The
Crossways
By
Yet, in spite of
everything, there was someone starting that particular career that day, and she
wasn’t very successful, nor was she having a good day. She was just let go from her
old job yesterday and had said goodbye to her friends and left the lodging house where she
was boarding at that very morning. She was dressed in a rutty skirt, wore a cap on her
head, and had eighteen unsellable papers underneath her arm so she even felt out of place
in her own skin.
Things could have been
worse, but this girl wouldn’t be able to figure out how for another thirty seconds.
At this moment of time, she was reading through a paper, trying to find a better headline
to shout than the one she had been shouting for the last two hours.
* *
*
Another particular character was dressed very plainly and was running as fast as she could
with a stack of music sheets underneath one arm and her other arm used to try to keep her
skirts out of her boots’ way.
“Shit! Shit!
Shit… Shit!” The young woman hissed between her clenched teeth, extracting the
attention of some passerbys whom passed her glares for her profanity.
She had always
applauded herself for having so much influence over the actions of her boyfriend, Sharks,
whom had achieved her every whim and wail for the last three years, however whenever he
gave her the puppy-dog eye look, she’d “melt like buttah.”
When Sharks used it
last, he was trying (or begging, to be precise) her to go to his boxing match against a
boy from uptown, who was the same size as Sharks, but lacked Sharks’ skill and so was
beaten. She happily awarded the winner a kiss before she realized she was late to her next
job.
All Riffraff could
think about was to get to the job in the next five minutes or else her job would go to
someone else. She picked up the pace.
She spun around a
corner.
WHAM!
Papers were suddenly
scattered everywhere and Riffraff McColley was sprawled on the ground with a new found
pain on her rear end. She screamed, “No!” As she knew she couldn’t get all
of her papers together in time to get to the job. “You idiot,” she snapped with
fury at the body looking confused on the ground where it sat. “Why don’t you
watch where you’re goin’?!” A newspaper landed on her head.
“Argh!” She shouted as she tore the thing in half.
“No!” the
unfamiliar person squeaked as she watched the newspaper being torn. She tried to recover
the pieces. “I paid for that! I’m trying to eat tonight, you know?!” the
newsie yelled crossly.
‘Idiot
newsboy’, Riffraff thought to herself as she tried to gather up her music quickly.
She quickly glanced at the newspaper peddler who was trying to restack all the fallen
newspapers, and for a moment Riffraff proved to be a little bit surprised and had to
change her thought. “Idiot newsgirl,” her thought now stood.
“Well,”
Riffraff hissed in defense. “Then ya shouldn’ have knocked me ovah!” She
looked over with a prideful glare. “You’he lucky that newspapah weren’t
you.”
The newsgirl gave a
disgustingly aghast expression. “I can’t believe you! You race around the
corner, knock me over, send my papers all over the place, shred one of them, and then you
have the nerve to say it was my fault?” She squinted, her mouth open in disbelief.
“Who the hell do you think you are?!”
Riffraff drew her
pocket watch from her coat pocket and pursed her lips. “I just… Lost… The
job…” She looked at the girl with her eyebrows diagonal over her eyes.
“Thanks a lot,” she spat sarcastically. “That would ‘a paid foh a
week’s wohth of booze an’ cigarettes,” she stated with a very thick eastern
New Jersey accent.
The newsgirl rolled her
eyes. “How much did it pay?” she asked as if the job couldn’t have paid
more than a quarter.
“Ten bucks,”
Riffraff replied flatly.
The newsie almost
dropped her recovered papers. “All for you?”
“No, ass. For da
muffin man,” came the sarcastic reply.
The newsie raised a
curious brow. “All booze and cigarettes?”
“Damn
skippy,” Riffraff replied.
The newsie rolled her
eyes at the overpaid girl before her and said as snootily as she could, “Well, thanks
for the fun chat, but I have newspapers to sell.” Her teeth were gritted.
Riffraff stood and
traced her pocket for a piece of string. “Well, it looks like you suck at it. Quite a
stack you got there.” She began to roll up her music sheets nicely and tied a red
piece of ribbon around the roll.
“WELL I
DON’T!” The girl snapped, then began to hawk the headlines with a headline about
some crooked politician as if it was exciting news.
