Goldilocks, Chapter 3
Warm, and safe, and comfortable. That was what she felt, for the moment, and the last thing she wanted to do was get up and out from under her blanket, off to work at the factory. She snuggled down, a bit further, her fingers curling around the edge of the blanket, expecting to feel the small lace edging, startled awake when she didn't. She wasn't at home.
The sun was setting, she could just see it through the small window set along one wall, dust slowly drifting through the light. She was on a cot, in an attic, and it took her a moment to figure out why.
Her head was still throbbing a bit as she stood, stomach a horrible combination of turning on itself and starving, and she sensed she could use a bath. But there wasn't one in sight- there wasn't water in sight either, and she could use a glass of that, as well. She struggled to remember what the boy had said she could do when she woke up, but the whole morning was a bit of a blur, and she eventually gave up remembering, straightening her dress, and slipping down the stairs into the dim hallway, peeking around the door. Voices were coming from another room down the hall, and she closed the door again to consider her options.
She could hide in the attic, or go see if that cowboy hat boy was there. She needed him to tell her where she even was, and where the closest local bar was. Staying here, and selling newspapers was an absurd proposition. Her life was horrible, but at least she was managing to keep herself fed. She was pretty sure she wouldn't manage that selling newspapers.
Then there was the fact the voices were male. Enough of them in a group, and she wouldn't be able to fight them off. If they would even bother to attack her. She was sure she looked a mess, half-starved, bags under her eyes, the faded remains of rouge still on her lips, almost completely rubbed away, but not quite. They would know the kind of girl she was, and it wasn't as though she had spare clothing to change into.
It was a conflict she wasn't going to settle any time soon, and with her stomach twisting and rumbling, it stopped being a question. She was too hungry, and they might have something to eat.
She slipped into the hallway, wincing with every creak of the floor as she made her way to the door, she could hear the voices behind, taking a deep breath before tugging the door open, blinking, startled at the minor chaos that lay before her.
It was a bunkroom, and perhaps during the day, it might seem orderly, but at the moment not so much, filled to brimming with boys sprawled in every possible manner, all over the place. She couldn't see the boy who'd brought her there, but it would have been hard for her to see him over everyone else, heads all turned, silence suddenly deafening.
"Um...Cowboy...?" It was idiotic, the words coming out of her mouth, but she didn't have any idea what else to say. And the boys didn't seem to have anything to say to her, no one so much as blinking, or answering her. She endured the silence for a moment before wincing slightly, backing out of the doorway. "Or not. I'll just be goin, then."
One of the boys, dark haired and Italian-looking, cleared his throat finally, flashing her a charming smile around a dangling cigar. "Sorry, ah...Goldilocks? Kelly mentioned you were takin a bit of a nap upstairs. He's gone out, but he'll be back in a bit. You hungry?"
"M'name's not Goldilocks." She made a bit of a face, more at the fact she was flushing about the boy who'd dragged her here having abandoned her than at the nickname, and she felt instantly guilty about the look on the boy's face. "But you can call me that, that's fine. And I'm starvin, if there's somethin to eat."
There were a few odd, and perhaps jealous looks as the boy appeared to abandon a card game to get to his feet, grinning as he slid a cap onto his head, snagging a coat. "Nothin here, but Tibby's is just down the way. They make a mean sandwich. I can take you, if you want."
It was a testiment to the last several weeks of her life that her first concern was less about paying for the food, and more about what he'd expect of her afterwards. But he didn't look the type, and besides, she was too hungry to argue, so she just nodded, smiling a bit. There was a small bit of muttering as the boy with the cigar crossed the room, and gestured wards the hallway. "Lets go."
As they headed downstairs, she spotted the older man who had, after a long conversation, agreed to let her stay in the attic for a few days. She remembered that much, although she was hazy on his name, and she found it hard to meet his eyes as she appeared downstairs in the lobby with one of his lodgers. She did catch a disapproving look on his face as they headed outside, and it made her feel about two inches tall. Once out of earshot, she mumbled, mostly to herself, but still loud enough for the boy with the cigar to hear.
"I don't think he likes me much."
"Kloppman doesn't like girls in his lodgin house. Thinks we'll get some idea about turning it into a brothel." The tone of the boys voice was teasing, but his face got a bit serious when she winced at the word "brothel". "Ah, but he's like that with all girls, it ain't just you." He was quiet a moment before grinning. "Name's Racetrack, by the way."
"Mandy." She replied, smiling slightly up at him, "But you can call me Goldilocks, if you want."
"Well, Mandy, pleased to meet you. How'd you get to know Jack, anyway?" His hands were tucked in the pockets of his pants, cigar tossed aside as it had burned down to almost nothing as they walked.
"I don't. I ran into in the street about a month ago. He saw me again this morning, and said he felt guilty. I think he's crazy." She shrugged, her arms crossed over her stomach, shaking her head, keeping her eyes open for whatever passed for a local bar.
"He is kinda crazy." Racetrack nodded, and finally stopped walking, holding the door to a small cafe for her. "But he's a good guy. If he wants to help you, you should let him."
"I guess." She sighed, brushing her hair out of her face, ignoring the look the apparently long-suffering waitstaff gave them. "So...is it hard? Selling newspapers?"
"Not really." Racetrack shrugged, finding them a table and pulling a chair for her before settling across the table. "I'd be happy to show you to the ropes, if you wanted to learn. I sell over in Brooklyn at the tracks. I can take you with me, if you want."
"You go all the way to Brooklyn to sell newspapers?" She gave him a strange look, flushing a little at the menu, since she couldn't read.
"Yeah, well, I like the races, you know? And I like living here, so." He shrugged, and glanced over the menu. "The meatloaf is good, too. And their sausage sandwich is the best."
She nodded quickly, storing that information away. She'd get the sausage. "Well, I guess if you don't mind the walk. Is it a nice walk?"
"Parts of it are." He nodded, smiling a bit at her. "Like I said, I'll show you, if you want."
Glancing around the little cafe, she shrugged a bit. It wasn't great, but it would do until she could maybe figure out something better. Escape the bars and the alcohol, and eventually this, too. "Yeah. I'd like that." She agreed, although she wasn't sure she wouldn't later regret it.