Part VII

The sun was just beginning to rise in the east as Spot flicked the ashes from his cigarette into the East River. After a seeming endless night of tossing and turning, he'd finally given up on sleep and ventured out into the early morning darkness to mull over the thoughts that plagued his mind. He'd sat on the edge of the pier at the docks for nearly two hours, lost in thought as he slowly took drag after drag from his cigarette.

It wasn't just the feeling of ominous dread he had gotten from Jack's information about Scotty's wish to reunite with Lamp. No, the tension and pressure that Spot received from Scotty had be constant since the day Scotty Sloane had arrived in North Brooklyn two years ago. Though he never had quite become comfortable, he had learned to live with it. His problem at hand was something of a different nature. There had been talk in the lodging house. Talk of him and his relationship with Jo. Though the boys never said anything directly to him, he'd overheard them talking more than once. And more than once he'd felt the hush go over the boys and all eyes turn toward him as he entered a room. On top of all that, he'd felt a change in the way they looked at him, in the way they spoke to him. In the way they'd thought of him.

They thought he was a fool. Yes, they though he was a fool for devoting so much time and energy to someone who had made a career out of entertaining men. Obviously the reputation that a dancing girl in a vaudeville hall gained was far less than respectable, and it seemed that his Jo had not escaped it. Despite all of her breeding, her intelligence, her charm and fame, she had still not escaped it. Promiscuous - yes that was the word that Scotty had used. Bastard – he was always using overly big words to try to make himself seem better than he truly was. To gain further repute in the eyes of the other boys.

"Ya know, Spotty, dose goils ova dere are known for bein' promiscuous and dat sorta thing. So, if I was you'se, I'd be keepin' a close eye on dat goil o' yours," Scotty had said casually to Spot in the midst of a conversation about another boy's new girl. He tossed the remark off of his tongue with such ease, the air of his tone implying the he and Spot were best of friends and that he was only looking out for his leader's best interests.

Try as he may, Spot couldn't seem to get the older boy's poisoned words out of his head. They rang in his ears constantly and repeated in his mind at night while he desperately tried to sleep. However, Scotty wasn't the first to subtly imply that Lily wasn't in the habit of being faithful. At first, it was easy for Spot to simply throw off their words in disbelief. Now, it had become not quite as easy to forget. But did he believe them?

He was most obviously stuck between a rock and a hard place, he'd thought. On one hand, it pained him to think of losing his beloved to anyone. On the other, his status and the survival of his reputation depended on the respect of his boys. If he didn't have their respect he had nothing. But how could they respect a fool? A fool who wasn't smart enough to see what was going on or strong enough to do something about it. No, they wouldn't follow a fool, would they? They'd immediately turn toward Scotty and pledge their undying allegiance to him. Yes, that's exactly that they'd do. And in the meantime, Scotty would have Spot chased so far out of Brooklyn that he'd never find his way back.

Despite the hurt and trapped feeling that had overtaken him, he felt angry. She'd injured his pride and it angered him to think that she could be betraying him and thinking him stupid enough not to notice. But was she really fooling around behind his back? Possibly. She'd have ample opportunity to do so. With the many men mulling around the theatre, vying for even the smallest bit of her attention, it would not be difficult for her to find someone more intelligent and more well off than lowly Spot Conlon. And with the time she spent away from him during the daylight hours, she would be free to do whatever she wished with whomever she wished while he was hard at working trying to sell his stinking papers. Hell, maybe she'd even asked him for that time apart a few weeks ago just so she could have more time to devote toward her secret affair.

Once Spot got started on a potential idea, he was unstoppable. Good at rationalizing, he could thinking through any notion, no matter how small or faulty, until he had himself convinced of its ultimate truth. However, he could not be certain that any of his suspicions were actually true. If he'd acted on his impulses and then found out that there was no truth to any of it, then he'd have destroyed perhaps the best thing he'd ever had. But what could he do? He could send out some of his birds, his little information-gatherers. They were good at doing his dirty work and leaving him with clean hands. But he couldn't do that to Jo. He wouldn't spy on her like that.

Could he simply ask her? Would she tell him the truth? Would she lie to save herself? Or would she be so hurt at his distrust that she'd never speak to him again?

