CHAPTER SIX

Eyes. The Armageddon that the prophets have been predicting for centuries could have been occurring at the moment, but all Darby Rockwell saw were the eyes.

They rivaled her birthstone emerald studs that had been given to her as a sixteenth birthday present.

Two brilliant jewels that seemed to bore into her soul and read her innermost thoughts. She felt as though she was stark under those eyes.

The eyes, losing not an iota of intensity, began to clash with the background, as it began to focus. It was then when Darby let her mouth drop in disbelief.

"Oh my God, it's you."

Spot Conlon. The very same Spot Conlon she had met for the maiden time just a few hours shy of twenty-four ago. The very same Spot Conlon who had tried to end her life with a slingshot now stood in front of her, stripped of the winter attire he had donned the previous night.

Through his lopsided grin was unbelievingness. "What da hell are you doin' here?"

Darby quickly stood up, flustered, her gaze still locked on him. "Me? What am I doing here? What are you doing here, sir?"

Behind her, she could hear the snickers of the newsboys that were eavesdropping on the conversation. She cocked her head around to give them a look, and then turned back to Spot.

"Miss Dahby Rockwell," he grinned. "I don't t'ink it's me dat should be 'splainin why I'se here. What's a rich bitch like you'se doin' here?"

Darby stepped back, offended. "Fantastic asshole!" she said breathlessly.

Spot looked over her shoulder and to the newsboys that were paying heed to the parley between he and Darby.

"I'se been called an asshole before and fantastic before, but nevah before a fantastic asshole!"

Darby stepped back, shaking her head. "Newsboy, aren't you? I should have guessed long ago. You radiate the same despicable ignoble traits as the rest of them!"

With that, she spun on her heel and dashed out of the lodging house, December's frigidness chilling the innermost of her bones.

Katrina Van Witt, Spot Conlon, and those newsboys could all go to hell for all she cared. There was no way in hell that she was about to stand around in that baseborn lodging house. Let her get snatched and end up some perverse man's slave. It was better that sticking around and making happy chatter with Spot Conlon.

A red fury radiated off of Darby Rockwell that would have made the Devil himself cringe in fear.

The torrid wind flung itself at her full force, causing tendrils of hair to be whipped about.

Darby tried her best to stabilize her hair. "Goddamn hair!" she cried. She felt like screaming at the moment. She felt the scream lodged inside her throat, practically on its knees begging her to be released.

And it had its chance when Darby slipped on the patch of undetectable ice, bringing her painfully down.

The scream got loose. It sliced through the air.

Darby Rockwell sat, on her bottom in her good blue overcoat, pain ripping through her body, throwing a tantrum and sobbing.

It was then she heard, "For Christ's sake, will ya quit ya bitchin'?"

Darby spun her head around, and what she saw made her anger boil even more.

Spot Conlon.

Just seeing him brought about another shriek of wrath.

Stuggling against the wind's strong gusts, his hands shot to his ears and his jeweled eyes became wide. "Shut your goddamn mouth!"

Darby's eyes narrowed in ire as she struggled to her feet, only to be brought back down again by the ice.

Falling hard on your bottom twice is not peaches and cream. It can be a rather painful experience, and this is what made Darby explode into fresh, hysterical tears.

All Darby felt was a complex and overwhelming count of feelings rushing through her, the convulsions from the tears, and the brutal wind mercilessly flinging itself at her.

And the pair of arms that found their way under hers, bringing her to her feet.

She could feel Spot's hot breath in her ear. "Stop ya cryin."

Darby spun around, only to bang noses with him for they were that close. That brought on more pain and more tears.

Spot broke up into sympathetic laughter. "C'mon, stop ya cryin'."

"Oh, shut-up!" she choked, struggling away from him.

"Hey, where da hell are ya going?"

"Home!" Darby snapped. "Away from my bitch of best friend, away from that vile lodging house, away from all those abhorrent newsboys, and away from you, the biggest asshole in the world!"

His eyes sparkled. "Is it dat bad?"

She stopped, mid way through a sob to stare incredulously at him, her head tilted. "Your serious, are you not?"

That same lopsided grin found his lips again. "So it is, is it? But I'se not dat bad, am I, ta be called da biggest asshole in da whole woild?"

Darby snorted. "Don't flatter yourself."

"I'se not," Spot beamed. "I was jist tryin' ta git ya ta stop cryin', and I did."

Darby locked gazes with him, her blue eyes on fire. "Why are you like that?"

Spot cocked his head. "Like what?"

"Like, you suffer from some condition that causes split personalities."

