Gents & Dames
Fourteen: More I Can Not Wish You
"Well." David smiled as they stepped into his apartment, the dinner finished. Ari was on his way home; Les, Rachel, and Joseph were headed further downtown to their smaller place. "I'm off to bed. Big day tomorrow."
He started towards the bathroom, but Sarah grabbed his wrist. Their parents went almost directly to their bedroom. "David," she said quietly. "Aren't you meeting friends tonight? Friends who are only in town for...well, a day or two?"
David sighed. "I don't think I'm in the mood."
"Is it because of Jack?"
David was reminded that subtlety was not Sarah's strong point. "It's not because of Jack."
"You're lying." She raised an eyebrow. "Thomas, Nick—and Skittery and Swifty and Pie and Dutchy and Bumlets and—"
"Sarah!" David snapped, sounding strangled. "I know who's going to be there! I just don't feel up to it. I—I'm tired. I have a big day tomorrow, the library and the wedding. I think they'll understand."
"I think they'll be disappointed," she said. "I mean, they're all mad at Jack, too. You're the strike leader who stayed by them. Never went scab. Never stole their money. Never split town. Please tell me you aren't worried about them choosing him over you."
"I wasn't, but thank you for that sentiment."
"Then what are you worried about?"
"Not getting enough sleep tonight." He stepped into the bathroom and washed his face. He glanced at himself in the mirror and noticed a strand of gray hair. He wasn't yet thirty, so it was probably a fluke, but if his father was any indication, in a few years it would be graying all over, and after that it would be gone almost entirely. He sighed.
He didn't look old, the one strand of hair aside, but he felt old.
Sarah was still waiting for him when he stepped out of the bathroom. "If you were to ask me, I'd say it was stupid not to go because of Jack. He's rotten, that's true, but if you're letting him dictate whether or not you can see your own friends, well, that's just—"
"I didn't ask you," he snapped.
She crossed her arms. "You're being ridiculous."
He stomped over to open a window, then sat down on his bed. Sarah followed him. "Look, Sarah," he finally said slowly. "I—when I'm around Jack, it's just too easy to forget what he did to you."
"What he did to me doesn't matter anymore," she said firmly.
"How can you say that? He left you—"
"I'm fully aware of what it is he did, thanks very much," she snapped. "But even though it took me a very long time, I have moved past it. Jack is an annoyance, but not much more. After all, I've met someone wonderful. I'm practically a married woman, finally. Why should I even bother about what Jack did to me years ago?"
"So it wouldn't bother you, if we were friends? Because this afternoon, you almost went ballistic at the thought of me talking to him."
"That was because you didn't know what was going on. Now you do. And now that you know what he's up to, what else can he do?"
David took a deep breath. "I don't like Jack. I don't want to see him. I don't see any good reason why I should."
Sarah gave him a long, measuring look, and finally said, "You know, it used to be Jack made you brave enough to do what you needed to. I never thought he'd turn you into a coward." She turned around and started towards the bathroom. "Goodnight, David."
David glared after her.
*
Nick was having the time of his life. The guys were all there, and they were great. Really great. Despite the fact that Nathan had roped most of them into a pass of the dice or two (some had more money to lose than others), people were mostly just talking, catching up.
No one had asked about Jack, and he hadn't volunteered any information. Nick almost felt bad for him; he was sitting by himself and drinking and no one was talking to him. Of course Nick understood why; everyone was still mad at him. They had a right to be, he understood, but Jack just looked so depressed. It was sad.
Even so, it was good to catch up with everyone else. Not surprisingly, a lot of the guys were factory workers in various cities—most of them left New York because of how crowded it was, though it turned out Bumlets and Snitch were actually still in New York. Nick made a mental note to find out where they were and keep in touch with them.
Some of the guys had slightly more interesting lives, and more exciting stories to tell. Spot, of course, had been all over the country and had plenty to say about it. Swifty worked in shipping for one of the railroads; he loaded and unloaded heavy crates, did manual labor, but the trade-off was that he got to travel the whole of the country for free. His stories were almost as good as Spot's, and they quickly had an argument about who had girls in more cities.
Skittery, who'd always been one of the few who'd known how to read and write well, was a school teacher; by his own admission, he was rather liberal with the use of his ruler on students' knuckles. Itey was a baker—he'd met and married a plump girl whose father owned a fancy pastry shop, and had inherited it himself (though, by his own admission, she did most of the cooking—he just kept the books). Dutchy was a painter, with a lot of gossip to share; he apparently worked for a wealthy old lady who owned a gallery and (he grinned as he explained) she took excellent care of him.
