Chapter Eighteen

November 3rd, 1913
New York City, New York

In the was very late and Jack knew that. He suspected it was growing into the early hours of morning as he wearily eyed the moon hanging in the clear sky in front of him. It was cold, he could see his breath, but his entire body was tingly and warm. Jack was sitting on an enbankment to the river, slightly sloped. He was hugging his knees, a half empty handle of vodka leaned up against the side of him. His eyes were bloodshot, both from drinking and from simply crying.

Jack felt so tapped out. He reached for the bottle and leaned back on his arm as he nursed it. He lowered it, licking his lips pensively and watching the river flow downstream, "That 'date' I had with Iris..." He said out loud breathily, "I imagined it was you the whole time, Rose. There wasn't a moment of that conversation I didn't pretend I was telling you. I wish I had actually gotten to tell you all these things I've wanted to. They're just building up and building up. Gettin' stuck in my mind, gumming up the works," He shook his head and downed more vodka, carelessly wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"I'm going to be twenty-two soon," Jack eventually said again, looking around for nothing in particular, "That's another thing we didn't discuss... our birthdays. When is yours, Rose? What day was the earth gifted with you?" He lowered his eyes for a moment, shifting his boots in the crunchy dead grass. He sighed, falling onto his back, the sky filling his sights. Jack held the bottle to his side, careful to not spill the only thing he felt could keep him grounded in the moment. His blond hair fell around his head as he lay flat to the hill, looking at the variety of stars.

"I bet you're up there, lookin' down on me, and laughing," Jack said quietly, his lips barely moving as he became mesmerized by the sky, "Laughin' about what a fool I am. I knew you for three days and still, you had me wrapped around your finger in no time. You probably can't believe I'm this hung up over you. Somedays, I wonder why... but Rose... darlin'..." He sighed all over again and closed his eyes. He felt like was nearly swaying back and forth. Immediately, Jack sat up, having another gulp of vodka, "I don't know if soulmates exist, but... I'm pretty sure you were mine."

He chuckled, his shoulders bobbing up and down. He leaned his head back, downing more vodka. Jack grinned to himself as the alcohol stung his throat, "What damned luck, though, wouldn't you say? Old legend folklore mumbo-jumbo always proclaims everyone has a soulmate. They didn't mention your soulmate could be as brief as a bolt of lightening," Jack shook his head, glancing to the handle in his hand, "And we all know, Rose, lightening doesn't strike in the same place twice."

Jack stretched his legs into the grass, propping himself up on an elbow as he continued taking sips of his vodka, "Poor Frenchie. Probably left him wonderin' as to where I went," He shrugged carelessly in the next moment, "A guy's gotta take a break eventually, right, Rose? Just 'cause art is my life's calling, doesn't mean I can be slave to it all the time," He sighed and rolled onto his back again, "Rose, who am I kidding? I don't know what I'm ramblin' on about. I'm becoming one of those street vagrants that makes women uncomfortable. I don't know which way I'm going. What's my end game supposed to be, Rose? Isn't there an overall goal? A task you must complete? I don't have the slightest clue as to what I'm doing," Melodramatically, he threw his arms out beside himself and sighed, bending his knees, "I need a sign, Rose. Anything. Tell me what I'm supposed to be doing with myself!"

An owl hooted distantly and the cicadas continued their night time symphony from the dark trees surrounding Jack. He became acutely aware of the noises around and he gave in to listening for a few moments. He let out a huff, "Well, happy birthday to me, huh? Another year I have to live without you."

...

Frenchie and Iris were sat at the worktable that late morning simply twiddling their thumbs. Frenchie occasionally glanced towards his waiting paintings, but his mind constantly wandered towards the door. The silence was deafening to Iris as she took turns glancing between Frenchie and the door. She rubbed her hands together and adjusted the headband perched on her hair.

"So... what exactly happened?" Iris cocked an eyebrow up, trying to catch Frenchie's distracted eyes. Frenchie sighed, folding his hands together and tilting his forehead against them.

"We had a fight, that's it."

"A fight about what?" Iris pried, narrowing her eyes towards her brother.

"I..." Frenchie sighed, closing his eyes, "I wanted to do an entirely different painting for the art show. He refused to help in anyway and stormed out. That's it."

"Well, I'd be pissed, too," Iris muttered under her breath, looking towards her hands, "He stormed out last night and he's still not back."

"Yes, I know," Frenchie groaned, "I wish he'd come back already. I'm ready to apologize."

