Chapter Fifty-Seven

July 11th, 1914
New York City, New York

That Friday morning at the studio was noisy with a fuzzy radio belting jazz, paint cans scraping about, and ladders creaking. Iris, Jack, and Frenchie independetly on three separate paintings. Each were fully submersed into work, focused, as they poured paint and dabbed it against their canvas. Jack noticed Frenchie was moving relatively slow and hadn't made as much ground as Iris and Jack. He decided to leave it alone, however, knowing Frenchie's buttons were not to be meddled with.

Suddenly, the studio door floor open. Jack looked over his shoulder from where he sat perched atop his ladder. He was expecting Rose, but was rather shocked when he saw Tim with a bouquet of daisies and lillies in his hand walk in. Iris squealed and set her pallette down instantly, racing across the space to greet him.

"Tim, what are you doing here?" She asked, pecking him on the cheek.

"I thought you'd like some company on your train ride to Maryland," Tim laughed, almost sheepishly, "So, this is the studio you work in, huh?" Tim began to look around but paused when his eyes laid on Jack, who was still on top of his ladder, only watching Tim, "Oh, Jack. You work here, too?"

"Wait, how do you know Jack?" Iris asked, furrowing her brow. Slowly, Jack climbed down from the ladder feeling tense in every muscle. Frenchie had cautiously approached the duo and seemed apprehensive of Tim, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Through my career," Tim downplayed, which surprised Jack, "I helped Rose with some legal work when she was getting published through a company I represented. That was all when I practiced here, though," Tim was slick with his words, Jack had to admit. He was silently glad Tim had been quick on his feet.

"Oh, what a small world," Iris returned to grinning and wrapped her arms around Tim's larger one, "I guess we should be heading out?"

"We have some time," Tim assured her, glancing to his gold wrist watch, "If you need to finish anything, go right ahead. I figured we'd catch some lunch before we got on the train," He paused for a moment and looked to Frenchie, "You're welcome to join us, Mr. Cohan. I'd love to pick your brain over painting, as much as I have with Iris'. I've seen your work, it's magnificent. You know, I was at that art show in November that you were honored at."

"Yes, I'm familiar with your work as well," Frenchie replied with no tone in his voice. He looked to his sister, "No, no. I don't want to intrude on your lunch date. It's a lovely day. I'm sure you two would rather spend it alone."

"Oh, you wouldn't be intruding at all," Tim said with a friendly smile, "Lunch is my treat. Jack, why don't you get Rose and we all go and catch up."

"That's very kind-" Jack began, but Frenchie's anger unleashed before he could finish.

"We don't want to go," Frenchie told him. Iris looked at her brother sternly.

"Frenchie, Tim is only trying to be polite."

"Yes, I'm sorry if I came across as offensive," Tim quickly jumped in, "I just thought it would be nice to meet and really talk to such a creative and ambitious artist such as yourself. And you're Iris' brother, so I think it's important we do chat."

"I'm not interested."

Tim seemed taken aback by the exchange, but he quickly masked any thoughts running through his mind. Iris looked extremely irritated and embarrassed, "Let me just wash my paint brushes and we'll go right away, alright? Maybe we can go for a nice walk to kill time before lunch."

"Sure," Tim replied, tearing his eyes away from Frenchie, "Sounds good. Take your time."

Iris shot her brother a poisonous look as she brushed past him and grabbed her pallette, marching towards the backroom where the wash basin was. Tim watched her disappear from sight. He then dug his hands into his pockets and took a few paces away from Jack and Frenchie. Slowly, Jack turned his head to look at Frenchie. It was easy to see the man was out for blood. His eyes were intensely focused on Tim and his nostrils were flared.

"Hey, Frenchie," Jack said quietly, coming to his side, "You and I should probably hit the supply store. We're running low on some primary colors."

Frenchie didn't even acknowledge Jack. His eyes remained on Tim. The moment his mouth began to move, Jack knew the entire productive day was doomed. He sighed and immediately walked away from Frenchie, raking his hair from his face as his friend's tense voice came into the room, "What are your intentions with my sister?"

Tim stopped pacing and turned to face Frenchie. He was caught off guard, that was for sure. Jack watched from the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest, "They're all good intentions, I can assure you of that, Mr. Cohan. I like her and I'm eager to learn more about her."

