CHAPTER FIVE
It had been that singular, abhorrent newsboy that had caused Darby's opinion of all newsboys to spiral miserably downwards.
It had been a year or so ago, and she had always relished in the fact that she got to sleep in on Saturdays (on Sunday she had to attend mass with her evil stepparents and during the week days she had to reluctantly follow her mother around on her pointless errands.)
It had been after one particularly grueling Friday after one of her mother's more horrid dinner parties (she had had some ghastly encounters with David Van Prick), when Darby, with a long sigh, collapsed into her goose-down bed, ecstatic over the fact that tomorrow she could actually have a few hours of rest.
Sadly, she had been mistaking.
The hollers had woken her up at precisely 7:15 a.m. Darby had tried to ignore them and fall back to sleep, but she could not. They still persisted. Angrily, she had thundered to her window (the one that overlooked the front lawn of the house) in a sleepy stupor, when she saw some newsboy down below, literally blaring out the headlines in a stentorious tone.
Darby had cursed the newsboy with all the oaths Katrina had taught her and tried with all her will to fall asleep once more. But with that audible yelling in her ears, it was impossible.
This continued every Saturday for five weeks.
Darby had finally become incredibly fed up with this, and had stormed out of the house, flimsy nightgown and hair in rollers, and down the walkway, where she stood behind the tall wrought-iron gate.
"Will you please desist in your vile blarings, sir!" she had screamed.
The newsboy had only looked at her and laughed, calling out the headlines even louder.
With that, Darby had flicked open the gate and stood face to face with him. "What can I give you so you can shut your goddamn mouth and get the hell out of here?"
Then he had explained that this was the greatest spot to find customers to buy 'papes'—Darby concluded that he meant newspapers—and that he couldn't leave unless they had all been sold.
With that, Darby had thundered back inside the house, and then returned. She then gave the newsboy a handful of change in the return of the promise that he would keep his ass away from her house.
The horrid newsboy had complied, and smiling, gave Darby his entire stack of newspapers.
Darby had pitched them angrily to the side and hurried back to her bed.
She hadn't heard the newsboy calling the headlines on Saturday mornings ever since.
But, standing there with the snow now starting to come down with a vengeance, Darby felt a pit in her stomach.
It was horrid enough that Katrina had duped her into coming to a party with newsboys as the majority of the guests. But a party with newsboys as the majority of the guests in their own goddamn lodging house?
Come now. That was a bit too much.
Katrina turned to her. "Are you going in, Darby, or are you going to stand in the doorway all night?"
Darby locked eyes with Katrina, giving her a look as though to say are-you- that-much-of-an-idiot? She stepped back and shook her head.
Katrina raised an eyebrow. "What, your not going in?"
Darby sighed. Poor little Katrina Van Witt could be so utterly moronic sometimes.
She took Katrina by the wrist and pulled her away from Whitie.
"Darby, what in God's name is your problem?" Katrina asked.
Darby let out a groan. "Thanks for inviting me to the grand party, Kat. But I think you are forgetting a few things."
"What?"
"Number one: you have a date and I do not. Second: the goddamn party is at a newsboy-lodging house!" Darby hissed.
Katrina rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Darby, you can be such a child sometimes. They are newsies, Darb, it's not like they are goddamn lepers. I do have friends who are of lower classes of us, Darby, and believe it or not, they aren't that bad. I would have no doubts wagering that the party going on inside this building would be more entertaining than all the ornate dinner parties your mother had combined. You don't know how to live, Darby. Try it you might like it. Or are you going to let your bitch of a mother's shallow teachings rub off on you: all that are not rich are inferior? Turn into an Ava Rockwell clone, Darby I don't give a damn. But I am staying. And besides, if you do want to go home back to Mother and Father, who the hell is going to walk you home? Yourself?"
Darby was left speechless at her friend's audacious speech once more. She didn't know whether to cry, punch Katrina, or laugh at her silliness.
A smile only crossed Katrina's face. "It never fails, Darby. Now come one." She grabbed Darby's wrist and once again joined Whitie, linking arms with him.
Whitie locked gazes with Katrina. Grinning ear to ear, he asked, "Ready, mad'moiselle?"
