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It is late December in New York City, and I am watching David Jacobs clean his glasses. He takes his glasses off and wipes his brow with a handkerchief. He puts his glasses on again and looks at the front door. We are sitting at the bar at Chumley’s, which is on the up and up. A well-heeled gentleman will watch the front door closely when there is a chance of a raid, but with no Prohibition these days he is clearly worrying about something else.

Normally I would not be in Chumley’s watching a rumpled auntie like David drink alone. I am a student of the human condition, however, and there is no one else in the bar whose story I do not already know. Two dolls are giggling and batting lashes at the guys in the next booth. A guy is making the rounds looking for someone to take home. He is a bronco and a fine-looking one at that, but he must be fairly green, as he is flirting with a selection of guys who even I can see are straighter than my pressed shirt. I do not imagine he will be taking anyone home tonight.

I think that the bronco gave up too soon with David. David is certainly not young, but his face shows a youthful spirit. He seems lonely as he cleans his glasses again. His drink sits untouched, which is just as well given Chumley’s cheap liquor. 

He cleans his glasses again, and though he has repeated these steps a hundred times this evening, at last he gets what he he wants: the door opens.

The door lets in three things: first, the sound of blaring horns from the busy streets; second, the frigid wind and snow of late December; third, a dashing older fellow in a fine gray suit. He saunters as he enters the bar and he smiles broadly. The lines on his face tell me this smile is a frequent visitor. Any doll will be pleased to take a peek of this fellow, and even I am somewhat won over by his charms.

David Jacobs stands up abruptly. His face, until now creased with worry and age, looks as if thirty years have melted away. He cannot make his mind up whether to rush to the newcomer or hold his ground. As for the dashing older fellow, he surveys the bar and quickly spots David. His grin grows even wider and he takes long strides across the room.

David makes up his mind to meet him halfway, but he is too slow and the newcomer has already embraced him. This looks to be an embrace of great friendship, and if the giggling dolls are watching I am sure they believe it is such. However, there are finer details that I observe: the newcomer whispers something into David’s ear, David’s ear turns bright red, the newcomer lets his arm linger on David’s waist instead of his shoulder. I know simmering desire when I see it, and in this case it seems apt to boil over at any moment.

Chumley’s is quiet tonight which is why I hear their conversation so plainly.

The newcomer says “Hey bartender, more drinks over here. Friends who ain’t seen each other in years expect good service. Davey, what’s your pleasure?”

In the conversation that follows, I learn that the newcomer is called Jack, but that David does not wish to order another drink, for he has hardly touched the one before him already. Jack insists and orders for both of them, two cocktails.

Jack launches into a tale of his travels in California. He paints backdrops for the moving pictures and hobnobs with Gary Cooper and other movie stars. He is flush with cash and only in New York for a short while on some unfinished business. David is happy to see him but it is clear to me that he has something pressing on his mind. When David tries to change the subject, Jack raises his glass and launches into another Hollywood anecdote. While David takes small sips from his Mary Pickford, Jack orders another Last Word.

“That’s a pretty picture you’re painting for me, Jack. Sounds like you achieved what you always wanted – getting out and moving up.”

“What, you didn’t think I had it in me?”

“New York isn’t the same as when you left. Businesses are closing, crime is up, and average folks are in the streets starving. It might be worse than when we were coming up.”

“Well, you know, we had it bad. At least, I did. I mean, uh,” Jack stumbles over his words for the first time. “Hey, speakin’ of comin’ up – how’s Junior?”

David seems caught off guard. “Thanks for asking, Jack. I see him less now that he’s all grown. I’m surprised you wanted to–”

“Good, good. Hey Davey, you see Garbo’s latest picture? Let me tell you about what I heard on the set…”

This part of the conversation is not so interesting, so I turn my attention to the desperate bronco. Perhaps by dumb luck, he has found the only other guy at the bar also looking for guys. Myself I do not find this guy’s mustache to be very attractive, but he and the bronco are getting cozy nonetheless. I imagine they will not stay here much longer. 

