Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 76: A Strategic Maneuver
The sound of a heated argument could be heard outside of the large conference room at The Sun, and Katherine quickened her steps as she passed, all too familiar with the ruckus that ten opinionated editors could cause. Their bickering wasn't anything unusual, but you never knew when one of them would come storming out the door, and almost everyone on the third floor had learned to steer clear of the conference room whenever the executive and managing editors were meeting for their weekly deliberations.
They weren't whom Katherine was interested in seeing, at any rate; the editor she was after was of far lesser importance and possessed a far more amiable disposition than the blustering (if well-intentioned) men who ran The Sun.
Making her way to one of the corner offices, the former reporter stopped at the secretary's desk, giving the young woman a friendly smile.
"I'm here to see Lena, Jenny. Is she available?"
The secretary nodded. "She just got back from lunch. You might need to keep it brief, though; she's got a stack of papers a mile high on her desk and two meetings scheduled for this afternoon."
"I'll be quick," Katherine promised. Thanking Jenny, she walked through the door of the office that Lena shared with the other copy editors who worked on the floor.
"Kath!" the older woman beamed, catching sight of the former reporter as soon as she appeared. "I thought I'd heard your voice outside just now."
"Welcome back, Lena," Katherine smiled, taking a seat in the visitor's chair facing Lena's desk. "How was your vacation?"
"A welcome relief from all this!" the copy editor replied candidly, gesturing to the large stack of papers on her desk. "There's something about the fresh prairie air that makes me wish I'd decided to strike out with my folks and become a country girl after all. Chasing the railroads, staking out the land, nothing but lizards and owls as company for miles and miles...it's a lot of fun for a few weeks, especially when you know that you have the convenience and familiarity of the city to return to eventually." She winked at Katherine. "I trust that everything's been proceeding as usual in my absence? No more strikes shutting down the city and driving certain newspaper owners batty?"
"Nothing that momentous," Katherine answered, "but I did want to talk to you about something pertaining to the newsboys, actually. Do you remember the editors' meeting several weeks ago when they were talking about The Refuge still being operational despite Governor Roosevelt's intent to investigate it and possibly shut it down?"
"I think I remember seeing a memo about that crossing my desk," Lena answered vaguely. "If I'm recalling correctly, that story never got picked up for further development."
"You're correct," Katherine affirmed. "They passed on it. But I'm actually hoping they'll overturn that decision."
Lena gave her a wry smile. "I can hear the crusading reporter in your voice," she said knowingly. "And I'm guessing you're here to recruit me for the cause."
Katherine gave her a hopeful look. "You're not wrong..."
"Kath, " Lena sighed, "you know that once the editors make a decision about something, it's a done deal. They don't like it when people like you or me question them. It's not our place."
"Oh, why? Because we're women?" Katherine scoffed, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
"Because we aren't the executive editors," Lena returned calmly. "Maybe the fact that we're women has something to do with it, but those are the rules of the game. It's never been a level playing field. You knew that coming in."
The other woman's pragmatic reminder did nothing to soothe Katherine's irritation.
"Kath, keep in mind I'm only a copy editor," Lena said gently. "And a copy editor for the entertainment pages, no less. I don't have much more power around here than you do."
"But you and the others get to meet with the editors regularly!" Katherine pointed out. "Every other week for an hour or two you have their ears - "
"It's hardly a back-and-forth conversation," Lena objected. "It's more like a briefing, really - they tell us what changes they want made, what mistakes slipped through the cracks, what they thought of our photo spreads...there's very little room for discussion."
"I'm only asking for you to pose one little question, Lena!" Katherine pleaded. "Just for you to put it on the table again. Maybe mention that you think a story about The Refuge would sell well because of its ties to the newsboys and the rest of the child workers in the city. The strike ended only three months ago; surely there has to be some lingering interest in its aftermath and the effect places like The Refuge have on our young working poor."
"Why is this so important to you?" Lena interjected. "There has to be a personal stake involved, or you wouldn't be championing this story so fervently."
