Gents & Dames
Ten: My Time of Day
David was self-aware enough to know that one of his problems—one of the patterns in his life—was that he could always tell a smart idea from a stupid one, but he couldn't always force himself to do the smart thing. Like the strike.
Striking had been a stupid idea. David had taken one look at the situation and known that: Pulitzer was rich and powerful, and they had been a bunch of street urchins. But it had felt right, somehow, from the moment he heard his stupid comment echoed back in Jack's more confident voice. But it had worked out, and they'd only been a little worse for wear after.
And now his advice, his practical, smart advice, was to avoid Jack Kelly. To do what he'd said and not be the man's friend. At most, to civilly exchange letters, perhaps to send Jack a Christmas card once a year. He was not kidding himself; he knew Jack was a self-centered liar, and not only capable of using and then disposing of friends, but likely to do it, should it suit him. Jack's betrayal of a decade ago still hurt, and David knew the smart thing was to keep Jack at arm's length.
But seeing Jack...David took a deep breath. He shut the door to his office and sat behind his desk. Though the dedication wasn't until the next day, the library was abuzz with life—dedication plans had all been finalized long ago, of course, so at this point all David really had to do was ensure that no last-minute problems came up. But problems had been coming up for weeks, especially since President Taft himself had agreed to be the Master of Ceremonies. Even with plans as close to final as they'd ever get, David's job was still vital.
David shut his eyes and tried not to remember what Jack had said.
"The worst part of the last decade was not having my best friend."
But of course, his brain insisted on playing it through his memory, over and over again. He swallowed, wishing that he'd never heard it. Because the absolute worst part of Jack leaving—not counting Sarah's broken heart, he reminded himself—was that there had never been anyone in his life who had made him feel like Jack had. He'd never had a best friend before the day Jack had introduced himself. None of the boys he'd gone to school with had liked him all that much (he couldn't even remember how many times he'd been called a know-it-all and a mama's boy before the strike, but sadly did recall how bored he'd been by the boys at school after); and while all the newsies had been great, he hadn't had a connection with anyone else the way he had with Jack. Jack, who in the almost two years they'd been friends had been his best friend.
Except not. Because Jack had left, had walked away without apology or explanation, had just disappeared. And no matter how many times David reminded himself that it was Sarah Jack had truly left, he couldn't help but feel like...it was him, somehow, it was his fault Jack had gone. Which meant that everything he'd felt had been a lie. A delusion he'd reveled in because it felt good to think that someone like Jack might think that about him.
He'd spent the last decade not just feeling hurt and alone, but so stupid.
But what Jack had said...David was smart enough to know it was a lie, of course it was. Jack had always known exactly what to say to get what he wanted; now, clearly, he wanted something from David, and dropping that best friend comment was the way to get it. Jack knew that, David was sure.
So now his smart side was warring with his other side, and though David wouldn't have admitted it aloud, the smart side was losing ground every time he remembered that stupid sentence. Every time he thought those words, pictured how sincere Jack had looked...
"Mr. Jacobs? Mr. Jacobs!"
A middle-aged woman, red in the face from running, threw open the door to his office, and pulled David out of his daze. "President Taft's aide arrived to finalize the plans! And Judith just got back from the caterer, and she says the order is all wrong, and Mr. Gaynor has just sent word that he's including five more people! Mr. Jacobs, I just don't know what to do, I—"
"Mrs. Guidry," he interrupted, "it will all be fine. I made sure we had more space and more chairs than we thought we'd need; we can certainly accommodate the mayor's extras. I have to go to this meeting; please make a list of what went wrong at the caterer, I'll head over myself to straighten it out as soon as I can, and I'll make sure that the new people will have something to eat at lunch." He stood up and clapped her shoulder on the way by. "Please make sure I'm not interrupted."
She sighed. "What would we do without you, Mr. Jacobs? You know, my daughter is—"
"I have to go this meeting," he said quickly, stepping away from her.
He took a deep breath and told himself to focus on work. The library opening was more important than anything he'd done in a very long time...certainly more important than Jack Kelly.
*
The seamstress had placed her pins and made her cuts, and Sarah reluctantly changed out of the dress. Sean still hadn't returned, and Adelaide declared that he had to head back to rehearsal. "I have to set a good example, you know," he murmured. "Laverne had better be back, too. Making cash on the side is no excuse to miss your entrance."
Nathan smirked. "Well, if she is back on time, I suppose that says something about Conlon, huh?"
"Says what about who, Higgins?"
Nathan spun to see Sean had returned, standing in the doorway. But he didn't look too unhappy about the comment. His tie was loose, he was tucking in his shirt as he walked in, and a red splotch that might have been lipstick or might have been something else was clear on his neck.
Adelaide rolled his eye. "How positively vulgar."
"Yeah, you'd think so," Sean muttered. "At least it was natural."
"So how much lighter is your wallet?" Adelaide smirked as he made his way out into the hall.
"He likes to have the last word," Nathan said, smiling in response to Sean's scowl.
Sean didn't look too amused. "Well, Higgins, where the hell is the game tonight, huh?"
"I said I'll tell you later. You're bored, go down to Penn and pick up guys as they come in."
"I ain't your errand boy."
"Then stop complaining. I'll tell you when I feel like it." Nathan turned to Nick, while behind the screen, Sarah finished buttoning her plain brown dress. "Nick, I got a job for you; walk with me a second, huh?" They stepped into the hallway.