Confusion filled his eyes.

Darby shook her head. "Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing, sir. You must be too duncical to even comprehend what I am saying. Now, let me go! I wish to go home!"

With one sharp jerk, Darby pulled free of his grasp and, quite flustered, proceeded home, shivering.

But Darby Rockwell could not shake Spot Conlon that effortlessly.

He was soon striding along at her side. "I don't have split personalities and I was bein' truthful at da lodgin' house. Ya are a rich bitch."

Darby snapped her gaze to him, her eyes glinting. "Ugh!" she growled. "Can you not see when you are not wanted?"

"If I have split poisonalities, den ya have split poisinalities, too, Miss Dahby Rockwell," he replied, shaking the subject.

Darby let out a shriek and halted. "I will say this once. I have been through enough strife tonight, sir, to last me a whole lifetime. My friend beguiled me into coming to this horrid party by making be believe that it would be a party of class, not a party of brass. Once there she ditches me to go do God know what with one of your newsboys in some dirty room. You make an absolute fool out of me and I have to walk home by myself at night in Brooklyn where I will probably end up getting snatched by some middle aged man looking for a jolly good time and will use me as a slave. And on top of that, it's blistering cold out and I am most likely to turn into an ice cube it I do not get captured first. My ass hurts because I fell on the ice twice and you are just infuriating me even more, so get the hell out of my way so I can go back to my conformist life of dinner parties and stupid pricks like David Van Wyck!"

Spot stood dumbfounded.

"Thank you!" Darby exclaimed, hurrying on her way.

"Let me walk ya home," Spot asked, catching up to her.

Darby shook her head. "God, please let me be. I am already worked up enough as it is."

Spot shook his head. "Nah, I wouldn't want ya ta be snatched by some middle- aged man so ya could become 'is slave. I'se bettah walk ya home."

It was futile for Darby to protest, to the silently agreed.

The pair walked in silence, the snowflakes and chilling wind hurling down at them.

"D'ya do boithdays, too? I loved ya speech," Spot stated, breaking the silence.

Darby was forced to break into a laugh, as she quickly glanced at him, catching his green eyes. "No, actually I only do Christmases and Thanksgivings."

"Anyone would be more thankful to have you on Thanksgiving," Spot quickly said.

Darby raised an eyebrow. "I declare…"

"Ya declare what?" he replied.

"Was that a pass, sir?" she inquired.

"A pass…on you?" Spot cried incredulously.

Darby instantly became flustered. "Well, why not? What is wrong with me?"

Spot's grin became wider. "Not, lemme see. Foist off, ya too hoidy toidy. And ya confusin.'"

"Confusing?"

"Yeah."

"How in hell am I confusing?"

"Well, take tahnight for example. When ya foist saw me in da lodgin' house, ya was all hoidy toidy. And den ya jist blew up like da woild had ended and stormed outtah dere and I didn't know what da hell ya problem was so I followed ya…"

"My problem is you, sir!"

"Goddamnit, goil, let me finish! And I t'ought we went ovah dis last night. Stop callin' me sir, call me Spot."

Darby let out a sigh and rolled her eyes. "Alright, SPOT. Now, you may go ahead and critique my being some more."

"Right…" Spot said reluctantly. "Well, anyway, when I see ya out here ya crazy! Bitchin' at me and t'rowin a hissy fit! And now here ya are, walkin' beside me and havin' a decent conversation like nuttin' even happened! What da hell gives?"

Darby's mouth fell open. "Excuse me, you are the one that is…that is…that is…"

"Wrong?" Spot piped in.

"Right…wrong," she stammered.

"How so?"

"You are crude rude ruffian, and to top it off you are a newsboy. All newsboys are liars and not to mention they have fleas…"

"FLEAS?" Spot cried incredulously.

"Yes, fleas," she replied, stuffing her hands deeper inside her muffler. "You yell too loud when calling out those horrid headlines and wake decent folks up from a goodnight's sleep. You smell and live in baseborn living conditions. You may have gorgeous eyes, but your personality sure as hell is not gorgeous."

Spot wore an expression of amusement and disbelief. "I have goigeous eyes but me poisinality ain't goigeous?"

Darby became addled. "No…that's not what I meant…I was using a comparison."

"A comparison?"

She snapped. "Yes, a comparison, why don't you just return to your vile lodging house with your vile newsboys and continue your vile existence while leaving me the hell alone!"

Disregarding Spot, Darby sped up her pace, keeping her head low to shield herself from the relentless wind's frigidness.

