Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 109: A Difficult Choice
The nameplate on the secretary's desk read Hannah Blumburg, and Jack wondered, not for the first time, what kind of woman Pulitzer's head receptionist really was. If there was one thing that he'd learned from his last several months of working at The World, it was that, while the men chaired the committees and managed the meetings and gave the orders, it was the women working under them who kept the gears of the whole machine turning. And the women were often the ones with the shrewdest sense of what was going on, for while Pulitzer's male subordinates may have been circumspect and distantly polite with each other, they spoke freely in front of their secretaries, perhaps not realizing how much of their conversations were being overheard and cataloged away.
Jack wouldn't be surprised if Hannah - who held a position of relatively little power but whose desk was, in fact, closer in proximity to Pulitzer than anyone else at The World - knew far more than she let on.
His overall impression of the secretary was a cautiously positive one; she'd been polite to him during their limited interactions over the past several months, and Katherine had spoken of her in glowing terms, so there had to be something good in the tall, statuesque woman despite her close association with the unscrupulous man in charge.
Turning away from the secretary's desk, Jack eyed the closed door on the opposite side of the room that led directly to Pulitzer's office. He could hear the sound of Hannah speaking, but couldn't make out the words.
Unsurprisingly, Pulitzer was making him wait.
Jack had been summoned to the newspaper owner's office in much the same manner that he'd been called up to see Pulitzer the first time, when the man had extended the seemingly-cordial but completely unwelcome invitation to dinner. Jack had learned his lesson from that experience and had made his way up to the fifteenth floor without allowing himself to speculate on what this subsequent meeting could be about, but inwardly he'd prepared himself for a fight. After what had happened over dinner at the Pulitzer mansion several weeks ago, he was sure that Katherine's father would be in no mood to exchange pleasantries.
Upon his arrival at the newspaper owner's office, Hannah had invited him to have a seat while she announced his arrival to Pulitzer, but Jack had elected to remain standing, not at all comfortable letting his guard down so close to the serpent's den. He would face whatever was coming next head-on, and wasn't about to give his opponent any kind of advantage if he could help it.
After another minute or two, the door to the newspaper owner's office suddenly opened, and Jack squared his shoulders as Hannah appeared, bidding him to enter. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, she shut the door gently behind him.
Pulitzer was sitting at his desk, looking down at a sheaf of papers upon which he was making neat, even marks with a red pencil. He didn't look up as Jack approached, but continued his notations for another moment with a blatant disregard no doubt meant to emphasize his prerogative as boss to keep his underling standing for as long as it suited him.
Jack cleared his throat. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Pulitzer?" He wouldn't go so far as to call the man out on his rudeness, but he wasn't going to stand there submissively until Joe deigned to notice him, either. Might as well make the first move.
"I did want to see you, Mr. Kelly," Pulitzer replied, seemingly unruffled by the breach in protocol. He made one final note on his document, then set down his pencil, finally looking up at Jack through his spectacles. "I have an important assignment for you. A political cartoon of some importance concerning a past acquaintance of yours." He reached under his stack of papers and pulled out a newspaper.
"Perhaps you're familiar with this article that ran a few weeks ago in The New York Sun." Pulitzer held up the paper, and Jack had to quickly hide his recognition as he saw that it was the article Katherine had written under her colleague Lena's name.
"Governor Roosevelt, it seems, is finally being held accountable for the promise he made back in August to fully investigate The Refuge," Pulitzer continued. "My sources tell me that his office has already begun their inspection, and that it looks like The Refuge will soon be shut down until major reforms can be made."
This was news to Jack.
"I'm sure this is quite welcome information for you and your newsboy friends," Pulitzer said coolly, no doubt catching the elation on Jack's face. "However, I'm not interested in your personal feelings on the matter. My concern lies in capitalizing on this opportunity to remind the public of Roosevelt's failure to act punctually on a promise that he seemed to have nearly forgotten and only followed through with when it was once again brought to his attention because of concerted pressure from the public and the press." He brandished the newspaper article. "This writer - whomever she may be - wrote a powerful piece calling the Governor to account, and we ought to do the same. With the election coming up next year and Roosevelt's allies keen on drumming up support, it is our civic duty to ensure that the man's shortcomings are not swept under the rug."
Tossing the paper aside, Pulitzer folded his hands, leaning slightly forward on his desk. "To that end, I want you to draw up a political cartoon depicting the Governor's tardy - and, let's assume, personally indifferent - response to this situation involving The Refuge. I want him painted as a man who's all bluster and no substance, who glibly makes promises to poor, trusting newsboys only to promptly forget them for months until his constituents force him to make good on his word."
