-1Chapter One
Two Worlds
Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies
Author's Note: This is my first 'Newsies' fan fiction so please don't be mean.
On the outside, she laughed. On the outside, she smiled. On the outside, she was the happy daughter of Mary Ann Pulitzer (who was sister-in-law to Joseph Pulitzer). On the outside, she was the obedient young woman of fifteen who never did anything wrong, not one thing. She was the more reserved sister of her twin, Antoinette. On the outside, Brooklyn Pulitzer was any mother's dream. Any mother of wealth would want to have her; any nanny would be honored to raise her.
But on the inside, she cried. On the inside, she screamed. On the inside she was a miserable slave to the aristocratic world. On the inside, she wanted to break free of all her bonds and run away. She wanted to smash family heirlooms into millions of pieces for the pleasure of seeing their shattered bits scattered across the floor. She wanted to break all the rules and forget about the consequences. Sure she was reserved, but it wasn't from wanting to show her place. It was so she could linger in her thoughts and still appear as if she was fine, when she really wasn't. If the woman inside of Brooklyn was to be played as a moving film, it would be the worst horror movie ever to be seen. Any mother -period- would kick her to the curb, she would be any nanny's nightmare.
Brooklyn wanted to cry, but of course that was not permitted. She wanted to scream, but that was unheard of. She wanted to relieve herself of all her pain but that would require suicide and she didn't want to go to hell. So she muddled on with her life, putting on the façade of a happy young woman to please her mother.
How she wished her father was still around. Harold Pulitzer was her favorite member of her family, the only one she would talk to. And he would listen to her and give her his advice. The two were as close as two people could get, and they were ripped apart brutally. Harold had been going into the center of Manhattan a few months back to visit his brother and he got attacked during a trolley worker's strike. An angry striker had misfired and shot him in the back, killing him.
And then there was Antoinette to add to her family. She didn't hate her sister, but she held a few things against her. The girl was always so damned impulsive. She thought with her heart and not her head, and that got her into trouble too many times to count. Antoinette was her twin; she should be able to talk to her, right? Well wrong in this situation. Antoinette was a serious gossip and anything Brooklyn revealed to her sister would probably get passed onto her gossipy friends. In no time, it would be all around the city.
Her mother was well, mother. Mary Ann would simply give her needlework lessons, listen to her piano, read with her and gossip with Antoinette and her older lady friends. And that's all Brooklyn believed her mother did. She didn't care about what was going on in the world or with her daughters. Unless that daughter had some interesting gossip to chat about. Brooklyn's friend Amelia told her that it was because of Harold's death, but Brooklyn knew it wasn't. Her mother had always been like that, though her ways did seem to worsen when her father was killed.
"Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?" a soft voice read from the leather-bound book she held in her hand. It was Shakespeare's famous Romeo and Juliet, a practically required read for all young women in late eighteen ninety-nine. Mostly it was read by women of the family, usually openly so they could discuss.
And that's where we lay our scene. In a large library with a roaring fire, three women sit around from each other in a circle of cushioned chairs. Two brunettes and a blonde. One of the brunettes was far older than the other two girls, the other brunette appearing the same age as the blonde. And we set our scene on the Pulitzer's reading hour.
"Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love and I shall no longer be a Capulet," it was the blonde who was speaking. Yes, fair blonde was her hair. A shade lighter than honey, as some described it as. Her sharp green eyes scanned the page as she read to the two brunettes. As she continued to read, she began to daydream. She could not see how she found herself still reading when her mind was nowhere near fourteenth century Italy. "What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot. Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name. What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
She paused, looking up at the older brunette. She nodded and then looked to the younger brunette. The girl was the same age as the blonde, and the resemblance between the two was uncanny. Though the brunette did not share the same hair color, freckles or green eyes, there was resemblance. The heart shape face, for instance. The almond shaped eyes and the strawberry pink lips were the same on both girls. If those features were for naught, no one would be able to tell they were sisters, none-the-less twin sisters.
Yes, these were the Pulitzer twins. The two girls were complete opposites of each other as if they were night and day. Antoinette was the party animal, and almost no parties were held during the day. And Brooklyn was the daytime, soft and just seemed to slip by. And yet her presence could light up a room. How could one's façade overcome their true feelings?