Katrina mock curtseyed. "Why of course."
And Whitie Wilson threw open the door to the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House.
"Just mingle," Darby heard Katrina whisper into her ear before she was pushed into the center of the commotion.
Darby didn't know what to be prepared for when she was so eagerly shoved inside the noisy lodging house. For one moment, she had pictured flames spurting around the parlor in the lodging house and all the newsboys to be demons themselves (well, what was such a naïve girl to think?)
But, it was not Hell and the newsboys were not the spawns of Satan. Indeed, it was rowdy and plenty of commotion going on, but other than that, Darby was just too wide eyed, soaking in the surroundings, to actually consider her fear.
The front door connected to the parlor, which had a rather musty theme to it. Darby knew her mother would go absolutely mad by the way a thin layer of dust covered the whole room. From the parlor, a set of stairs proceeded to the second floor, of which shadows played on the stairs, making one unable to see the end of them.
Darby's gaze once again was met with the parlor, as she felt Katrina's hand press against her back pushing her forward.
The parlor was littered with dozens of newsboys; the majority of them crowded around a warped, makeshift poker table that was positioned in the center of the room. Newsboys who all wore the same attire, old and dingy. But newsboys who were so utterly delicious…
Two emotions collided at the same time in Darby's psyche. One, why could not so many absolutely delectable boys have been in the high class so Darby would have had a chance to meet them? And two, Darby felt positive shyness fill ever crease of her body.
So many boys…she really was not used to it. And boys who were gambling, smoking, and drinking. What would her mother say if she had known that her daughter was attending such a party?
"Hey, guys!" Whitie's voice rang out from the doorway.
Many of the newsboys who turned their attention to their friend who just arrived had planned on just seeing he alone, not the two well-dressed ladies that he bore in front of him.
A dead silence fell over the room.
Darby wished she could crawl under a table—anything—to get rid of all those eyes that bore into her.
"Haven't you ever seen a lady before?" Katrina's voice snippily asked from behind her.
Most of the newsboys exchanged glances, ripples of murmurs broke out, and soon the volume of commotion rocketed again as the majority went back to the poker game.
Darby felt relief surge through her, as she turned around to Katrina. "Thank…" she started, but halted when she saw Katrina pulling Whitie to a corner of the parlor.
Darby let out a cry and rushed to Katrina's side, stopping her. "And where do you think YOU are going?" she hissed.
A slick smile spread over Katrina's lips. "Whitie and I are going to get better aquatinted."
Darby's unbelieving gaze flickered from Whitie back to Katrina. "And what, just leave me the here all by myself?"
Katrina shrugged and nodded. "Yes."
Darby's jaw dropped. "Katrina, please. Don't. I don't know anyone!"
Katrina sighed. "Well, Darby girl, if you are going to be a socialite one day, then be social."
With that, Katrina patted her on the shoulder, and, Darby's gaze following, tugged Whitie into the room adjoining the parlor.
Leaving Darby Rockwell standing in the middle of the parlor of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House all alone.
Darby felt like she could break into hysterical sobs right then and there. In the lodging house with rowdy newsboys and with her best friend in another room with one of those newsboys was too much to handle.
She felt the lump grow in her throat and the spiteful tears well in her eyes. Fighting to keep them back, Darby retired to one of the chairs that lined the wall—one of the chairs as far away as the newsboys as possible.
Darby hated Katrina at that moment. What a horrid bitch she had been to drag her there, minus date, just to discard her to go into a room to do God knows what with that newsboy.
And Darby couldn't even walk home. God forbid she would waltz the streets of Brooklyn at night. By even thinking that, they could have her committed.
No one except the loonies and the prostitutes wandered the streets of Brooklyn at night.
Darby deeply sighed, a shaky sigh, fighting with all her might to keep the tears back. She stuffed her hands further into her muffler and bowed her head.
She would just have to wait until Katrina was done violating Whitie so they could walk home together.
Katrina you are such a bitch, Darby bitterly thought.
But she couldn't hold them back.
She was ready for the first tear to trickle down her cheek, when suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
Darby slowly turned in her seat, head bowed. She looked up with her tear- filled ice blue eyes.
And what she saw made the floor drop from underneath her.