Pulitzer smiled his disconcertingly pleasant smile. "I've no doubt that an artist of your caliber will be able to easily do justice to the subject that I've just described. In fact, my only regret is that none of the writers on my staff will be able to pen an article equally compelling to go along with your illustration." He shook his head, glancing again at the copy of The Sun on his desk, then looked up at Jack, saying softly, "It's a pity this 'Lena McClain' isn't a freelancer. I'd be ready to offer her a job here if she'd be willing to turn her words to the service of our noble cause."
There was a sinister edge to his voice that Jack didn't like one bit, but he forced himself to meet the newspaper owner's hawk-like stare.
"Ain't it a little unsportsmanlike goin' after the Governor like that?" he challenged, diverting the conversation away from the article in The Sun. "Seems like he did do what he said, even if it took a while longer than we was hopin'."
Pulitzer laughed - a mirthless chuckle that grated like the sound of dry leaves scraping across the sidewalk. "'Unsportsmanlike,' you say? Mr. Kelly, the entire newspaper business is inherently unsportsmanlike. Headlines of flattery and praise for correctly doing one's job don't sell - but stories of misbehavior and malpractice do. Your experience as a newsboy should have taught you that by now."
Resituating the papers on his desk, Pulitzer reached for his red pencil. "And in case I didn't make it clear before, this is an assignment, not an offer up for negotiation. Your editor will be expecting the finished product next week per your usual deadline, and I'm confident that you'll come through for us as you always have." He smiled thinly. "It would be a pity indeed for you to lose your employment and curtail a promising career over something as trivial as this."
So saying, the newspaper owner returned to his work. "That'll be all, Mr. Kelly," he said dismissively.
Jack turned around and wordlessly left the room.
The walk back to Katherine's apartment was one that he knew well enough, but instead of heading there directly, he meandered down side streets and alleyways, head down, hands picking absently at the stitching of his portfolio. He felt too agitated to go back inside again at the moment, his meeting with Pulitzer having stirred up an uneasiness that needed to be shaken off. If the newspaper owner hadn't been Katherine's father, things would have been much simpler...
But, of course, if the newspaper owner hadn't been Katherine's father, Jack would likely never have been in this predicament in the first place.
Turning his footsteps towards the busier-looking avenue ahead, he sought out the ambient noise of the street in an effort to drown out his melancholy thoughts. It usually worked for him, but his problems were usually of a far less confounding nature than the dilemma currently weighing on his mind.
As he joined the flow of foot traffic, his ears caught the sound of a familiar cry almost immediately.
"Extra, extra, 'Chaos Erupts at Circus as Lion Turns on its Tamer; Outraged Patrons Demand Restitution!'"
Jack turned around and looked behind him. He knew the voices of each one of his boys, and this one was no exception. Locating his target, he quickly changed direction, sauntering down the block to the corner of Leonard and Church Street.
"You sure is soundin' chipper today, Davey!" he declared as he drew near the spot where the older Jacobs brother was peddling his wares. "What's got'cha so upbeat? Don't tell me you's actually enthusiastic about the headline!"
"Jack!" a grin lit up Davey's face as he lowered his paper. "It's good to see you! It's been what, four days? No, five, actually. How's Crutchie feeling? I take it he's doing well if you're out and about again."
"Yeah, he's on the mend," Jack reported, smiling at the other newsie's habit of asking and then immediately answering his own questions. "Katherine's been takin' real good care of us. We should be ready to move home again in a few days."
"That's good." Davey sounded relieved. "It seems like the rest of the boys are getting better, too. More than half of them are still recovering, but they're back to selling already, and this morning Race said he's pretty confident that the rest who are still laid up should be well enough to resume work soon, as long as they don't overdo it."
"We got off lucky this time for sure," Jack asserted. "Could've been a lot worse." At least here was some welcome news after the unpleasantness of his meeting with Pulitzer.
Shaking the thought of the old man from his mind, Jack looked down at Davey's newsboy bag and saw that it was full of papers, likely the afternoon edition that had just come out. "Hey, you want me to give you a hand?" he asked with a smile. "It's been a while since I sold a pape, and I kinda miss it."
"If you want," Davey offered him a copy of The World. "But we're splitting the earnings sixty-forty."