She exhaled a sigh of relief. "I am free of him forever!"

"Not yet, Miss Dahby Rockwell."

Spot made her jump out of her skin. She snapped her head to find him at her side once again.

"Oh God!" she cried. "What do I have to give you to go away?"

That lopsided grin touched his lips once more. "Adelle left me a little oily tahnight, so maybe…"

Darby let out a cry of disgust. "Adelle? Correct me if I am wrong, but Adelle is one of your little strumpets who most likely came from the bordello where we first encountered each other at last night. And you want me to do God knows what with you for you to leave me alone?"

Spot broke up into laugher, swinging his arm around Darby's shoulder. "Jesus, goil, don't take me so seriously! You'se so uptight."

She shook out of his hold. "The only thing uptight about me, sir…"

"Spot."

"…SPOT, is you! Please get your sordid arm off me!"

Spot wore an expression of mock injury. "I'se hoit, Miss Dahby Rockwell, jist hoit!"

Darby let out a snort, "Well, you should be."

"I am, I am." He then let out an audible gasp.

Darby locked gazes with him. "What?"

Spot's wide emerald eyes flickered from Darby's blue overcoat to locking with her gaze. "Jiminy…"

"What is it?" Darby snapped.

"On da collah of ya jacket…"

Panic swept through her body. "What is wrong with my jacket?"

"I t'ink I see…"

Darby let out schreech. "What is it? What is it?"

"Jesus Christ, take ya jacket off right now!" Spot hollered.

Hopping up and down, Darby quickly shucked off her rather expensive dark blue overcoat, letting it fall to the snow-covered pavement.

"Is it off, is it off? What in God's name is was on me!" she wailed.

Spot held up a hand, as though to silence her shrieks, and slowly walked over to her fallen coat, leaning over, as if peering at something on it.

Darby immediately wrapped her arms around her, trying to salvage the warmth. "What the hell is it?" she chattered.

"Hum," Spot said, seriously, shaking his head. "I was right." He picked up the jacket, locking gazes with her. "One of my fleas mustah jumped on da collah of ya jacket. I didn't want such a prim and propah lady like yaself ta catch me fleas."

Darby dropped her chin, her mouth gaping. "You spectacular bastard!"

Spot broke out into a grin. " I t'ink I liked fantastic asshole bettah!"

The last straw had been broken for Darby. She let out an audible screech, and charged Spot.

Spot let out a yelp and took off, Darby pursuing him, her heels clicking furiously against the snow-covered sidewalk.

This went on for quite a few minutes, both gasping for breath, until Darby suddenly halted.

So did Spot when he no longer heard the clacking of her shoes. He spun around to find Darby halted on the very edge of the Brooklyn Bridge, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

A smile lit up his face. "Hey, Miss Dahby Rockwell! Whatcha 'fraid of da Brooklyn Bridge or sumptin!" he hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Darby looked pathetic, her hands on her hips and fidgeting about. "Oh, do be quiet! Just because you do not suffer from a phobia of goddamn heights and can stand in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge does not mean you must taunt me!"

Spot grinned at her incredulously, as he approached her, her blue coat still in his grasp. "Ya mean ya really 'fraid of da Brooklyn Bridge?" he asked when he reached her.

Darby nodded, biting her lower lip. "Yes, I have a fear of heights just as you have a fear of bathing."

Spot's eyes filled with amusement. "Ooh, ya jist so clevah, Miss Dahby Rockwell. Lemme ax ya dis, how da hell did ya come ovah ta da lodgin' house wit out crossin' da Brooklyn Bridge?"

"I did cross…the bridge. But I had my eyes closed. With Katrina it wasn't that bad. Now, my fear has been recognized and it's out there and I can't do it."

Spot tilted his head at her, dumbfounded.

Darby let out a long sigh and threw up her hands. "Never mind. Perhaps I would rather be a slave to a perverse man than cross this damn bridge. Leave me here. Someone is bound to pick me up."

Spot let out a laugh and, tossing her coat over his shoulder, grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward. "Come on, goil. Close ya eyes, it's not that bad!"

But Darby was stubborn like a mule and would not budge. "No!" she cried with wide eyes. "I can't cross the bridge!"

"But ya gotta cross da bridge!"

"No I cannot! I am afraid and the troll will get me!"

Spot erupted into laughter. "Da troll?"

"Yes, the troll that lives under the bridge! Please, I can't! I can't! I am deathly afraid of heights!"

Spot dropped her wrist and put his index finger to his chin, as though in a deep state of thought. He shrugged. "Well, I see only one way ta resolve dis problem."

