1 CHAPTER SEVEN
The day was Saturday, wonderful glorious Saturday, and Darby Rockwell could be found ever so fast asleep, breathing quietly, tucked in her goose-down bed free of mass with her evil stepparents and of tagging along with her mother on her purportless errands.
While she slept, Darby exhaled and rolled onto her back, a thin smile on her lips. She must have been having the most fantastic dream, but about what I cannot say. Yet, if it was about those few extra hours of sleep, her dream was due to turn into a nightmare.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL BOUT IT!"
The first calling did not wake Darby, neither did the second, but as they say, three's a charm.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! BABY BORN WIT T'REE HEADS IN BROOKLYN!"
Darby's dark blue eyes opened with a start.
"BABY BORN WIT T'REE HEADS IN BROOKLYN! READ ALL BOUT IT!"
She immediately shot up in bed, her temper boiling over. That newsboy promised never to call out those obnoxious headlines in front of her father's palace again…
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! BABY BORN WIT T'REE HEADS IN BROOKLYN!"
That put Darby over the edge.
"Goddamn newsboy! He said that he would never sell his hideous newspapers in front of my window again! Well, let me give him a piece of my mind!" she growled, throwing the covers off her and storming through the winding hallways.
Darby yanked open the door, and in only a flimsy night gown and her hair in rollers, she padded down the sidewalk in the blistering cold and down to the wrought-iron gate, where she saw the back of a newsboy, yelling the headlines and waving his newspapers in the air.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EX…!"
"WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT THE HELL UP AND GET OFF MY PROPERTY THIS VERY MINUTE BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE ON YOU FOR DISTURBING MY REST, YOU GREAT PRICK!" Darby shrieked, interrupting him mid sentence.
The newsboy ceased calling the headlines, and lowered his newspaper, turning around.
Darby's mouth dropped impossibly low.
"Hum, you'se called me fantastic asshole, spectaculah bastard, and great prick. I t'ink I like sir better."
Darby's wide gaze was on none other that Spot Conlon. Spot Conlon who now stood outside the wrought-iron fence on this very frigid Saturday morning and seeing Darby Rockwell in only a flimsy nightgown and her tresses in frumpy rollers.
That lopsided smile crossed his lips and his emerald eyes flashed as he took her in, freezing behind the fence in a state of shock. "T'ree times we've met and one-thoid of da time ya haven't been wearin' shoes."
Darby could only gap, her stomach churning, as she approached the gate and wrapped her hands around the bars. "What are you doing here?"
Spot shrugged. "EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! BABY BORN WIT T'REE HEADS IN BROOKLYN!"
A man immediately stopped and bought one.
"T'ank ya very much, sir." He then turned back to Darby, cupping his to his mouth to warm them and his eyes making a stark contrast with his red cheeks. "It's a good place to sell papes."
Darby pressed her forehead against the bars, her emotions going haywire inside. "But here?"
Spot grinned and blew into his hands once more. "Yeah, Miss. Here. Great spot. Richies have money and dey's willin' ta buy papes."
That was not the answer that Darby had hoped for. "But, why, sir, directly in front of MY house?"
Spot inched closer to the gate. "Nice nightgown."
Darby drew away from the gate and gasp. She forgot how not properly dressed she was. Her face turned crimson.
Spot burst into laugher as he called the headlines once again, calling the attention of two more customers.
Darby stepped closer to the wrought-iron gate again, taking no heed to the ungodly cold. "But why HERE?"
Spot turned to her, his emerald eyes only inches from hers, causing Darby's heart to race. A thin smile crossed his lips and he quickly looked down to Darby's feet and once again to her eager gaze. "Because."
"Because why, sir?" Darby asked.
"Because, Miss, I hoid dat hot tamale dat ya call ya best friend lives next door," he grinned.
Darby backed away from the gate, utter disgust crossing her face. "Katrina?" she hissed. "How the hell do you know Katrina? You do not! Get away from my property at once, you ruffian, before I call the police on you for waking up decent folks!"
With that, she spun on her heel and stormed up the sidewalk, but was stopped when she head the cry in her ear of, "Wait, Dahby, stop!"
She halted and cocked her head around, to find Spot with his hands wrapped around the bars. "What do you want?" she cried.
"Jist come back!" he pleaded.