"Ah, shaddup," Jack smacked the other boy in the arm with the paper. "You got a real smart mouth sometimes, you know that? Just like your brother."
Davey grinned. "Les had to get it from somewhere." It was an unusually lighthearted quip, and Jack found his spirits lifting, the lingering distaste of his meeting with Pulitzer beginning to fade. This - this kind of easy camaraderie, being out in the open air with his boys, making a living by their wits - was what he was made to do, not pandering to a bunch of pompous suits in a stuffy office!
"Guess I always figured that kid was his own kind of sassy," he remarked. "Never would've guessed that he took after you. You two's about as alike as oil and water."
"That's what most people say." Davey bent down to pick up his own copy of the afternoon edition. "And it's mostly true. We're not very similar." He straightened up, paper in hand. "Ready to get to it?" he asked, his voice taking on a playful tone. "I'll race you to see who can sell ten copies first." His smile was almost sly as he added, "The circus headline aside, most of the stories aren't very good, so that should give you an advantage, even if you're a little rusty after all that time off."
The challenge came out of the blue, and Jack's eyes narrowed. "Hold up," he said with joking suspicion. "You sure you's the real Davey and not some kinda poser? The fella I know wouldn't make a game out of sellin' papes."
"Scared I'll beat you?"
Jack scoffed. "I ain't scared."
"Prove it to me, then." Davey raised his copy of The World in the air with a smile. And before Jack could reply, he began shouting the headline, making a quick sale before Jack had even managed to scan the stories from his own copy.
They peddled their papers together for the next half hour, Jack enjoying the friendly competition and the challenge of once again putting his cleverness to work. As Davey had warned, most of the headlines were snoozers, but Jack had more than enough practice embellishing lackluster material, and he soon evened the score and then drew ahead of Davey, whose quick start was offset by his unwillingness to "improve the truth."
"Strugglin' a little there, Dave?" Jack jibed, taking a momentary break from selling to good-naturedly taunt his friend. "I take back what I said earlier about you not bein' who you said you was. You's definitely the real Davey, terrible sellin' technique and all."
"You haven't won yet," the other newsie retorted. In an unexpected show of verve, he dashed across the street towards a group of well-dressed pedestrians, and Jack watched in surprise as, moments later, several of them dug into their pockets, dropping coins into Davey's hand in exchange for his papers.
"That's eight for me," Davey announced upon his return.
"I got one more." Jack held up his final copy with a grin. "Guess it's gonna be a race to the finish."
In the end, Jack was able to move his last paper before Davey could sell his remaining two, and the latter good-naturedly admitted defeat.
"You're still the best of Manhattan's best, Jack," he conceded with a smile.
"And don't you forget it," Jack wagged his finger. "I haf'ta say, though, you weren't so bad yourself." He gave the other newsie a curious glance. "What's gotten into you anyway, Dave? I skip out for a few days, and suddenly you's high as a kite!"
"I haven't been drinking, if that's what you mean," Davey answered, seemingly unfazed by the colloquialism. "And I don't think I'm trying to act any different. I'm always more energetic than normal when I'm selling papes. I have to be."
"But you ain't the kind to play games," Jack pointed out.
"Usually not," the other boy agreed. "But I'm learning to appreciate them more." He shrugged, but Jack didn't miss the smile that briefly crossed his face.
"So, what made you decide to hit the streets today?" Davey asked, changing the subject as he bent down to rearrange the papers in his bag which had gotten slightly messy in the rush of their competition. "Just wanting a little fresh air?"
"Had to drop off my cartoons to The World," Jack replied.
"Do you have to see Pulitzer when you do that?"
"Usually not, but I got unlucky this time," Jack sighed. "The old man called me into his office for a little talkin'-to."
Davey finished organizing his papers, then stood up. "That doesn't sound fun."
"It wasn't," Jack didn't bother holding back a grimace. "The worst part is, that snake wants me to draw up a cartoon denouncin' Roosevelt for draggin' his heels on investigatin' The Refuge."
Briefly, he explained the situation to the other newsie.
"I dunno, Dave," he concluded. "If you was me, what would you do? I know the Governor could've gotten on things a little quicker, and maybe he would've forgotten about his promise if Katherine's article hadn't run, but it feels like backstabbin' to go after him like that, ya know? 'Specially after he finally came through for us."
"Yeah," Davey agreed. "It does." He thought for a moment, then asked, "Does The World employ other cartoonists? Could you ask your editor to assign this project to someone else?"
