In the distance, thunder clapped boldly in the sultry summer night. Luxy did not bother counting to find the intermitting extent for when it would strike again. For all her insane mind could comprehend, lightening could strike the tenement house and send the whole apartment to hell.
Pure, unadulterated silence was heavy in the darkness that covered the area like a shroud, seeping into the rotted wooden floorboards at her feet and under the decaying plank of wood that was the door before her. She studied the chipping paint on the door—a hasty shade of piss yellow—but saw only red--lovely, lovely chartreuse, carmine, and scarlet to rival the licking fires of Hell.
She shifted her weight hastily, impatiently from one foot to the other, the floor whining under her weight. The night was sweltering, blistering—too hot for her liking, really. Her parched hair fell like straw down her back, clinging to her like a sweaty cape. She released an audible, childish sigh. She brought a hand from behind her back and held it aloft, forming a fist. She rapped slightly, daintily on the door. Silence was her reply.
She knocked again, harder and with more force this time. She felt a passion begin to fill her as the knocks grew outrageously loud. She suddenly halted, calming herself and becoming cool again.
This time she heard a voice from inside, a gruff Italian voice that had just woken from a deep slumber. "Who the hell is there? What do you goddamned want?"
In acknowledgment she knocked once.
"What the fuck do you want? Why you goddamned wake me up at this hour?" The voice was closer, louder, just behind the door this time. She felt her blood begin to rush, course throughout her veins, hotly. Involuntarily, every muscle in her body tensed. A wild desire touched her lips and pulled them back into a smile. The door opened.
He stood before her in the dark, his features mostly covered by the thick shadows. From what she could discern, his inky black eyes were dead with sleep, his cheeks flushed from anger, and his thick mass of greasy black hair out of it's queue, touching his shoulders. He stood behind the door mostly, his head peaking out of the cracked door. "What do you goddamned want?" he silibated in his thick accent.
She could hardly speak; her chest was strangled and bound in such animal anticipation. She stepped forward, the off smile still on her lips. He regarded her. "Well?" he hissed furiously.
She reciprocated the stare, her eyes wild and her smile deadly. "Hello, Mr. Antonelli. My name is Luxy Listin. I live below you. I believe you killed my family."
He stared into her face, so young and insane, before he stumbled away from the door, disbelieving what he saw. Her smile grew as she stepped into the apartment, and brought her hands from behind her back, revealing the gleaming knife. He regarded the weapon, the sleep deftly dissipating from them. The arrogance in his voice betrayed them. "What you gonna do with the knife, little girl, kill old Anthony?" He threw his head back and released a hearty laugh.
The laughter resonated in her head like the deepest migraine. "No," she calmly and frankly said, raising the blade aloft, "I am going to make the walls run red with your blood."
He had not had time to fully comprehend what the small girl had said before he felt the impeccably sharp tip rip into the soft flesh of his neck. He reacted violently, stumbling backwards, placing his hands to his throat and gurgling blood, but to no avail. She had already sliced him ear to ear. And she was only beginning her act of vengeance. As she straddled him, his screams bothered her immensely. She wanted to silence them so she raised the blade even further over her head.
She had gone mad. Stark raving mad.
"So, Spot, what is your story?"
Benjamin Conlon raised his head sharply from the fan of cards he held before him. He was about to scan the other guys in the group, but the Italian had his eyes on him. "You mean me?" he blurted inadvertently.
This elicited friendly snickers from the boys at the poker table. Benji could feel his cheeks heat up fantastically as he sunk lower in his seat, trying to hide his flaming face behind his cards. He was not accustomed to the appellation that Jack had bestowed upon him. Throughout the night when the other newsies had addressed him as Spot, he had looked over his shoulder to see if they were speaking to someone else save him, although they always had their eyes on him.
He raised his eyes to the Italian's again. They were brown and very deep, as though they were pondering him closely. He removed his cigar from his lips and blew a set of immaculate smoke circles into the sky, lazy wisps of white ghosts. "Yeah. I mean you."