She felt that feeling in the pit of her stomach again, but ignored it. "Why should I?"
"Because," Spot called, his eyes burning into hers, "I wanna ax ya something!"
Darby spun around, not budging and inch, placing her hands on her hips. "Whatever you wish to ask of me, sir, can be done at this distance."
Spot sighed. "Can ya jist come ovah to the goddamn gate?"
Darby raised her chin and shook her head, causing some of the rollers to fall out of her hair and land in the snow.
"Alright!" Spot called. He rolled his eyes and cupped his hands around his mouth. "I want ta know if you, uh, eat?"
Darby raised an eyebrow and burst into laughter. "You, sir, want to know if I EAT?"
Spot nodded, not cracking a smile.
Darby's interest was struck and she went once more to the gate. "If I eat?" she incredulously asked.
Spot bit his bottom lip. "Ya know, if ya eat, food…"
"The last time I checked, sir, I did."
"Right," Spot continued, his eyes wandering. "Well, it's jist dat dere's dis place in Brooklyn and they have food..."
His jeweled gaze connected with Darby's once again, whose pulse was rushing so furiously she concluded that her veins would pop any moment. "…and dey have really good food and I wanted ta know, Miss, if ya would want to go."
Darby was in such a state of shock, that she leaned forward, causing her forehead to bang against the bars with a twang. "Owh! Goddamn bars!" she hissed, locking eyes with Spot and rubbing her throbbing forehead.
He looked at her with pleading eyes.
A smile touched her lips. "So, you did not come here to sell your 'papes' in front of my house just because Katrina lives next door…"
Spot shook his head and grinned. "Nah, Adelle canceled plans wit me and I needed a replacement."
Indignation washed through Darby as she stepped back. "Why you…"
Spot held up his hands. "Befoah ya call me any othah names, know dat it's jist a joke, Miss!"
Darby let out a sigh and rolled her eyes.
"So?" asked Spot.
"So what?" Darby snapped.
"Is it a date?" he inquired.
"I wouldn't call it a date, sir. Just a back up since your plans with Adelle went awry," she coolly replied.
"Alright," Spot grinned. "A back up it is. I'se be seein' ya at seven shahp, Miss Dahby Rockwell."
"As you call it," Darby flatly said, watching Spot hoist his newspapers onto his shoulder and, with a throw of a wink in her direction, disappear down the sidewalk, yelling out, "EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! BABY BORN WIT T'REE HEADS IN BROOKLYN!"
Darby let out a sigh, and pressing her forehead against the bars, watched as he disappeared.
When Spot became entirely engulfed by the crowds, Darby picked up her head and turned around, slowly heading up the snow covered sidewalk.
Wrapping her arms around her, her mind raced but only one thing filled her brain.
She was going out on a rendezvous with Spot Conlon. Spot Conlon, the dirty, rude, crude newsboy that had tried to kill her with a slingshot. That had made a fool of her countless times. She, Darby Rockwell, future socialite and daughter of prominent lawyer John Rockwell and his wife Ava, was going on a date with Spot Conlon, destitute newsboy with a moth eaten coat.
A smile crossed Darby's lips as she let out a cry.
And, kicking up her heels, she skipped the remainder of the sidewalk.
A date with a newsboy.
How in HELL was she going to get past her parents with this one?
***
Katrina Van Witt's deep green, and unbelieving, eyes followed Darby as she madly passed the room.
"Now, let me get this straight, Darby girl. YOU, Darby Rockwell, are going out on a DATE with a NEWSBOY?"
Darby, looking flushed, halted and locked gazes with Katrina. "Yes, Kat, what's so wrong with that?"
Katrina raised her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. "Nothing, Darby, but if you do recall just last night you were saying how awful all newsies were…"
Darby let out a sigh and collapsed on a plush chair, brushing her hair out of her face. "I know, Kat, I am going utterly crazy." She once again got up and started to pace. "I mean, I am going out with a newsboy! What in God's name is wrong with me?"
Katrina arose from the chair and walked over to her friend, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I do not have a single clue what you have done with my best friend, Darby Lynn Rockwell. But I must say, I like the new you."
Darby burst into a smile as she and Katrina embraced. "Oh, Kat, what would I do without you?"
Katrina pulled away, a slick smile on her face. "You would be engaged to David Van Prick, that's what. And you would have never met this Spot Conlon again if I had not dragged you to that party."