"Pretty sure there's other folks on contract, but I don't think old Joe'll let me off the hook," Jack answered morosely. He was certain that Pulitzer had assigned the Roosevelt cartoon to him on purpose and partially out of spite; if there was one thing the man knew how to do, it was how to put a fellow in a lose-lose situation just to show who held all the cards.
"And you don't think it'd fly if you simply declined the assignment? I'm sure you've built up a positive reputation with your editor by now, so that should give you some leverage." Jack could tell that Davey was trying very hard to find a workable solution, but it was evident that he was grasping at straws.
"Joe made it clear if I don't make good on this, I'm through." Jack shook his head. "Can't say I'd be sorry to see the last of him, but I took this job for Katherine, and I know she ain't gonna be happy if I just throw away the opportunity like that."
"Maybe you should talk to her about it," Davey suggested. "I'm sure Katherine would like you to keep your position, but she seems to have pretty strong convictions, and if she was willing to lose her job to follow those convictions, I doubt she'd fault you for doing the same. Besides, she knows how manipulative her father can be."
"Yeah...guess it couldn't hurt," Jack agreed unenthusiastically. He didn't really want to confess to Katherine his reluctance to take this assignment, and in fact, how much he disliked his job with The World in general. He hadn't forgotten the elated look on his girlfriend's face when he'd agreed to take the cartoonist position, or the pride in her voice when he'd showed her his first drawing in print, and he didn't want that happiness to go away, just because he'd lost his job over a single unwanted assignment.
Davey must have sensed his consternation, for he said slowly, "If you don't feel right about drawing that cartoon, Jack, I think you should listen to that feeling. You might be able to push your conscience aside this once, but how do you know Pulitzer won't ask you to do something similar again, especially if he knows he can get you to give in? We know he doesn't play by the rules. And if he's trying to drive a wedge between you and Katherine, he'll find other ways of doing it if this tactic doesn't work. At the end of the day, you'll be more at peace with yourself if you know you did the right thing, even if it cost you."
The prospect that there could be an underlying (and Katherine-related) motive to Pulitzer's actions had crossed Jack's mind before, but hearing Davey say it aloud made it feel a lot less like an overly-suspicious assumption and more like a legitimate possibility. It was true: the old man didn't play fair, and he clearly wasn't above taking cheap shots to get what he wanted, even if he wasn't making his strategy as clear as he had before. Davey's advice was logical and seemed sound...
But somehow Jack couldn't bring himself to commit to it yet.
"Guess I got a lot to think about," he said vaguely, giving the other newsie a slight smile. "Probably a good thing I don't haf'ta make a decision today."
"Yeah, taking time to think things through is good," Davey agreed. Jack could tell that there was more the other boy wanted to say, but, true to form, Davey held back, merely reaching down to pick up a newspaper and turning the conversation back to the subject of selling, as though he'd correctly intuited that Jack no longer wished to discuss the matter.
After a few more minutes of lighthearted exchange (during which Jack sold a few more papers and made more than a few quips at Davey's expense) the two of them amicably parted ways, Davey heading off to find a new selling spot, as the foot traffic at the corner had slowed considerably, and Jack turning back the way he'd come, ambling slowly down Leonard Street. He half hoped that he'd run into another one of the boys before he reached his destination, reluctant to return to the confines of the apartment and the impending conversation he knew he'd have to have with Katherine.
As luck would have it, he'd gone only about three blocks further when a voice hailed him from the other side of the street.
"Hey, Jacky! Hold up!"
A grin spread across Jack's face as the familiar figure of Racetrack Higgins came into view, and he watched as the gambler glanced back and forth until he found a break in the traffic, then dashed nimbly across the street.
"Hey, Racer," Jack greeted his lieutenant. "You havin' a good day of sellin'?"
"Nothin' to sneeze at," Race shrugged. "You out for a little fresh air?"
Jack nodded. "Had to stop by The World."
"Oooh, meetin' Pulitzer for tea time?"
"Somethin' like that." The teasing remark normally would have incited a lighthearted jab in return, but Jack found himself disclosing the conundrum that he was currently facing instead. He rarely confided this much in his boys, but it seemed the combination of having limited contact with them over the past week and the heavy weight of Pulitzer's orders had loosened his tongue, and he was keen to hear what Race's opinion on the matter would be.
The gambler, as usual, had no qualms giving his two cents right out of the gate.