David slams his glass down on the bar and I resume eavesdropping.

“Cut it out, Jack. The arrogance, the indifference, it’s not like you. I don’t think you could have changed that much in six years. ”

“Davey, quit it, are you really gonna begrudge a poor orphan boy one day of extravagance?” Jack’s face is overtaken by a pout the likes of which you have never seen. Perhaps David has seen it before, because he is unmoved.

“You aren’t listening to me, Jack. What are you going to do when Charlie finds out you’re back?”

“I ain’t afraid of One-Hand Charlie, Davey. I faced worse in my time and survived. Charlie’s got nothin on Pulitzer or the Pratt Street gang. Anyway, that’s why I came back. To settle accounts. Your brother and the guys can back me up.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Les has been spending more time–”

Jack isn’t listening. He’s noticed the other couple making for the exit and he shushes David and gestures in their direction. He wiggles his eyebrows, looking from David to the couple and back. David rolls his eyes, but stands and reaches for his coat. Jack beats him to it, and holds it open so David can put it on more easily. David is smiling now, finally getting over his mood from earlier. Before they depart, Jack pulls a wad of dough out of his pocket and leaves it on the bar.

As the door closes, I slide down the bar to confirm my suspicions. Though I will not be caught dead talking to a copper, I am an astounding amateur sleuth. There is a sketch on a leftover napkin, made by this man Jack, that is of a high artistic quality. This is the last of several clues I find over the course of this evening, all pointing to one conclusion: Jack Kelly has returned to New York City.

It is not often that I find myself in the company of a legend of the streets. I remember Kelly ran the Manhattan newsies back when you could have kids work those jobs. I remember he was a union man and a political cartoonist. And I remember he fled the city six years ago because he owed One-Hand Charlie a fortune in dough.

One-Hand Charlie is not so called because of the number of his limbs. One-Hand Charlie gets his name because that is how long it takes after you sit down across from him at cards before you find yourself owing him a considerable sum. He plays high stakes and always wins and nobody says he is a cheat if they think he can hear them.

It seems it is time for me to leave Chumley’s. As I go to pick up my coat, I peek at the giggling dolls again. One is tete-a-tete with a young gentleman, and the other is looking around wistfully. She meets my gaze and I pucker up, blowing a kiss across the room. She narrows her lips and rolls her eyes with exasperation, to no one’s benefit.

I pull on my coat and hurry through the door into the cold night. The wind is so strong I almost lose my hat. I follow Jack and David for a short while, considering what to do next, and come within a few steps of them by the time we pass an alley. From the alley we hear cries of distress. If you live in the city long enough, you develop a certain tolerance for human suffering. David does not look down the alley. I do not look down the alley. Either because Jack does not remember this, being recently away from the city, or because he is a special kind of guy, his head snaps towards the sound.

Halfway down the alley are the two guys from Chumley’s. The eager bronco is standing with his foot pressed upon something laid out in the snow. It is the man with the disappointing mustache, now in handcuffs, and cursing up a storm.

Jack stalks into the alley, not restrained by common sense or by Davey’s grasping arms. “Some kinda problem here?”

The bronco pulls his jacket aside, which reveals a standard issue thirty-caliber equalizer. “This fairy is under arrest.”

Jack says “What’d he do, try to rob you?”

The bronco, or should I say, the copper, says “That does not concern you.”

Jack says, “I say whether it concerns me or not. I saw you just now talkin’ to this man on good terms. You ask him to come home with you and you arrest him? That even legal?”

The copper sneers and says “I am afraid you have the situation backwards. Soliciting sex from another man is illegal in the state of New York. This man is guilty.”

Jack says, “Is that so? And you set the trap for him, just like that?”

The copper steps toward Jack and puts his right hand down near his weapon. “Take it up with Lt. Branaghan at the station. Move along, I’m taking this freak there now.”

Jack eyes the copper warily, tensely. He has at least twenty years on the copper and I give him poor odds to do anything about the situation. The men face each other as fresh snow begins to fall, two cowboys ready for the quick draw even though one man is unarmed.

