Kid Blink yawned loudly, fighting to keep his eyes open. /How's a guy
supposed ta sleep when dere's beautiful goils ta t'ink about?/ He threw
his arms over his head and yawned again. His head had just begun to nod
again when a very expensive looking Rolls-Royce pulled up and stopped right
in front of his sellin' spot. He shook himself awake as a stout man in his
late 40's got out of the car and rushed around to the opposite side.
"Boy! You there, newsboy! Newsboy!"
Blink stood and removed his hat. /Hey ain't dis.../
"I'm Mr. DeMarano, you know, the mayor? Anyway, I'm in a crisis: I've got to go with my wife to a meeting in the capital and I've no one to take care 'a my daughter! Will you look after huh while we're gone? We'll be gone from dis Saturday 'till the following evenin', and we'll even pay you if you'll just please do dis for me!"
Kid Blink stood as still as he could, praying it wasn't just a dream. He leaned over slightly and gazed past the man's shoulder and into the window of the Rolls.
A doe-eyed, dark haired beauty waved shyly at him from the backseat.
"Well...I dunno...I'se is kinda busy..." He said, a silly grin crossing his face.
"Please!!"
Blink didn't need to be asked twice. "Shoa!"
The man got back into his car and rolled down the window next to his daughter, poking his head out as they began to drive away. "And one more t'ing boy! You know where we live right?"
How could he not?
Blink nodded.
"Good, oh! What's your name?"
"Kid Blink!" He called after the car.
The Rolls Royce rounded the corner as the mayor drew his head back inside.
Blink sat down, hard, on the sidewalk and ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. "A Saturday night wid da mayor's daughta..."
* * *
Jack Kelly thrust his hands into his pockets and nudged his thin scarf above his quivering lips. He dug his hands further into his pockets, pausing curiously when he felt a small scrap of paper.
/A buck?!/ He thought excitedly, withdrawing it from his pants. /A love lettah maybe?/
He held it up in front of his eyes, his smile falling as he glanced at it. /Nope, jus' a piece 'a papah...does it say sumpt'in? /
He unfolded it, expecting it to be blank, but was pleasantly surprised when he read the following message written in faintly familiar script across the surface.
My dearest Cowboy, I did my best on your wish, it took me a while, but I think you'll enjoy the end result. I did what I thought you would like. Love, Adri
Jack furrowed his thick eyebrows and shrugged, puzzled by the meaning of her note, and even more puzzled as to how the note got in his pants pocket. /Mus' be da guys.../ He laughed mentally. /Blink prob'bly./
He took a sharp right and pulled open the glass door to Tibby's, gladly receiving the warm air that rushed to greet him.
He took his usual seat in the back booth and waited patiently for the waiter to come over.
"Quit flirtin' wid dem an' get ova heah..." He muttered under his breath, rubbing his tingling hands together.
When his waiter finally sauntered over, Jack ordered the soup-of-the-day, vegetable beef, and a sandwich.
His stomach growled hungrily at the waiter, ordering him to hurry up.
Jack reached in his pocket again to see if he had exact change, mostly just something to keep his mind off the food until it actually arrived.
He pulled out 17 cents: exact change.
Curious, he reached into his other pocket and pulled out exactly what he had earned that day from selling papers: a dollar forty.
Confused, yet eager to test out his new theory, he called the waiter back and ordered a slice of apple pie.
Once his back was turned, Jack thrust his hand into his pocket another time: six more cents than before.
After eating quickly, Cowboy ran over to the local tailor's (Where he and the mayor talked politics for a good hour.) and bought a new jacket. Once again, the exact price was in his pocket when he reached for it.
Grinning from ear to ear, he ran outside to face the cold in his new threads. Raising his fists in the air as if punching the sky, he screamed at the top of his lungs: "Nobbin' wid all da muckety-mucks, I'm blowin' my dough an' goin' deluxe!"
* * *
Boots reached the Lodging House in record time. /Stupid me! How could I'se forget it?!/ He raced upstairs and to his bunk. He grabbed up his pillow and snatched his necklace from underneath.