Newspaper selling was
nothing to be acquired naturally, and Riffraff now believed it as she witnessed. She had
lived with several newsboys before and knew that this girl was really bad at it. The girl
wasn’t even hawking an interesting headline. Most of the headlines were good and sold
themselves nicely, but there wasn’t a paper packed full of good ones, and it was a
fact that some headlines had to be stretched a bit from the truth.
“You’re too
honest about it, Dearie,” Riffraff criticized simply, swaying her head from side to
side like a sassy pigeon. “It’s not good for youh business. Believe me when I
say that the only pehson I know who can push ovah ten bucks a week sellin’ honest
papahs is Spot Conlon from Brooklyn.” She gave a pause at the name and studied the
girl’s expression. “And I know you ain’t got no correlation with him. I
mean, if you constantly run inta people like you do it’s a wondah that you’he
still alive.”
The newsie obviously
wasn’t in a good enough mood to handle such a criticism from this stranger. “AS
a matter of FACT,” she began. “I don’t make a habit of running into people.
I was reading the headlines then you turn the corner like a bat outta hell. You can’t
possibly expect me to say it was all my fault.”
Riffraff’s mouth
hung open as if she was in awe. “Excuse me—I’m Riffraff McColley,”
Riffraff said slowly as if the newsgirl didn’t understand English, giving her the
same look she’d give to someone who said they didn’t know what a toothbrush was.
She then put a hand on her chest and gave a look that expected a prompt apology.
“And I’m
Socks O’Conner,” the newsie replied, trying to equal to the intimidating
presence of Riffraff McColley.
Riffraff rolled her
eyes. “I don’t cahe who you ahe,” she snapped with a load of arrogance.
“But anybody who’s anybody knows that if you’re in Riffraff McColley’s
way, you get out of it.” Suddenly Riffraff shrugged and added with simplicity,
“Of course, since you’re nobody I guess I could forgive you.”
Socks stood red-faced
and speechless, beginning to grip her newspapers far too tightly.
Riffraff simply took
her pocket watch from her pocket again and clicked her tongue before she retired her watch
into her pocket. “It’s getting’ late, anyway.” She put the roll of
music into her pocket as well. “An’ mos’ people in the city’s got the
evenin’ edition.” She waited a moment and waved her hand. “Here, I’ll
show ya a place you can stay.”
Socks paused into
stillness. That Riffraff girl sure did make an unexpected remark, or it might have been
Socks’ own mind just playing a cruel joke, but she was amazed nonetheless.
“How’d you know I needed a place to stay?”
Riffraff shrugged
harmlessly. “Well, if you don’t know who I am, ya must be new.”
Socks looked down at
her papers, biting her lip as she thought deeply. Should she go with the egomaniac? She
actually didn’t want to, but she needed a place to stay and she had nothing to loose.
“But I have newspapers to sell still,” she finally said.
Riffraff shook her head
and motioned to a couple of young newsboys who quickly approached upon the summoning.
“Hey, Riffraff!” they chimed cheerfully.
Riffraff obviously
didn’t know the two young boys’ names from Adam. “Uh….” She
paused to decide to humour the two. “Heyya!” She grabbed the papers away from
Socks (who let out a shout of protest) and handed them to the two boys. “Dis looks
like eighteen papers, boys, pay up,” Riffraff said as if the boys had asked to but
them, holding out her hand.
The boys both gave a
look of protest, but handed her eighteen cents nonetheless. “Heyah, but can ya not do
dis to us again?” they pleaded.
Riffraff ignored them.
“Thanks,” she said to them flatly then waved a dismissive hand, which the boys
understood clearly as ‘vamoose.’ They turned and ran as if she was carrying a
gun in her pocket, not even caring about the extra papers they had to sell… But it
was a normal occurrence for the most part. If an older newsie couldn’t sell his
newspapers, he would sell them to younger ones, and they would accept with no questions
asked (unless they wanted a black eye.)
Riffraff counted the
change she shook around in a flattened hand and then handed the money to Socks who looked
confused from it all.
“I don’t
understand,” Socks said, shaking her head from side to side. “Why did you do
that? It was sort of mean…”
Riffraff shrugged and
simply said, “Because I’m Riffraff McColley.”