As they stare each other down, I see that the handcuffed man is not as incapacitated as I thought. I also see that the copper was not thinking this either. The handcuffed man is crouching, now standing, now running away down the alley. The snow drifts muffle his escaping feet, but not enough that the copper does not hear. His eyes widen as he realizes what must be happening, and he glances slightly over his shoulder.

This is the only opening that Jack Kelly requires. The years fall away and he crouches to the ground, gathering a fistful of ice and street grit. He lunges forward and clocks the copper on the side of the head with a dirty snowball. The copper yelps and draws his firearm. He immediately takes another snowball to the puss and drops his gun. Then Jack bullrushes him, and they go down into the snow, hats flying.

The element of surprise gives Jack the upper hand to start, but the copper is young and strong. In two shakes, he is straddling Jack, dealing the old one-two to Jack’s face with his fists. There is a splash of blood in the snow, and David finally springs to action. He tackles the copper.

Though I hesitate to involve myself in a physical altercation such as this, I do not wish to miss the chance to assist Jack Kelly in such an endeavor. I find the copper’s piece where it fell in the snow, and step over to the tangle of limbs. Identifying the copper’s head as the one without any gray hairs, I deal it a sharp blow with the butt of his pistol. The copper falls still in a bank of snow.

I check the rest of the alley for the mustachioed and still-handcuffed other man, but he is long gone. No one else from the main street has stopped to see what is going on. The coast is clear. Lookout is a job I know how to do.

When I turn back to the guys I see David cradling Jack’s head in his lap. Jack’s face is bloodsoaked and his nose is pointing in a new direction. He presses a fistful of snow to the bridge of his nose as David brushes his hair out of his eyes.

I retrieve Jack’s hat and deliver it to him. He sits up and looks at me intently. 

David says “Jack, seems like we owe something to this guy.”

Jack replies “Take a closer look, Davey.” Jack stares closely at my cheeks, maybe noticing there is no razor in New York keeps an actual guy this clean shaven. I wink at David as Jack says, “This guy’s a doll.”

I extend my hand. “Benny Southstreet. Pleased to meetcha.”

David shakes my hand and says “Benny, you’re an angel.”

Jack leans in eagerly to ask more about my story. How does Bernadette Ziegler end up Benny Southstreet? It is an excellent question and an excellent story, but Jack does not get to hear it. The downed copper groans and the three of us quickly retreat from the alley. I remember that I am still holding his gun. I do not wish to keep it, for the heat will be on any guy who keeps a standard issue equalizer, so I throw it as far as I can into the darkness.

I offer to bring my new friends somewhere they can get warm. The place I am taking them is the stockroom behind McCloskey’s bar, not too far from the Village. McCloskey does not like to work late, but his ever-loving wife is an insomniac and stays up as long as there’s action in the stockroom. We pass the missus and she waves us through the swinging doors. David stops to give her instructions. “Keep lookout and whistle if my brother shows, okay?”

The dim lighting in the stockroom barely pierces the smoke from dozens of cigars. It has the feeling of a speakeasy, though booze has been legal for almost a year. A black woman in a white tuxedo croons jazz at the piano in the corner.

I slide over to the piano to check in with Gladys. She does not lose a beat as she launches into one of Ma Rainey’s classic blues numbers:

Went out last night, had a great big fight

Everything seemed to go on wrong

I looked up, to my surprise

The gal I was with was gone.

Where she went, I don’t know

I mean to follow everywhere she goes.

I listen to Gladys whenever I get the chance and would gladly spend the rest of the evening in the company of her voice and one hundred percent eyes. Unfortunately there is a small matter of business I must attend to sooner rather than later. The song is winding down when I return:

Cause they say I do it, ain’t nobody caught me

Sure got to prove it on me.

When the song ends, I ask her why I have not seen her in so long. I tell her that I will be at Bonnie’s tea room – the Stone Wall – later this week and I would be very glad if she would accompany me. What can I say, I am a sucker for musicians.