"Me lucky necklace..." He muttered with a smile. He tied it around his neck and quickly glanced around the room for anything else he might have to run back for later on. His eyes found a dark green-brown velvety looking suit hanging on a wire hanger on the rusty coat rack by the door. He walked closer and reached out to touch it. /I wonda who's did is.../ His skilled chocolate hands found a small tag in the breast pocket. He gently took it out and read it aloud.
"To...Boots...hey, dat's me! Dis suit's mine?!"
He glanced back up, staring at it in a daze. He carefully took it down and slipped on the jacket, replacing his knickers for the new, clean ones.
/Dey fit poifectly.../
As Boots caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, a tear falling down his cheek, a single line ran through his thoughts. /A corduroy suit with fitted knickers.../
* * *
Les hopped from one foot to the other, kicking up the melting snow with the toe of his shoe. He glanced up above the marquee across the street, where it told all he movies that were playing that day. /Jus' 'cause David said wait here doesn't mean I can't go inside.../
He looked from left to right as he crossed the street, his brother's paranoia about getting killed had been deeply rooted in the little boy's mind. He opened the door, letting the warm air greet him kindly. /No one around...maybe I'se can just sneak in for a peek.../
"Hold it son..."
/Oh...no...Dave's gonna kill me!/ He turned around, very slowly, and found himself facing the manager, Mr. Smiggins: a tall, balding man with a strange habit of twitching his lips whenever he got agitated.
"And just where do you think you are going?"
Les whimpered helplessly. "I din't mean nuttin', honest! I just wanted ta see a flicka befoa I went to me last reward..." He coughed softly for effect.
The manager's eyebrows drew together quickly, the parted again, giving the impression that they had bounced off one another. Les almost laughed out loud.
"I mean, why aren't you headed to your usual spot young Mr. Jacobs?"
"My usual...spot?" He gazed up at Mr. Smiggins with a confused look on his face.
"Don't worry Les, I'll take you."
Baffled as he was, he followed the manager to the back, where, through a series of twists and turns, they ended up in one of the balcony seats.
"I don't under--"
"If you need anything sir, please, don't hesitate." The manager disappeared behind the thick, soft curtain.
Les sat on the plush, dark red couch and let it take him in. The lights dimmed, and a movie started. The opening credits jogged his memory to words spoken so long ago: /A mezzanine seat ta see da flickas.../
"Boy! You there, newsboy! Newsboy!"
Blink stood and removed his hat. /Hey ain't dis.../
"I'm Mr. DeMarano, you know, the mayor? Anyway, I'm in a crisis: I've got to go with my wife to a meeting in the capital and I've no one to take care 'a my daughter! Will you look after huh while we're gone? We'll be gone from dis Saturday 'till the following evenin', and we'll even pay you if you'll just please do dis for me!"
Kid Blink stood as still as he could, praying it wasn't just a dream. He leaned over slightly and gazed past the man's shoulder and into the window of the Rolls.
A doe-eyed, dark haired beauty waved shyly at him from the backseat.
"Well...I dunno...I'se is kinda busy..." He said, a silly grin crossing his face.
"Please!!"
Blink didn't need to be asked twice. "Shoa!"
The man got back into his car and rolled down the window next to his daughter, poking his head out as they began to drive away. "And one more t'ing boy! You know where we live right?"
How could he not?
Blink nodded.
"Good, oh! What's your name?"
"Kid Blink!" He called after the car.
The Rolls Royce rounded the corner as the mayor drew his head back inside.
Blink sat down, hard, on the sidewalk and ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. "A Saturday night wid da mayor's daughta..."
* * *
Jack Kelly thrust his hands into his pockets and nudged his thin scarf above his quivering lips. He dug his hands further into his pockets, pausing curiously when he felt a small scrap of paper.
/A buck?!/ He thought excitedly, withdrawing it from his pants. /A love lettah maybe?/
He held it up in front of his eyes, his smile falling as he glanced at it. /Nope, jus' a piece 'a papah...does it say sumpt'in? /
He unfolded it, expecting it to be blank, but was pleasantly surprised when he read the following message written in faintly familiar script across the surface.