“And I’m
still Socks O’Connor,” Socks replied with exasperation. “What makes you so
special?”
Riffraff gave a thin
smile. “I am who I am, and who I am is the one and only goylfriend of Shahks
O’Malley, and a ridiculously talented local pianist. Especially in Joisey. New
York’s a dreadful place.”
Socks’ eyebrows
went up with interest. “Really? I know some piano, too. Maybe you and I could play a
duet sometime.” She remembered how her mother had forced her to have piano lessons
for years until she learned how to somewhat enjoy it.
Riffraff
McColley’s face looked like it was made of stone, obviously not amused.
“Don’t make jokes, deah, ‘cause you ain’t funny,” she ordered
flatly, then she promptly turned heal and began to walk down the street quickly.
“Come on, I’ll show ya the way to a lodgin’ house.”
“In New
Jersey?” Socks countered, stepping enthusiastically by the other girl’s side,
pocketing her money.
Riffraff gave a
despiteful snort and replied, “Of couhse not. I don’t like you—why the hell
would I want you so close?”
Socks’ mouth hung
open a moment. Never before had she been so quickly judged. “Don’t like me? You
don’t even know me!” she argued.
Riffraff kept her pace.
“I know enough to decide I don’t like you. But maybe if you’re lucky, these
people you’re going to live with will like you.” She then turned to Socks for
the quickest moment. “Or—if you’re unlucky, rather.” She continued to
walk.
“Do you try to be
an unlikable person?” Socks finally asked with a quirked eyebrow.
Riffraff gave a sneer
and didn’t answer.
The place where
Riffraff lead Socks was to a narrow, townhouse-like building which served as a lodging
house to most of the independent local newspaper boys in Manhattan.
The lodging house
obviously had a sign over it that clearly said, “Newsboys Lodging House” but
even if Riffraff could read the sign, she’d probably bring Socks to the same place.
Socks simply
didn’t notice the sign.
They both pulled open
the doors of the building and they both looked about before approaching an old man wearing
a bowler’s cap, who sat behind the front desk reading a newspaper. He didn’t
seem to notice that the two girls came in, and Riffraff even had to knock on the desk
before the man looked up.
“Mistah
Kloppman—long time no see!” Riffraff said, taking off her white gloves.
“You ain’t
here to stir up da boys again, is ya?” the old man accused, squinting an eye at her.
“Las’ time
wasn’t my fault, Kloppman, you know that,” Riffraff McColley countered.
“Yeah, well, you
know bettah than ta let Shahks go up deyah wit’ cha,” he replied, then gave a
bit of a grin. “What can I do ya for, anyways?”
“A new recruit for
the house,” she answered. She turned to Socks. “This right heyah is Miss Socks
O’Connah. She needs a place to stay. Socks, this gentleman right heyah is Mistah
Kloppman, runnah of this heyah institution.”
Socks looked a bit
uncertain and with reason (for this McColley girl didn’t seem the type that would be
nice all of the sudden), but she gave a polite smile nonetheless. “Please to meet
you,” she said.
Kloppman nodded in
Socks’ direction. “Same heyah, but if you’re lookin’ for a place to
stay, no girls ahe allowed heyah.”
This was obviously new
information to Riffraff. “Whadd’ya mean? Ya let me come up thehe all da
time!”
Kloppman sighed and
explained, “Yeah—well, foyst of all, you’he Shahks’ goyl, and despite
youh wondahful reputation of faithfulness, the boys wouldn’t touch you.
Second—you don’t sleep heyah. You hassle ‘em an’ den you go.”
Socks looked rather
disappointed in not being allowed to do something, but she wasn’t too keen on sharing
a room with a bunch of men, anyway. She leaned over and murmured to Riffraff,
“Don’t worry, I can find somewhere else to stay.”
Riffraff shook her
head. “No, you can stay heyah.” She turned back to Kloppman and pulled a new
pair of gloves out of one of her pockets, not the ones she had recently taken off, but a
newer and cleaner pair than the others. “Ya know, Kloppman,” she said smoothly.
“I know a couple ‘o Joisey boys who would jus’ love ta stay hehe an’
pay youh boys a anothah lil’ visit.”
