Prohibition only drives drunkenness behind doors
and into dark places, and does not cure it or even diminish it.

-Mark Twain


1921

It was a quarter past seven in the evening. Jack Sullivan had just gotten off of work. Dressed in a navy-blue suit, dark green silk tie, and black patent leather Oxfords, Jack's six-foot frame cut quite a dashing figure as he sauntered down Sixth Avenue. On that particular night, he was headed to his favorite drinking establishment, Break Maiden. Break Maiden was a speakeasy operated by one of Jack's oldest friends. Jack had sold newspapers for the New York World with Racetrack Higgens back when the two men were in their teens, which now, seemed like a lifetime ago to Jack. So much had happened in his life, and in the world, since the last time Jack had hawked headlines for Joseph Pulitzer. Usually, he went to Break Maiden to unwind while catching a laugh with friends before heading home, but today's visit wasn't a social call.

When Jack reached West 53rd Street he turned right, walked past a bookstore and a shoe store, and then entered Ruth's Roses, a floral shop owned by Racetrack's common-law wife, Ruth. Ruth was a petite woman with a short blond bob who liked wearing the latest fashions; Jack had rarely seen Ruth wear the same outfit twice. Many men, Racetrack included, found Ruth's boyish figure and heavily makeuped face attractive, but she wasn't Jack's type.

Once inside the shop, Jack found Ruth behind the sales counter, assisting a portly middle-aged man with a thin but well-kept mustache. Ruth's customer was providing a delivery address for a dozen pink roses. The roses were to be sent to someone named Penelope who sold watches at Saks Fifth Avenue. Ruth briefly looked up and acknowledged Jack with a slight nod of her head, but didn't address him.

Probably for his mistress, Jack thought about the roses.

Jack took a superficial interest in the various blooms and knick-knacks on display as he gradually made his way towards a heavy burgundy floor-to-ceiling curtain which hung in the back of the shop. On a small wooden table a few feet away from the curtain, sat a semi-translucent red vase. The vase had ferns and two swans etched in gold on it. The vase with gold swans was surrounded by several far less impressive vases and a selection of gilded picture frames. Jack picked up the red vase, pretending to examine it, all the while listening to what was happening in the shop. When he heard the tinkle of the bell on the front door that signaled that the mustached man had exited the store, Jack returned the vase back to the table and pulled aside the burgundy curtain.

Jack turned the knob on the door that lay behind the curtain and opened the pine barrier which stood between the aromatic, legal world of Ruth's Roses and the smoky, illegal world of Break Maiden. Passing out of the floral shop and onto a set of stairs that was illuminated by only one dimly lit bulb, Jack headed down towards what should have been the floral shop's stock room.

At the bottom of the stairs, Jack knocked on a wooden door that had been covered with electric blue paint. A small peep window a bit below Jack's eye-level opened and a pair of beady dark brown eyes starred out at him.

"Password?" a nasal voice barked.

"How about, I'm gonna bust ya head," Jack retorted.

"Dat ain't it Mista."

"Race, you know it's me, Jack. Come on, open up." There was some annoyance in Jack's voice. Racetracks' real name, bestowed by his long-deceased Italian mother, was Ernesto, but almost no one called him that. His surname, Higgens, came from his Irish father, also deceased.

"I don't know nothin'. It could be a copper just pretendin' to be Jack. And, Jack who? What's your last name? Every other fella who comes in here is named Jack."

"Fine, Silver Diamond," Jack uttered the name of the first horse that Racetrack had ever won something on, back when Sheepshead Bay Race Track was still open.

With the password finally spoken, the peep window closed and the electric blue door opened. Jack was ushered inside by a man of Italian descent who was a few heads shorter than him. Once inside, Jack removed his gray fedora.

"I hate when ya do that," Jack groused.

"Yea, I just like giving ya da business. What can I get ya?" Racetrack donned a matching black pinstriped suit and a scarlet bowtie with white polka-dots on it. His back hair was slicked back with generous amounts of pomade.

"Da usual."

"One whiskey for Cowboy," Racetrack said as he slipped behind the bar to fix Jack's drink. Break Maiden had to keep outgoing expenses at a minimum in order to stay afloat. They couldn't afford to hire a full-time bartender.

As Jack waited for his whiskey, he surveyed the room. Violet Allen was up on the stage, having just begun her first show of the night. Violet was a singer that Racetrack had hired for entertainment. She had a decent voice, but she didn't have the chops to make it on Broadway. What Violet didn't have in talent, she made up with her face and figure. Violet Allen was a knockout. Her stunning looks were what had first caught Racetrack's attention when he had auditioned her. Violet was performing for only three people that night, a young couple in their late 20's and Jack's brother-in-law, David Jacobs.

