothel. Everyone in the house was aware of Ophelia's absence the night before. She had missed curfew, stayed out all night, and on top of that, she'd snuck out in the first place. And only God knows what she did last night! But from the looks of her when that nice young man brought her home, it seemed like maybe Ophelia had learned her lesson.
Mrs. Donnelly was trying to convince herself to let Ophelia stay, but she knew she had to stand her ground. She couldn't be unfair to the girls who followed the rules. Ophelia had not been the best resident of her house. She always seemed to have a problem with authority. Mrs. Donnelly fingered the cigarette she had just rolled. A young lady can't afford to be headstrong in a world like this. Some man will undoubtedly beat her down into submission. Mrs. Donnelly knew that first hand. She lit her cigarette and wondered where else Ophelia could live.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Spot couldn't control himself around this girl. He hated her. Why was she trying to ruin his career? Why couldn't she just disappear like every other little slut that sticks around the gang too long? He briefly thought about trying some cement shoes on her, but then cleared his mind of anything that would earn him the wrath of Timmy Michelson. That was the real problem, Timmy was. Spot had Sadie pinned against the wall in a side closet above the Cloverleaf Pub. He was so angry, yet he didn't know how to proceed. Even alone, she had the backup of a professional boxer and his own boss.
"I dunno how ya did it. Ya got Timmy da playboy droolin' ta get his mickey wet," he said shaking his head in disbelief.
"Mr. Michelson does not want me!" Sadie was confused.
"He sure don't go 'round 'elpin every goirl 'e comes across. Stop actin' so stupid."
Sadie was quiet for a moment. "Are ye going ta hit me?"
The question knocked Spot back into reality. He released her arm and backed up. What did he think he was doing? On second thought, he didn't really need to use Mush to rig the fights anymore. This was way too much drama to be going through, besides, he had made enough off this game. Maybe he could move into the crap games. He knew of this little trick who made her way around with the crap players… He looked up at Sadie, who was pale, which made her freckles show much more. Her red curly hair hid one of her big green eyes. He could see why Timmy and Mush wanted her so badly, he couldn't put his finger on it, but this girl had some very desirable feature.
"Go home an' stay away from me."
"But… are ye…"
"Just go! I won't mess wit' ya precious Mush no more if ya just move ya ass out!"
Sadie scooted out of the closet the best she could without touching Spot. As she disappeared down the stairs, Spot sighed and wiped the sweat off his brow. After he knocked off that barber tonight, he was going to get real drunk.
~*~*~*~*~*
Jacob was in a genuinely good mood. He awoke around noon without having to shoo the little slut away since she had run off the night before. He hadn't had a girl that tight in what? Years? She was a good lay, but she was no good now. What good is an inexperienced girl unless she was a virgin? He remembered his college days when he and his buddies had an ongoing competition to see how many virgins they could corrupt. He hadn't won, but he had some fierce competition in his Spanish friend from Navarre, who could write poetry to make a woman melt. He was smiling and daydreaming when the servants brought him his breakfast.
He looked at the newspaper and noticed his and George's little rouse was still on the front page. The two million they had skimmed off the stock market had paid some of his debts. Maybe if he was really nice to his wife, she'd help pay for them.
Maybe he could invite her to New York City. She had a mansion up in Tarrytown that he'd like to visit, but he wasn't usually welcome by her family without her. To add to the confusion, he'd been hearing rumors that she was considering divorcing him for his cousin. He'd welcome the divorce if it wouldn't leave him broke. Maybe this scam with George Gould, her brother, would make him a little more money, and she could be granted her divorce.
It was a sunny day. "How lovely," he said aloud as he leaned back into his plush leather chair and relived the night before in his mind.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
When she woke up, she realized it really wasn't a dream. She had lived out her worst nightmare last night. All in one fell swoop, she lost her innocence, her chance at finding a decent husband, her chance with Race, her home, and, to top it off, got totally humiliated by a conniving married man.
Ophelia was torn between her hate for the count and disbelief that he had just chucked her so easily. She couldn't believe that that meant absolutely nothing to him! She cringed when she repeated the scene over and over in her head. She'd actually screamed when he told he already had a wife.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she sat on her bed with her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Where would she go now? She was scared to go downstairs and face Mrs. Donnelly. Race was sure to turn her away now, after all, he'd tried to save her and she'd denied him. Maybe she should have jumped off the bridge. That boy who saved her was downright amazing. Maybe he would take care of her. No, he wouldn't, not after what she'd already put him through.
Maybe she'd sign up for the mail order bride program after all….
