Author's Note: Uck, this chapter did not want to get written. I've been working on it since last night and it was almost like pulling teeth. I guess when it gets down to the more mature themes, I just get kinda antsy when writing it out. And, dude, let me say sorry. Especially to those poor people who let me use their characters. Mack wasn't altogether too kind when describing his 'whores'.

Disclaimer: These are always mandatory when dabbling in fan fiction. If there is anything at all that is reminiscent of the 1992 musical Newsies, then it probably belongs to Disney. The characters of Luke/Rip & his family, Caitlin/Spindle, and Jessa, specifically, are mine, as well as others that may work their way into this story. Any others belong to their respective authors and will be noted in individual disclaimers.

Cecilia Rayner is the property of Biddy. Aisling is the property of Aisling. Minx is the property of Bookie. Thank you muchly – you don't know how appreciated it is!

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A Virgin's Touch

06.28.06

They say that what men desire is a virgin who is a whore.
Maybe that's what I was looking for. It's what I made her, after all.

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PART VII

Luke did not meet any of Cecilia's girls, Spindle included, until much later. In fact, after his first night in the Harlem bunkroom, any thought of the opposite sex was driven from his mind. He was much too preoccupied with preserving his own ass.

When Mack said that the other boys weren't happy that he was bringing Luke back, he wasn't kidding around. That first night, after Mack finally was able to tear Luke away from the Harlem House lobby, they were the last pair to enter the bunkroom. Despite the openness and leniency of the House, there were not that many boys sleeping inside. Mack had gestured to the closer bottom bunk and given it to Luke. Though he had slept in that bunk ever since, his first was not comfortable. One of the other boys had pissed at the foot of the bed as a way to say 'Welcome'.

He learned quickly that the boys who lived inside the Harlem Lodging House were those who didn't have a home anywhere else. They were runaways, orphans, scavengers, thieves who masquerade as daily newspaper peddlers; on a normal circumstance, Luke would have wanted nothing to do with these boys. But come that muggy August of 1893, life was no longer normal for the second-born Divenize. In the simplest of terms, Luke was no longer a Divenize. He wasn't too sure what he was anymore.

The other boys could tell right from the outset that Luke did not share in their humble beginnings. His appearance, with his tanned skin, raven colored hair and cold blue eyes, marked him as different right away; most of the others were fair-skinned with a mop of brown hair each and too many freckles too count. His clothes, when they found him that first night, were hand-tailored and barely faded. Apart from a head of hair that seemed months overdue for a trim, they knew Luke came from somewhere far better than they. He was envied – and, therefore, bullied – almost at once.

If it wasn't for Mack's immediate liking of Luke, the boy wouldn't have lasted that first month. The pranks, harmless though cruel in their design, gradually lessened and eventually ceased. Luke knew it was because Mack ordered his boys to lay off of him. He never said thank you.

It was at the close of his first month living in the Harlem House that Luke finally found his nickname. Before then, the other boys referred to him as "Kid" – someone noticed how quiet and withdrawn he got whenever being addressed as "Kid" and the name stuck; they thought it was funny to call Luke a name that obviously made him angry – or, because of his hair – that had not been cut in the six months since Maria's murder – "Shaggy". Luke did not like either name so it was him that eventually came up with his own nickname.

It came on the one-month anniversary of Daisy's death and Luke's arrival in Harlem. None of the boys had asked any questions of Luke other than Mack; Mack seemed to be the only boy there even remotely interested in Luke. And almost all of Mack's inquiries related back to any conquests that Luke might have made. Mack was a pervert and, when Luke only offered minor information about his encounter with Daisy – for obvious reasons – he was more than happy to tell of his own experiences with women.

That night, Luke decided to go to bed much earlier than the other boys. He knew that Mack had made an arrangement with Cecilia to send one of her girls, Minx as it turned out, over to the house for an evening in the side room of the small Harlem House. Without Mack to keep the other boys off of his back – they had let up on their teasing of Luke but, when the times presenting themselves, Rocky and Trace couldn't resist a quick joke – Luke figured it would be smarter to just go to bed. That, and it had been hard enough living through the month anniversary of becoming a murderer. To every woman he attempted to sell a newspaper, he saw Daisy's made-up face or Melody's hardened expression; every man was Gabriel, drunk yet eager to drink more. It had been torture for the boy.