Kloppman pursed his old
lips at the threat, but had no other choice but to give in. “Okay, okay,” he
sighed. “But if I heah any stories about her bein’ anythin’ less than a
lady…”
Socks looked rather
offended. “Mister Kloppman, you can trust me,” she stated proudly. She regretted
it almost instantly.
Kloppman nodded.
“I’ll head ya upstaihs and show you your room, den.” He began to come out
from behind the desk and started to pull himself up the stairs.
“Thank you,
Sir,” Socks said rather quietly as she easily won the battle she didn’t even
want to win and followed him up the stairs. Riffraff followed her as she began to fret in
her thoughts. ‘Oh, God, I’m the only girl in an all boys lodging house. This is
going to be quite different than I’m used to, I can tell’.
She found herself in a well-kept bunkroom with several bunk beds, electrical lighted
ceilings, and a washroom near by. It was quite a large room and it put her in awe. A table
rested in the center of the room with tables strewn around it, but besides it and the bunk
beds, there was very little furniture to be spoken of.
Kloppman slapped his
old hand down on a bunk post. “This is where you’ll be stayin’. This bunk
right here—da top. Fresh linens are on it. The washroom an’ the W.C.’s are
all ovah in dat room. The boys should be commin’ in real soon, I’m sure,
an’ dey’ll treat you fine. If dey don’t, come strait to me an’
I’ll deal wit’ them.” The old man winked and gave a smile.
“G’night,” he said before leaving the room to climb back down the stairs.
Socks was presently
under the impression that she was simply having a nightmare, but no—she would have
awaken in a cold sweat by now.
“Well,
dearie,” Riffraff said after examining the bunk for dust by running her finger over
the wood and found it satisfactorily clean. “Looks like you’re taken care of
now, so I’ll jus’ skidaddle. So long!” Riffraff raised her hand in a
half-assed wave and began to leave the room.
Socks’ mouth
dropped open for a moment and she jumped in front of an exiting Riffraff. “Wait! You
can’t just leave me here!” she cried with desperation.
“Sure I can!”
Riffraff replied cheerfully as if taking Socks’ quote to be literal.
Socks gave a frustrated
“Argh!”, looking as if she could take her own hair out.
Riffraff chuckled and
clucked, “Don’t worry yourself. Jus’ what ya do is tell Jack, Blink, and
Racetrack that their mahkahs to Shahks are paid if they don’t kill you. Dey’ll
know what I’m talkin’ about.” She wiggled her gloved fingers.
“Toodaloo.” And she disappeared down the stairs.
“Oh, no,”
Socks groaned at her luck in a whisper as she stood staring at an empty doorway. She
turned back into the room and laid her duffel bad upon the bunk, then went to go wash her
face.
Eventually she heard a
door slam downstairs and some loud-voiced talking amongst themselves. She hurried over to
the bed and had just gotten onto it as a group of boys flooded into the room, most about
her age.
It took them awhile to
notice her, but when they did, they were startled. Some yelled at her angrily as if she
was an intruder, others said things that made her sound like a roll of money they found in
the middle of the street.
“Um…
Hi?” Socks finally greeted, giving a friendly smile as if she were raising the white
flag.
To one of the boys she
looked rather faint. “Whassa mattah? We ain’t gonna hoyt cha.”
“Yeah—we’re gonna do somethin’ completely different,” another boy
said slyly.
“Ah, shaddaup,
Skittery, or I’ll soak ya till you can’t see no moah,” said a third one,
seemingly violent.
“So what cha
doin’ heyah?” said a forth.
“We—“
she began to sudden, then cleared her throat. “Well, it’s sort of a strange
story,” she explained. “But the gist of it is this girl I met put me in here
because I had no place to stay… But I have a feeling she didn’t do it to be
nice.”
“Do ya remebah the
goyl’s name who put ya in heyah?”
Socks rolled her eyes.
“How could I forget? She told me who she was every two seconds!” She paused
before she said, “Riffraff McColley? She…. She said to tell Jack, Blink, and
Racetrack that Sharks would drop your markers if you all don’t kill me,” she
chuckled nervously.
There was a moment that
passed before the forth boy replied, “Well, I’m Racetrack.”