Benji swallowed deeply, appraising the loaded question in his head, with all sets of eyes upon him. He stumbled for an answer, not sure if he was ready or willing to share pain that immense and overpowering as he had experienced. He had since then learned to keep it sealed inside a deep, dark chasm in his heart, never to be open or exposed again. So he concocted the first lie that came to mind. He lived Luxy's pain for a while. "My family was murdered a few years back. The tenant that lived above us went insane or something."
"Killed 'em all?" the boy with the shock of blonde hair and the patch asked incredulously. Benji nodded at him, trying to recall his name. Beside him, Boots let out a long, low whistle.
A silence fell over them, Racetrack blowing his lazy, perfect rings of smoke again, before Jack leaned forward, startling Benji. "Hey Spot, what ever happened to that one broad you was lookin' for that one day? What was her name? Did ya ever find her?"
Benji's eyes widened at the thought of Luxy. He had left her in the alley in a wonderful rage. She was finally almost thinking normally again, and now that she talked she more or less bitched than murmured incoherently as she had. She had bitched to him that she was hungry and wanted food. She bitched that he should be in the fucking factory working for food. She bitched where was he going with a new pair of pants and hat? She bitched for him just leaving her starving. She bitched that when he came back she would have been so hungry she would have eaten her own goddamn leg. She had then hurled a brick at him, that of which he did not witness for he was storming towards the sidewalk already. It had chipped him brutally on the shoulder and he screamed and uttered a noise like he had before only when his mother died in his arms. So he went back to her and while she was still bitching he created a fist and struck her across the mouth. The sheer surprise of it had flung her backwards and she fell on her ass among some crates. She looked at him, utterly stunned and incredulous. Her face began to twitch and her eyes glimmered and for a minute he was going to lend her his hand but then her face had twisted into a mask of rage and she began to bitch—to scream. You son of a bitch! Just like your goddamned father! You are just like your goddamned father!
The words rang loudly in his ears and he still could not shake the chill they brought. She had to alluded to him reliving his father's behavior once again, he had promised himself not to do it again. Jack's words shattered his thoughts. "Well, did ya?"
His eyes flirted to Jack's before returning to his cards. "Yeah, Cowboy, yeah I did."
Jack's lips pulled back into a mischievous smile on his handsome face and his eyes panned over his boys. "I bet she was so happy for you rescuing her that she would have done anything for ya, Spot. Right, anything?" He nudged Benji in the ribs with an elbow.
Benji glanced at Jack and did not respond to his glowing eyes and beaming smirk.
Mush was leaning forward, forearms lying on the card table. "So did you really get laid?"
The remark elicited boos and hisses from the newsies as some threw their cards at Mush. "What?" he cried. "I was just interested!"
"Oh come on ya bunch of assholes!" Racetrack yelled, throwing his cards down on the table. "Are we gonna keep with the pillow talk or play some fuckin' poker or what?"
The newsies broke up into shouts of agreement. Once they were settled, the Italian's deep brown eyes were upon Benji again. "Well, what do you raise, Conlon?"
You son of a bitch. Just like your goddamned father. You are just like your goddamned father.
"Five, Race. Five."
She stood outside the building, blistering sun bearing down on her tanned shoulders, and mouth in the palm of her hand. Staring at the redbrick façade, she gingerly rubbed her fingers over the glorious welt that adorned her lower jaw. Mapping it, she reached a sensitive spot and released a howl, dropping her arm to her side in fury. "Just like his goddamned father. He is just like his goddamned father," she hissed in a low voice before entering the building and throwing open the door. Immediately she was overwhelmed with the powerful, yet familiar, scent of lavender. She curled her toes on the plush carpeting. It was a welcoming relief to her aching feet.
Luxy took a few precautionary steps forward, trying to discern where the Madame of the Red Bull was. Under the archway of ornate staircase that lead to the second floor was the parlor fashioned in a décor of deep red and green velvets. Lola had her back to Luxy, and in her melodic accent was seducing her customers' ears of all the wild and exotic fantasies that the upstairs chambers held. The Madame had not always been so fond of Luxy visiting Rose Danson when one of her most popular ladies should be hard at work keeping the male customers thoroughly entertained with her charms.