Things got a lot tenser when David walked in the door, though. A few guys jumped on him in greeting, and he was all smiles and laughs until his gaze turned to Jack. Jack looked up at him and it looked to Nick like their gazes locked for just a second. Then there was palpable tension in the room. The look had been obvious, and everyone else had seen it, too.
Nick found himself wishing Adelaide—Thomas—well, that one of Blink's personalities was there. He always knew how to break tension; he said it came from being an actor. The only person who seemed to really be able to make him tense was Nathan. Though when Nick glanced at Nathan, who had disappeared towards the wall when David had walked in (and Nathan remembered David was probably almost as mad at Nathan as he was at Jack) and remembered the way he'd stormed out of the Hot Box...Well, that was no good either. Nick hoped Adelaide would have cooled down by the time he appeared, whenever the show was over.
But since Adelaide wasn't there, and no one else seemed to know what to say, Nick cleared his throat and said, "Hey, Dave! Big day tomorrow—you all heard, Dave's meeting the President tomorrow!"
The tension didn't break, but it did sort of waver when David laughed, clearly too modest to acknowledge it.
"And the mayor, and the governor," Nick added, grinning.
"Lofty company you keep," Skittery mused.
"They don't exactly consult me on how to run the city," David answered.
"Maybe they should," Spot said. He looked amused. "Hell, I always thought you was gonna be mayor someday."
"You sound like my sister."
"Sarah's smarter than you give her credit," Spot answered, as he lit up a cigarette. "Good thing for her she didn't end up with that bum." He placed the cigarette between his lips and jerked his thumb at Jack, smirking.
Jack stared at his hands.
"Yes, well." David cleared his throat and stood. "Thank god for small favors. And decent brothers-in-law."
"You sayin' that guy I saw today is decent?" Jack answered, looking up. "Didn't make a great show for himself."
"As though you have any right to judge," David snapped. "Ari makes mistakes, but at least that IOU had his real name on it."
"I ain't proud of what I done, David," Jack said, his voice strained. "But I'm here now. Does that mean anything?"
"No. Not to me, it doesn't."
And just like that, the tension was back. Nick sighed. It was looking like it would be an uncomfortable night, after all.
*
David really did try to enjoy himself. After the one argument, Jack fell silent, didn't say anything else to him. Thankfully. People slowly began to chatter again, and Sarah's prediction was right: he was welcomed, a part of the group, while Jack was relegated to the outside. And despite Jack's money, not even Nathan seemed interested in getting him into the game. So he sat and drank and was hardly a part of the group.
David joined in betting on another few rounds of dice, and came out a little on top. He joined in with some of the joking, and reminiscing, though he enjoyed that less. After Jack had left, he hadn't liked looking back; all his memories of the strike and of his friends were so closely entwined with the way he felt about Jack, which was...
He didn't know what he felt about Jack, except disappointed. And tired. He was sick of feeling disappointed,
And once the word started going through his mind he checked his watch. It wasn't truly late yet—he usually would have still been up watching the show at the Hot Box, in fact. But this wasn't a normal night, and tomorrow was probably the most important day of his life. So he announced apologetically, "I'm sorry, guys, I need to get to sleep."
There was a round of goodnights, though people sounded disappointed. David was almost glad of that, that people actually had missed him and were sad he was leaving. But then Jack stood up, too, and said, "I'll walk you out."
"No, thanks." David pulled on a jacket and brushed past him on his way to the door. But even after he gave his final goodbye and a wave to everyone gathered, Jack dogged his steps. Finally, when they were almost at the end of the block (and past no small amount of newsboys sleeping on stoops, now that the weather was warm enough to allow it), David turned and demanded, "What do you want from me, Jack? I need to go home. I don't have time for your...For you."
"I don't want anything from you," Jack said quickly.
"A lie, as usual." David began walking briskly again.
Jack kept up with him. "It's not a lie. I don't...I'm done with that now," he said quietly.
"The whole time I've known you, you've always wanted something," David snapped, annoyed Jack couldn't even acknowledge their history. "Every word you say is designed to get what you want. You've never once just come out and said—said, 'Here, Dave, this is what I want, can you help me?' and I frankly don't know why, because you know full well if you'd just asked, the answer always would have been yes!"