“An I’m
Jack,” a tall boy stated proudly. “Dis heyah’s Kid Blink, and dat’s
Specs, Mush, Pie Eatah, Crutchy…” He sped through quite a few names, pointing to
each one respectively, finally ending with, “An’ dat’s Spot—he’s
from Brooklyn.”
Socks gave a half
smile. “Hello, nice to meet you… I think I remember her mentioning someone
called ‘Spot’.”
Spot gave a loud
“Ha!” followed by, “Well, don’t believe everythin’ Riffraff
McColley tells ya.”
Socks shrugged simply.
“Well, she said that you were the only newsie who could do well selling papers
honestly if ya wanted to—supposable an impossible thing to do,” she said with a
roll of her eyes.
There was a loud
silence. Everyone gawked at Socks as if she had said something amazing.
“Wow!” Kid Blink finally said, breaking the silence. “Riffraff gives
compliments?”
“Well, she kind of
used it to make me feel like scum,” Socks put in.
Spot gave a slight
chuckle. “Then that’d be more like Riffraff. In dat case, anyway, all she says
is true.”
Everyone laughed. “Awe, don’t listen ta him,” Jack said. “What’s
your name, by da way?”
Socks grinned.
“You can call me Socks. Socks O’Connor.”
“Nice ta meet
cha,” Spot said and flashed a smile at her. He then turned to Jack and the others.
“So, ahe we gonna play some pokah or ahe we gonna chit-chat all night?”
There was an air of
discomfort over the room as he posed the question. Nobody wanted to make Spot angry, but
nobody wanted to offend the girl.
“Well, I
don’t think it would be too gentlemanly of us to gamble in front of a goyl,
Spot,” Jack explained.
Socks quickly waved a
dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t mind me. I don’t know how to play so it’ll
be fun to watch,” she explained.
“Okay,” Jack
stated enthusiastically and many boys rushed to pull up a seat at the table where
racetrack was quickly dealing out cards.
Socks watched over one
hand and was perfectly quiet all the while, so not to disturb their concentration.
Finally, they asked if she wanted to be dealt in, but she had to shake her head. “I
don’t know how to play,” she told them, looking up a little.
Racetrack gave a gasp.
He looked terrified—shocked and appalled. He had known how to play since he could
remember. To him, it was as if someone had just claimed they didn’t know how to wear
pants. “What?!” Race finally said when he found words, then for an encore he
went on to say how horrible she was for not knowing how to play.
It made Socks feel sort
of ashamed.
Spot rolled his eyes at
Racetrack. “Ah, shaddap,” he told him. He turned to Socks. “I’ll teach
ya how to play. Race—deal her in.”
She approached the table and Race dealt out cards to everyone. She smiled sweetly at Spot
as he pulled over a chair close to him for her to sit in.
They were playing for
about an hour, Spot whispering tips in her ear, when the door suddenly bust open and a
short figure emerged ranting like a lunatic. “Okay guys—don’ touch her! I
was jus’ jokin’. Don’t hurt…” She finally looked about and saw
the completely unviolent scene before her In fact—Socks was sitting close with
comfort next to Spot Conlon himself. “Her,” she concluded, then began to rant
and rave in the opposite direction. “What the hell ahe you doin’? You’he
suppose to be givin’ this goyl a hahd time!” She wouldn’t have brought her
there if they were to do anything less.
Calmly Jack Kelly slid
his cards facedown on the table in a fold. “Now, why would we do somethin’ like
dat, Riff? We’he playin’ out your boyfriend’s mahkahs.”
Riffraff looked
flabbergasted. “But you guys nevah repay your mahkahs!”
“I give you
Riffraff McColley, lady and gentlemen,” Kid Blink announced to the table, pointing to
Riffraff as if she ought to feel proud. “Da only woman in New York who only does nice
things by accident.”
She was given applause.
“Sit down,”
Racetrack said. “So we can deal ya in.”
Riffraff sat down
without anymore complaint. “Fine. Nothin’ else would give me more pleasah right
now than to take all youh money.” She looked over at Socks and Spot. “An’
don’t you go playin’ youh ridiculously unsmooth moves on her, now. It’s
disgusting,” she told Spot while pointing at Socks.