"Yes," he thought to himself, "a rock and a very hard place."

He took one more long drag from his cigarette and stared off into the distance.

MANHATTAN

Spot felt a little uneasy as he pushed open the door to Streetside Charley's Restaurant and walked inside. Lily had asked him to meet her there, but he was unsure of why exactly she had wanted to. What was especially strange was that she would pick a place in Manhattan for them to meet, when there were more than enough restaurants in Brooklyn that were closer and could have served the same purpose quite easily. He searched the room, and upon not finding her, he chose a table in the corner and sat down to wait.

He leaned forward, his chin resting on his right fist. Spot then thought about what reason Lily could possibly have for all of this. Suddenly, an idea dawned on him, hitting him upside the head and then sinking into his stomach like a load of bricks. A low and whispered, "Fuck," escaped his mouth. Eva. It was Eva. Eva had found out about them and told Mantovanni. Mantovanni then probably had a little chat with Lily. Yes, that was it. He had a chat with her and had given her two options: she could stop seeing Spot and forget he had ever existed or she could continue on as she was doing and be forced out onto the streets. Lily was coming here to tell him goodbye! But she couldn't wait for their usual meeting time and she couldn't meet him in Brooklyn because it was too dangerous, too much of a chance of being seen! And now, because of that bitch Eva and that damn, damn coldhearted rat Mantovanni, Lily had to send Spot along his merry way.

Spot's anger grew as his mind raced with more ideas of how things had happened. He gritted his teeth as he plotted his revenge against the bitch and thought about all the ways he could get back at Mantovanni. By the time Lily finally arrived, he was fuming, his mind racing, his jaw set, his fists clinched, and knuckles turning white.

She had stopped just inside the door, searching the room. When her eyes met Spot's, she smiled a little half-smile. A sad, smile, Spot thought to himself, she's trying to be brave about the whole thing to make it easier on us. As she approached him, he was suddenly struck by an idea, a solution. Maybe she didn't have to leave him. She'd lose her job, that was certain, but what was she really losing anyway? The only thing that job had ever done for her was make give her a promiscuous reputation, as Scotty had claimed. They could leave. They could leave together and go somewhere new.....yes, that was it. They would leave and start over, find new and better jobs and live happily ever after.....

When she sat down across from him, Spot didn't even give her time to greet him before he said, "Jo, I know what happened. I know why ya wanted to meet me here."

She looked very confused as she wrinkled her brow.... "You do?" she questioned, "but how?"

"I ain't dumb, Jo," he said in a low and quite serious tone, "I'msmart enough to figure this one out."

"You did......you, um, figured it out?"

"Yeah, yeah, but look, Jo, I been thinkin'," Spot reached across the table and took Lily's hand in his own as an offer of comfort while he continued explaining his idea, "and it ain't hopeless. I think there's somethin' we can do about it. Now, I know what ya probably thinkin' but if ya just listen......"

"Who told you?"

"Wha? Nobody had to tell me anythin' Jo. Like I said, I figured it out. I ain't stupid ya know. And besides, it was kinda obvious, I mean, you wantin' to meet me here, and then that new girl that ya tol' me about an' all......"

Spot was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress, a young girl with dark hair and bright eyes. "Hallo," she said in an accent that was most decidedly English, "what can I get for you today?"

Spot looked at Lily, awaiting her answer. "Oh," Lily began, "I'll just have a cup of coffee, and um, dessert. You do have dessert, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am. What would you like? We have pie, custard, cake...."

"Cake. Chocolate cake," Lily answered, then turned her attention to Spot, "get whatever you want, I'm paying."

Spot raised his right eyebrow and shot her a look of confusion. What was this, pity? Now she felt bad about everything, so she was buying him lunch to make up for it. He wasn't used to accepting pity or letting anyone pay for him, but he decided it would be best not to embarrass Lily in front of the nice waitress, so he simply did as she said and ordered what he wanted.

When the waitress had left them, he confronted Lily. "Whaddaya tryin' to do, Jo?" he asked in a low voice.