"And why is a successful middle-aged lawyer such as yourself not married at this point?" Frenchie asked.

"Well, I've spent the past decade entirely submersed in my career," Tim shrugged, doing his best effort to remain cool and collected with Frenchie. It was obvious to Jack that Tim was trying to make a good impression, but he was performing for a tough audience, "I think you could understand. You've made quite a name for yourself amongst the art-lover's society here in New York. I was trying to do the same thing but in the world of law. But I've finally looked up from all my studies and realized I was missing more than what the law world could give me."

"And you think my little sister can give you that more you're searching after?" Frenchie asked.

"I enjoy spending time with her. She helps me take my mind off my job, which is good from time to time," Tim nodded, "Mr. Cohan, I sincerely hope you don't think I'm stepping on your toes. And I don't want to interfere with anything. I hope you can accept what Iris and I have."

"Care to elaborate what it is that you think you two have?" Frenchie cocked a bold brow up.

"She's absolutely brilliant and she is creative," Tim's eyes lit up the more he spoke, "There's nothing I love more than speaking to someone for hours on end about art alone. I just believe we clicked very well and I'd be a fool to let that go."

"Do you always click so well with school-aged girls?" Frenchie asked, which clearly caught Tim off guard.

"Frenchie!" Iris bellowed as she appeared in the doorway. She marched out into the open space with a face of clear anger. Her cheeks had even grown rosy. She came to the side of Tim, flashing him an embarrassed look before she turned back on her brother, "What is wrong with you?!"

"What's wrong with me?" Frenchie echoed incredulously, "You're telling me I should just be okay with this?! That one day, some middle-aged lawyer swoops in and tells me he has the hots for my little sister?! Do you think Dad would be okay with this?"

"Grow up, Frenchie," Iris hissed, grabbing hold of Tim's elbow and guiding him towards the door, "And if you aren't going to, don't be mad when I do, okay?" Iris ushered Tim out the door and paused, turning back towards her confounded brother, "Bye," She said curtly, allowing the door to slam shut behind her and echo through the space.

Frenchie ran his hands over his eyes, massaging his forehead, and finally raking his fingers through his hair. He let out a long sigh and shook his head, clearly exasperated. He did a few paces, lacing his fingers behind his head as he walked. Jack could see every muscle in his body was tense.

"You know… you're doing the opposite of what you should be," Jack told him, crossing his arms over his chest, "All you're doing is pushing her straight into Tim's arms."

"Oh? And how would you know?" Frenchie asked, rather glumly, with his back to Jack, "Not like you've ever had a little sister to experience this with."

"Maybe not, no," Jack shook his head, slowly coming to the side of Frenchie, "But this exact thing you're doing right now… well, it drove Rose into my arms. And it will drive Iris even faster into Tim's arms."

"What do you care?" Frenchie asked, striding for the front door. He gripped the door knob and looked over his shoulder at Jack. He looked like he had a barrage of words banging on his lips, but no words came out. Frenchie let out a huff and left, leaving Jack all by himself.

...

July 15th, 1914
New York City, New York

By Tuesday morning, Iris still hadn't returned to New York. She had sent a message to Frenchie saying her stay would be extended, as her and Tim were doing a costal tour by boat together. When the message arrived, Frenchie quit working on his paintings entirely. He hadn't got much done on Monday or Tuesday and was working at relatively half-speed. Jack had managed to finish an entire painting and delivered it for an extra tip to split between them. Jack was saving every coin and crumpled dollar that fell into his hands as the baby's due date loomed nearer and nearer.

Frenchie crumpled the note up into a ball in his palm and carelessly dropped it on the table once the parcel boy had left with a new nickel. He drooped down into a stool, nearly as deflated as a forgotten balloon on a county fair dirt path. Jack paused from mixing paint and looked up, raking some hair from his face.

"What did it say?"

"She's not coming back for a few more days..." Frenchie heaved a sigh, "Who knows... maybe not even until next week. By the time she gets back from that tour, it will be the weekend again," Frenchie shook his head, "Doesn't this man have to work? I'm starting to suspect he isn't a lawyer at all anymore!"