"I think you's makin' this harder than it needs to be, Jacky," he said easily. "A fella's got to look out for himself, and loyalty's the kinda thing that's earned, not given, ya know? Much as I don't like Pulitzer, he's got a point: Roosevelt fumbled the catch. If Kath hadn't written that second article, he probably would've forgotten about The Refuge completely."
Race put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "All you's bein' asked to do is draw up a cartoon showin' what happened," he continued. "It ain't like you's makin' somethin' up - you's just puttin' things in a picture, that's all. Savin' a politician's pride ain't worth the risk of losin' your job and maybe your girl."
"Davey thinks it ain't a good idea to compromise," Jack disclosed, wanting to see how Race would respond to an alternate point of view. "He said I'll feel better in the end if I listen to my gut feelin' and refuse the job, especially 'cause Pulizter could be playin' dirty here."
The gambler snorted softly. "Yeah, well, Davey's the kind who's always livin' in his head. That sort of thinkin's nice, but this is the real world we's talkin' about. Like I said, a fella's gotta look out for himself, and sometimes that means a little compromisin' here and there. If things go sour with Pulitzer, you can always skip out later...but there ain't no reason to cook your own goose so soon over somethin' small like this. Lofty convictions ain't gonna fill a fella's belly or keep him warm at night when all's said and done."
"Yeah, I guess not," Jack agreed. He felt uneasier than before. Race had raised some valid points, but still, there was something missing. The gambler's assessment that Davey was overly idealistic in his thinking was probably true, but Race's calculatingly pragmatic way of seeing the world had its own implications that Jack couldn't bring himself to embrace completely.
It shouldn't have surprised him that his two friends would have drawn entirely different conclusions and advised vastly different responses. In some ways, maybe it was better to get contradictory points of view. But it didn't make the decision any easier.
Gloomily, Jack found himself wishing that he'd never taken the cartoonist job at The World in the first place. He'd had enough dealings with Pulizter to last a lifetime, and had he been able to part ways with the canny newspaper owner after the strike was settled, he could have simply savored the victory of the newsies' triumph as the final chapter in that story and left it there.
But he'd fallen in love with the man's daughter and had taken the job to make her happy, and now, it seemed, avoiding entanglement with Pulitzer was about as realistic as running off to Santa Fe.
Love is a big responsibility, came Davey's voice in Jack's head, and almost immediately upon the heels of that he heard the slightly-mocking aphorism that Race was fond of saying: Love's all well and good for those who's got the stomach for it, but otherwise it's liable to give you a real powerful case of indigestion.
It seemed his lieutenants could agree on that point, at least - love wasn't easy or simple. And only a fool would believe otherwise.
"Hey," Race's voice suddenly broke into Jack's thoughts. "You all right? I can practic'lly smell the smoke comin' outta your ears."
"Yeah, just thinkin'." Jack sighed.
"Well, don't think too hard, all right?" Race clapped him on the back with a grin. "You'll turn into another Davey if you do that, and one of him's more than enough!" He adjusted his newsboy bag on his shoulder. "I gotta get back to sellin', but say 'hi' to Kath and Crutchie for me, will ya?'"
"Sure will," Jack promised. "Pretty sure Crutchie's gonna be well enough to move back home soon, so I'll keep you posted."
Race nodded, then gave his customary two-fingered salute before turning to head down the street, whistling as he went.
Jack continued walking.
He was no closer to making a decision than he'd been before, and the worst part of it was that now neither choice seemed to be the right one. If he followed his conscience, he'd be rid of the uneasy feeling that had settled in his stomach, but he'd lose his job and Katherine's approval in the process. If he pushed aside his conscience and drew the cartoon, he'd keep his position and Katherine's regard at the expense of his self-respect.
He wandered the streets for another half hour, then reluctantly walked the last several blocks to Katherine's apartment, slowly climbing the stairs and letting himself into the suite. Crutchie was up, and Jack's focus immediately shifted from his troubles to the newsie under his care.
Not long after he'd returned, the door opened again, and Katherine arrived, having finished her work at The Sun early and eager to share the news that The Refuge was on the verge of being shut down, for Roosevelt had come through after all. Jack did his best to answer her enthusiasm while hiding his lack of surprise, but inwardly he was far from effusive.
He knew that the difficult choice looming over him couldn't be put off for long.
A/N: Poor Jack, caught between two undesirable options. If you were in his shoes, would you listen to your gut and go with Davey's advice, or would you hedge your bets and do as Race has suggested? I'd love to hear your thoughts - and any remarks you might have on this chapter! Your feedback truly keeps me motivated :) Thank you!