Jack saw David sitting at a table close to the stage. Both men worked for the New York Times, Jack in Distribution and David in Marketing. After working as a Newsie for a little over one year, David had returned to his studies and did well enough to earn a scholarship to the state university in Buffalo. Having a university degree allowed David to apply for positions which required the kind of education that was simply out of Jack's reach.

David watched Violet with singular attention as she sang "Ain't We Got Fun." She was wearing a sleeveless plum colored dress with silver beading on it. The hemline on the dress fell right above the knee. She had her stockings rolled down and she had applied rouge to her knees. Her auburn sausage curls shook lightly as she swayed along to the music.

"Here ya go Jack." Racetrack set a whiskey served neat in a lowball glass on the bar.

"Thanks, Race." Jack picked up the glass and when Racetrack turned away from him to put the bottle of whiskey away, the latter fished into his pockets for a fifty-cent piece and silently placed it on the bar. Jack's old friend always tried to comp him drinks despite his perfect willingness to pay.

With drink in hand, Jack sat down next to David, but didn't say anything. The shade of David's two-piece suit nearly matched the hickory brown of his short wavy hair. He sported a garnet-colored necktie with thin blue stripes on it. The tie had been a gift from his late mother.

"Hey Jack." David didn't take his eyes off of Violet.

Jack leaned in to whisper in David's ear. "Sarah and I know."

"Know what?" David said innocently.

"About her." Jack's head turned in Violet's direction.

David stopped smiling and turned his gaze towards Jack. "How did you find out?"

"Ya know, the word gets around Dave. You is here all the time."

All of the color drained from David's face. He couldn't hide from Jack, not after all the years that they had known each other.

"Let's talk over there." David cocked his head towards a small square table in the far corner of the room.

Jack only shrugged his shoulders and followed his friend to the table that had been suggested. Once they were situated, David implored Jack.

"Does Lily know?"

"I don't know…but, if she don't, it ain't my place to to her."

"I don't know how it got this far." David slumped the right side of his face into a cupped palm.

Jack looked at David, not with disgust, but with pity.

"I'm disappointed Dave. Lily's a good woman…"

David stole a glance at Violet, who winked at him; he turned his head away from her in shame.

"I know she is. I didn't mean for this to happen."

Jack leaned across the table in confidence. For a moment he didn't say anything, but then he whispered, "You take her to bed?"

David shook his head in the affirmative.

"Be honest with me Jack, even though you're married to my sister. Haven't you ever wanted to stray?"

Jack's lower lip sucked in. He shook his head no. "I gots no reason too. I mean, these young gals movin' around town with their short skirts…their easy on the eye, yeah so of course I look, but I bet you a hundred rounds that none of them are on the level like your sister. Besides, how could I look my kids in the eye if I stepped out on their mother?"

David knew very well that Jack would never cheat on Sarah, he was too swell of a guy. At that moment, David felt that he was half of the man that Jack was.

Jack pressed further. "I just gots one question Dave. Why?"

David didn't think too long about the reasons for his infidelity, because honestly, he couldn't say for sure why he had taken up with Violet. It was just something that had happened, like having a birthday whether you wanted one or not. "I don't know. When Lily and I got married, I saw us having kids and getting old…then Les died, along with a lot of other good guys…and the flu took Mama. I couldn't make sense of anything. Violet makes me feel young again…carefree…no responsibilities. We just go out and laugh."

Jack looked at his friend and drew a ring around the rim of his glass with his pinky finger. "Excuses Dave…just excuses."

"Maybe."

"You know what your problem is?"

"No, but you're going to tell me, aren't you?" David said sarcastically.

"You married someone you didn't love."

David looked at Jack with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Then a flash of anger danced through his eyes. "What's it to you? It's my life. I can do what I want with it."

Without any trace of emotion in his voice, Jack said, "We'se family, Dave…your life is my life." Jack knew full well that nothing would be gained by raising his voice.

Jack took one long drag of whiskey, enjoying the sharp burn of the pale gold liquid as it slid down his throat. Then, he stood up, put on his fedora, and walked out of the speakeasy without saying another word.

For a moment, David just stared at the empty chair that Jack had occupied. Then, he buried his face in his hands.

Ain't we got fun
Times are so bad and getting badder
Still we have fun


A/N: This is a story that I wrote some years ago under an account that is no longer active. I decided to revisit this story and expand it a bit. The length has been doubled, adding more detail and a bit more dialogue.

I may write more Newsies short stories set during the 1920s. I love these characters and find it interesting to explore what their lives might have been like twenty years or so after the strike. The 1920s is a fascinating decade to research and to write about, regardless of who the characters are.

Break Maiden is a horse racing term that is used when a horse or a rider wins for the first time

Reviews are appreciated!