"He just needs space," Iris told him, "He lives in a shared space. You and I are always here."

"I can't have Jack walk out on me, Iris," Frenchie lowered his hands, his face a frustrated red, "I need him. I can't do this all alone. He has to be at that show with me. He helped with over half of it."

Iris looked to her brother and simply nodded before gazing back towards the door.

...

When the sun crept up on Jack, he decided he wasn't done spending time with himself. The sky was breaking into an orange-sherbert swirl as he finished the rest of his vodka and carelessly tossed it into a bin, stepping out onto the sidewalk feeling energized. Many people were already up and about, heading towards their job or taking a leisurely stroll. Jack jammed his hands into his pockets and walked along the street, gawking to buildings. In his drunken state, it was like he was seeing New York City in a whole new way.

After a few blocks of walking towards the heart of New York City, Jack came across a small vendor on the corner. He paused and looked to all the magazines and newspapers. Nothing really caught his eye. He stepped up to the window, however, fumbling in his pockets.

"Can I get a pack of Fatima's, please?" Jack asked, sliding a nickel across the counter.

"It's your lucky day," The elderly clerk grinned, reaching below his counter, "It's my last pack until I make a trip to Pennsylvania next week."

Jack returned the smile, immediately ripping the pack open and placing the slender cigarette between his lips, "I guess it is my lucky day."

"Use it wisely," The clerk said, leaning forward on his elbows, "You could become very rich today."

Jack scoffed, toying with the cigarette under his tongue before he flicked his lighter open and lit it, "I'm already rich, mister."

"Oh, in what way?" The man chuckled heartily.

"In memories, my good sir," Jack laughed, tapping his finger to his forehead, before he continued walking up the street. The clerk furrowed his brow together and leaned out the window to watch Jack go, carelessly flicking ash on the street as he crossed to the next block, raking his hair from his eyes.

...

Frenchie was pacing in the studio now. Iris was leaned up against an iron pillar, splattered in paint. She had her arms crossed over her chest as she slumped against the support, her blue eyes endlessly following her brother's nervous movement. Frenchie paused and gazed anxiously towards the clock above the stairwell to Jack's room.

"Ten-thirty in the morning, for God's sake," Frenchie heaved a sigh, ripping his beret off his head and tossling his brown hair, "He's been gone for nearly twelve hours, Iris. That's long enough to call the police and deem him missing, right?! Something had to have happened to him. Maybe... maybe he drank too much and he got lost. What if he fell in the river!?"

"He didn't," Iris heaved a sigh, sagging her shoulders, "Give 'im more time," Her eyes languidly turned on the door, "He'll come back."

"What if he just took off from New York City?" Frenchie continued, turning his beret in his hands nervously, "You know him, Iris. He's a free spirit. Say in a blind rage, he took the first train out of here. Maybe he'll never come back. What if this is his way of quitting!"

"Oh, please," Iris shook her head and crossed to the table, leaning up against it on her elbows, "Jack may be a free spirit but he wouldn't be dumb enough to leave all his things behind. You saw his room. Everything's still there."

"Then where is he!?" Frenchie's voice climbed to a pinched octave, "I'm worried about him, Iris?! Aren't you?"

"Yes and no," She shrugged, looking at her fingernails.

"What does that mean?"

"Yes, I'm worried he may have gone and done something stupid while drunk, maybe I even think he got arrested," Iris gazed across the studio at her brother, "but no, I don't think he's not ever coming back. He is. He wants this, Frenchie. More than you think."

"He could become his own manager," Frenchie shook his head, "He could just cut out the middle man, Iris."

"But he won't," Iris stood up straight now, stretching her arms out beside her, "He wouldn't do that, Frenchie. He's happy with what he's got. That's what is different about you and him. You? You're never sastified. That's what caused all of this in the first place. It's time to take a moment and evaluate, Frenchie. Why don't you stop worrying about what Jack is doing and worry about yourself?!" Her cheeks had grown red the longer she spoke.

Frenchie lowered his eyes for a moment and weakly set his beret on the table. He brushed past his sister silent and went to stand before the wall of fourteen paintings, awaiting eagerly to be put on display under fine light and above sparkling marble floors. Frenchie took the time observe each painting, slowly walking down the line. When he got to the final one, the debutaunte scene he paused, tilting his head back. He noticed, in that moment, there were many vibrant red heads present at the ball. Frenchie grinned faintly and lowered his eyes, sighing in the process.

"Jack, I'm an ass," Frenchie said to himself.

