Author's Notes: Yes, this is yet another chapter I wrote (or started) on Columbus Day… I had absolutely nothing to do but watch Phantom of the Opera (Squanto's borrowing my Newsies DVD), stare at my e-mail to see if anyone is going to send me something, hit refresh a million times on my profile page and wait for someone to update something, and type this like mad.
Here's the chapter:
Chapter Eight: Red Roses and Purple Ties"C'mon- look at yourself, Irene!"
"Papa, I'm afraid to look!"
"'Rene, just look at yourself!"
"I look terrible, right?"
"No! Just turn around and look at yourself in the damn mirror!"
Racetrack and Saint burst out laughing. She could only go so far without having her father lose his temper…
"Fine. On the count of three."
"One-" Sarah said.
"Two-" Race continued.
"Three!" Irene exclaimed, and she turned around.
The dress was a dark magenta satin with black lace and went down to just below her knees, just as Eric had wanted. It went straight down, with the tiny sleeves and elbow-length gloves- all satin. The sash was also satin, and had black beading across it. The neck was modest- a simple scoop that showed no cleavage. Irene was especially happy that Sarah told her that it looked better without the corset.
"Oh Sarah! It's beautiful! You must have been up all night making it!" she exclaimed.
"No… just until midnight," Sarah said with a wink. "I'm glad you like it, darling. Here's your mask."
The mask matched the dress- satin covered with lace.
Saint held the mask in her hands while Sarah did her hair- back and out of her face, with a few curls framing her pale face.
She put on her mask and black shoes, and ran into her father's arms.
"So what do you think, Papa?" she said, spinning around.
"I think the most beautiful girl in all of New York is standin' in front of me," he answered with a weak smile.
The other newsies that would be attending the ball were already on their way there.
"Leave the ball at one. Now, be safe," Racetrack told his daughter.
"Papa, don't worry! I can take care of myself," Irene said as she skipped along with the others. "'Bye, Papa!"
"That's what I'se worried about," he whispered.
---
"Pep, this tie is purple!" Ford exclaimed.
"So? It's a Mardi Gras ball- what's the matter with it?" Pepper had a gold tie.
"Purple… isn't a guy's color…"
"You'se got issues, Conlon!"
They laughed as they changed into the suits and ties that were provided for them.
"Wait! We don't have masks! Oh well, I guess we can't go now, can we?" Ford asked with mock disappointment.
"You'se goin' to that ball, Ford." Pepper handed him a black mask with purple accents.
"Oh, shit…" he muttered while putting it on.
Pepper put on his own mask, with gold instead of purple on it.
"C'mon- let's get goin'."
---
The annual Mardi Gras ball was a big event, hosted by an aging Medda and the newspaper companies. If the newsies didn't have enough money to buy an outfit, the newspaper companies (which hosted several events for the newsies- they had ever since the end of the strike) made sure that department stores let them borrow the suit or dress for that one night. Of course, Saint, being Race's daughter, didn't need to resort to that, and Ford didn't want his identity revealed.
Swirls of gold, purple, and green lit up the theater as people danced. Everyone's face was covered in a mask.
As Saint walked in, she suddenly felt very intimidated. Except for the Manhattan newsies, she knew almost no one.
And Ford knew no one but Pepper, who already was dancing with a girl from Queens.
So, somehow, they both had the idea of going to the drink table. They got into a conversation.
"Some party, eh?" Ford said.
"I guess," Saint replied. Suddenly, she started laughing. "Your tie is purple!"
"Yeah, I guess it is… next time my friend picks out my suit, I'm goin' with him."
They laughed.
"That's an interesting necklace," Ford asked.
"My mother… well, it's a long story, and I have no clue what half of it means anymore. Well, it was my mother's, anyway."
"Oh. Sorry if I brought any bad memories."
"That's okay," she said sheepishly. "I'm sorry I insulted your tie." Saint paused, stifling a giggle. "Would you like to dance?"
Ford was shocked. Usually the boy asked the girl to dance, not vice versa. Nevertheless, he accepted her gloved hand and led her to the dance floor. He wanted to find out more about this bold girl.
"Where are you from?" he asked politely.
"Manhattan. You?" Irene either didn't notice, or chose to ignore the look of shock on the boy's face.
"Brooklyn."
They danced for several songs.
"You're a wonderful dancer," Ford said.
"Well, um, thanks. My papa and I used to dance to records all the time."
"You must be close to your father, then."
"Yes."
"I wish I could say the same," he said glumly, "my father and I don't speak that often."
"Oh, that's unfortunate. What does your mother say about that?"
"I don't have a mother- she died when I was born."
"I'm sorry!"
"That's okay. By the way, what's your name?"
Saint froze. All of a sudden, her nickname seemed too childish for this handsome boy.
"Irene. What's yours?"
She didn't give him a nickname, so he gave her his real name. "Sam."
"Well, Sam," she said, "I'm glad to have met you."
"I'm glad to have met you, too, Miss Irene."
He was so polite. Irene wondered where he learned manners, coming from Brooklyn. She'd never actually met anyone from Brooklyn, but she had been told enough.