Socks blushed and
internally groaned at the rejoining of Riffraff’s company. An hour later, however,
she would grin as Riffraff lost seven dollars on the table before she left.
* *
*
The next day Socks was joined in company by Specs and Racetrack for selling. They were
very friendly and with them giving her a tip or two, she was able to sell all of her
papers by later morning. For lunch they all bought a hotdog and munched on it while
sitting on a bench in the middle of a park where they talked.
All Racetrack would
talk about were the races and how he’d constantly win there an all of his adventures
in gambling—some which were violent.
Finally, Socks had the
gull to say, “I’ve never been to a racetrack before, so I haven’t the
faintest idea what you’re going on about.”
Racetrack nearly choked
on his hotdog. “Jesus Christ! What planet ahe you from?!”
“Philadelphia,” Socks replied simply.
“Oh,” Specs
and Race said in unison, as if that explained everything. “Sorry.” This still
didn’t keep Race from going on about how great it is to bet on the horses.
“Why don’t we
just go?” Specs snapped, bored out of his mind of Racetrack’s rambling.
“It’s open in Brooklyn, ain’t it?”
Race jumped up from his
seat. “Great idea, Specs! Let’s go! Onward!” he said excitedly, running
down the road.
Socks quirked an
eyebrow as she stood up, passing a look to Specs.
“He’s like
that all da time,” Specs guaranteed with a groan, and they followed the prancing
Racetrack all the way to Brooklyn.
* *
*
The Brooklyn racetrack
was a place close to the decency of Gamala. Around every corner was someone trying to
scam, steal, or cheat at something.
Racetrack felt at home
and was leading Socks trough it all, letting Specs to tag along behind and get caught in
the crowds. It was then that they saw a familiar face. Spot Conlon was a few feet away,
looking down at the track as he talked to a tall, large-eyed brunette boy who had a cigar
in his mouth.
Racetrack approached
and greeted them. “Heyya, Spot. Hey—how’s it goin’, Rocks?” He
spit in his hand and shook both boys’ hands. “What ahe you guys doin’
heyah?”
Spot grinned. “Ah,
jus’ here to collect Fool when she gets off woyk heyah soon.”
“Oh, yeah!”
Racetrack nodded.
Spot gave an annoyed
glare at Race, and Race knew why. Fool had taken a great liking to Racetrack and so when
he offered to take her to the tracks with him, she had begged Spot if she could go until
he agreed and then she left and came back that day with a job. A job that was nothing more
than a hassle to him and the only reason he said she could keep it was when Riffraff
McColley said that Fool was not only too young to work, but the job of her being a stable
girl was appalling and indecent. Of course, Spot would agree to anything that Riffraff
didn’t.
Race gave a
gambler’s grin in return. “A kid aftah me own heart.” He heard a horn blow
then gave a look of panic. “Hold on—I gotta go place a bet!” He then
sprinted off somewhere.
Spot turned to Socks
and introduced her to Rocks (non-too enthusiastically) then said, “So, had a good day
on da job?” he asked, leaning his elbow on the railing before him.
Socks smiled brightly.
“I had a great day,” she replied.
Racetrack came back as
Spot said, “So, ya sold wit’ Specs and Race today?”
Socks nodded
cheerfully. “Uh-huh.”
“And ya sold all
your papes?” he continued.
“Yep,” she
smiled.
“Dat’s
surprising,” he mentioned, looking impressed.
“Hey!” Race
said, approaching the group. “I hoyd dat!”
“No ya
didn’t,” Spot assured with a threatening glare.
“…Okay,”
Race restated meekly.
The group chatted a bit
before Rocks said with his cigar hanging out of his mouth, “C’mon, Spot. We
gotta get goin’ ‘fore it gets too late.”
Race didn’t let
Socks or Specs go off quite as easily as Spot and Rocks went. For another hour they were
forced into making several bets and told them the entire history of horse racing. They
were bored stiff.
Fortunately, Race
eventually got hungry and so they walked back to Manhattan to eat in a simple diner called
‘Tibby’s’. Starving, Specs and Socks ordered as huge a meal as they could
afford. Racetrack, meanwhile, was looking around to see someone he knew around.