"I don't have to be Jack to agree with that," Iris said, crossing her arms over her chest and smirking, earning a piercing glare from her brother. After a few moments, he smiled, too, casting his eyes back down to the concrete floor.

...

"You know..." Jack peered at the graying bartender who was busy hauling glasses to the proper shelves. The bar was dimly lit, all the shutter drawn close, only allowing the smallest slivers of light to pierce the air full of floating dust. Jack was the only patron there, "I'm surprised to find a bar open before eleven in the mornin' down here in the Industrial parts."

The bartender paused, his gray ponytail brushing against the nape of his neck. He turned towards Jack and grinned crookedly, "Sometimes you get lucky and someone who was still drunk from the night before staggers in," He gestured his head towards Jack who finished off his second whiskey and held his glass out to the bartender.

The bartender refilled his drink and Jack smirked, taking another sip before looking at him, "My name's Jack. What about you?"

"Well, Jack, my name is Howard," He reached his hand out and the men shook. Howard cleared his throat and pressed his hands to the countertop, "So, uh, is this going to become a regular thing now that we've swapped names?"

Jack laughed, giving his drink a swirl before nursing on it for a moment more, "I dunno. We'll see, I guess."

"Oh, let me guess," Howard held his hand out towards him, "Your little sweetie pie dumped you, that's it, isn't it?"

"In a way... I suppose she did," Jack shrugged, finishing his whiskey again and cradling his head in his hand, "I guess if dyin' is the same thing as breaking up."

"Alright, I'm sorry," Howard nodded, "That is pretty tough. How long were you two together?"

Howard refilled Jack's drink as his eyes followed the grain in the wood of the bar. Jack slowly ran his hands along it and then looked up to Howard, "Felt like awhile. To be honest, I was never good at keeping track of time."

"No, you," Howard leaned in closer towards Jack, "got a real free spirit about you. You look like someone who travels without a watch. Livin' on God's goodwill, huh?" Howard straightened up and tucked some wine glasses down on the shelves below.

Jack scoffed and lifted his eyes to peer at Howard from beneath his bangs, "Yeah, I used to think that but now..." He lowered his eyes back to the bar, absent mindedly digging his nails into the grain, "There comes a time we have to anchor in place, right? Didn't you ever travel a bit when you were younger before you decided to open a bar?"

"Nah," Howard waved his hand dismissively, "Never really got the chance to travel. Had sick siblings and parents I had to support. I've been north to Niagara Falls and as far south as Delware, but that's about it. You been across the United States?"

"Twice," Jack told him slowly, "I've been back and forth between the coasts twice."

"What's California like? I hear the weather is mild," Howard asked, cocking his head slightly.

"It's beautiful," Jack said, his eyes still down, a lump growing in this throat. He cleared his throat and lifted his gaze suddenly in the next moment, sitting up right, "Say, Howard... if a guy was told today was his lucky day, where would you go and try to get the luckiest at?"

"What do you mean?" Howard turned his dark eyes on him.

"You heard me, where would you go try your luck around here?"

Howard thought for a moment before he came closer to Jack, "There's an illegal gambling parlor down by the docks. It's the last building before the warehouse on Trademark Ave, unit A. Knock twice, show money, you're in. No pool, no winning bet taxes, none of the bullshit. There's some good players in there, but you could get rich quick there with some stupid luck... if that's what you're looking for."

Jack grinned, "Now you're talkin'."

...

The docks were quiet that morning. Jack heard no alarms ringing, no people shouting. No carts were rustling about on the uneven pavement. He glanced over his shoulder momentarily as he descended a slope, his eyes running along the building markers. He walked through a shadow and he was overcome with a chill slightly. He dug his hands into his pockets as he slowed his walk on the sidewalk, his boots crunching the gravel. A seagull squawked overhead as Jack pausing, gazing up at the shiny gold A on the porch pillar.

Jack shuffled his boots around and felt the wad of cash he had in his pockets, months and months worth of payment for his work with Frenchie and part commission off the paintings he sold. Jack again looked up and down the sidewalk before he approached the door and curtly knocked twice. He could hear movement on the other side of the door.

"What do you got?" Came a gruff Northern voice. Jack looked around for a moment before realizing he was talking through the mail slot. Jack simply pulled the cash out of his pocket for him to see, putting it back just as quick. He heard the flick of a lock and whent the door opened, a plume of smoke bellowed out. He squinted for a moment before a man in a short sleeve white button up and khaki pants was standing before him. He was an older man with dark hair. He looked to be stoical and calculating. He allowed Jack to enter.