Brooklyn pondered upon the thought for many a minutes. She supposed her mother and father had taught her well. No emotions were to be shown, it just wasn't right. It showed weakness, and members of the aristocratic social ladder were not weak.
"Away girls, we must ready ourselves for Uncle Joseph's holiday ball tonight," their mother, Mary Ann said as they put their books on the shelf.
"Yes mother," the girls said in unison and quickly left the library.
"Well that was terribly boring," Antoinette said flatly, rolling her eyes slightly.
"I happen to find the works of Shakespeare enlightening," Brooklyn replied, trying to keep her thoughts on the fourteenth century tragedy. "A bit depressing, yes, but well written and meaningful."
"Whatever you say, dear sister," the brunette replied. To get off her least favorite subject, she quickly changed the conversation. "So aren't you excited for Uncle's ball tonight? There are going to be many young men there to converse with. I love New York men."
"Antoinette!" Brooklyn chided in a near-exclamation. She whacked her sister on her shoulder lightly with her fan. "What if someone heard you speaking in such a fashion?" She lowered her voice. "Do you know you could be labeled as some kind of whore if that statement hit the streets? You could dishonor this whole family." Her sister gasped and glared at Brooklyn.
"I cannot believe you would say such a thing, sister," she replied in a harsh whisper as they took to the long, winding stairs up to their room. "And how dare you." Brooklyn wanted to reply, but she took a deep breath and shook her head lightly to rid herself of it. She did not want to get into a fight, not with her sister and not at that moment. She already had enough on her mind; she did not want a silly squabble to haunt her.
She did not want haunting thoughts to annoy her at the ball tonight. She wanted to be open and welcoming. Who knew? Maybe some nice young man would ask to court her and she would be able to stay away from her mother and sister for most of the day. How she wanted a man to take her away from her poor excuse for a life. She didn't have to love him, he had to adore her and that was simply that.
"Damn these cruel contraptions," Brooklyn hissed as her maid, Lily, tightened her corset around her bodice.
"Shush now miss," Lily admonished gently. "You wouldn't want your mother to hear you using such talk."
"Excuse me, Lily," Brooklyn spat in frustration. She wasn't mad at the maid in particular, but the light scold of the worker had put her over the edge. "But remind me again. Who is the employer in this situation?"
"You are, Miss," Lily replied quietly, bowing her head slightly as she tied the chemise's few laces.
"And who gives the orders?" Brooklyn's voice was venom, and she didn't even know why. Her emotions had been off the rocks lately, and she couldn't seem to control what she did or said in these moments.
"You do, miss," the servant replied. It was quite sad, really. A twenty year-old maid being bossed around by someone five years younger than she. Brooklyn could not imagine how degrading this must be for the servants.
"Yes, let's keep it that way, hmm?" she replied tersely. As she slipped into her black gown, she softened her expression and looked at Lily. "I'm sorry; it's not your fault. I shouldn't have snapped. I've been very frustrated today." Lily simply nodded, afraid that if she said anything in the wrong tone she might set off her employer again.
Using a hot metal iron, Brooklyn's hair was curled and set in a half-up, half-down style with a black ribbon. Her face was painted lightly as she preferred to show off the natural beauty she was told she possessed. A black mink coat was draped over her shoulder at the door to their city mansion by Lily.
Brooklyn walked down to the carriage. Though she had wanted to come to this party before, she no longer wished for the chance. All she wished to do now was rip off her corset, burn it and then run away. She realized that as the carriage driven by their carriage man, Rupert, that option was non existent and she should just forget about the whole thing.
As they arrived they were greeted by their uncle. "My dear sister and my beautiful nieces," he said with a broad smile, hugging them each and then showing them in. A servant took their coats and they then proceeded to the ballroom. The musicians were playing merrily and couples were already dancing. Small gaggles of young women or gossiping widows were spread throughout the large room, and small groups of young men were either chatting or glancing around at the beautifully dressed women.
Antoinette and Mary Ann immediately surrounded themselves with the gossips, leaving Brooklyn to go fetch herself a drink. "Allow me," a suave voice from behind said, handing her a glass of champagne.
"Thank you, sir," Brooklyn replied with a small smile. She knew exactly who this slightly older man was and she did not like him one bit.
"Please, miss, call me Cal," he replied with a silky tone.