"Oh, Kat!" Darby cried, dropping to her knees. "Shall I kneel at your divine feet and grovel?"
Katrina uttered a laugh, pulling Darby to her feet. "Get up, you silly girl. You can grovel later, also, because I have some information on this suitor of yours…"
"Oh, really, Kat?" Darby squealed. "What do you know?"
"Well, of course you know Whitie…"
"Hum, Whitie," Darby asked. "That names sound so damn familiar. Have I heard it before…"
"Oh, come off it now, Darby!" Katrina cried, playfully swatting her friend. "I told you I was sorry for that! Besides, if I never would have made you mad, then Spot would have never chased after you."
"Oh, shush, Kat, and tell me what you know!" Darby exclaimed.
"Alright!" Katrina said. "Well, when Whitie was ready to walk me home, he asked where Spot was and all the guys there told him that he had chased after the rich blonde girl. Anyhow, Whitie was walking me home, and I asked who Spot was, since I knew that the only rich blonde girl at the party was you. Well, Whitie told me all about Spot Conlon!"
Darby was practically on the edge of her seat. "Well, go one, Kat. Go on!"
"Alright," Katrina laughed, "alright! It seems that Spot Conlon is quite infamous in Brooklyn…"
"Infamous?" Darby exclaimed.
Katrina nodded. "Yes. Seems as though your Spot is the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, or shall I say the FEARLESS leader of the Brooklyn newsies."
"FEARLESS?"
"Yes, seems as though Spot holds quite a bit of power and respect. Well, anyhow, Whitie told me that the norm for Spot was to be withdrawn and irritable…"
"Withdrawn and irritable?" Darby cried.
Katrina rolled her eyes. "Yes, Darby! Now will you let me finish a thought?"
Darby nodded. "Sorry, Kat. Go ahead."
"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. Well, in Whitie Wilson's words, 'Spot Conlon don't like ta socialize much.' I fancy what that means is that your little boyfriend isn't very friendly. Spot Conlon fancies getting into fights and beating other newsboys to within one inch of their life. That is why he's leader and that is why no one likes to socialize much with him. He sells his papers alone and even has his own room. Everyone is afraid to talk to him because they are afraid that he will 'soak' them. And did I mention the girls? Well, every lady in New York either fears Mr. Conlon or else is desperately in love with him. Whitie went on for about ten minutes listing all the names of girls that Spot has been with. Ten minutes worth, Darby, and that was only a portion. Did I mention he also has a fondness for the bottle and is known to drink worse than a fish?"
Darby was stunned by the description of Spot Conlon that Katrina had just spun. "Whoa," was all she comprehends.
"But," Katrina said, a smile crossing her face, "Whitie also told me that for the past few days Spot has been jabbering nonstop about some gorgeous blonde 'richie' he met in front of a bordello. Seems that Spot was on his way back from a date with the infamous Adelle, and she broke up with him. And he met you. And I fancy that since you are the only gorgeous blonde 'richie' he knows, he likes you. From the description Whitie has given me and from the description you have given me, it seems like he likes you pretty damn much to act like sunshine to you. Goddamn, I say, goddamn, Darby Rockwell."
Darby could only stare into Katrina's eyes. She didn't know how to respond to this, only mumble something incomprehensible.
"Come again, Darby?" Katrina asked.
Darby quickly walked over to the window that overlooked the front lawn, crossing her arms over her chest.
"What's wrong, Darby?" Katrina asked, joining her.
Darby shook her head. "I don't know. I mean, this has never happened to me before, Kat. I thought I would have been Mrs. David Van Wyck by now and that my life would be over. But no, Spot Conlon had to waltz into my life. I do not even know him, yet, I like him. I really like him. He is charming and funny and so good-looking…with those eyes. I mean, I know that I acted horrid to him last night, but he still asked me to dinner. Goddamnit, why did this have to happen to me!"
Darby let out a cry and collapsed onto the plush chair. Katrina took the match that faced Darby. "Darby," she said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"What?" Darby asked, looking up.
A soft smile crossed Katrina's face. "Do you know how you are on pins and needles wishing for your prince to sweep you away from the behemoth and from your evil stepparents?"
Darby slowly nodded.
