It was the middle of June. A soft, summer-like breeze tickled the faces of outdoor children and rushed the smoke from chimneys on their path to nowhere. Sweetly scented bread and sugar-cakes wafted from bakeries to apartment rooms that reached even the very zenith of the building. Unlike the other days of the month, a cold chill slithered into the big city of New York. Nobody had expected the sudden shift in weather; especially not Laverne Owlson.
Body propped against a brick wall, Laverne fought against the discomforting winds. Expecting an elegant summer warmth, she did not dress for such weather— nor did she have time to change wardrobe. Her statuesque figure was far too slim to naturally protect against the cold, yet in some way, she didn’t mind it. That is, of course, when the wind would sporadically become dormant. Then, as the wind does, it blew again, and back she was huddling against brick structures and walls of department stores. But navigating through the city was merely a necessity for attending her desired location: The Yankee Skipper. Title alone, it sounded like a cheap sailboat a retired fisherman would enjoy on his years off. But instead of transporting fish that would gasp and wriggle once their slimy bodies hit the deck, it carried walking cash machines— the rich. With spare cash oozing from their wallets, why wouldn’t they spend it on a luxury cruise? Parties were, of course, a staple of the 1920s.
Laverne thought about the rich quite often. Leeching off the poor and lower-middle-class, frittering their money on useless things like booze and fancy perfumes and jewelry. She had, of course, considered her a hypocrite in some way. On the rare occasion when she did have spare cash, she, too, spent it on useless items. Her weakness was buying new, hardcover books. Being more brawn than brain, she never liked to read much. But there was something about the smell of a new book that comforted her and brought her back to something she couldn’t quite remember.
“May I see your ticket, sir?” a gentle-voiced boy asked. He was short, kind-eyed, and had the thickest dark hair Laverne had ever seen. He couldn’t be any older than twenty. A man donning a tight blue business suit stood with his wife’s hands wrapped firmly around his upper arm, his eyes taking in every inch of the boy.
“I see,” he hummed disappointedly, almost as if to himself, “they’re letting people like him handle our stuff.” His wife nodded somberly.
The boy, who must have been used to this sort of treatment, was stiffened with silence. “How can I be sure you aren’t going to steal my ticket?” the man guffawed, nudging his wife in amusement.
“S’okay, sir,” the boy forced a smile. “I have a name tag right here—” he pointed at his chest, “—that proves I work here.”
The man rubbed his chin, almost as if deep in thought, and considered the boy. “With the types of slimy tricks negr--”
“Oh!” Laverne gasped when her body collided with the man. She fell to her feet, blinking away her shock from the fall. He stopped to look at her, smiled, then extended a hand.
“I’m so sorry!” she said. She took his hand and let him hoist her to her feet. He must’ve been a little surprised; she was heavier than she looked. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“No worries, ma’am,” he said with a polite nod of the head.
Laverne nodded back and grabbed her luggage that had flung from her hands during the collision. She turned to the boy, whose head was bowed in shame, and searched through her bag. “Here you go, sir,” she said, extending a slim paper ticket to him.
“Have a nice voyage, ma’am,” he spoke with the gentle disposition he had yet to lose.
“Thank you—” she stared at his name tag, “—Raphael.”
He finally met her eyes. Hers, a limitless hazel shade that bore strength and compassion. His, a comforting brown— it reminded Laverne of chocolate fudge. She tried it once many years ago.
Laverne regarded the businessman and his wife politely before she started her journey onto the ship.
The businessman’s pockets were empty. Of course, that was aside from a heavy metal lighter and some loose change. His wallet was nowhere to be found. His hand fished through the empty sea of his back pocket, suspicious eyes being drawn to Raphael.
“You,” he sneered. “You took my wallet.” Raphael’s brows furrowed, worry creased within the lines of his dark features.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “but I’ve done nothing of the sort.”
“I know you took it!” His anger took shape when he pointed an accusatory finger at Raphael. “Who else around here could have?” He gestured to the line behind him. All were visibly rich… and, well, white.
“Check your bags, darling,” his wife suggested.
“You know I always keep my wallet in my pocket.”
“Well, you simply could have left it in the pocket of another pair of pants.”
“I’m not dense!”
“That wasn’t what I meant, dear.”
“Yes, it is!”
“Just calm down and—“
“That wallet was made with genuine leather, Janet!” he shouted. “And must I remind you that our ticket is in there, too?”
The woman, now identified as “Janet,” considered her husband. It didn’t take long for her to respond.
“Fine,” she gave in. “If you really think the negro took your wallet, then get it back.”
He faced Raphael again, grabbing his collar.