"Then you can call me Brooklyn," she replied in a sweet, slightly flirtatious tone. It was false tone and Cal made her want to regurgitate her drink. He asked her to dance and she quickly obliged, seeing her mother approaching.
Brooklyn knew Cal's life story up to that day by the time the slow waltz ended. The fifteen year-old had not gotten a word in. She simply listened with fake interested as he explained how he was basically born with five silver spoons in his mouth and how he was living a fabulously rich life in a mansion that faced Central Park. The only words she managed to get into the conversation was her comment on how lucky he was and how she wished she could live in the heart of New York City. She lived in the upper side of Brooklyn, with the rest of the rich and aristocratic class. How she hated living in a place that had the same name as her as she was constantly being laughed out or taunted.
"Well maybe you will some day," he said with a suggestive smile. She could have smacked him, but she forced a flirty smile and forced a bit of a giggle. "Would you care to join me at my table for dinner?" She nodded and was about to say yes, but then she stopped herself.
"Let me just ask my mother," she replied. "Oh, there she is now." She acknowledged her mother approaching them. Her cheeks were red and she wobbled ever so slightly. She had been drinking, and a little more than she should have before the meal. "Mother," Brooklyn hailed. The slightly intoxicated woman walked over.
"Yes?" she asked, looking from her daughter to Cal.
"I had just asked your lovely daughter if she would like to dine at my table for dinner."
"Apish posh!" Mary Ann replied in a bit of a drawl. "You will sit with my daughters and I at Mr. Pulitzer's table." Cal thanked Mary Ann and then proceeded to tell her about his life. Brooklyn looked around for her sister. She was flirting with a handsome man Brooklyn had never seen before. She then glanced towards the door. Oh if she could only run out there.
"Time for dinner, dear," Marry Ann drawled, taking her daughter's arm. Cal coughed and she let go. He promptly moved in and slinked his arm around Brooklyn's. She forced another smile that he seemed to take well to and led her over to her Uncle's table.
"And I want my beautiful nieces on either side of me," Joseph said as he looked proudly on his blossoming nieces. "Brooklyn to my right, Antoinette on my left. Mary Ann, sit next to Antoinette. Calvin you can sit next to my Brooklyn." Brooklyn laughed in her head, thinking that Calvin was a silly name. But on the outside, she kept a warm smile plastered on her lips as she hugged her Uncle and then took her place at the table.
Money. Politics. Stock market. She wore this, he wore that. Money. Politics. Stock market. Money. Money. Money.
She couldn't take it anymore. She had to get out of here. She had to get out of everything. She leaned over to her Uncle while he was taking a sip of brandy. "Uncle," she whispered quietly. He turned to her. "I'm feeling quite ill. Could you perhaps persuade my mother to let me go home a bit early? I would not like spreading any sickness I might be getting to your guests."
"You don't look yourself tonight, darling," he replied with a nod. "I will see what I can do." She thanked him and nodded.
"Thank you so much for letting me leave, Mother, I am just not feeling myself tonight," Brooklyn said to her mother. She quickly left the room, making a quick stop in her Uncle's room. The consequences of being caught were great, the consequences of not going through with what she was doing was greater.
Searching through the drawers of her Uncle's bureau, she finally found what she was looking for. An 1865 black revolver. It was already loaded, so all she'd have to do was cock it and pull the trigger. She slid it into her coat and then walked outside into the brisk December air. Walking into the waiting carriage, she instructed Rupert to bring her to Central Park.
"Central Park, miss?" he questioned.
"Did I stutter?" she snapped nastily. "Yes Central Park." She ducked inside the carriage and stared out the window. A few automobiles passed them, she watched a few bums drink themselves to stupor. A few newsies were still out, calling the headlines. One caught her eyes and he lifted his hat. Her automatic reaction was to turn up her nose and look away. But when she did, she realized that she was becoming the very thing she hated. She wanted to apologize, but they had far passed him by now.
When they reached the park, she hopped out and instructed the driver to stay where he was. "I will be back shortly," she said gently. "And I'm sorry about before, Rupert. My headache is making me short." He nodded and accepted the apology, then hopped from the carriage to give the horses a snack.
She ventured into the park, following the dirt path. Her black boots left scuffs in them, as she did not feel like she had the energy to go on. The revolver suddenly felt heavy in her pocket. But she kept walking. She would have to be far enough in where not many would hear.