"This might be him, Darby. Hell, I could be wrong, but it's worth a chance. I mean, look at it this way. You don't go to dinner with him, end up Mrs. David Van Prick, and always wondering what could have happened if you would have went. Or, you do go to dinner with him, he turns out to be an utter jackass and you don't have to see him anymore. Or, you go to dinner with him, he turns out to be your goddamn prince, you fall in love and ride off on his white horse into the goddamn horizon and kiss David Van Prick and your parents good bye and then you will be free to do whatever the hell you desire. It's what you want to do."
Darby looked at Katrina, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh God, Katrina, what would I do without you?" she sobbed, leaning forward and wrapping her friend in an embrace.
"We would both go mad and be committed," Katrina replied.
Darby let out a laugh through her tears and pulled away. She opened her mouth to reply, when she heard her mother's voice through the ajar bedroom door.
"Well, Mrs. Van Witt, it was lovely having you over. I daresay, but would your family like to join John and I at our dinner party tonight? We are celebrating a ver special event, Darby and David's betrothal!"
In unison, Darby and Katrina let out horrified gasps and connected gazes.
"I would love to, Mrs. Rockwell. Thank you," Mrs. Van Witt replied.
The conversation stopped, and the pair's shoes could be heard clicking in the hallway, coming closer to Darby's bedroom.
"Darby, how in hell can they betroth you to Van Prick when you don't even concede?" Katrina whispered incredulously.
All the color had drained from Darby's face, making her icy eyes stark against her skin. "I…I…I don't know, Kat!" she said, her body shaking.
"What about Spot?" Katrina asked.
"I have to go to dinner with him, Kat, I just have to. I can't be betrothed to David…" she shakily said.
"Darby!" Katrina hissed. "Think of something! They are coming!"
Darby had never felt so lightheaded, yet she scoured her brain for a plan. " Alright! Tonight, sneak into my room, a little before seven. I can say I have the flu and you can be me, just cover yourself with the sheets! And I can steal out with Spot and they would never even know!"
Katrina didn't even have time to reply as the door to the bedroom creaked open and Darby flew off the chair and dived into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin just as her mother and Mrs. Van Witt appeared.
"Why hello, Darby…dear, are you ill?" Mrs. Van Witt cried.
Darby weakly nodded her head.
Mrs. Rockwell pushed past Mrs. Van Witt and sat down on the edge of Darby's bed, feeling her temperature by placing her palm on her forehead.
"You seem hot," she murmured. "What is wrong?"
Darby mustered a cough. "Oh, I feel so weak, Mother dear! I think the Spanish Influenza is reeking havoc on me internally even as we speak."
"Oh, yes!" Katrina piped in, quickly arising from the chair. "The Spanish Influenza is going around. Cough, cough! Oh, mother, I don't feel well, either! I think I might have it too?"
Mrs. Van Witt looked suspiciously at her daughter as she rested her head on her shoulder. She felt Katrina's forehead. "What a shame, darling, now you will have to miss the dinner party Mrs. Rockwell has so kindly invited us, too."
Darby and Katrina's eyes met from across the room.
"Oh, cough cough! I am saddened! Blast this flu! I am so sorry to have to miss your wonderful party, Mrs. Rockwell!" Katrina cried.
"Um," Mrs. Rockwell said, "it is very well, Katrina." She then turned to Darby. "Well, you do look rather pale. I guess you will have to miss the dinner party after all. Fiddlesticks."
"Oh, mother! What a pity!" Darby exclaimed.
As Mrs. Rockwell arose and joined Mrs. Van Van Witt once again, Darby and Katrina locked gazes, their eyes full of joy.
"Well, come along," Mrs. Van Witt told her daughter. "We must get you tucked into bed before you get worse. And you, Darby, I hope you are feeling better."
"Oh, thank you, Mrs., cough cough, Van Witt!" Darby weakly replied.
"Bye, cough cough, Darby!" Katrina said, throwing Darby a wink, as she and he mother disappeared.
"Good bye, cough, Katrina!" Darby replied, watching her mother's disappointed gaze linger on her, before she disappeared out the door.
Once the door had clicked, Darby listened until the clicking of the heels altogether disappeared before she jumped out of bed and dashed over to the window, watching the new snow start to fall.
"Spot Conlon," she softly said, a smile touching her lips. "Spot Conlon. I'll be ready for tonight."