Before he climbed into his lower bunk, the last one on the end, Luke got down on his knees. He folded his hands and placed them on the thin sheet that lay mussed on the small bed. After he was in position, Luke closed his eyes and began to pray. He prayed for the health and mind of his mother. He prayed for the sobriety of his father and Gabriel. He prayed for the futures of Paolo and Tonio. And, lastly, he prayed for the souls of Maria and the harlot, Daisy. He ended his silent prayers the same way he did every night: with a whispered Riposi in Pace.

While he had been alone in the bunkroom when he began his prayers, when he opened his eyes to remove his scuffed black shoes in order to climb into bed, he had company. Mack was standing beside him, a smirk crossing his dirt-stained face. "What you doing, kid?"

Luke swallowed just then. He took a breath and shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing."

"Nothing? Looked to me like you were praying." Surprisingly, Mack did not sound condescending or even like he thought the idea of a newsboy praying was amusing. He sounded like he was almost in awe or such a sight.

"So?" A sense of frustration snuck into Luke's voice.

Mack held up his hands. "Calm down, kid. I just haven't seen anyone go down on their knees like that for a while. Except for the whores, you know, but they ain't praying. You got a thing for God?"

Again, Luke shrugged. "I know I'm going to Hell but it makes me feel a little bit better about myself when I pray. My mother taught me that."

Mack nodded. "That's good. But what was that fancy talk you said. It's been awhile since I've been to Church and all, but that didn't sound like 'Our Father' or 'Hail Mary' to me."

"It was just something in Italian," Luke said, and, all of a sudden, he was uncomfortable. Most of the boys in the Harlem House were Irish; as hard as he tried to speak without an accent and not use any Italian, sometimes it just snuck out. How would Mack take it?

Mack, it seemed, didn't care what ethnicity Luke was. "What was it? I ain't heard no Italian before."

"All I said was 'Riposi in Pace'. You know, 'Rest in Peace'? It's just something I say when I remember Ma—people that I've lost," he amended quickly. As much as he was sharing with Mack just then, Luke knew he would always keep Maria to himself.

"'Rest in Peace'? Like 'R.I.P.'? Cool. I need a saying like that," Mack said and smirked again and, waving his hand in a sign of farewell, he left to go find Minx. Leave it to him to misunderstand what my prayers meant.

But, just then, it dawned on Luke. R.I.P… Rip. Maybe Mack was right – but, rather than a saying, maybe if could be a nickname. Luke shook his head slightly as he waved away Mack. It would be his nickname.

Goodbye Luke Divenize.

Hello Rip.

--

So, it was well into his second month, that Luke – now referred to solely as Rip and nowhere near as intimidated as he was when Mack and the others rescued him from the Negroes – had earned enough money selling the morning and evening edition of the New York Sun to warrant himself a night with one of Cecilia Rayner's whores. The young adult was eager to try again; he had grown as a man in those few weeks following his ill-fated first night with a woman. This time he would be in control. This time he would allow himself to be pleasured. And, this time, it would be acceptable because she was being paid. While the girl he chose would be a whore, she wouldn't be a loose whore who spread her legs to just anyone as Daisy had. He wanted a girl who did what she did in order to earn her own way.

When Mack heard that his boy, Rip, was eager to score with one of Cecilia's girls, he sat his young friend down to give him some advice. While one would assume that the advice Mack, as a boy a few years older than Rip, would give would be almost fatherly, that was quite unlike Mack. When he, with his arm around a tense Rip's shoulder, steered his young protégé out of the Harlem House and began to walk him to Cecilia's establishment about six blocks over, the advice he had was as far from appropriate as possible. He was offering Rip his opinions on which whores were best to bed.

The first girl he mentioned was Cecilia herself. According to Mack, she had been the first whore he had purchased; he was sixteen at the time, Cecilia was nineteen. She had just moved to Harlem and, before she could take over the brothel, she needed to prove herself to her Madam. She had to sleep with one hundred clients in her first month, and turn over all her profits to the brothel. Mack, as he boasted proudly, was number one hundred – she was so desperate, that last day, that she accepted his offer of three dollars just so she could have her one hundred clients. And, as he said just as proudly, Cecilia was probably the best fuck he ever had. Even after one month, she was still as good as he expected.

The next girl that was mentioned very highly was Minx, the girl who had visited him in the side house last month. While Cecilia required all of her girls' business to be done within the brothel, Cecilia made minor exceptions for Mack. If the Harlem leader wanted a quick lay, she wasn't above sending a girl out. But, as Mack said solemnly, he preferred being inside the brothel. The sheets were much softer and the girls weren't as skittish as dropping all their clothes. Minx, he elaborated, was about three years younger than him, and was fairly naïve. She wasn't a regular girl of Cecilia's; she only sold herself when it was necessary. But, Mack confided, he would wait for Minx, any day. She was that damn good.