"So- you're a newsie, I guess," Irene stated.
"Yeah. I-I mean yes, I am. Are you?" He suddenly felt the need to impress her; to show her that he wasn't the average newsie you find on the street.
"Every other day, I am."
"What do you do the rest of the time?"
"I go to school. Well, my uncle teaches me. He works at NYU."
"Oh." Sam felt inferior, even though he went to school up to sixth grade- all that was required at the time.
"Do you go to church?"
He didn't know how to answer that question- whether to say yes or no.
"Well, I actually just found out that I was baptized- I don't know why my father never told me."
"Hmm…" Irene replied. "Well, my papa and I go every Sunday."
"I think I might start."
"That's nice. You should go with us some time." The conversation paused for a few dances after that.
"Would you like to walk outside with me?" Sam asked.
"Sure."
They walked outside to the front of the theater.
"I was wondering if you had a nickname," he asked.
"Yes," Irene said uncomfortably, "although, if it's okay with you, I'd rather not say it right now."
Maybe she was hiding, too!
"I'm sorry," he said. "Would you like to meet me somewhere tomorrow night?"
Irene thought for a minute. Maybe… maybe this was the boy! The boy that she'd been waiting for her entire life! Something told her to say yes, and something told her to say no.
"Yes. Where do you want to meet?"
"Umm…"
"Wait! Do you know where the Horace Greeley statue is?" Irene asked
"Yes- Newsies Square." Sam answered.
"Meet me there tomorrow night at sundown."
"Okay." Suddenly, he felt the urge to kiss her. Irene, who had just glanced at the clock, interrupted his thoughts. It was one thirty… she was late!
"I have to leave."
"See you then?"
"Yes. Until then, Sam."
"Wait, Irene!" he yelled.
"What?"
"Take this to remember me by."
He handed her a red rose that he had picked off of one of the decorations.
Irene smiled, and said thank you. With that, she ran back to Duane Street as fast as her legs could take her.
---
"So," Pepper said, as they left, "I saw you wit' that girl."
They left a few minutes after Irene did.
"Yeah. So?"
"Did 'ya kiss?" Pepper had kiss marks all over his cheek, and was now frantically trying to rub them off before they got back to the church to get changed.
"No."
"That stinks."
"But I'm meeting her tomorrow," Ford said, hoping to get it through to his friend that he wasn't as wimpy as Pepper thought. After all, he was Spot Conlon's son- he had a reputation. Not that Pepper could see it…
"WOOOOO! Score for Mr. Conlon!"
They walked into the church, got changed, started back to Brooklyn, and picked up the conversation where it left off.
"So, what's her name?" Pepper inquired.
"Irene," Ford replied.
"Hmm… I think I know her from somewhere… Well, it ain't important. So where are you meetin'?"
"Newsies Square."
Pepper stopped walking. "Manhattan? Do you know what Higgins will to you if he finds you? She ain't from Manhattan, is she?"
"I don't know… but that's where we're meeting."
"Just don't get caught. Wait a second, why should I be scared? You'se Ford Conlon, Brooklyn's best killer, the sneakiest, fastest guy there is. Or are you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"This!" Pepper exclaimed. He stole Ford's hat and took off towards Brooklyn, his friend chasing him all the way.
---
Racetrack was pacing around the front lobby. He checked his pocket watch. It was nearly two; Irene was supposed to have left the ball almost an hour before. Where was she?
Suddenly, he heard a knock on the door.
"Where the hell were you?" he exclaimed.
"I'm sorry, Papa, I sort of lost track of time," Irene replied, hiding the rose in her hand.
"I can see that. So where's he from?"
"Who?"
"The boy you were wit'. One of the boys that came back told me you danced wit' one boy the entire night. Where was he from?"
Oh, no… Sam's from Brooklyn… I'm dead if Papa finds out I danced with a Brooklyn boy all night.
"I don't know," she lied. "It really doesn't matter- I probably will never see him again."
Race sighed. He hoped it wasn't a Brooklyn boy.
"Well, you'se better get yourself to bed. 'Night, 'Rene."
"'Night, Papa," she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
Irene was relieved when she was behind her closed bedroom door.
I lied to him, she thought. I lied to Papa… I've never done anything like this before…
She put the rose on her nightstand and smiled, thinking of the wonderful boy she had met with the purple tie.
Author's notes: Pepper's always fun to write… he's Brooklyn's comic relief… for now.
Okay, so I'm really rushed right now. I don't have time to answer everyone, but I'll give a generic response to everyone.
Shout Out:
Yeah… while working on this, I was looking around on the Internet for saints and what they are patrons of (I'm Catholic, and my confirmation is coming up soon). So, there might be some Saint's names floating around…
"El Shaddai" is coming up soon. I'll give a hint: it means God Almighty in Hebrew (it's also a song by Amy Grant that we did in my dance show. I was watching the tape of the show and I got the idea…). You'll see…
And the thing with Ford and the police is scattered around… that'll be discussed at different times.
So, review, please! Let's see if I can get to fifty reviews!