"How?" Darby reluctantly asked.

"Carry ya 'cross."

Darby's eyes grew wide. "No!"

"Yes!" Spot grinned, grabbing her wrist, and in one quick motion, slung her over his shoulder.

"Put me down! Put me down! No! No! God! I hate heights! Put me down! PLEASE!" Darby cried, kicking and screaming.

"Jesus Christ, goil, stop ya bitchin'! I'se won't let da troll get ya!" Spot howled.

"Oh shut-up!" Darby scoffed, smacking him upside the head.

"Owh!" Spot cried. "If ya don't stop dat, I'se gonna t'row ya off da side of da bridge!"

"NO!!!" Darby wailed.

"Jesus, goil! Don't ya know what a goddamn joke is?" Spot asked.

"When are we going to get to the other side of the bridge?"

"Why can't you'se see?"

"I have my eyes closed, genius."

"Oh, well den, we'se dere."

"THANK GOD!" Darby sighed, relief flooding through her as her feet once again touched the ground.

Yes, what she saw gave her a mighty shock. Spot had only carried her about three-fourths across the bridge.

"Why you…" she hissed, turning towards Spot, only find he was not there.

"Where are you?" she cried, only to find him waving at her from the other side of the bridge.

Fury coursed through her. "Oh! I do HATE you with a passion, sir!"

Darby, with eyes OPEN, was forced to cross the remainder of the Brooklyn Bridge, her infuriated glare never leaving his smug face.

Relief swept through her as her feet touched the opposing side. She let out a sigh.

"Good show, Miss Dahby Rockwell!" Spot cried, slapping her on the back.

Darby quickly shook him off. "Do not do that to me again, sir, " she panted.

"Can do, Miss," he grinned, handing out her coat.

Her angry gaze still locked on him, Darby snatched the garment away, reapplying it rather quickly.

After her hands had found their way back to their rightful place in the warm muffler and they had started walking, Spot asked, "So, Miss, ya said dat ya knew David Van Wyck. Granted da only Van Wyck I know is da mayah of New Yawk. Any relation?"

Darby looked him straight in the eye, and burst into a high laugh. "Ha, yes, I do know David Van Wyck, and he is the mayors son. Believe it or not, he is even a more odious and atrocious being than you!"

"Really? Didn't know dat was possible," Spot commented.

"Sure as hell is."

"How d'ya know him."

"Long, long, long story," Darby replied.

"Well, Miss Dahby Rockwell," Spot said, the snow starting to fall harder in the December twilight. "I'se would say dat we have all da time in da woild."

Darby emitted a long sigh. "All the time in the world, sir? Just until we get to my residence."

Spot cracked a smile. "Den howevah much time we have left, Miss. Anyhow, I wanna here how ya knows da mayah's son. Is 'e ya fiancée?"

Darby's eyes were wide in shock as she locked gazes with him. "How did you know?"

Spot was taken aback. "Ya mean he's really ya fiancée?"

Darby furiously nodded.

"I'se was jist guessin', dat's all. I mean I didn't know…ya really getting' married ta 'im?" he cried incredulously.

Darby settled her hands into her muffler and slowly nodded. "Someday I will. I have to. It's my destiny."

Spot let out a low whistle. "Some destiny."

"I think not! I daresay, but I would rather be wed to a flea infested newsboy like yourself than be that awful man's wife forever!" Darby hissed.

A small smile crossed Spot's face. "So, are ya gonna tell me da story or not?"

Darby rolled her eyes. "I suppose…I declare! It is frigid out! I am surprised that you did not offer me your coat long ago, sir!"

"Well, Miss, I'se sahrry I was so ignorant not ta give a lady such as yaself me coat. 'Sides, how would a lady like ya look in a coat like dis? Say, I can do even bettah dan dat!"

Darby let out a squeal of shock as she felt Spot's arm wrap around her waist and pull her close.

"I declare," she cried. "What in hell are you doing?"

"Keepin' da lady warm!" he chuckled, tipping his derby hat.

"Ah! Why I never," Darby outwardly protested, yet, she was not able to keep the slightest trace of pleased smile from conquering her.

"Well, ya gonna start or not?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course. Well, my parents—shall I say my evil stepparents—have been friends with the Van Wycks for ages…"

And Darby Rockwell delved into her story, being amused by the thought about what a scandal it would be if her mother saw her now, her little daughter with some newsboy wrapped around her.

Yet, quite more a scandal it would be, for Darby actually liked being in Spot Conlon's embrace, even if it was just to keep her warm.