"Jack - the newsboy who led the strike - was previously an inmate at The Refuge," Katherine admitted, knowing that she didn't have time to beat around the bush. "Several of the other boys have been incarcerated there, too. Their experiences have been deeply disturbing and have raised several concerns about the treatment the internees receive at the hands of the wardens who run the place. I don't want to see more children suffer while greedy men line their own pockets with the government funding meant to help the youth under their care."
"Do you have hard evidence that the alleged abuse or corruption is actually taking place?" Lena asked bluntly. "Because if you don't, it's going to be hard to prove your case."
"The aim of the story wouldn't be to get The Refuge shut down, at least not directly," Katherine clarified. "The responsibility of an impartial investigation lies with the city officials. We'd only need to remind those officials that such investigation does need to take place, and sooner rather than later. The goal of the story would be to arouse the sympathies of the public by giving them anecdotal evidence of what life is like in The Refuge in the hopes that they would appeal to the powers that be to stop dragging their heels and to get on with the investigation. At that point, the evidence should speak for itself."
"Hmm, I see." Lena pursed her lips, thinking, and Katherine waited impatiently, trying hard not to interject before the other woman had had adequate time to reflect.
Finally, after several minutes, the copy editor sighed. "I can't say no when you're looking at me so expectantly, Kath," she relented. "I'll bring it up at my next meeting with the editors. It won't be for another week and a half, but - "
Katherine cut her off with a little squeal. "Thank you, Lena!" she exclaimed, bouncing up from her seat. "Thank you!"
"You can thank me if they say 'yes' to giving this story another look," the older woman said briskly. "That's no guarantee. And I'll be frank and tell you that if push comes to shove, I'm not putting my job on the line for this."
"I wouldn't expect or want you to," Katherine assured her. "What you're already doing for me is favor enough, and we certainly don't need anyone else losing their job for the cause."
"Well, you paid the ultimate price, Kath," Lena acknowledged. "I'm glad they've kept you on here, even if you lost your reporter's position. It's strange that Pulitzer won't rescind his order - it seems grossly vindictive, even for him, to throw his weight around simply to blacklist a rogue reporter. There are others who have defied him before or written articles speaking against him, and he hasn't bothered to go after them."
Katherine shrugged. Most of her colleagues at The Sun didn't know about her connection to the owner of The World, and she intended to keep it that way.
"Speaking of which," Lena added, "say the editors do agree to the idea of running a story about The Refuge - who are you planning to have write the article, since Katherine Plumber is out of commission until further notice?"
"We'll publish under a fictitious byline," Katherine suggested. "I'll pose as a guest columnist who has inside information on the subject."
"I doubt that will fly," Lena said skeptically.
"Just get the story a second chance, and I'll give them something so compelling they won't be able to refuse," Katherine promised. "That's all I'm asking, Lena. Just a second chance. I'm confident that when the editors read what I have to say they won't want to pass it up."
Perhaps it was brash and and a bit hubristic to be making those kinds of claims, but the fire of conviction had been rekindled in Katherine with the advent of Lena's (albeit reluctant) aid, and the former reporter was confident that if she was given the chance, she could bring all of her eloquence to bear for an appeal that would capture the hearts of the people of New York. She'd done it before, and she could do it again. With her words, she'd helped bring the entire city to a standstill and had sent some of its most powerful men - including her father - reeling.
By contrast, how hard could convincing ten pugnacious editors be?
Jack held back a sigh of frustration, glancing up at the clock on the wall before he resumed his impatient fiddling with the clasps of the portfolio that had been issued to him on his first day at The World. It was a handsome-looking case, made of dark leather with the newspaper's logo embossed across the front, and he liked how important it made him look, but he could have gone for something a bit more understated. He preferred colors that were less severe, warm browns and blues and colors that reminded him of the sun and the sky and the wind on his face. The somber shades of black and gray made him think of dimly-lit rooms and other fearful things he'd rather forget.