It was obvious the home was used strictly just for illegal gambling. There were no clear signs anybody lived there. Years of smoking had caused yellowing to attack the floral wallpaper. Most furniture had stains or rips. Jack's boots thudded loudly on the floorboards as he continued straight down a hallway that spilled into a large living space. The curtains were drawn shut. One large table with mismatching chairs sat in the center. Six other businessmen of the sort were sitting there, their ties let loose, cigar smoke hanging densely in the air. Along the walls there were more furniture, discarded out of the way. That's when Jack noticed there were four women gathered along the wall, all wearing risque silk nightgowns, batting their eyes around eagerly. Jack furrowed his brow together and looked at the scene he was confronted with. All the business men in unison looked at him.

The man who let Jack in appeared beside him, "Gentlemen, it seems a new player would like to join us. What's your name, boy?"

"Jack," He said, his blue eyes darting to each face.

"Well, Jack, how'd you hear about this place?" The man pressed, lowering his cigar.

"Just... just in passing," Jack shrugged.

"He's a cop, come on," A fat business man bellowed from the table, "Just look at him, Harvey. He's well put-together, good looking; he's a cop."

"He's not," Harvey replied.

"And how do you know?!" Another business man piped up.

"The man wreaks of alcohol. I can smell it from where I stand. Just some good-looking chap looking for a game is what I see."

"Someone told me it was my lucky day today," Jack said, reaching for his cigarettes. His eyes glanced over the bright orange packaging of his Fatima's as he withdrew it and lit it. He exhaled, contributing more to the overall haze, "I'd be fool to not test the limits, right?"

...

Frenchie returned from the back room, pulling a canvas behind him. The wood paneling caused a groan to echo through the studio. Iris had been sitting on the stairs leading to Jack's room, checking her wrist watch obsessively every moment. It was well after noon now. When she heard the commotion, she came to her feet and went down the steps to see the large painting Jack had of Rose in a dark blue velvet dress and a butterfly hairclip with a gleaming gem.

"What are you doing?" Iris asked, softly, as Frenchie leaned the painting against the pillar. Her eyes hovered on Rose's face and she shuddered, I saw her. I know it.

"Jack should have a piece in the show," Frenchie sighed, putting his hands on his hips. He slowly walked around the painting, inspecting it, "This is probably one of the most emotional things I've ever seen him paint. The way he paints Rose... he captures this longing... this hurt," Frenchie clucked his tongue, "Jack is far more talented than even myself. He should get at least one painting in the art show."

"Maybe..." Iris folded her arms behind her back, "If he wants to. Frenchie, I think Jack is really happy with the fourteen new paintings you two did just for the show. Stop trying to change things that you think will appease people who won't even give the artist a second thought in the moment. Jack told me you have to create art for yourself. Not others."

"I get it, I get it," Frenchie laughed weakly, "Jack is a very wise bastard,' He crossed his arms over his chest, "But damn, can this guy paint. I feel like I know her just by looking at this still shot of her. I'd be surprised if he didn't want to use this one."

...

Jack glanced between all the men around him as the the hands were passed. Nearly one-hundred fifty dollars could be Jack's. He held his cigarette loosely between his lips as everyone was allowed to finally look at their hands. The man to the right of Jack set another five dollar bill into the stack. Jack looked to his cards and back up, his face hard as stone, as he copied, placing his money into the center. The next two men folded. And the man after that. The man beside Jack began to chuckle very deviously.

"You think you can just saunter in and beat me in my own parlor?" The man grinned at Jack as the dealer passed them both their final cards. Jack placed the cards into his hold and suddenly, he was screaming on the inside. He had a full house. His eyes remained locked on the cards, his breathing shallowing.

Is this the sign, Rose? Jack thought fleetingly for a moment before he looked to the snickering man, his only opponent left in the round for one-hundred and fifty dollars.

"Any last bets?" The man asked Jack.

Jack placed another ten in the stack, his eyes locked on his opponent. The man smirked and snagged one from his vest, gently placing it atop the wad of bills, "Lay 'em down," Jack said breathily, grinning all the while.

The man laid down a king, a jack, two tens, and an eight of spades.

"That's what you were expectin' to beat me with?" Jack smiled and cocked a bold brow up. Jack laid his three kings and two queens down and banged his hand against the tabling, hollering, "Full-house, boys!"