Lily couldn't help but laugh in her utter confusion. "Wait, Spot, before I answer that and before you go any further" she said, "why don't I just tell you my reason for wanting you here, huh? That way we can stop speaking cryptically and talking to each other in code, alright?"

Spot shrugged his shoulders and said, "That's the best idea I've heard all day. Why don't you just go 'head and do that." He leaned back in his seat and waited for her grand explanation, secretly bracing himself and expecting the worst.

"Alright, are you ready?" Lily was now smiling widely. Spot nodded his head. She then pulled out a rolled piece of paper from under the table. In a quick motion, she unrolled the paper displayed it to Spot. "Ta da!" she said, smiling and eagerly awaiting his response.

However, Lily's smile soon faded when Spot's face only revealed confusion and perhaps a bit of disappointment instead of the encouragement and happiness she was certain he would gladly bestow upon her. "What's that?" Spot questioned when he finally spoke.

"You can't tell?" Lily asked, disheartened. "It's me! I mean, of course it's me, you can surely see that! What I mean is that it's only me...it's the theatre's new publicity poster!"

Spot raised his eyebrow, and Lily rolled her eyes. "Can't you see? It's just me, just my name. Not me and the other girls. They're giving me my own act! My very own act! I'm headlining!"

"Oh," Spot said in a flat voice, "that's, um, nice, Jo."

Lily's face fell for the second time. "Would it hurt you to be happy for me?" she asked in an injured voice, "I thought you would be. This is.....this is a huge leap forward. Think of what it'll do for my career! It's the next step, you know? Maybe after this, I can get into a real play, and do something important." Her expression turned from hurt to wistful when she mentioned the words "a real play." Legitimate theatre - it was the very reason why she had come to New York. Now that it was actually in sight and it seemed as though she had a true chance of reaching it, the one person in the world whom she hoped would be thrilled and offer endless support was acting aloof and disinterested.

The waitress reappeared with the food before Lily had found the appropriate words to voice her disappointment in a way that wouldn't sound like childish whining. After she placed their respective plates in front of them and walked away, Spot immediately and silently focused all of his attention on eating. Lily poked at her once celebratory cake with her fork, trying to convince herself that nothing was wrong. When she finally decided that she would be happy for herself even if he couldn't be, she breathed a deep sigh, shrugged, and took a sizable bite of her dessert.

~***~

Later that night, while Lily slept peacefully, Spot remained awake. His bout of insomnia had yet to leave him, and he had lay awake for what seemed like eternity. The thoughts, the nagging, unrelenting thoughts had returned again, and the fact that, at the moment, Lily was by his side had no power to discourage them.

He wanted to wake her, to wake her that moment and pour out his heart to her. He wanted to tell her what everyone around him had been saying about her and him and their relationship. He wanted to tell her that he hadn't peacefully slept in weeks and that their words still plagued his mind and pierced his heart even though he had tried his hardest to forget them. He wanted her to listen to his confession of desperation and then have her hold him and tell him that it was all lies, horrible lies that never had any truth. He wanted to hear her say that she belonged to him only, and that she had never once thought of another man in the time that they had been together.

But he couldn't. He couldn't wake her and tell her all that he had been thinking. It would have hurt her too much, too deeply. She was sensitive, and he knew that. She took everything to heart, and hearing him question her character would certainly crush her. Even if she truly was a lying, cheating whore, he couldn't strike at her and wound her with accusations that he wasn't sure were entirely true.

Thoroughly frustrated with his efforts to be caught in the warm blanket of sleep, he, as quietly and as gently as he could, removed Lily's arm from around him and rose to a sitting position. Standing up, he stretched and then walked over to the open window. Looking out onto the silvery-lit buildings of the city, he recalled the moonlit walk that he and Lily had taken in the first few days of their acquaintance. Thinking back on it and remembering how he felt so taken with her and so alive in her presence, he felt a painful twinge in his chest. He never would have thought he'd be here, unable to sleep because of the words and accusations of others constantly plaguing his mind. He never thought he'd doubt her or his feelings for her. He'd believed that this time it'd be different.