The day was Saturday, wonderful glorious Saturday, and Darby Rockwell could be found ever so fast asleep, breathing quietly, tucked in her goose-down bed free of mass with her evil stepparents and of tagging along with her mother on her purportless errands.
While she slept, Darby exhaled and rolled onto her back, a thin smile on her lips. She must have been having the most fantastic dream, but about what I cannot say. Yet, if it was about those few extra hours of sleep, her dream was due to turn into a nightmare.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL BOUT IT!"
The first calling did not wake Darby, neither did the second, but as they say, three's a charm.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! BABY BORN WIT T'REE HEADS IN BROOKLYN!"
Darby's dark blue eyes opened with a start.
"BABY BORN WIT T'REE HEADS IN BROOKLYN! READ ALL BOUT IT!"
She immediately shot up in bed, her temper boiling over. That newsboy promised never to call out those obnoxious headlines in front of her father's palace again…
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! BABY BORN WIT T'REE HEADS IN BROOKLYN!"
That put Darby over the edge.
"Goddamn newsboy! He said that he would never sell his hideous newspapers in front of my window again! Well, let me give him a piece of my mind!" she growled, throwing the covers off her and storming through the winding hallways.
Darby yanked open the door, and in only a flimsy night gown and her hair in rollers, she padded down the sidewalk in the blistering cold and down to the wrought-iron gate, where she saw the back of a newsboy, yelling the headlines and waving his newspapers in the air.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EX…!"
"WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT THE HELL UP AND GET OFF MY PROPERTY THIS VERY MINUTE BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE ON YOU FOR DISTURBING MY REST, YOU GREAT PRICK!" Darby shrieked, interrupting him mid sentence.
The newsboy ceased calling the headlines, and lowered his newspaper, turning around.
Darby's mouth dropped impossibly low.
"Hum, you'se called me fantastic asshole, spectaculah bastard, and great prick. I t'ink I like sir better."
Darby's wide gaze was on none other that Spot Conlon. Spot Conlon who now stood outside the wrought-iron fence on this very frigid Saturday morning and seeing Darby Rockwell in only a flimsy nightgown and her tresses in frumpy rollers.
That lopsided smile crossed his lips and his emerald eyes flashed as he took her in, freezing behind the fence in a state of shock. "T'ree times we've met and one-thoid of da time ya haven't been wearin' shoes."
Darby could only gap, her stomach churning, as she approached the gate and wrapped her hands around the bars. "What are you doing here?"
Spot shrugged. "EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! BABY BORN WIT T'REE HEADS IN BROOKLYN!"
A man immediately stopped and bought one.
"T'ank ya very much, sir." He then turned back to Darby, cupping his to his mouth to warm them and his eyes making a stark contrast with his red cheeks. "It's a good place to sell papes."
Darby pressed her forehead against the bars, her emotions going haywire inside. "But here?"
Spot grinned and blew into his hands once more. "Yeah, Miss. Here. Great spot. Richies have money and dey's willin' ta buy papes."
That was not the answer that Darby had hoped for. "But, why, sir, directly in front of MY house?"
Spot inched closer to the gate. "Nice nightgown."
Darby drew away from the gate and gasp. She forgot how not properly dressed she was. Her face turned crimson.
Spot burst into laugher as he called the headlines once again, calling the attention of two more customers.
Darby stepped closer to the wrought-iron gate again, taking no heed to the ungodly cold. "But why HERE?"
Spot turned to her, his emerald eyes only inches from hers, causing Darby's heart to race. A thin smile crossed his lips and he quickly looked down to Darby's feet and once again to her eager gaze. "Because."
"Because why, sir?" Darby asked.
"Because, Miss, I hoid dat hot tamale dat ya call ya best friend lives next door," he grinned.
Darby backed away from the gate, utter disgust crossing her face. "Katrina?" she hissed. "How the hell do you know Katrina? You do not! Get away from my property at once, you ruffian, before I call the police on you for waking up decent folks!"
With that, she spun on her heel and stormed up the sidewalk, but was stopped when she head the cry in her ear of, "Wait, Dahby, stop!"
She halted and cocked her head around, to find Spot with his hands wrapped around the bars. "What do you want?" she cried.
"Jist come back!" he pleaded.