Then there was Aisling. Mack couldn't say her name without licking his lips and Rip had to fight from rolling his eyes. Was this really a good idea? He was sure that it was necessary to go to the brothel and make a new memory that would replace the one he had with Daisy. But why had he allowed Mack to come with him?

Aisling, Mack continued, oblivious to Rip's obvious discomfort, was tall and thin but had one of the best sets of tits he had ever seen. She was attractive and she knew it; more than anything, she loved to hear that, too. Mack had learned that early on in his experience with her. He knew if he worked her ego, he could get her to do anything he wanted. For obvious reasons, Aisling was one of his favorites.

It was then, when Mack took a break to think of the next girl he wanted to discuss, that Rip mentioned the one girl that, apart from a certain thirteen-year old virgin whose innocence lulled him to sleep at night, lit him on fire. "What about Spindle?" Spindle. There was something about that petite redhead that got to him. Maybe it was the way she eyed him that first night he arrived; maybe it was because she looked as hard as he felt on the inside.

Mack's face dropped then. His hazel eyes narrowed at Rip and he stopped. Since his arm was still slung around Rip's shoulders, Rip had to stop as well. "Spindle? What about that bitch?"

Rip didn't know how to answer that. But that's alright, Mack didn't give him the chance to answer. "I'm gonna tell you one thing, Rip. If you go inside that joint and the dame at the desk takes you to Spindle's room, haul your ass out of that place. Trust me – I'll refund your dough to you. Anything's better than sleeping with that girl." He said it with such passion that Rip knew that if he didn't agree, he better not go back to the Harlem House. Piss in his bunk would be too good for him at that point.

"Okay, Mack. I was just wondering. Besides, I haven't met Minx or Aisling yet, so I couldn't really put a name to a face. I saw that Spindle broad, and I just, you know," Rip said, quite surprised at Mack's reaction.

And then, almost as if that awkward moment never happened, Mack was smirking again and another dirty comment was begging to escape from his mouth. "What's all this talk about names and faces, Rip? They're broads. You don't need to see their faces to fuck them, eh?"

Rip just nodded, wishing that Mack would leave him be. The weight of his arm was making him all the nervous; his body odor was making his nervousness turn to nausea.

That's when Mack went back to his earlier discussion and began to tell Rip about Sue. Sue, turns out, was an English girl and was just fun because she referred to her job as 'shagging.' Shagging, Mack had said, fighting back a laugh, shagging! It was on the differences that Mack noticed between 'shagging' and 'fucking' that Rip's nerves finally got the best of him and his thoughts turned to what he would be doing in a rented bed just moments from them.

Shaking his head in order to rid himself of such intimidating thoughts, Rip wondered briefly just how many girls it was that Mack had slept with from Cecilia's brothel when his imposing mentor came to a stop. Mack stopped in his narrative as she nudged Rip in the side. "Here you are, buddy," he said and winked one of his hazel eyes. "Just go inside, give half of your money to whichever girl they have working the desk and go to the room she assigns you. Until they get to know you, they're gonna assign you one of the whores, but you should be alright. I haven't had a bad lay yet from one of Cecilia's girls."

Rip nodded and, when he felt the familiar sense of shame begin to rise, he forcibly pushed it aside. As God-fearing a boy as it was possible for him to be, Rip knew it was wrong to touch himself in inappropriate manners; after his first taste of sexual pleasure, his hormones had nearly cried out for more, despite the unpleasantness of Daisy's murder and there was no one to help relieve the pressure he constantly felt rising. This trip to the brothel would serve two purposed; he would redeem himself for the way he regrettably lost his innocence to the harlot of Red's Bar and he would, truly, make himself a man – of his own free will. He knew better now. He would come out the victor. And, maybe, if he had as many conquest stories as the other boys of the Harlem House, he would earn some respect.

So, with a deep breath and a steely glance forward, Rip left Mack waiting outside. He straightened his shirt, brushed back his shaggy black hair and opened the door to Cecilia's. He was going in a tainted boy. He would exit a true man.

With this experience, losing his lust with a paid whore, he was truly losing the dirty, murderous skin of Luke Divenize.

Hello Rip.