Keeping the back of Lola's head under deep scrutiny, she made a quick dash to the staircase. It ran parallel to the hallway that served as the entrance before making a sharp curved right that led to the second floor and subsequently to the third. Luxy's bare feet thudded against the highly shined hardwood stairs until they reached the wonderful plush of the dark blue carpet that lined the hallway. Banishing the moans and screams of orgasmic pleasure from her ears, Luxy hurriedly made her way down to the fifth door on the right—Rose's room.
She rapped brusquely to no reply. After another series of knocks, she croaked out Rose's name. Inferring that the scarlet woman may perhaps be in the power room or such, Luxy slowly opened the door before she peered her head in. "Rose?" she inquired in an unsure voice. She pushed the door open, and it swung neatly inward, revealing the lavish purple and violet scape of the room. Luxy warily took a step into the room, her arches sinking into the deep carpeting. "Rose?" she called out again, her eyes panning the room.
Before her, there was a rustling from the power room, and in an instant the door was flung open. Luxy relaxed and she exhaled deeply. "Oh, Rose," she signed, "I didn't know where you…were..." The words died on her lips as her eyes finally transfixed on the woman before her. On a first glance she had mistaken her for Rose, yet with further scrutiny, Luxy could determine she was indeed not. Clad in a striking lavender bustier, the girl was tall, much taller than Rose's petite frame had been. The spirals of flame red hair that trailed down her back caught the light and made it dance. Her face was nearly identical to Rose—the dramatic cosmetics enhanced her features—but perhaps more narrow in the jaw and chin.
The woman before her was indeed not Rose Dawson yet she was in Rose Danson's room.
"Who are you?" the girl snapped in a pronounced Brooklyn accent at the same moment Luxy cried, "Where is Rose?"
The girl's handsome features softened before registering surprise. "You knew my mother?"
"Your mother?" Luxy replied incredulously, confusion consuming her brain and having a delicious time.
"Yes, my mother," the girl said, stepping forward from the powder room and into the bedroom. "You knew my mother Rose?"
Luxy stumbled backwards in disbelief, attempting to make justifiable what the girl was telling her. She then recalled a conversation she had had with Rose when they first met. She had explained that she was in prostitution so that she would be able to support her daughter. Ruby. She raised her eyes to the girl's. "Are you Ruby?" she said in an unsteady voice.
She acknowledged the name with a nod, and approached Luxy, a grim smile adorning her visage. "Yes, I am Ruby," she said in a broken voice, her eyes glancing over the room before falling to Luxy. The brilliant green orbs burned into her. "You asked for my mother. Why?"
Luxy did not comprehend what she was asking of. "I asked for your mother because Rose lives here. In this room. I came to see her. Where is she?"
Ruby's gaze faltered as she released a slight sob. Her posture collapsed and she placed her spread palms on the vanity to support her. Her hair fell forward, contrasting with her pale, creamy skin, disguising her countenance from Luxy. Her shoulders heaved harshly, before she seemed to compose herself. She turned to Luxy, her eyes glistening and the kohl liner streaming down her face. "My mother…she…she…she had had some kind of disease…goddamned syphilis. She had it for such a long time and Lola told her to quit…to go home and live what time she had. But she said she couldn't. She said she had me to take care of. She died a few weeks ago. It finally took her, God rest her soul."
The words took Luxy like a stab wound to the heart. She had barely known Rose Danson, but the scarlet woman had been her Good Samaritan and had saved her body from Mr. Antonelli. And now she was dead. Luxy Listin then knew she had no one on this God forsaken earth. A feeling of absolute and total foreboding washed over her body in a wave that was so forceful she nearly fell to the ground. She was suddenly very cold despite the impossible heat of the room and her mouth hurt very much.
Ruby Dawson's hard voice broke her reverie into a million shards. "I came here right after she died. She had debts to her name but she was a good woman and I wasn't gonna let anyone say anything bad about my mamma's name. So I come to Lola and I says, 'Lola, give me a job. I need to keep my mamma's name good.'" She raised her eyes to Luxy. "She did it for me, you know? All this for me. It's the least that I can do for her. The least that I can do."