She felt that feeling in the pit of her stomach again, but ignored it. "Why should I?"
"Because," Spot called, his eyes burning into hers, "I wanna ax ya something!"
Darby spun around, not budging and inch, placing her hands on her hips. "Whatever you wish to ask of me, sir, can be done at this distance."
Spot sighed. "Can ya jist come ovah to the goddamn gate?"
Darby raised her chin and shook her head, causing some of the rollers to fall out of her hair and land in the snow.
"Alright!" Spot called. He rolled his eyes and cupped his hands around his mouth. "I want ta know if you, uh, eat?"
Darby raised an eyebrow and burst into laughter. "You, sir, want to know if I EAT?"
Spot nodded, not cracking a smile.
Darby's interest was struck and she went once more to the gate. "If I eat?" she incredulously asked.
Spot bit his bottom lip. "Ya know, if ya eat, food…"
"The last time I checked, sir, I did."
"Right," Spot continued, his eyes wandering. "Well, it's jist dat dere's dis place in Brooklyn and they have food..."
His jeweled gaze connected with Darby's once again, whose pulse was rushing so furiously she concluded that her veins would pop any moment. "…and dey have really good food and I wanted ta know, Miss, if ya would want to go."
Darby was in such a state of shock, that she leaned forward, causing her forehead to bang against the bars with a twang. "Owh! Goddamn bars!" she hissed, locking eyes with Spot and rubbing her throbbing forehead.
He looked at her with pleading eyes.
A smile touched her lips. "So, you did not come here to sell your 'papes' in front of my house just because Katrina lives next door…"
Spot shook his head and grinned. "Nah, Adelle canceled plans wit me and I needed a replacement."
Indignation washed through Darby as she stepped back. "Why you…"
Spot held up his hands. "Befoah ya call me any othah names, know dat it's jist a joke, Miss!"
Darby let out a sigh and rolled her eyes.
"So?" asked Spot.
"So what?" Darby snapped.
"Is it a date?" he inquired.
"I wouldn't call it a date, sir. Just a back up since your plans with Adelle went awry," she coolly replied.
"Alright," Spot grinned. "A back up it is. I'se be seein' ya at seven shahp, Miss Dahby Rockwell."
"As you call it," Darby flatly said, watching Spot hoist his newspapers onto his shoulder and, with a throw of a wink in her direction, disappear down the sidewalk, yelling out, "EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! BABY BORN WIT T'REE HEADS IN BROOKLYN!"
Darby let out a sigh, and pressing her forehead against the bars, watched as he disappeared.
When Spot became entirely engulfed by the crowds, Darby picked up her head and turned around, slowly heading up the snow covered sidewalk.
Wrapping her arms around her, her mind raced but only one thing filled her brain.
She was going out on a rendezvous with Spot Conlon. Spot Conlon, the dirty, rude, crude newsboy that had tried to kill her with a slingshot. That had made a fool of her countless times. She, Darby Rockwell, future socialite and daughter of prominent lawyer John Rockwell and his wife Ava, was going on a date with Spot Conlon, destitute newsboy with a moth eaten coat.
A smile crossed Darby's lips as she let out a cry.
And, kicking up her heels, she skipped the remainder of the sidewalk.
A date with a newsboy.
How in HELL was she going to get past her parents with this one?
***
Katrina Van Witt's deep green, and unbelieving, eyes followed Darby as she madly passed the room.
"Now, let me get this straight, Darby girl. YOU, Darby Rockwell, are going out on a DATE with a NEWSBOY?"
Darby, looking flushed, halted and locked gazes with Katrina. "Yes, Kat, what's so wrong with that?"
Katrina raised her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. "Nothing, Darby, but if you do recall just last night you were saying how awful all newsies were…"
Darby let out a sigh and collapsed on a plush chair, brushing her hair out of her face. "I know, Kat, I am going utterly crazy." She once again got up and started to pace. "I mean, I am going out with a newsboy! What in God's name is wrong with me?"
Katrina arose from the chair and walked over to her friend, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I do not have a single clue what you have done with my best friend, Darby Lynn Rockwell. But I must say, I like the new you."
Darby burst into a smile as she and Katrina embraced. "Oh, Kat, what would I do without you?"
Katrina pulled away, a slick smile on her face. "You would be engaged to David Van Prick, that's what. And you would have never met this Spot Conlon again if I had not dragged you to that party."
