Chapter 15
Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 9 (continued)
-
The next day, the conjoined gangs walked together to the restaurant to meet Denton. Spot didn't know what to think all morning, and Jack never talked to Spot as they got ready. Didn't even meet his eye. Spot acted like he didn't notice, much less care. It was true, he never felt worse in his life, but inside it was over now. The matter was dead. He had it set in his mind that he would never speak to that stupid girl again. And he was determined to do it, no matter what Jack could or would say.
It was when they walked to the restaurant together when Jack finally opened his mouth.
"So, I broke it off wit' Cat," he said casually, as they lingered in the back of the moving crowd of newsboys.
"That right?" Spot replied just as calmly, as they walked.
"So she's free now."
Spot looked at Jack with confusion. He didn't care what Jack said; he wasn't going for it.
"Good for her," Spot retorted quickly.
"Why don't you, uh, take a stab at her, Spot?" Jack put his hands in his pockets.
"Alright. Where would ya like me to stab her?" Spot replied.
Jack snickered, then looked into the distance like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Ya know what I mean, Spot," he said.
Spot stopped walking immediately.
"Look, don't play games wit' me, Jackie-boy. We both know she told ya the whole damn story last night."
"Nottin' gets past you… So what if she did?"
"I ain't takin' your girl from ya."
"She ain't my girl anymore. She's free to be anyone's now."
"Well, not mine," Spot said determinedly.
"Why don't you just take her, Spot? Ya need my blessin'? Ya got it. My permission? God knows ya never used to need that, but sure, ya got that too. What do ya want?"
"You to get outta me face about it, Cowboy."
Jack fumed, and stepped up to Spot. The other boys began to notice them fighting, and made sure to stay out of their way.
"Take her!" Jack yelled in his face.
"I don't want her!"
"Take her!"
"Ya only broke up wit' her because a' me. I ain't lettin' that ovah my head. Ya don't owe me anything for helpin' ya out wit' this strike, Jack."
"I owe youse a helluva lot, Spot. Probably more than a pretty girl like Cat, even. But we both know ya really love her, right?"
"And you really love her too!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Spot winced in regret. One little word did him in, and he knew it.
"'Too', huh?" Jack repeated. "I knew it… Look, Spot, all I'm askin' is for youse t' think about it. You can make up your own damn mind."
"So what if I like her, huh?" Spot said. "I like plenty a' girls. I don't need yours too. It ain't like Cat and I are married or nottin'."
"Spot," Jack said, shaking his head. "You two have been married since youse was kids, even I know that."
Spot had no response to that, so he shut his mouth and stared at Jack with a frown.
"Look," Jack said. "All I'm sayin' is, it don't mattah what we think. She loves you, pal. Ain't no gettin' around it. If it helps, I didn't like her that much anyways."
They made it to the restaurant, and the boys began to pour inside.
"Ya kiddin' me, right?" Spot said, just to make sure.
"Nah… besides," Jack said, throwing his arm around his friend's shoulder. "I just gotta load a' Davey's sister the oddah day, and boy, is she a piece a' sweet…"
Jack held the door open for Spot, then entered the restaurant behind him.
"Yeah, I'm sure she is, Jack…" Spot said as he passed.
Jack nodded, while the rest of the gang seemed confused.
"And thank you, Spot," Jack replied seriously. "It's the least I could do."
They happily spit shook, and never spoke of the matter again.
-
A tall, thin, older woman gloomily bought bread that morning with no optimism left in her. Her hair was tied lazily into a bun on top of her head, her eyes lost and wrinkled from the same worry through many years.
Her only son was lost. She had no hope of ever finding him again. He had run away, and was nowhere to be found. She wondered why even bothered. She had only one thing to go on: that he had become a newsie. So she searched, and felt like she had seen the face of every newsie in New York but her own boy. She now felt a familiar nagging voice in her, telling her that had to move on. It was the same voice that had been with her since the beginning, but with every passing year had only become louder. It became harder to ignore.
"Extra extra! Newsies Stop The World!" a small newsboy shouted. The woman looked up at his face, as was a reflex developed over a long time searching. He was so young. Her son was old now, almost an adult. He was not hers.
But then she saw the paper the young boy was holding, and something in her heart jumped.
"I'll take one," she said desperately, holding out a penny to the small newsboy. He gave her one freely, thanked her, and left.
After all these years of searching, once she was about to give up, there he was, by the grace of God. She had spotted him a mile away. Right there, on the front page.