Shaking off the thought, Jack set the portfolio down on the bench where he'd been sitting and rose, walking over to the closest window to look outside.
It was a beautiful November day; from his vantage point on the fourth floor of The World's headquarters, he could see the city bustling below his feet, men and women and children going about their business as they chatted and bargained and argued and played. He even saw several newsies hawking headlines, though none of them were his boys.
Turning away from the window, Jack walked back over to the bench and sat down, wondering how much longer his editor was going to make him wait. He was there with his weekly submission - this time, two cartoons had been requested, one for the entertainment section and one for the editorials, and he'd completed them in a timely fashion and was duly pleased with the work on both.
The door to his editor's office opened, and the man's secretary emerged, a blunt, severe-faced woman whom Jack had interacted with briefly on his previous visits. He could never remember her name - Maggie? Minnie? Millie? Millie - that was it.
"Drop off?" she asked brusquely.
"Yes ma'am," Jack got to his feet. "Got a couple of - "
"I'll take them," she interrupted, holding out her hands. "Mr. Hammond's in a meeting. I'll let him know you stopped by. In the meantime, you're wanted in Mr. Pulitzer's office."
Jack, in the middle of undoing the clasps of his portfolio, nearly dropped the case in surprise. "Mr. Pulitzer's office, you said?"
The woman nodded curtly. "His secretary called down just now and said he wants to speak with you right away."
Jack nodded, outwardly calm even as his pulse began to quicken. He handed over the finished cartoons, barely even registering Millie's dismissive "good bye" and her reminder that he was to report to Pulitzer's office on the fifteenth floor immediately.
Bypassing the elevator, Jack headed for the stairs, which he'd been in the habit of taking whenever he came to The World for his weekly drop off. The newsboy in him liked to stretch his legs, and the one time he'd taken the elevator, he'd felt uncomfortable standing shoulder to shoulder with men in dark, somber suits in such a confined space. It would be an eleven-flight climb up to Pulitzer's office, but Jack was confident that he could cover the distance quickly enough, and seeing that he wasn't eager to get to where he was going anyway, a little purposeful delay couldn't hurt.
Why did the old man want to see him, anyway?
Jack wasn't the kind to immediately assume the worst, but he still felt uneasy. From the brief interactions he'd had with his editor, it seemed like his performance at his new job had been adequate, and he hadn't received any complaints or corrections, but maybe he'd inadvertently stepped on someone's toes. Anyway, the worst that Pulitzer could do was fire him, and while that would be a bit of a blow to the ego, Jack wouldn't be sorry to be free from his corporate entanglement with the canny newspaper owner. Katherine would be disappointed, of course...but Jack knew that he'd done his best, and if he wasn't cut out for this kind of job, there was nothing that he or she could do to change that. The newsboy life suited him better, anyway.
Feeling almost relieved at the thought of being dismissed, Jack quickened his pace, finding himself eager to get to Pulitzer's office now. If he didn't have to work on cartoons for The World anymore, he would be free in the evenings to spend time with the newsies again, just joking and telling stories and shooting the breeze like they always did. He would have time to play poker with Race, to admire Finch and Sniper's ever-increasing repertoire of slingshot tricks, to listen to Romeo's laments about yet another girl who had brushed him off, and to wrestle with the younger boys when they needed to blow off steam. He could stop to look at the stars with Crutchie and to enjoy the quiet close of the day from atop their penthouse in the sky instead of wearily collapsing into his pile of ragged blankets on the corner of the roof once the day was done.
More time for his boys would be a boon indeed. Ever since the conversation with Crutchie, where Jack had finally been able to confess his failures during the strike, he'd felt lighter and less burdened by his guilt. Crutchie had forgiven him - easily and completely - and the younger boy's acceptance had made it easier for Jack to accept himself even after the mistakes he'd made, but he'd been so busy trying to keep up with his part-time job and his relationship with Katherine in addition to selling papes that he hadn't been able to really reconnect with the other members of the lodging house. He knew that his limited availability hadn't done anything to improve his relationships with the newsies (Race in particular), but now that he was likely going to be fired, he could fix all that, and soon things would be back to normal.