"I'm sure he's still practicing," Jack said, watching paint dribble from the end of his mixing stick. He never thought he would be defending Tim. Just half a year ago, Jack would have felt the same way Frenchie did, but he convinced himself this was entirely different, "He's his own boss. He makes his own hours."

"Are we not the same?" Frenchie asked, holding a hand up, "And yet we have to slave away every day to make rent and groceries. Why is it not the same for him?"

"Careful," Jack looked to Frenchie again, "Your eyes are gonna turn green."

"Jack, it's been weeks and I'm still not okay with this," Frenchie stood up again and paced rather nervously, "I thought maybe I'd start to warm up to the idea. I really tried to focus on what you said, about it being good for Iris, but I just can't accept it. I'm not happy with this in the least."

"What is there not to be happy about?" Jack shrugged, "We've talked this over a million times, Frenchie. She's out there making new expeirences and having fun with someone she likes. You should be glad she's managed to find that again after Irene passed," There was silence for a few moments. Jack stood up, stretching his legs out, "Or are you mad she's moved on and you haven't entirely?"

"What? That's stupid," Frenchie furrowed his bold brow, "I've found my acceptance with that, Jack. That's not the snag up here."

"Then what is?" Jack held his hands out.

"I don't trust Tim, simple as that."

"Now that's stupid," Jack said plainly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're only defending him because he did Rose a favor."

"No, I know Tim personally. There's not an ounce of malice in that man's blood," Jack shook his head, "For Christ's sake, Frenchie. He has, like, six sisters."

"What, so men with sister's can't be sinister?"

"So, you'd be okay if someone thought the same of you?"

"It's diff-"

"It's really not," Jack said firmly.

Frenchie held eye contact with Jack for a moment before he turned around and began towards the door. Jack was on his heels in a moment.

"Where are you going, Frenchie?" Jack asked, "Mrs. DuBois' painting is due at her house by the end of the week."

"You're in charge, then," Frenchie replied without even looking over his shoulder, "I'm going to Maryland."

"What!?" Jack exclaimed, "Frenchie, please don't. Don't do it. You're letting your anger win. Have you ever been happy with a decision you've made while angry?" Jack grabbed hold of Frenchie's arm as he threw the door open and together, the men spilled out onto the street and into the blinding sunlight, "Frenchie, listen to me!" Jack managed to catch a grip on Frenchie's arm, planting him in place, "You can't go to Maryland. It's a bad idea and deep down inside, I know you know it's a bad idea. Let's just talk about this, please."

"No, this is my decision to make and I made it," Frenchie told him, "I have to go to Maryland, Jack. This is my family, I have to be the one to do something."

"What are you even going to do!?" Jack was growing irritated quickly, "You're going to wait for the boat to return and what?! Confront her? Insult Tim? You're going to make her hate you!"

"I don't care that you don't understand," Frenchie said as he began to turn away from Jack, "This is a family matter, Jack, that doesn't concern you."

"I'd say this does concern me," Jack shot back, following at Frenchie's side, "You're my friend, Frenchie. Wouldn't you want me to tell you when you're doing something stupid!? I'm trying to help you. This is seriously a bad idea. Stop and listen to me, dammit!"

"I'm done listening to you about this!" Frenchie roared. He stopped walking and turned towards Jack, "You always think you're the wise one, but you're not always, Jack! You have no experience on this matter. It's not Tim coming after someone in your life. All you do is play it safe, never cross the red tape! Well, didn't you ever stop to think how different your life would be if you did?! I'm staying in control of my life!"

"You know, I don't like the way you are talking to me," Jack told him, "You act like I've never done anything crazy for myself. Well, I've been around the block a few times, so trust me when I say that this is crazy. You can't go, Frenchie, you just can't."

"Well, too bad. I'll see you when I see you," Frenchie carelessly waved his hand at Jack and began marching off again.

"You're making a mistake!" Jack yelled after him, uncaring of the looks he received from passer-by's, "She's not going to suddenly change her mind for you, Frenchie!" His friend kept walking, however, without even looking back, and continued around the corner and out of sight. Jack let out an aggravated sigh and kicked the light pole beside him, "Dammit, Frenchie."