"Oh, Kat!" Darby cried, dropping to her knees. "Shall I kneel at your divine feet and grovel?"
Katrina uttered a laugh, pulling Darby to her feet. "Get up, you silly girl. You can grovel later, also, because I have some information on this suitor of yours…"
"Oh, really, Kat?" Darby squealed. "What do you know?"
"Well, of course you know Whitie…"
"Hum, Whitie," Darby asked. "That names sound so damn familiar. Have I heard it before…"
"Oh, come off it now, Darby!" Katrina cried, playfully swatting her friend. "I told you I was sorry for that! Besides, if I never would have made you mad, then Spot would have never chased after you."
"Oh, shush, Kat, and tell me what you know!" Darby exclaimed.
"Alright!" Katrina said. "Well, when Whitie was ready to walk me home, he asked where Spot was and all the guys there told him that he had chased after the rich blonde girl. Anyhow, Whitie was walking me home, and I asked who Spot was, since I knew that the only rich blonde girl at the party was you. Well, Whitie told me all about Spot Conlon!"
Darby was practically on the edge of her seat. "Well, go one, Kat. Go on!"
"Alright," Katrina laughed, "alright! It seems that Spot Conlon is quite infamous in Brooklyn…"
"Infamous?" Darby exclaimed.
Katrina nodded. "Yes. Seems as though your Spot is the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, or shall I say the FEARLESS leader of the Brooklyn newsies."
"FEARLESS?"
"Yes, seems as though Spot holds quite a bit of power and respect. Well, anyhow, Whitie told me that the norm for Spot was to be withdrawn and irritable…"
"Withdrawn and irritable?" Darby cried.
Katrina rolled her eyes. "Yes, Darby! Now will you let me finish a thought?"
Darby nodded. "Sorry, Kat. Go ahead."
"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. Well, in Whitie Wilson's words, 'Spot Conlon don't like ta socialize much.' I fancy what that means is that your little boyfriend isn't very friendly. Spot Conlon fancies getting into fights and beating other newsboys to within one inch of their life. That is why he's leader and that is why no one likes to socialize much with him. He sells his papers alone and even has his own room. Everyone is afraid to talk to him because they are afraid that he will 'soak' them. And did I mention the girls? Well, every lady in New York either fears Mr. Conlon or else is desperately in love with him. Whitie went on for about ten minutes listing all the names of girls that Spot has been with. Ten minutes worth, Darby, and that was only a portion. Did I mention he also has a fondness for the bottle and is known to drink worse than a fish?"
Darby was stunned by the description of Spot Conlon that Katrina had just spun. "Whoa," was all she comprehends.
"But," Katrina said, a smile crossing her face, "Whitie also told me that for the past few days Spot has been jabbering nonstop about some gorgeous blonde 'richie' he met in front of a bordello. Seems that Spot was on his way back from a date with the infamous Adelle, and she broke up with him. And he met you. And I fancy that since you are the only gorgeous blonde 'richie' he knows, he likes you. From the description Whitie has given me and from the description you have given me, it seems like he likes you pretty damn much to act like sunshine to you. Goddamn, I say, goddamn, Darby Rockwell."
Darby could only stare into Katrina's eyes. She didn't know how to respond to this, only mumble something incomprehensible.
"Come again, Darby?" Katrina asked.
Darby quickly walked over to the window that overlooked the front lawn, crossing her arms over her chest.
"What's wrong, Darby?" Katrina asked, joining her.
Darby shook her head. "I don't know. I mean, this has never happened to me before, Kat. I thought I would have been Mrs. David Van Wyck by now and that my life would be over. But no, Spot Conlon had to waltz into my life. I do not even know him, yet, I like him. I really like him. He is charming and funny and so good-looking…with those eyes. I mean, I know that I acted horrid to him last night, but he still asked me to dinner. Goddamnit, why did this have to happen to me!"
Darby let out a cry and collapsed onto the plush chair. Katrina took the match that faced Darby. "Darby," she said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"What?" Darby asked, looking up.
A soft smile crossed Katrina's face. "Do you know how you are on pins and needles wishing for your prince to sweep you away from the behemoth and from your evil stepparents?"
Darby slowly nodded.