Breaking into a jog, Jack covered the last several flights of stairs quickly, breezing onto the fifteenth floor landing and making his way down the hallway to Pulitzer's suite. He knew his way around this part of The World well enough from his previous experiences, and while he could have happily gone without ever seeing the dark wooden panels and high-backed chairs of Pulitzer's office ever again, this was likely the last time he'd ever have to set foot in the place, so he could endure it for one more visit.
The newspaper mogul's secretary (Hannah, Jack reminded himself) was sitting at her desk, typing away when he darkened the door, and she immediately got to her feet and bustled over, giving him a slightly hesitant smile before informing him that Mr. Pulitzer had been waiting and was ready to receive him now.
So, the snake was that eager to give him the boot, huh?
Jack sauntered after Hannah, purposefully taking a few deep breaths to even out his breathing after his jog up the stairs. He felt calm and collected and in control - he was ready now for whatever criticism Pulizter was going to throw at him, ready to take his job termination like a man (and ready to have the last laugh, because by firing him, Pulitzer would actually be giving him back his freedom, freedom that Jack wanted far more than a few extra dollars a week in his pocket).
Hannah knocked on the newspaper owner's door, cracking it open a moment later to announce, "Jack Kelly is here, Mr. Pulitzer."
"Send him in," came the man's voice, and the secretary opened the door wider, motioning for Jack to enter. He gave her a little nod as he passed, then turned his attention fully to Pulitzer, who had risen from his desk and was walking towards him.
"Mr. Kelly," he said, with a smile that was somehow both terse and unnervingly convivial. "I've been eagerly awaiting your arrival." He extended his hand in greeting, and Jack took it reluctantly.
"Yeah, uh - it's good to see ya too, Joe," he muttered. The handshake over, Pulitzer invited Jack to sit down, then turned back to his desk, and Jack found himself quickly mimicking a subtle move of Davey's in his early newsboy days - that of surreptitiously but thoroughly wiping his hand off on his trousers.
"I take it you're settling well into your position here?" Pulitzer asked, taking a seat behind his desk. "Mr. Hammond reports that you've been punctual with your submissions and that your drawings have been exactly what he's asked for."
It was a strange way to start off a sacking, Jack thought as he settled uneasily into a chair opposite the desk. "Guess I've settled," he said noncommittally, not wanting to show his hand until he got a better idea of what the older man was up to.
"Well, good; I'm glad to hear that you find the job to your satisfaction," Pulitzer said pointedly, and Jack was almost certain that the man knew that wasn't what he'd said at all, but before he could interject, Pulitzer abruptly changed the subject.
"I actually didn't call you up here to discuss business," he said, leaning forward on his desk and folding his hands deliberately in front of him. He peered at Jack over his spectacles, his eyes intent and probing, and for one terrible moment, Jack half-expected to see Snyder to materialize out of the shadows and to hear the sound of the Delanceys bursting through the door.
But no. Pulitzer merely paused a moment, then smiled that same unnerving smile.
"I'd like to extend an invitation to you, Mr. Kelly," he said, enunciating the words in a clipped tone. "An invitation to dinner. At my house. I'd like to get to know you better, since you seem determined to continue your association with my daughter. In fact, I'd like both of you to be there. It will be an intimate gathering, just the three of us."
Jack felt his temperature rising. "The three of us, huh?" he repeated, the words sounding a bit strangled. "At your place?" This wasn't what he'd expected; if anything, this was worse than what he'd been hoping for!
"You heard me correctly, Mr. Kelly," Pulitzer said cooly. "I'll expect both of you next Wednesday night at seven o'clock sharp."
"I, uh, I should check with Plumber - er, Katherine - first," Jack said quickly, attempting to regain some control of the situation. "She's a busy gal, ya know, and I ain't sure she's gonna have time in her schedule for a dinner on such short notice."