And it was different. Earlier that day, when he had believed their love was in jeopardy, his resolve to be with her strengthened and consumed him again. He could think of nothing more than doing anything, absolutely anything to save them, to preserved the tie that bound them. And when the tragedy turned out to be simply a promotion for Lily, he was far less happy for her than he probably should have been. He could feel her disappointment when her face fell from the glowing smile it had once wore, but try as he may, he could not make himself behave any differently than he had.

In contrast to the joy that Lily felt, Spot's mind could only produce worry and distress. His stomach had twisted into knots when he realized what the poster meant. More men, that's what it had meant. More men admirers, more gifts from men, more attention from men. All from men who had more money than he had, more power than he had, and more respectability than he had. And Lily Fox, his beloved Jo, had every reason in the world to say, "The hell with Spot Conlon!" and commit herself to one of these men. That is, if she hadn't already. But why shouldn't she? They could offer her things that he never could. They could give her a better life, a life that she'd always dreamed of. They fit into her plan.

Her plan. Spot had laughed to himself when he'd first heard of it. He'd laughed at how she'd planned out her entire life to suit one goal. At first, it hadn't mattered to him. He expected their relationship to only last a short time, a few weeks, maybe a month. When it went further, and when he'd fallen in love with her, he'd practically given up on other girls, and he'd expected the same from her. He expected that she would give up on her plan and devote herself only to him. And for a while, he was sure she had. But now, he wasn't so sure.

Turning around to look upon her, still quietly sleeping, his heart melted and broke at the same time. She was so beautiful, so thoroughly intoxicating and yet, easily so toxic at the same time. At that moment, he cared only about losing her. Let his boys think him a cuckold...let him be run out of Brooklyn...let his world fall in on him. He didn't care. As long as he had his Jo, he'd be okay. They'd leave – they'd go someplace else like she had once suggested doing so long ago. Casting another look upon her, he knew that hehad to do something. He couldn't continue to live his life this way – never sleeping, doing nothing except isolating himself from his boys, and sitting alone, thinking and smoking cigarette after cigarette. But what could he do? He couldn't tell Lily for fear of hurting her, and hell, he couldn't tell anyone else. He had a reputation to protect. He was Spot Conlon, and Spot Conlon did not stay awake every night pining away over some silly girl that was probably stabbing him the in the back and making a fool out of him on a regular basis.

He pulled yet another cigarette and a match from the pocket of his shirt that he had thrown on the floor and lit the cigarette. He paced around the room slowly, trying to think of what to do or how to forget about his predicament. Wandering over to her dresser, he ran his fingers lightly over the items strewn over its top. He picked up a bottle and sniffed it. It was perfume, the one she always wore. He'd always loved the way she smelled and the way his clothes held her fragrance long after he'd left her. As he inhaled, its sent filled his nostrils and almost made him forget there was anything wrong. Her earrings, her hairbrush, face powder, ribbons, one glove: he touched each one, caressing them as gently as if they were her.

He let his fingers wander down to the drawer pull and slowly yanked it open. Undergarments, all white, some with lace, some without. Silk stockings. Thumbing through the garments, he felt his hand fall over something hard hidden under one of them. His hand closed around it and he lifted it out of the drawer. A cigar box – an old one. His conscience told him to leave it unopened – that it was wrong to dig through her things. However, he let his curiosity get he best of him, and lifted the lid. Money. Inside of it was money. Bills upon bills folded neatly. It was her life savings, he'd guessed. "Good for you, Jo," he said softly, carefully placing the stash back in exactly the same place he had found it.

"I wonder what else she's got in here," he whispered, musing to himself. After a little digging, his hand once again found something hard. Hard and flat. He pulled out the object to discover a framed photograph. The people pictured looked to be a family, a well dressed, upper class family. There was a mother, a father, a little girl in a frilly dress, and a baby. The mother held the baby on her lap and smiled sweetly at it. The father stood tall and proud and though he was not smiling, his eyes held a bit of a twinkle. The young girl was quite the opposite. She stood solemnly, her lips turned downward and her dark eyes, brooding.

Spot held the picture up to his face for closer inspection. He wondered who these people were. Where they Jo's family? And if so, which one was Jo? Was she the happy baby or the solemn little girl? As he pondered all of this, he heard a groggy voice behind him whisper, "What are you doing?"