"This might be him, Darby. Hell, I could be wrong, but it's worth a chance. I mean, look at it this way. You don't go to dinner with him, end up Mrs. David Van Prick, and always wondering what could have happened if you would have went. Or, you do go to dinner with him, he turns out to be an utter jackass and you don't have to see him anymore. Or, you go to dinner with him, he turns out to be your goddamn prince, you fall in love and ride off on his white horse into the goddamn horizon and kiss David Van Prick and your parents good bye and then you will be free to do whatever the hell you desire. It's what you want to do."
Darby looked at Katrina, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh God, Katrina, what would I do without you?" she sobbed, leaning forward and wrapping her friend in an embrace.
"We would both go mad and be committed," Katrina replied.
Darby let out a laugh through her tears and pulled away. She opened her mouth to reply, when she heard her mother's voice through the ajar bedroom door.
"Well, Mrs. Van Witt, it was lovely having you over. I daresay, but would your family like to join John and I at our dinner party tonight? We are celebrating a ver special event, Darby and David's betrothal!"
In unison, Darby and Katrina let out horrified gasps and connected gazes.
"I would love to, Mrs. Rockwell. Thank you," Mrs. Van Witt replied.
The conversation stopped, and the pair's shoes could be heard clicking in the hallway, coming closer to Darby's bedroom.
"Darby, how in hell can they betroth you to Van Prick when you don't even concede?" Katrina whispered incredulously.
All the color had drained from Darby's face, making her icy eyes stark against her skin. "I…I…I don't know, Kat!" she said, her body shaking.
"What about Spot?" Katrina asked.
"I have to go to dinner with him, Kat, I just have to. I can't be betrothed to David…" she shakily said.
"Darby!" Katrina hissed. "Think of something! They are coming!"
Darby had never felt so lightheaded, yet she scoured her brain for a plan. " Alright! Tonight, sneak into my room, a little before seven. I can say I have the flu and you can be me, just cover yourself with the sheets! And I can steal out with Spot and they would never even know!"
Katrina didn't even have time to reply as the door to the bedroom creaked open and Darby flew off the chair and dived into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin just as her mother and Mrs. Van Witt appeared.
"Why hello, Darby…dear, are you ill?" Mrs. Van Witt cried.
Darby weakly nodded her head.
Mrs. Rockwell pushed past Mrs. Van Witt and sat down on the edge of Darby's bed, feeling her temperature by placing her palm on her forehead.
"You seem hot," she murmured. "What is wrong?"
Darby mustered a cough. "Oh, I feel so weak, Mother dear! I think the Spanish Influenza is reeking havoc on me internally even as we speak."
"Oh, yes!" Katrina piped in, quickly arising from the chair. "The Spanish Influenza is going around. Cough, cough! Oh, mother, I don't feel well, either! I think I might have it too?"
Mrs. Van Witt looked suspiciously at her daughter as she rested her head on her shoulder. She felt Katrina's forehead. "What a shame, darling, now you will have to miss the dinner party Mrs. Rockwell has so kindly invited us, too."
Darby and Katrina's eyes met from across the room.
"Oh, cough cough! I am saddened! Blast this flu! I am so sorry to have to miss your wonderful party, Mrs. Rockwell!" Katrina cried.
"Um," Mrs. Rockwell said, "it is very well, Katrina." She then turned to Darby. "Well, you do look rather pale. I guess you will have to miss the dinner party after all. Fiddlesticks."
"Oh, mother! What a pity!" Darby exclaimed.
As Mrs. Rockwell arose and joined Mrs. Van Van Witt once again, Darby and Katrina locked gazes, their eyes full of joy.
"Well, come along," Mrs. Van Witt told her daughter. "We must get you tucked into bed before you get worse. And you, Darby, I hope you are feeling better."
"Oh, thank you, Mrs., cough cough, Van Witt!" Darby weakly replied.
"Bye, cough cough, Darby!" Katrina said, throwing Darby a wink, as she and he mother disappeared.
"Good bye, cough, Katrina!" Darby replied, watching her mother's disappointed gaze linger on her, before she disappeared out the door.
Once the door had clicked, Darby listened until the clicking of the heels altogether disappeared before she jumped out of bed and dashed over to the window, watching the new snow start to fall.
"Spot Conlon," she softly said, a smile touching her lips. "Spot Conlon. I'll be ready for tonight."