By Birdie Kelley
Copyright © 1999

---

“I can’t believe she did dat!” the girl complained avidly. She pouted and slumped back in her chair.

“What’d she do now, Colleen?” her boyfriend asked, sitting down in front of her and taking hold of her hands.

“It’s what she always does, Wes. It’s that smug attitude she’s got. She thinks she knows everything on Earth jist cuz she’s the leader of a rag-tag bunch of girl newsies,” Colleen sneered.

“Collen, darling, ya needn’t worry about her just yet. We have to get rid of Mac first. He’s stronger than she is. If we get rid a Mac Scurelli, Birdie Kelley’ll be a breeze ta git rid of. Now, if only we knew how…” Wesley trailed off.

Colleen held his hands tightly and tried to think of a plan to get rid of both leaders of Queens, but neither could think of anything. They ended up sleeping on it.

Early the next afternoon, Birdie Kelley was nearly done selling her papers on Astoria Boulevard when someone grabbed her arm and yanked her into the alleyway behind the Waldorf. Her papers had fallen out of her hands as she was pulled into the darkness abruptly. She was met with a passionate kiss.

“Mac, we’ve talked ‘bout dis,” she hissed quietly as she pulled away from him.

“Boidie,” Mac whined, “it’s been like dis fer six years. Why cain’t we have each oddah again?” He caressed her cheek slowly as she thought about his plea.

Birdie looked at him carefully. “We jist can’t, Mac,” she apologized sorrowfully. With that, she kissed his cheek and walked out of the alleyway slowly, picking up her papers on the way. Mac exited a few minutes later with a sad look on his face.

Colleen was leaning against the building reading a newspaper when he sauntered out of the alleyway. She peaked up from the newspaper and watched him walk off down the street. She began to grin wickedly as a scheme formed in her mind. She folded the paper slowly and walked to the building where Wesley worked. She had the perfect plan to get rid of both leaders in one fatal swoop.

Two days later, Colleen and Wesley were ready to implement their plan. Both had bought wigs, and Colleen had sewn them both some new clothes. Wesley was wearing his clothes and wig as the two of them walked down the street together, hand in hand. When they heard Birdie hawking her headlines on the way to her selling spot, the two of them walked off to the sidewalk and began kissing.

Birdie came around the corner and stopped dead when she saw the couple kissing in front of her. It was Mac. She couldn’t believe it. Just two days ago, he was asking her to love him publicly for once. She was so sure that he loved her that she never saw if he was slipping away or not. She held the tears back and ran off up the street past them.

Colleen and Wesley pulled apart and smirked. One down, one to go. They chuckled and headed back to their apartment to change costumes. They changed quickly and headed out toward Mac’s selling spot. This time Colleen was dressed like Birdie, long auburn hair and all. They did the exact same trick to Mac, ending up with a similar reaction. Their plan was working perfectly.

Early that evening, Birdie sat in Rye’s Billiards Hall with several empty glasses in front of her. Some of them had once been filled with sarsaparilla, but she’d later moved on to whiskey, vodka, rum, basically whatever Joseph Rye had behind the bar. She sat with her knee up to her chest and the half-empty glass of scotch in the hand that rested just past that knee, the weight of the liquor pulling her hand down.

Some time later, the others began sauntering into the Hall. None of them dared go near Birdie in the state she was in. She didn’t look drunk, just angry and devastated. Even if she were considerably intoxicated, she could still throw a mean punch. Only Mac dared go near her. He walked right up to her and knocked her off the chair she was sitting on. She yelped in pain when her head hit the hard floor, the scotch splashing onto her shirt and face.

“What da hell’s wrong wit’ ya, Mac?!” she yelled as she jumped to her feet.

“Who was ‘e?” he demanded.

“Who was who? I been in here most a da day!” she spit back, wiping her long hair away from the sticky liquid that now coated her face.

“But not all v’it!” he retorted, angry and hurt.

Birdie glared at him and brushed past him and out the door, mumbling profanities as the door slammed shut. Mac slumped down in another chair at the table and rested his forehead on the edge of it. The newsies were beyond stunned at what had just happened. The two closest friends in the world, those who had never had a serious fight that didn’t result in a spit-shake a few seconds after, had just had a real argument, one that didn’t look like it would be over any time soon. They didn’t know what to make of it. Joseph Rye, on the other hand, tried.

Rye set a glass of whiskey in front of Mac and sat down next to him, turning the fallen chair upright first. “What’s the matter, Marc?” he asked, leaning back in the chair.

“Don’t call me dat, Joe,” Mac said without feeling.

“Marc, I’ve known you since ya were seven years old. Ya look like you’ve just had yer heart broken,” Rye said, keeping his voice low but making sure Mac heard what he said clearly. He was using Mac’s real name to keep his attention.

Mac just sat with his head on the table without talking for a few minutes. Yeah. I do love ‘er. So what? She don’t love me no more. He snorted at the thought of it. “What of it, Joe?” he finally said.

“Ya still love her, Birdie I mean.” Mac’s head shot up in surprise. “Ya wouldn’t be this upset if ya didn’t,” Rye continued.

“She don’t love me,” Mac answered, holding back the tears and leaving the Hall in a bit of a huff, or trying to make it look that way anyway.

“She loves you more than you can imagine, Mac,” Rye whispered as the door shut behind Mac.

More...

Back to the Menu

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page