He turned around to face Lily. She was sitting up in the bed, her hair tousled and messy, her eyes barely open, still heavy from sleep. "What are you doing?" she repeated again. Spot put the picture behind his back and tried to subtly put it back into her drawer, hoping that her half-lucid state and the darkness would provide a veil to cover his actions.

"Don't bother," she said, "I can see what you're doing. What's that in your hands?" Spot stopped. He was caught and he knew better than to try to continue his charade.

"Ya mean this?" he asked holding up the picture.

"Don't play dumb, Conlon," she said, annoyed at having being woken up and then being forced to play games, "of course I mean that." She pushed the blankets aside and got out of bed. "Give it to me," she said, reaching out her hand. He placed the photograph in her outstretched hand. Lily looked at the framed photograph and emitted a sigh of exasperation. "God, Spot," she said in a tone of annoyance, "where did you find this? Were you looking through my things? What were you hoping to find?"

Spot scoffed. "I wasn't lookin' for nothin', Jo. Whaddaya take me for? I ain't no snoop. Christ....." he said defensively, trying to conceal his attempt to pretend as though he had done nothing wrong. He flopped down on the bed as though she had injured him.

A moment of silence passed while Lily tried to get over her annoyance and Spot attempted to think of what to say to save himself. "So, um," he said after a while, "which one is you?"

"What do you mean?" Lily asked, "Are you talking about this?" She gestured toward the photograph she was holding.

"Yeah, in the picture.....Dat's ya family, right? So, are you the baby or are ya the unhappy little girl who looks like she got all her toys taken away?"

Lily laughed at his description of her as a child. "I am actually the unhappy little girl."

"Really?" Spot mused, "What did they do to ya? Tell ya you could have any dessert after supper?"

"No," Lily answered, rolling her eyes, "nothing like that. I suppose that I was just one of those shy little children that didn't really take to anyone."

"And look at ya now......" Spot said under his breath.

Lily wasn't sure what his comment meant, so she pretended like she hadn't heard it. She sat down next to him on the bed. "An' who's this?" he asked, pointing to the baby.

"That's Claudette, that's my sister" Lily answered. Spot could pick up a slight bit of wistfulness in her voice. "God, she's just a tiny little thing there, isn't she? I was four when she was born."

"What happened to 'er? Is she still back in uh, South Carolina?" Spot asked.

She sighed a long, deep sigh and closed her eyes. Without opening her eyes, she quietly murmured, "I'm going to have to tell you all of it aren't I?" She opened her eyes to see him looking at her, awaiting her next words. "I've never told anyone this. No one," she whispered.

"My parents were French immigrants," she began, "our original surname was Auguste, but it was changed to August upon arriving here. My mother was pregnant when they made the long trip over, but I wasn't born until they'd been here three months. They settled in Charleston because my father had an aunt and uncle already residing there. I was born in Charleston on March 23, 1880. They named me Josephine, after my mother's mother, and, um, the empress, too, I believe. Josephine-Margot August – the very first natural born American citizen in our family," she paused to smile and laugh. "Anyway, four years later, Claudette was born, and for a while, everything was perfect. So very, very perfect."

Lily looked at Spot and said, "Are you terribly bored yet?"

"Nah," he answered, putting his arm around her, "go on. I mean, if ya want to."

"Well anyway, over the next year or so, my mother developed some kind of condition. No one was sure what it was. Claudette's birth was very difficult, and I guess in her already weakened condition and the strain from taking care of a baby and a family, anything, no matter how small the sickness, would have had a massive effect on her. She went to doctor after doctor in South Carolina. She made trips to Boston, Hartford, everywhere. So many doctors, yet none of them thought her condition very serious, and if they did, they didn't know how to help her. After three years of watching her grow worse and worse, my father, the staunch believer in all things French, took her and the still very young Claudette back to France. I'm not quite sure if he'd considered the adverse effect the long boat journey would have on her though. Not wanting to interrupt my education at Charleston's finest girl's school, they sent me to live with my father's rich aunt.