It was a weak deferment, and they both knew it, but Pulitzer must have been in a benevolent mood (or perhaps he knew that he'd already won), for he didn't seem ruffled in the slightest.
"By all means, confer with Katherine about her schedule," he said, waving his hand in a gesture that was both indulgent and dismissive. "I trust you'll notify me soon if the proposed date and time prove to be unsuitable so that we may make alternative arrangements." He reached across his desk and picked up a notebook, opening it up in front of him and adjusting his glasses on his nose. "That will be all, Mr. Kelly," he said.
Jack rose from his chair, debating whether or not to interject as he left just to show Pulitzer that he wasn't going to be ordered around, but the man seemed to have already forgotten his existence and was completely engrossed in poring over his records, so Jack let himself out of the office, giving Hannah another nod as he left the newspaper owner's suite.
He was still a bit stunned.
He'd been hopeful coming into this meeting that the encounter with Pulitzer would result in the severance of their professional ties (delivering The World didn't count, since Jack could easily switch over to hawking a different paper if he really wanted to), but instead he was coming out with an invitation to dinner (more like an order - or a sentence, he thought ruefully). And he was no closer to freedom than he'd been a quarter of an hour ago.
Making his way down the stairs to the lobby of the building and then outside to the street, Jack shoved his free hand into his pockets, walking quickly towards the deli where he'd be meeting Katherine for lunch. She was already waiting for him when he arrived, and had taken the liberty of ordering their usual fare.
"How'd your meetin' go with your friend?" Jack asked, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before sliding into the booth across from her and situating his portfolio at his side.
"As well as could be expected," Katherine answered. "She said she'll bring up the topic at her next meeting with the editors, but that won't be for another week and a half. She didn't sound too optimistic, but at least she didn't say 'no.' We'll just have to hope for the best." She smiled. "What about you, Jack? You look like you've had a busy morning!"
He scoffed a laugh. "Guess you could say that." He began unwrapping his brisket sandwich, his empty stomach already growling in anticipation. "I actually just came from a meetin' with your father."
Katherine paused, a bite of coleslaw halfway to her mouth. "My father?" she asked, putting down her fork.
"Yeah." Jack gave her an uneasy grin. "Seems like he's in a hospitable mood or somethin'. He wants to have us both over for dinner at his place, next Wednesday at seven. I told him I'd haf'ta ask you if that worked for your schedule."
He took a bite of sandwich and watched as Katherine seemed to mull over the disclosure. At first, she seemed a bit shocked, but then Jack saw a smile begin to spread across her face.
"Jack...do you know what this means?" she asked.
He didn't like the eager look that she was giving him. "It means we's gonna let the old man down softly and tell him we can't make it, next Wednesday night or ever?" he offered feebly.
"It means he's warming up to you!" Katherine exclaimed. "He wouldn't do this unless he wanted to get to know you better, so this is a big step in the right direction!"
The man had said as much, but Jack still wasn't convinced there wasn't an ulterior motive at hand, though he knew it would be the start of an argument if he said so. "You sound pretty excited about it," he said dismally.
"Of course I am! You know that I don't let my father dictate whom I can and can't associate with, but things would be so much easier if he was on our side - if he approved of our relationship!" Katherine was positively beaming now. "He's never offered to invite any of the boys I've gone out with to dinner before, so this is something important, and - "
"Woah, wait - hold on," Jack interrupted. "How many of these fellas were there before I came along?"
"Oh, that doesn't matter," Katherine brushed him off. "I wasn't serious about any of them, anyway."
"You sound pretty serious about this dinner, though." Jack took another dejected bite of his sandwich.
Katherine paused for a moment, looking at him with a fond smile. "I just want Papa to see what I see in you," she said gently. "I want him to understand why I fell in love with you, and why you mean so much to me. I want him to be able to appreciate all of the good qualities you have that he hasn't had the opportunity to experience yet." She reached across the table and took Jack's hand. "I know the two of you aren't exactly friends, and that having dinner with him is probably the last thing you'd want to do...but do it for me, Jack. Do it for us."