"I'll have this finished in a few hours," the seamstress said to Sarah. "I know that Nathan will be at your wedding, dear, I'll send him down early with it."
"Thank you so much." She smiled and hurried towards the door, then turned and glanced at Sean. "Jack's in town."
"Kelly?" He raised an eyebrow. "No kidding. Last I heard..." He trailed off. "What?" she asked, interested. Sean had stuck around for another year after Jack had run off; if he'd heard anything more recent than that, she definitely wanted to know what.
"Eh, not too much. I heard his name a few times through the grapevine...I heard Jacky-boy was doing all right for himself out west."
"Evidently." She scowled at the thought. "Well."
"Yeah, well."
They regarded each other, but neither had much to say. They'd never been friends, particularly, though she'd managed to keep a vague idea where he'd gone after he'd left the city.
"I'm going to ask Nick to walk me home," she said. "So I'd better..."
"Yeah, hey, have a nice wedding, okay?"
"Hopefully." She sighed. "Keep your fingers crossed that this groom shows up."
Sean laughed and Sarah walked out, following the sound of Nathan's and Nick's voices down the hall. They were out of sight and she couldn't quite make out the words at first.
Then she heard, and she stopped in her tracks, listening.
"Look, it shoulda been a sure thing, but I forgot Dave's such a sap. I just need you to trail 'im, see what's going on. I ain't gonna let Kelly lie about this one, no way."
"And you need the money."
"Shut it, Nicky. Look—just keep on 'im. An' if he and Dave start to look too friendly, break it up, you got it? If you wanna see the guys, we gotta win this bet."
"It just don't feel quite right. I mean, if you win fair an' square, that's one thing, but..."
Sarah turned the corner and walked up, arms crossed over her chest. They both turned guiltily towards her. "What bet?" she asked.
"Nothing," Nathan said easily.
A little too easily, Sarah decided. She cast a glance at Nick, who looked nervous. "You were talking about Jack," she pressed. "And David."
Nathan shrugged. "We're friends with David—not Jack. Can't believe he'd show his face around here."
Sarah barely listened to Nathan, just watched as Nick's face grew more and more concerned. She watched him try and take a deep breath and smile, but a second later the smile was gone and the shifting eyes were back as he watched Nathan for clues as to what to do or say.
"So what kind of bet involves David?" she asked. "And Jack? And Nathan—I know you're lying. David might be a sap, but I'm not. What is going on?"
Nathan said nothing, but it was only a few moments before Nick cracked. "He didn't mean nothing by it, Miss Sarah! It's just a, a friendly bet. A gentleman's bet, basically. With Jack."
She glanced at Nathan, who was scowling. The look on his face plainly said that this conversation was not going to end well for Nick.
"What did he bet?" she demanded.
"Sarah, I—"
"Shut up, Nathan."
He did, and shifted his weight a little. He glanced down at the floor looking...well, guilty. And if he was guilty, that was a bad sign. She stared down Nick, who finally coughed.
"It's just, Miss Sarah, Jack...well, Nathan bet 'im that he couldn't get David to forgive him, and if Nathan wins, Jack's gotta get lost for good. And for the money we need to host the game tonight, so he didn't have a choice, Miss Sarah. He had to do something."
Sarah turned to Nathan, who winced visibly. "It wasn't quite like that. I—"
"You placed a bet on my brother's emotions? You—you're the reason he was at our apartment this morning, aren't you?" She actually laughed then, a short, bitter cackle. "Of course. Here I almost believed Jack wanted to apologize to me, but it was never about me, was it? He always cared so much more about David." She clenched a fist. "And even now...I can't believe you, Nathan. I thought you were David's friend."
"Sarah, I didn't mean for it to hurt you, I—"
"Hurt me? No, that was just a fact, Racetrack. Jack always cared more about David. That doesn't hurt me, not anymore." She didn't mention the fact that it had hurt for years before the pain faded to dull irritation. "It's David who's going to get hurt when he thinks that Jack's being sincere. David is a sap and I can't believe you'd set him up to deal with a liar like Jack. For money." Disgust dripped from the last word.
"That's not what I was—I didn't mean it to happen like that!"
"Then how did you mean it?" Her words were clipped, short and furious. Nathan fell silent and she turned sharply and started stalking down the hall, not really knowing the way out, but wanting to get away from him.
"Wait!" Nathan finally called, and he hurried to catch up with her. "I'm sorry, I am. I'll call it off. I'll go find Jack now and—"
"It's too late." She shook her head. "They had lunch hours ago. And David..." She trailed off. David would probably have forgiven Jack for everything by now; he was probably in some kind of happy daze, smiling like an idiot. "I'm going to have to tell David," she snapped.
"No," Nathan said. "Please, Sarah, it'll just hurt—"
"Jack is lying to him, manipulating him for money. He needs to know that." She narrowed her eyes. "This is your fault. Don't you dare show up at my wedding." She started walking angrily again.
"Sarah, please—"
"No. And I don't need your gift, either." It hurt to say that, but she ignored it. She'd rather have a shabby, ill-fitting dress than a present from Nathan, probably bought with money he was making off her brother's humiliation.
It took her several minutes of wandering backstage to find an exit, but she stormed out alone, dreading seeing David that evening.