She was walking for about a six or seven minutes when she figured a good spot. She removed her mink coat and tossed it to the floor. She would want a soft landing when she fell. She took the revolver out of the pocket and cocked it. "Goodbye," she whispered to herself, placing the bottle to head. "God save me."
"I wouldn't be doin' that if I was yous," a voice from behind her startled her, causing her to whip around. "It's not healthy." She was faced with a newsie, carrying a few newspapers in his left hand. In his right was a black cane with a gold tip. His light brown hair looked darker in the night, yet his blue eyes pierced it as they looked down into her green. She wasn't that tall at all, only about five foot two. He had to be at least five foot six. Instinctively, she became defensive.
"And who are you to tell me what I should and should not do?" she snapped angrily. He circled her, but she followed him by turning her body so her shoulders were always square to him.
"I'm Spot Conlon, and I'm not tellun yous to do nuthin," he replied, a sly smirk on his face. "I'm just sayin that you shouldn't do it." Brooklyn just eyed him.
"I know you," she said. "You helped with the Newsies strike. Why are you in New York City when you should be in Brooklyn?"
"Why do you care?" he replied with hardly a twang of nastiness in his voice. "Weren't yous about to do somethen'?" Brooklyn remembered herself and took a deep breath. She cocked the pistol again and began to pull on the trigger. Suddenly the gun flew out of her hand and into the dirt.
Quickly she reached for it, but the newsie got it first. "Getch yer coat," he ordered her. She took a sharp breath and let out an "uh!"
"No!" she replied tersely. "Now give me back my uncle's revolver." She held out her hand. But instead of obliging to her wishes, he pointed the gun away from them and fired. Before she could say anything he threw it twenty feet away. He then grabbed her hand and started to pull away. In a swift movement he bent down and grabbed her coat with the hand that held his cane, slinging it over his shoulder. She couldn't do anything but run besides him, she couldn't even fight. His grip on her was too strong.
"S…Sp…Spot," she gasped, putting her free hand to her chest. He looked to her in a bit of frustration. But as he saw the pained expression as he saw the pained expression on her face, he stopped.
"You alright?" he asked as she faltered in her step. She gasped, holding her lower chest.
"I can't breathe," she rasped. Suddenly feeling dizzy, she collapsed onto her knees and coughed. Spot kneeled downed in front of her and made eye contact, blue colliding with green. Hers held tears in them from the pain she felt in her chest.
"What's the matta wicha?" he asked her.
"Cor…corset," Brooklyn managed to rasp to the newsie. "Need…off." Spot's eyes widened. "Please." He nodded and his hands went to her bodice immediately. She felt as if she was going to be sick and she couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or the sharp edge the winter air that was cutting her lungs.
He helped her shrug the dress sleeves out of the way to get to the corset. She saw him looking at her ample chest, but forgave him mentally. He was only human. He took a knife out of his pocket and cut the corset down the middle. All at once air rushed into her lungs. Sharp pain also spread to her chest as she took a gulp of much needed oxygen. The pain was great, so she clutched Spot's arm and took deep breaths. He met her gaze and smirked. Quickly she removed her clutching hand and grabbed her coat which he was still holding. He helped bring the sleeves of her dress over her chest and then helped her wrap the coat around herself.
"Miss Brooklyn!" Brooklyn stood up immediately, wrapping her coat around herself to hide her severed corset. Looking down the path, she saw Rupert rushing down. When he saw Spot, he immediately stood defensively in front of her.
"Is he bothering you, Miss?" he asked Brooklyn, shooting Spot a glare. The newsie opened his mouth to speak, his blue eyes sharpening.
"No, no Rupert," Brooklyn said quickly. "He helped me, Rupert. I heard the gunfire and got scared so I started to run. I tripped and fell on the way back and he helped me up. There was no harm, no foul done. Now if you would please bring me back to the carriage." Rupert nodded and started two steps.
Before she left, she turned to Spot. "Thank you," she said quickly and a bit tersely. She then turned around and followed Rupert back to the carriage. There was no time now to go drop Brooklyn off at the mansion and then go back to ball in time. They would have to go straight to the ball and pick Mary Ann and Antoinette up. Boy, would she have a lot of explaining to do.