My dearest Cowboy, I did my best on your wish, it took me a while, but I think you'll enjoy the end result. I did what I thought you would like. Love, Adri
Jack furrowed his thick eyebrows and shrugged, puzzled by the meaning of her note, and even more puzzled as to how the note got in his pants pocket. /Mus' be da guys.../ He laughed mentally. /Blink prob'bly./
He took a sharp right and pulled open the glass door to Tibby's, gladly receiving the warm air that rushed to greet him.
He took his usual seat in the back booth and waited patiently for the waiter to come over.
"Quit flirtin' wid dem an' get ova heah..." He muttered under his breath, rubbing his tingling hands together.
When his waiter finally sauntered over, Jack ordered the soup-of-the-day, vegetable beef, and a sandwich.
His stomach growled hungrily at the waiter, ordering him to hurry up.
Jack reached in his pocket again to see if he had exact change, mostly just something to keep his mind off the food until it actually arrived.
He pulled out 17 cents: exact change.
Curious, he reached into his other pocket and pulled out exactly what he had earned that day from selling papers: a dollar forty.
Confused, yet eager to test out his new theory, he called the waiter back and ordered a slice of apple pie.
Once his back was turned, Jack thrust his hand into his pocket another time: six more cents than before.
After eating quickly, Cowboy ran over to the local tailor's (Where he and the mayor talked politics for a good hour.) and bought a new jacket. Once again, the exact price was in his pocket when he reached for it.
Grinning from ear to ear, he ran outside to face the cold in his new threads. Raising his fists in the air as if punching the sky, he screamed at the top of his lungs: "Nobbin' wid all da muckety-mucks, I'm blowin' my dough an' goin' deluxe!"
* * *
Boots reached the Lodging House in record time. /Stupid me! How could I'se forget it?!/ He raced upstairs and to his bunk. He grabbed up his pillow and snatched his necklace from underneath.
"Me lucky necklace..." He muttered with a smile. He tied it around his neck and quickly glanced around the room for anything else he might have to run back for later on. His eyes found a dark green-brown velvety looking suit hanging on a wire hanger on the rusty coat rack by the door. He walked closer and reached out to touch it. /I wonda who's did is.../ His skilled chocolate hands found a small tag in the breast pocket. He gently took it out and read it aloud.
"To...Boots...hey, dat's me! Dis suit's mine?!"
He glanced back up, staring at it in a daze. He carefully took it down and slipped on the jacket, replacing his knickers for the new, clean ones.
/Dey fit poifectly.../
As Boots caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, a tear falling down his cheek, a single line ran through his thoughts. /A corduroy suit with fitted knickers.../
* * *
Les hopped from one foot to the other, kicking up the melting snow with the toe of his shoe. He glanced up above the marquee across the street, where it told all he movies that were playing that day. /Jus' 'cause David said wait here doesn't mean I can't go inside.../
He looked from left to right as he crossed the street, his brother's paranoia about getting killed had been deeply rooted in the little boy's mind. He opened the door, letting the warm air greet him kindly. /No one around...maybe I'se can just sneak in for a peek.../
"Hold it son..."
/Oh...no...Dave's gonna kill me!/ He turned around, very slowly, and found himself facing the manager, Mr. Smiggins: a tall, balding man with a strange habit of twitching his lips whenever he got agitated.
"And just where do you think you are going?"
Les whimpered helplessly. "I din't mean nuttin', honest! I just wanted ta see a flicka befoa I went to me last reward..." He coughed softly for effect.
The manager's eyebrows drew together quickly, the parted again, giving the impression that they had bounced off one another. Les almost laughed out loud.
"I mean, why aren't you headed to your usual spot young Mr. Jacobs?"
"My usual...spot?" He gazed up at Mr. Smiggins with a confused look on his face.
"Don't worry Les, I'll take you."
Baffled as he was, he followed the manager to the back, where, through a series of twists and turns, they ended up in one of the balcony seats.
"I don't under--"
"If you need anything sir, please, don't hesitate." The manager disappeared behind the thick, soft curtain.
Les sat on the plush, dark red couch and let it take him in. The lights dimmed, and a movie started. The opening credits jogged his memory to words spoken so long ago: /A mezzanine seat ta see da flickas.../