"I doubt that," Jack mumbled, though David barely heard it; it seemed to be more to himself than to David. "David, look—"
"No!" David yelled. "I don't want any excuses, I want the truth. Did you come here to get something from me?" He stopped walking and glared at Jack, who finally nodded, wordlessly. "What?" he demanded, disappointment giving way to anger.
"I wanted..." Jack paused. "I was thinking of you—hoping," he said slowly, almost hesitantly. For a moment, David felt a glimmer of hope himself; Jack had never hesitated before. His lies were always at the ready, and catching him off-guard was impossible. The way he was staring plaintively, the way words clearly were failing him, was a sign of something, and David hoped for a fleeting second that it might be the truth.
But then Jack's eyes lit up, and he got that look, like he'd won some kind of internal victory. He began talking again, sounding surer; David felt surer, too, in that he knew now it was a lie, and whatever Jack had almost said...well, it was Jack's secret, and David found himself with little energy to spare caring about it.
"I wanted to offer you a job," Jack told him. "I'm in oil—really in oil, my granddad set me up with a partnership. Thing is, I get these ideas, these great ideas, about—about workers. Their rights. I want to work with 'em, work with their union. Help them out.
"Thing is, the other partners, they aren't so sure. Unions cost the company money. I want to do things that are good, Dave. Good for people, but—probably—bad for business. And the partners, well, they ain't much for losing money." He chuckled; David was not amused, he was annoyed.
"Anyway," Jack continued, apparently sensing that he hadn't won David over yet, "I haven't...I ain't been to school or nothing; you know that's true, at least." He waited for David to acknowledge that, which he did by inclining his head the tiniest fraction, not even truly nodding. "So they pretty much ignore me, do whatever they want. What I want—need—is someone I can trust. Someone who's smart, book-smart, who can help me...Help me show them all that my ideas, they can work! And everyone will be better off.
"And I, well, we worked together so good, you and me against Pulitzer and the rest of his cronies...I know you could do it, Dave. And I trust you. We were always good partners, weren't we?"
"Partners don't lie to each other. And your answer is no."
"David, please—"
"No! Jack, not only do I have absolutely no reason to believe you, and no reason to ever want to help you, I have a life here, and a job here, and—" He broke off and started walking again.
"David, please, at least think..."
"No. And I'll tell you why not," David said flatly. "If you'd ever sent me word of where you were, maybe; if you'd told me you ended up in oil and I'd known where you were, maybe. For god's sake, Jack, if you'd shown up in New York yesterday and knocked on my door, told me where you'd been, asked me to help you, maybe then! But instead you lied, you danced around it, just like you've been doing to me since we met, except in the decade you were gone. And I will not work for someone who won't do me the decency of telling the truth."
"I'm telling the truth now," Jack said softly.
"Really?" David muttered skeptically. He paused, finally almost out of rage, and certain Jack was lying. He turned to face Jack. "Truly? Look me in the eye, Jack. Look me in the eye, and tell me you're being honest. Entirely honest."
"What could I possibly be lying about?" Jack asked.
David started walking again. "That wasn't an answer."
"David, I'm telling the truth! I came to New York—I had meetings for the company—I wanted to find you while I was here, ask you to come back with me. I just, I ran into Nick first, and that stupid bet, and it was...I'm sorry about the way it all happened. So sorry."
"Too little, too late." David sighed. "I know that isn't the truth, Jack; if you had wanted to offer me the job, you'd have done it at lunch, but you didn't. And when I just asked you if it was the truth, you'd have said yes. Not given me a story, just a simple yes. So no. Now please, if you feel like you've ever owed me anything, leave me alone. I don't want to see you. I don't like being lied to, and frankly, at this point, I don't like you."
"I'll tell you the rest!" Jack said quickly. "I just—I didn't want—I couldn't tell you if you were already...still...mad at me."
"As though I don't have every right? Jack, go, already."
"I'll tell you now, even if you do hate me!" Jack half-yelled. David felt himself getting calmer in response to the unmasked desperation in Jack's voice.
"You know what?" One last time, David stopped walking and wheeled around to face Jack. "I honestly don't want to hear it. There is nothing you can say that will change my mind about you. Just leave me alone!"
When he walked on, Jack didn't follow him. When he looked back over his shoulder a block later, he could see Jack walking the opposite direction, back to the lodging house. Or rather—trudging, stooped. The picture of defeat.
David wasn't satisfied, not really, but he did hope that that would be the last he saw of Jack Kelly, even if it had been a rather depressing end.