Finally, he saw Jack
come in. He was dressed fairly nicely for himself with clean clothes on and he had
obviously just shaved and showered.
“Thehe ya
ahe!” Jack said as if in relief to all three of them. “Hey, guys, let’s get
goin’! Me and a couple of the othahs want to show up at the party togethah. Wanna
come wit’ us?”
Race and Specs gave
perplexed expressions and said “Huh?” in perfect unison.
“You guys
forgot?” Jack said with disgust. “How? Race, you’ve been goin’ on
about it for months!”
Racetrack’s eyes
suddenly popped open. “Da meetin’!” he gasped.
Specs spat his water
across the table. “Shit! I ain’t even ready yet!”
The boys sprung up from
the table. “You an da boys go on ahead. We gotta go to the lodgin’ house for a
sec’. We’ll see ya there,” Racetrack assured Jack.
Jack sighed with
disappointment, “Will do,” then shuffled to the door.
The waiter finally
placed a sandwich down in front of Socks. She smiled brightly and licked her lips and
rubbed her hands together in celebration.
Race suddenly grabbed
her upper arm and yanked her away from the table and began to drag her to the door. Socks
struggled against him, trying to grab a hold of her sandwich.
“No!” she
begged with a smothered breath. “I don’t want to go! I want to eat!”
“Always time for
dat latah, Socks! Come on, we gotta get ready!” Specs said, grabbing her waist and
picking her up from the ground until they were out the door.
“I hate you,”
Socks squinted, eyeing Specs.
The three ran along the
dusty road and up the street to where the lodging house hid between two taller buildings
and through the door.
“Meet down here in
five minutes,” Race decided once they reached the door and they all sprinted up the
stairs and to their separate bunks.
Socks looked through
her duffle bag. “What kind of occasion is it? What should I wear?” she asked as
she emptied all her clothes out over her book.
“Dress nice,”
came the muffled voice of Specs from the shower where he was quickly trying to lather
himself.
“How nice?”
“Nice… But
not… Not too nice. This ain’t particularly a high society gatherin’,”
Specs’ voice returned.
Socks knew just the
thing. “Specs, I’m just gonna go change in the W.C., so don’t worry about
seeing me change,” she stated, taking the bundle of clothes out to the water closet
in the washroom.
“Who said
anythin’ about worryin’?” he shrugged, but Socks didn’t hear him.
As she changed she
threw her dirty clothes over the side of the closet and onto the floor in front of the
stall. It was a tight fit in there, but it would work.
Race and Specs was
shaving in front of the mirror. “Owe,” Race said as he cut himself.
“Don’t chop
your face off,” Socks warned from the stall, where she heard the happenings from the
rest of the washroom.
“It’s pretty
hard not to when you’re throwin’ your clothes at us, Socks,” Race replied,
then wet a comb and began to brush his hair.
“Specs, can you do
me a favour? I forgot my hairpins on my bed. Can you go get them for me?” Socks
requested. “And the nice black shoes that are on the bed, too.”
“What do I look
like? A delivery boy?” Specs retorted, rinsing his face off.
“Yes. Now go and
get it.”
Specs laughed and ran
off into the bunkroom and grabbed the requested things from the top of her bed. He rushed
over and passed them to her from under the stall’s door. “Here ya go. Anything
more I can get for ya, Miss Socks?”
“Not at the
moment, thank you,” Socks replied fashionably with a bit of a chuckle.
“Good,” he
answered shortly then turned to Race. “I’m gonna polish my boots real fast den
I’ll meet ya downstaihs.”
“Sounds
good,” Race agreed with a nod of his head. He looked into the mirror to see the WC in
back of him as he finished shaving his face. “And you bettah be ready in one minute,
Socks, or ya bettah be real gorgeous,” he said impatiently then rinsed off his face
and head off into the boarding room to head downstairs.
When Socks emerged from
the stall two minutes later and walked into the bunkroom, he noticed that Specs had
already finished polishing his boots and was downstairs. Socks backtracked into the
washroom to check her looks and hair in the mirror then walked slowly downstairs, making a
game out of being late.
Racetrack heard
footsteps of someone gong down the stairs. “Well, it’s about time,”
Racetrack muttered, looking up at the ceiling.