"Aunt Helaine. And her son - my uncle Maurice. Aunt Helaine was, well she was fine, I suppose. No, that's a lie. She was strict, terribly strict and nearly obsessed with the idea of fashioning me into the proper lady – someone to show off and to never embarrass the family name. But she loved her son. Oh how she loved her son, that wretched man! She believed anything and everything that he told her, though I knew and the entire town knew that he was quite the liar. After a year of living there, I received word that my mother had died, and that my father and sister would remain in Lyon. I was to stay Charleston with my Aunt Helaine and finish my education.

I must say that I was not affected very much by my mother's death. I suppose it was due to my age – I was very young and did not understand death fully. As long as I was a good little girl, Aunt Helaine provided me with as many toys and pretty dresses as I liked. I lived a happily, comfortable, little life with my aunt. Uncle Maurice I did not care for. There was something about him that I did not trust. While I was young, he left me alone and, I could ignore him and pretend that he simply was not there. However, when I was fourteen and had begun to develop into something more womanly than childlike, his attitude toward me changed.

I could feel his eyes on me at dinnertime. He watched me constantly and smiled eerily, private little smiles at me when he thought no one watching. Late one night, when I was sixteen, he came into my room. I woke to find him there standing over me. Suddenly, we both heard a loud noise. It must have scared my uncle, made him think someone was coming to find him out or something, because he quickly exited my room. Of course, my aunt saw nothing wrong. She was blissfully oblivious to her son's actions. Her love for him blinded her, and he did nothing in front of her to sway her affection. I lived like this for three years, constantly evading him. Doing anything to not be left alone in a room with him.

And then, all of my efforts failed. Shortly after my seventeenth birthday I suppose my uncle simply got tired of waiting. He waited until Great Aunt Helaine made her routine visit to the Charleston Ladies' Bridge Society and then he ambushed me in the dining room. He grabbed ahold of my shoulder with a tight grip..he was so much stronger than me. I fought hard, trying to stop him, but he kissed me. His wet malicious lips all over my neck and shoulders...covering my face. When I finally wrenched free, I ran and ran. I slept out in an abandoned house by the shore that I used to play in as a child. When morning came, I was hungry and tired, and my body ached all over. Not knowing what else to do, I went back."

She paused to look at Spot. His attention was focused on her. A soft, "Aw, Jo," escaped from his lips.

"I told my Aunt, you know, I told her what her filthy son had done. I thought she would actually take my side for once, and see her son for what he truly was. But I was sadly mistaken. Not only did she not believe me, but she accused me of lying, of deliberately trying to tarnish her son's and our family's name. She even wrote to my father, explaining the situation, rallying her son's cause, and enlightening him on what a disappointment his daughter was.

To my father, two things were important, honor and family. I was a disgrace to both. He believed my aunt, of course, since she was older and wiser and I was just a silly little girl dying for attention. I had caused him the utmost shame, and he wrote me, informing me of such, threatening to disown me and such things. Now, I loved my father deeply, and it hurt me in unspeakable ways that he was so disappointed in me, so very ashamed of me.

From that point on, I simply could not bear to be in that house any longer, not with my aunt who criticized my every move and believed not a word that I said, not with my uncle sneering at me across the dinnertable. So, I packed my things, unashamedly stole some of my aunt's money and took the first train here. My naïve head filled with big aspirations of how I was going to be an enormous theatrical success. Of course, I ended up here. A poor little song and dance girl who has to flirt with the kind of men that I despise just to survive."

Spot did not speak. How could he? He had no idea what to say. "Your mother," he finally said softly, pointing to her in the photograph, "was beautiful."

"She was," Lily said, smiling sadly, "Everything I can remember about her was beautiful and graceful.........and warm. Her voice......the way that she walked.....even her name - Marianne-Therese."

"You look like her," Spot offered.

Lily smiled and threw her arms around him, enveloping him in her embrace. Her sweet embrace. Wrapped in it, love and all of its finery fell down upon Spot again. He welcomed the blinding happiness that it brought, but his bliss lasted only seconds. For in the back of his mind, the voice repeated itself again. The gnawing feeling returned, creeping up on him until it overtook his mind and heart. The doubt eased into his mind and he held on to Lily more tightly, as if that simple action could make it go away. Sadly, it couldn't. He was left shaken and utterly overcome by fear.