"I ain't got a single thing to wear that's fit for a fancy dinner," he muttered gruffly, knowing that he was fighting a losing battle, but not willing to go down without making one feeble last stand.
"I'll take care of that," Katherine quickly dispatched the objection. "I know an excellent tailor who'll be able to get you fitted for a suit in no time. You ought to have one anyway for...whatever the future holds."
"Was kinda thinkin' I'd just hawk headlines 'till I couldn't walk anymore," Jack joked. But he knew that she was right - as much as he didn't want to face the truth, he knew that he wouldn't - couldn't - be a newsboy forever, and he might as well face the facts, both as it pertained to his career and to his relationship with Katherine. If he wanted to make things work between them, he knew that he had to stop living in the moment and start living for the future.
"Guess there are worse things I could be doin' on a Wednesday night at seven," he finally conceded, giving Katherine a reluctant half-smile. "Who knows - maybe we can even get your father to publish your article in The World if it turns out The Sun ain't gonna back you up. Could be a good opportunity to advance the cause, too."
"That is genius, Jack!" Katherine exclaimed. "We'll have to tread carefully, but if Papa's in a good mood, that just might work." She smiled at him. "See? This might turn out to be something providential."
"Well, I'm gonna wait to weigh in on that 'till after it's over," Jack said, still unwilling to buy into the assertion that this dinner with Pulitzer really was a good idea. He took another bite of sandwich, thinking to himself that he had no idea how he was supposed to behave at a fancy meal and that he'd need to figure out a way of remedying that soon before the following week arrived. His first idea for a solution to the problem - hanging around outside some of the nicer dining establishments and observing the patrons under the guise of selling papers - would be better than nothing, but it wasn't a very practical approach; it would be preferable to learn directly from someone who knew what they were doing. Unfortunately, the rest of the boys at the lodging house were just as ignorant as he was when it came to table etiquette and manners, and he doubted that any of them had ever attended a fancy dinner, worn a suit, or even knotted a…
...tie.
"What are you thinking so hard about?" Katherine asked curiously.
"Ah, nothin'," Jack grinned at her. He wasn't about to disclose the plan that was beginning to form in his mind. He'd let it be a surprise - maybe impress her a little bit with his newly-acquired civilities. And - more importantly - he'd show Pulitzer that he wasn't some low-down gutter rat who couldn't hold his own, even when he was out of his element.
Now all he had to do was procure the help of the most proper and strait-laced newsie that he knew...
Davey was far less stilted now than he had been when he'd first joined Jack and the rest of the boys, occasionally slipping into some very newsie-like turns of phrase, and sometimes even winging back an insult or two with a deftness that belied the fact that only a few months ago he'd been a schoolboy and not a paperboy. He'd also been dressing down with regularity ever since the strike (though he still stood out from the rest with his clean, pressed shirts and his trousers that were properly fitted rather than several inches too short). But Jack knew that under the relatively more relaxed demeanor, the old Davey - who recoiled at spit-shaking and who'd initially worn a tie to go selling and who used verbose phrases like "in a most auspicious manner" - was still there. And Jack was fairly certain that Davey was his best shot at learning how to act proper. All he needed was someone to teach him the basics, just enough so that he could get by without feeling like a complete fool.
"Well, if it's settled, then I'll make an appointment with the tailor so that we can get you fitted for you suit," Katherine said, "and I'll confirm dinner with Hannah, too, so that she can let my father know that we'll be coming."
"Yeah, sounds great," Jack said, trying to muster up some enthusiasm for her sake. There was no turning back now. He was committed to going to this dinner, and he might as well try to have a good attitude about it.
But even as the half-hearted agreement left his mouth, he knew that next Wednesday night was going to come far too quickly for his liking.