"How in the...?" The man's cigar dropped out of his mouth. Jack began stacking the bills up in his hands laughing. His unhappy opponent, however, stood and grabbed Jack by the collar of his coat, "Did you mess with the deck?"

"What?" Jack furrowed his brow, gripping the man's wrist, "No. Your guy was dealin' the whole time," Jack pushed his arm away, watching the man for a moment, "I ain't a cheater."

"Well, you sure look like one," The man continued, "and a thief!"

"Well, I'm not," Jack deadpanned, stuffing wad after wad of cash into his pockets, "Hey, buddy, if you can't stand to lose, maybe you shouldn't play poker. I heard badminton was fun," Jack grinned and looked to the rest of the men, "Thank you, gentlemen, for letting me play. I think it was my lucky day afterall."

"Harvey, you're jus' gonna let him go with all that money?"

"Fair is fair," Harvey folded his hands behind his head, "Besides, he's right, Leeland. You are a sore loser," The other businessmen nodded in agreement as Jack left, a glow following him out the door. He stepped out towards the docks and took in the deep salty air.

"I'm invincible," Jack grinned, turning on his heels to find more to do in New York City.

...

"It's four o'clock," Frenchie croaked where he lay across the top of the communal table. Iris was sitting on the stairs, her forehead pressed into her knees, "Iris... do you still think he is coming back?" Frenchie's mood had plummetted worse than ever as he stared at the skylights waning as evening began to set in. His belly rumbled, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the studio for the slightest moment. He wanted to be the first person Jack saw when he came back.

"He's coming back..." Iris said into her knees.

"What do you think he's doing?" Frenchie asked, dangling his arm off the side of the table as he gazed at his sister.

"I don't know..." She mumbled.

"Uh-oh, do I hear someone losing hope?" Frenchie arched his eyebrows knowingly.

"I'm just tired," Iris lifted her head now, "We've been here since seven this morning just waitin' for Jack to get back. I'm starting to think this is a terrible idea. He doesn't want to walk straight into an ambush."

"We're not going to ambush him," Frenchie scoffed, nearly rolling his eyes, "We're going to express how much we missed him and how sorry I am."

"Sounds like an ambush..." Iris mumbled, pressing her forehead back to her knees.

...

Jack found himself at his third bar as outside began to trascend into darkness. He downed drink after drink, comfortably reaching for bill after bill. Finally, the bartender inquired on how he was feeling. Jack laughed openly, drawing the attention of a few around him, "You're the fourth bartender today to ask me... what a nice group of workers. You guys can unionize, right?"

The bartender chuckled, "I'll give you one more glass of whiskey and then I think you should go home, alright, buddy?" He filled the glass up graciously, "Alright, no more, I'm cuttin' you off. Get some sleep, kid, alright?"

Jack grinned as he dipped his head down to drink his whiskey, Well, Rose, whaddya think of today? Did I prove to you, to me, that I can actually have some fun? I don't need anybody to relax with. As long as I can talk to you, I know I'll be fine. Maybe twenty-two won't be so bad afterall. That full-house, Rose... that was my sign, wasn't it? You were telling me it was time. For the rest of this year, for the rest of time, I have to start making it count. No more pussyfooting about, I have to do this now. For you, Rose. For us, He nodded for a moment and tilted his head back, killing the rest of his drink. He waved to the bartender and stood, setting a five dollar bill down, before he staggered out of the bar and onto the darkening streets of New York City.

...

The cicadas could be heard chirping outside the open window in the studio space. Iris and Frenchie were both back to sitting at the communal table. They had been sitting in silence for nearly an hour as the clock struck close to eight now. Iris picked at her nails absent mindedly. Frenchie's eyes were glued to the paint smudges, counting them over and over again.

Suddenly, the studio door creaked and the duo's heads nearly snapped upon looking up. Jack came through the door, shrugging out of his coat and putting it on the rack. Frenchie nearly knocked his stool over as he rushed towards Jack, "Oh thank goodness you're alright, Jack, I-" Frenchie paused upon getting closer to Jack, "You wreak of alcohol. Is that what you've been doing this whole time?"

"I was gettin' my fresh air," Jack told him cooly.

"Never mind it," Frenchie shook his head, "Jack, I'm... I'm so sorry. I've had a lot of time to relect. Can you forgive me?"

Jack grinned, "Oh, good. I was gone long enough, huh?"

Frenchie lunged into Jack, hugging him tightly. Iris grinned and leapt off into her stool, completing the group hug.