Her Patrick.
-
Spot walked around the corner to Cat's later that day, straightening his blue shirt to tidy himself up for her. It was the best he could look around here. What he'd give for a good bath then, like he used to in the old days, back when he was rich and snooty. The only thing he didn't like about newsie life was he could never get clean enough for his liking, and when he did, he had to spend a long time nude in freezing cold river to do it. What he would give, like he was telling the boys back at Tibby's earlier, to have a nice white porcelain tub, with wooden feet… boiling water… overflowing with foam bubbles…
Spot sighed at the thought as he knocked on Cat's door. One of her school friends answered.
"Heya Molly," Spot said. "Is Cat home?"
"Yes, Spot," she replied. "I'll go and fetch her."
Moments later, Cat came running.
"Spot, I--" she began.
"I know," Spot said with an uncomfortable shrug. "We had a little chat, Jack and I."
"And so?" She bit her lip, as if she was hoping for a certain answer.
Spot said nothing. She cocked her head at him, trying to guess what he was thinking with no luck.
"So, well…" Spot looked straight at her. It was another one of those moments, where he had to muster up all the strength in him towards self-control. He hated that.
But his body refused to listen. He found himself beginning to lean for her, toward her mouth… she could be his if he wanted to… right here, right now… she was so beautiful…
Brooklyn didn't seem to matter then. He wanted to do it so badly. She wanted it too. She closed her eyes and waited for it. She was practically inviting him.
But still he hesitated. Sure, if it looked bad, and if dear Howard saw them together he could send Spot straight to the refuge, and that meant Brooklyn, and the strike itself, would be done. They needed him. Spot couldn't risk jail, not now, not when things were going so well. But it wasn't really the fact that rich, jealous Howard was hanging that over his head… or that being with her would murder Spot's reputation in Brooklyn for this prissy little woman.
What really bothered Spot most was the fact that she made him lose control in the first place.
Spot was a bit angry with himself, since he imagined this moment between them going much differently. Not pulling himself away… again. God, he just wanted to grab her right there… He was so close to her mouth he could feel her warm breath… she wanted it like he did…
But no. He couldn't give it all up for a woman, no matter how wonderful she was, she was still a woman. The very thought scared him. To give up all he had earned? All he had worked for in his entire life? It was crazy. He couldn't do it, no matter what his feelings argued.
"Cat," Spot said, making her eyes flutter open. "I told you, I'm not gonna. It's not--"
"Right," Cat interrupted with a sigh. "Brooklyn."
Spot didn't defend himself. Cat felt the uncomfortable silence lingering, so she tried for a change of subject.
"So did you make the papers like Denton promised?" Cat said, sitting with him on the porch stoop.
"Yeah, listen," Spot said with a renewed excitement. "Denton came in, and there I be, right across the front!" He showed her the Chicago Sun proudly. "The front page, no less! Pretty nice, eh?"
"You look quite handsome." Cat said agreeably.
"Here, you can have it," Spot said, handing the paper to her.
"Thank you!" she said gladly, turning the page and ignoring his picture completely. "I've been wanting to know what happened to those stocks…"
"Com'on…" Spot said, not in the mood for her games, but couldn't help smiling anyways. He put the page back to the front. "Right heah. I look so natural there, don't I?"
"You look lovely, Spot," she said with a sigh.
Spot looked at her.
"Whatsa mattah?" he asked with sincere concern.
"You want the truth?"
"That would be nice, yeah…"
"I really don't like this whole strike business, Spot," she said. Spot rolled his eyes and stood up.
"Com'on, Cat…"
"No, listen to me!" she begged. "You saw what happened to the trolley workers. You could go to jail, or get hurt, or even killed! I can't stand thinking about it…"
Spot was confused at the fact that she didn't understand. Didn't she realize Brooklyn always came first?
"Then that's a gamble I gotta be in, Cat. Too late go back now. They need me, and Brooklyn, you know that."
She sighed again. Spot studied her face for a moment, then went on.
"They have a rally on Friday," he said, scanning her face for any emotion. She didn't react, so he continued.
"I'm goin' to it. For Jack."
"Don't go, Spot," she quietly pleaded. "Too many of you in one place… you're just asking for trouble-- You'll all be put in jail!"
"I ain't gonna be put in jail," Spot said reassuringly. "I'm too clever for that."
She looked up at him and gave him a shaky smile.
"You're a hard man to care for, Spot."
-
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