Luxy's voice was void of emotion. "So you do this for your mother?"
Ruby nodded slowly, inhaling deeply and running her fingers under her eyes, wiping away the excess liner. "Yes. And soon I can have her debts paid off. Real soon. My mamma was one of the most popular ones here—I mean the men loved her. Since I am basically parading as her, I figure I can make enough money to pay off her debts and maybe scrap together something to make a life for myself."
Luxy regarded her. "How old are you?"
At the question, Ruby's cheeks flushed in embarrassment and she bowed her head. She languidly strode over to the vibrant canopy bed and held a piece of the drapery fabric in her grasp, absentmindedly playing with it. "Thirteen. I just turned thirteen. Though it helps to look older, I guess." She turned to Luxy. "I never did get your name. What did you say it was?"
Her face was hard, cold. "I didn't," she breathed slightly. "It's Luxy."
Ruby slowly approached her, a frown touching her lips and concern burrowed deeply within the lines of her face. She placed her fingers to Luxy's chin and raised her head so their eyes locked. "What happened to you Luxy?"
Luxy released a listless sigh, entirely too weary to forge any wrath for the pain Benji had inflicted upon her. "Just a scuffle with my brother."
Ruby regarded her with a raised eyebrow of disbelief, before relinquishing and pulling her fingers lightly away. "If I may be frank with you, Luxy, you look like shit." Luxy's eyes widened in incredulity. The red head smirked and tossed her head towards the power room. "Why don't you do yourself a favor and get a bath. You can take one if you don't mind the, ah, theatrics. I got a customer coming soon and I think you need it more than me."
Before she could manage a reply, Ruby Danson was ushering her like a child into the powder room, and in the midst of the white-tiled floor. Ruby leaned in the doorway and casually motioned with a hand, prattling off a tour of the room. "You got a bath, left nozzle is hot and right is cold. Soap and all that shit is in the set of drawers underneath the vanity." She quickly turned over her shoulder when she heard a curt rapping on the door.
"Ruby Red! Oh Ruby Red, are you in there?" a rich male baritone called.
Ruby elicited a sigh and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Will! Coming! Coming!" She turned towards Luxy. "I think that's about all you will need. Now if you will excuse me I have some business to attend to."
Without passing another glance at Luxy, the beautiful whore pushed off the door frame and on her long legs—"she's a tall drink of water" as Benji would have said—strode seductively across the room and to the main door before throwing it open and issuing a string of sultry welcomes to her customer. Luxy did not attend to anymore for she slammed the door with a hit of her palm. The joyful voices muffled in the background, she issued a tremendous sigh. Placing her hands on her forehead, and then running them through her slovenly hair, she lethargically shuffled over to the ostentatious mahogany vanity. She placed her inverted palms on the smooth surface of the furniture and arched her back, dropping her head between her taunt arms.
She raised her head and looked in the gleaming mirror. Despite the olive hue to her skin, the color was beginning to wane. Her ebony hair, unwashed for weeks, was matted to her scalp and saturated with oils. Her eyes were lifeless, vacent,and rimmed with dark circles. Her cheeks were sunken, hollow and the massacre on her lower face did her no justice aesthetically. He had struck her immaculately on the left side of her mouth and of her chin. A fantastic purple welt had developed and her lip was spliced, swelled, and caked with blood.
She resembled a cadaver.
Anger coursed through her veins, thick and fast and hot. In a haze of unbridled fury, she smashed a fist into the mirror, causing the looking glass to shatter to an infinity of shards and rain down. She pulled her hand away, spent, and saw the glass slivers embedded in the soft flesh, saw the blood oozing from the wounds and pouring to the white tiles where it starkly collected.
She drew herself a bath, not touching the hot nozzle, and let the tub fill until the water over-flowed and began to flood the clean floor. She stripped and stepped into the bath. She emerged herself into the frigid water, and began to sob.