“Oh, I know it’s him,” he snarled. Raphael thrashed against the much taller man, barely landing a single hit in a futile attempt to escape his grasp. The people in line snickered and refused to intervene. Their voices were hushed yet excited.
But before the man could harm Raphael, Laverne appeared again. Her honey-blonde hair was draped past her narrow hips, swaying with her body as she walked with nothing but pure confidence. She held a suitcase with one hand, and in the other— a wallet.
“Excuse me, sir?” she gently called. The man spared her a glance. “I found this a few feet away from the docks. You said you lost a wallet?”
His face, flushed with both relief and embarrassment, contorted a smile that revealed deep laugh-lines.
“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” he said while accepting the brown wallet (which, by the way, was indeed made with genuine leather).
“Not a problem,” she said. “Seems like I defused a bad misunderstanding.” She winked at Raphael. He smiled.
“Wait.” The man looked into his wallet, one eye bulging like a vulture trying to find roadkill. “Where’s my money? And the ticket?”
Janet gasped softly and peered in. Laverne leaned in her head and took a curious peek.
“You wretched girl!” Janet cursed. “You took our ticket!”
Laverne took a solid step backward.
“My, what a thing to accuse someone of,” she clicked her tongue. “I paid just like everyone else. Seems to me like you two are the cheapskates.” She dismissively shrugged and slung her luggage over her broad shoulder.
“Sorry, folks,” Raphael sighed, “but I can’t let you on without a ticket.”
The couple stood there, pale and dumbfounded. Janet’s mouth gaped open.
“Unbelievable…” the man murmured. Laverne, who had finally started her departure onto the Yankee Skipper, stopped momentarily.
The city truly was full of dunces.
Laverne’s room was nothing special. Unfortunately, the couple she scammed weren’t as rich as they seemed. One bed, one chair, and a light that flickers whenever the boat shifts a little too much. Not that she should be putting up complaints, though. It’s not like she paid for the damned room.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she sighed, throwing herself back-first onto the bed. She stared at the eggshell-white ceiling, sprawling her body on the stiff sheets. At least the bed wasn’t as small or uncomfortable as the one she had at home. It was a single mattress without a frame, laying on the pathetic floor of her apartment. At least she had a home, though, which was an upgrade from her previous years.
Just as Laverne was about to wallow further into her self-pity, there was a knock at the door. A friend of the not-as-well-off-richies she stole from? Probably. Quite a few different excuses came into mind as she went for the door, things such as, “They had urgent business to tend to, so they gave me their ticket as to not let it go to waste!” or “They upgraded to a better room last-minute.” Yeah, those would work— or so she thought, until she opened the door.
Raphael stood there, stiff-armed and tense. “Ma’am,” he said. “May I talk to you for a moment?”
Laverne looked down at him, their height difference definitely making him feel inferior. She opened the door more to invite him in.
“No need for that,” he said.
“I insist,” she smiled and clasped her hands together. “After all, you must’ve had a hard day at work.” His eyes widened slightly.
“O—Oh, that’s very kind of you, ma’am,” he stammered, “but I couldn’t be rude enough to enter a passenger’s quarters— ‘specially one that belongs to a lady.”
Laverne laughed, tilting her head back. “I’ll fix you up a snack.”
She left the door open and went inside, opening her luggage. She brought a few snacks just in case, but after passing the dining hall on the way in, she figured there was no need.
Raphael peered around him cautiously, stepped inside, then closed the door slowly. He took a seat in the chair far from Laverne— but considering the size of the room, that wasn’t far enough.
“So,” Laverne said, rummaging through her things, “what is it that you wanted to talk about?” Raphael’s shoulders tensed, his eyes fixed onto the wooden floor.
“I…” he trailed off, trying to find the words. “I saw what you did earlier. With their wallet.” Laverne cocked an eyebrow.
“What I did?” she questioned. “What might that be?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You… stole from them,” he said.
“Did I?”
She peered at him through her long lashes. Her eyes were sharp like daggers. He gulped. Though he hadn’t seen the look on her face, he knew what look she was giving him.
“Well, I mean, you know… I saw you take the wallet when you ran into him,” he said.
The corners of her mouth turned upwards. Her smile was strange, but not meant to be malicious. “Are you going to report me?” she asked. “After all, you didn’t say anything when I cashed the ticket in. With that in mind, wouldn’t you be in more trouble than I?”
Raphael’s eyes widened. “No, I wasn’t going to report you! I swear!” he said, finally glancing at her. “I’m glad they aren’t on the ship… but that doesn’t mean I approve of theft.”
“So you’re thanking me?”
“I didn’t say that,” he chuckled, “but I’m happy it’s you instead of them here.”
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