It had been that singular, abhorrent newsboy that had caused Darby's opinion of all newsboys to spiral miserably downwards.
It had been a year or so ago, and she had always relished in the fact that she got to sleep in on Saturdays (on Sunday she had to attend mass with her evil stepparents and during the week days she had to reluctantly follow her mother around on her pointless errands.)
It had been after one particularly grueling Friday after one of her mother's more horrid dinner parties (she had had some ghastly encounters with David Van Prick), when Darby, with a long sigh, collapsed into her goose-down bed, ecstatic over the fact that tomorrow she could actually have a few hours of rest.
Sadly, she had been mistaking.
The hollers had woken her up at precisely 7:15 a.m. Darby had tried to ignore them and fall back to sleep, but she could not. They still persisted. Angrily, she had thundered to her window (the one that overlooked the front lawn of the house) in a sleepy stupor, when she saw some newsboy down below, literally blaring out the headlines in a stentorious tone.
Darby had cursed the newsboy with all the oaths Katrina had taught her and tried with all her will to fall asleep once more. But with that audible yelling in her ears, it was impossible.
This continued every Saturday for five weeks.
Darby had finally become incredibly fed up with this, and had stormed out of the house, flimsy nightgown and hair in rollers, and down the walkway, where she stood behind the tall wrought-iron gate.
"Will you please desist in your vile blarings, sir!" she had screamed.
The newsboy had only looked at her and laughed, calling out the headlines even louder.
With that, Darby had flicked open the gate and stood face to face with him. "What can I give you so you can shut your goddamn mouth and get the hell out of here?"
Then he had explained that this was the greatest spot to find customers to buy 'papes'—Darby concluded that he meant newspapers—and that he couldn't leave unless they had all been sold.
With that, Darby had thundered back inside the house, and then returned. She then gave the newsboy a handful of change in the return of the promise that he would keep his ass away from her house.
The horrid newsboy had complied, and smiling, gave Darby his entire stack of newspapers.
Darby had pitched them angrily to the side and hurried back to her bed.
She hadn't heard the newsboy calling the headlines on Saturday mornings ever since.
But, standing there with the snow now starting to come down with a vengeance, Darby felt a pit in her stomach.
It was horrid enough that Katrina had duped her into coming to a party with newsboys as the majority of the guests. But a party with newsboys as the majority of the guests in their own goddamn lodging house?
Come now. That was a bit too much.
Katrina turned to her. "Are you going in, Darby, or are you going to stand in the doorway all night?"
Darby locked eyes with Katrina, giving her a look as though to say are-you- that-much-of-an-idiot? She stepped back and shook her head.
Katrina raised an eyebrow. "What, your not going in?"
Darby sighed. Poor little Katrina Van Witt could be so utterly moronic sometimes.
She took Katrina by the wrist and pulled her away from Whitie.
"Darby, what in God's name is your problem?" Katrina asked.
Darby let out a groan. "Thanks for inviting me to the grand party, Kat. But I think you are forgetting a few things."
"What?"
"Number one: you have a date and I do not. Second: the goddamn party is at a newsboy-lodging house!" Darby hissed.
Katrina rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Darby, you can be such a child sometimes. They are newsies, Darb, it's not like they are goddamn lepers. I do have friends who are of lower classes of us, Darby, and believe it or not, they aren't that bad. I would have no doubts wagering that the party going on inside this building would be more entertaining than all the ornate dinner parties your mother had combined. You don't know how to live, Darby. Try it you might like it. Or are you going to let your bitch of a mother's shallow teachings rub off on you: all that are not rich are inferior? Turn into an Ava Rockwell clone, Darby I don't give a damn. But I am staying. And besides, if you do want to go home back to Mother and Father, who the hell is going to walk you home? Yourself?"
Darby was left speechless at her friend's audacious speech once more. She didn't know whether to cry, punch Katrina, or laugh at her silliness.
A smile only crossed Katrina's face. "It never fails, Darby. Now come one." She grabbed Darby's wrist and once again joined Whitie, linking arms with him.
Whitie locked gazes with Katrina. Grinning ear to ear, he asked, "Ready, mad'moiselle?"