(Hey- just a note to all my readers: Thanks so much for your responses! I love reading what you think! Let me know whether or not you like where I'm going with the story. Oh, and Gypsy, I have that Scoth-Irish temper too. We rock! Anyway, you guys are the reason I'm still writing, so please keep up with me! )
She nervously chewed on dried spaghetti and remembered how her mother always told her she would crack her teeth that way. She had to make a decision about Ophelia before the girls came home. Mrs. Donnelly had to be strict about her rules or else her boarding house would come to resemble a brothel. Everyone in the house was aware of Ophelia's absence the night before. She had missed curfew, stayed out all night, and on top of that, she'd snuck out in the first place. And only God knows what she did last night! But from the looks of her when that nice young man brought her home, it seemed like maybe Ophelia had learned her lesson.
Mrs. Donnelly was trying to convince herself to let Ophelia stay, but she knew she had to stand her ground. She couldn't be unfair to the girls who followed the rules. Ophelia had not been the best resident of her house. She always seemed to have a problem with authority. Mrs. Donnelly fingered the cigarette she had just rolled. A young lady can't afford to be headstrong in a world like this. Some man will undoubtedly beat her down into submission. Mrs. Donnelly knew that first hand. She lit her cigarette and wondered where else Ophelia could live.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Spot couldn't control himself around this girl. He hated her. Why was she trying to ruin his career? Why couldn't she just disappear like every other little slut that sticks around the gang too long? He briefly thought about trying some cement shoes on her, but then cleared his mind of anything that would earn him the wrath of Timmy Michelson. That was the real problem, Timmy was. Spot had Sadie pinned against the wall in a side closet above the Cloverleaf Pub. He was so angry, yet he didn't know how to proceed. Even alone, she had the backup of a professional boxer and his own boss.
"I dunno how ya did it. Ya got Timmy da playboy droolin' ta get his mickey wet," he said shaking his head in disbelief.
"Mr. Michelson does not want me!" Sadie was confused.
"He sure don't go 'round 'elpin every goirl 'e comes across. Stop actin' so stupid."
Sadie was quiet for a moment. "Are ye going ta hit me?"
The question knocked Spot back into reality. He released her arm and backed up. What did he think he was doing? On second thought, he didn't really need to use Mush to rig the fights anymore. This was way too much drama to be going through, besides, he had made enough off this game. Maybe he could move into the crap games. He knew of this little trick who made her way around with the crap players… He looked up at Sadie, who was pale, which made her freckles show much more. Her red curly hair hid one of her big green eyes. He could see why Timmy and Mush wanted her so badly, he couldn't put his finger on it, but this girl had some very desirable feature.
"Go home an' stay away from me."
"But… are ye…"
"Just go! I won't mess wit' ya precious Mush no more if ya just move ya ass out!"
Sadie scooted out of the closet the best she could without touching Spot. As she disappeared down the stairs, Spot sighed and wiped the sweat off his brow. After he knocked off that barber tonight, he was going to get real drunk.
~*~*~*~*~*
Jacob was in a genuinely good mood. He awoke around noon without having to shoo the little slut away since she had run off the night before. He hadn't had a girl that tight in what? Years? She was a good lay, but she was no good now. What good is an inexperienced girl unless she was a virgin? He remembered his college days when he and his buddies had an ongoing competition to see how many virgins they could corrupt. He hadn't won, but he had some fierce competition in his Spanish friend from Navarre, who could write poetry to make a woman melt. He was smiling and daydreaming when the servants brought him his breakfast.
He looked at the newspaper and noticed his and George's little rouse was still on the front page. The two million they had skimmed off the stock market had paid some of his debts. Maybe if he was really nice to his wife, she'd help pay for them.
Maybe he could invite her to New York City. She had a mansion up in Tarrytown that he'd like to visit, but he wasn't usually welcome by her family without her. To add to the confusion, he'd been hearing rumors that she was considering divorcing him for his cousin. He'd welcome the divorce if it wouldn't leave him broke. Maybe this scam with George Gould, her brother, would make him a little more money, and she could be granted her divorce.
It was a sunny day. "How lovely," he said aloud as he leaned back into his plush leather chair and relived the night before in his mind.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
When she woke up, she realized it really wasn't a dream. She had lived out her worst nightmare last night. All in one fell swoop, she lost her innocence, her chance at finding a decent husband, her chance with Race, her home, and, to top it off, got totally humiliated by a conniving married man.
Ophelia was torn between her hate for the count and disbelief that he had just chucked her so easily. She couldn't believe that that meant absolutely nothing to him! She cringed when she repeated the scene over and over in her head. She'd actually screamed when he told he already had a wife.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she sat on her bed with her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Where would she go now? She was scared to go downstairs and face Mrs. Donnelly. Race was sure to turn her away now, after all, he'd tried to save her and she'd denied him. Maybe she should have jumped off the bridge. That boy who saved her was downright amazing. Maybe he would take care of her. No, he wouldn't, not after what she'd already put him through.
Maybe she'd sign up for the mail order bride program after all….
(Hey- just a note to all my readers: Thanks so much for your responses! I love reading what you think! Let me know whether or not you like where I'm going with the story. Oh, and Gypsy, I have that Scoth-Irish temper too. We rock! Anyway, you guys are the reason I'm still writing, so please keep up with me! )