Katrina mock curtseyed. "Why of course."
And Whitie Wilson threw open the door to the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House.
"Just mingle," Darby heard Katrina whisper into her ear before she was pushed into the center of the commotion.
Darby didn't know what to be prepared for when she was so eagerly shoved inside the noisy lodging house. For one moment, she had pictured flames spurting around the parlor in the lodging house and all the newsboys to be demons themselves (well, what was such a naïve girl to think?)
But, it was not Hell and the newsboys were not the spawns of Satan. Indeed, it was rowdy and plenty of commotion going on, but other than that, Darby was just too wide eyed, soaking in the surroundings, to actually consider her fear.
The front door connected to the parlor, which had a rather musty theme to it. Darby knew her mother would go absolutely mad by the way a thin layer of dust covered the whole room. From the parlor, a set of stairs proceeded to the second floor, of which shadows played on the stairs, making one unable to see the end of them.
Darby's gaze once again was met with the parlor, as she felt Katrina's hand press against her back pushing her forward.
The parlor was littered with dozens of newsboys; the majority of them crowded around a warped, makeshift poker table that was positioned in the center of the room. Newsboys who all wore the same attire, old and dingy. But newsboys who were so utterly delicious…
Two emotions collided at the same time in Darby's psyche. One, why could not so many absolutely delectable boys have been in the high class so Darby would have had a chance to meet them? And two, Darby felt positive shyness fill ever crease of her body.
So many boys…she really was not used to it. And boys who were gambling, smoking, and drinking. What would her mother say if she had known that her daughter was attending such a party?
"Hey, guys!" Whitie's voice rang out from the doorway.
Many of the newsboys who turned their attention to their friend who just arrived had planned on just seeing he alone, not the two well-dressed ladies that he bore in front of him.
A dead silence fell over the room.
Darby wished she could crawl under a table—anything—to get rid of all those eyes that bore into her.
"Haven't you ever seen a lady before?" Katrina's voice snippily asked from behind her.
Most of the newsboys exchanged glances, ripples of murmurs broke out, and soon the volume of commotion rocketed again as the majority went back to the poker game.
Darby felt relief surge through her, as she turned around to Katrina. "Thank…" she started, but halted when she saw Katrina pulling Whitie to a corner of the parlor.
Darby let out a cry and rushed to Katrina's side, stopping her. "And where do you think YOU are going?" she hissed.
A slick smile spread over Katrina's lips. "Whitie and I are going to get better aquatinted."
Darby's unbelieving gaze flickered from Whitie back to Katrina. "And what, just leave me the here all by myself?"
Katrina shrugged and nodded. "Yes."
Darby's jaw dropped. "Katrina, please. Don't. I don't know anyone!"
Katrina sighed. "Well, Darby girl, if you are going to be a socialite one day, then be social."
With that, Katrina patted her on the shoulder, and, Darby's gaze following, tugged Whitie into the room adjoining the parlor.
Leaving Darby Rockwell standing in the middle of the parlor of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House all alone.
Darby felt like she could break into hysterical sobs right then and there. In the lodging house with rowdy newsboys and with her best friend in another room with one of those newsboys was too much to handle.
She felt the lump grow in her throat and the spiteful tears well in her eyes. Fighting to keep them back, Darby retired to one of the chairs that lined the wall—one of the chairs as far away as the newsboys as possible.
Darby hated Katrina at that moment. What a horrid bitch she had been to drag her there, minus date, just to discard her to go into a room to do God knows what with that newsboy.
And Darby couldn't even walk home. God forbid she would waltz the streets of Brooklyn at night. By even thinking that, they could have her committed.
No one except the loonies and the prostitutes wandered the streets of Brooklyn at night.
Darby deeply sighed, a shaky sigh, fighting with all her might to keep the tears back. She stuffed her hands further into her muffler and bowed her head.
She would just have to wait until Katrina was done violating Whitie so they could walk home together.
Katrina you are such a bitch, Darby bitterly thought.
But she couldn't hold them back.
She was ready for the first tear to trickle down her cheek, when suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
Darby slowly turned in her seat, head bowed. She looked up with her tear- filled ice blue eyes.
And what she saw made the floor drop from underneath her.