Having taken care of both business and pleasure, I search for Jack and David. Jack Kelly is at a table, downing another drink. He has switched to straight liquor on the rocks, which in my estimation means he is planning to make it a long night. He dumps the ice cubes into his hand and holds them up to his bruised face.

David is standing behind Jack. Whenever Jack winces in pain, David looks like he feels it too. David says, “You should never have come back. Look what happened to your face.”

“I’ve had a broken nose before, Davey. You remember – it’s quite a crooked nose actually. Worse mighta happened to that kid in the alley. What’d he do, anyway? Try to go home with somebody he liked? He wasn’t gonna hurt nobody. We didn’t ever hurt nobody – nobody who didn’t deserve it. Life was more like to hurt us – workin’ all day, sleepin’ on cold floors.”

“I told you the city’s changed, Jack. A lot of the old clubs have closed. They raided the Everard Baths a couple times, and those are the rich queens. When straight folks couldn’t drink legally they’d rub shoulders with us in a dive but now that it’s legal they’re pretending like they don’t know us, like it never happened. I’m sure things are better out West.”

“You’re sure? You’d be wrong, Davey. People lost their jobs, same as here. And yeah I painted backdrops for those pictures, but there’s this Hays Code now. They say it’s wrong to put a gay man in the pictures. You can’t even mention it. Greta Garbo can’t wear men’s clothes. No drag queens or chorus molls allowed. We ain’t criminals, Davey. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“So you’re telling me you walked away from a steady job on principle, Jack?”

“No, I lost my job, same as anybody.” He drinks more liquor and grimaces. There is a pause and David comes to sit next to him. He puts his hand across Jack’s back and Jack leans on his shoulder. Jack sighs.

“I gather you don’t have some swell job here either?”

“No, sir. For a few years I didn’t need one. There was a lot I needed to help with to get Junior through school. I hoped he’d get into the papes or something professional, but he’s in the family business now.”

“I guess Les only showed interest when his kid could work, huh?”

“You bet. Les was always on his case because he remembers being out on the streets at a young age. You know, saying if it was good enough for him it was good enough for his son. Personally I think it’s commendable that there are regulations to keep children from working.”

“I dunno, Davey. It’s good but it’s awful unfamiliar. You ain’t finished answerin’ me though, what are you doin’ now?”

“Oh, accounts. Also in the family business. But you don’t have to worry about that – Les does not make it to dives like this much anymore and I asked Mrs. McCloskey to scout for us.” 

I only know David Jacobs a short time before this moment, but I bet he does not realize the extent to which he sets himself up for the subsequent ironical turn of events. For there is somebody approaching David and Jack. He wears a new black suit; rings glimmer on each of his stubby fingers. He smokes a cigar almost as fat as he is. He has a doll on his arm, but as she is tall and narrow where he is short and wide, they give the impression that she is his chaperone rather than his mistress. But no one will say this to Lucky Les Jacobs, because his star is rising among the New York Families.

Lucky Les opens his arms wide, and bellows “Jack is back, baby!”

Jack spins around and that same wide and easy grin breaks out over his face. David  turns ashen and quickly faces the bar again.

Jack says, “Les! We was just talkin’ about you. How’s Junior? How’s your old lady? Who’s this doll?”

Les returns Jack’s grin, but there is a difference in the way they smile. Jack smiles easily, and his eyes widen and turn up at the ends. When Les smiles his eyes narrow. “Rosie, meet Jack Kelly. Jack, this is Rose. Since you have been out of the city you may not know that I am now the proprietor of an establishment near Times Square. That is where Rosie is employed as a dancer.”

He finally takes notice of David. “Ah, Davey. You have not told him yet, have you?”

“Told me what, Davey?” Jack says.

Les hesitates, and makes a show of looking around the room to see who is listening. Any guy can tell that the whole room is listening. “Rosie, give us some space. Davey should have told you, Jack, that I am now working in the employ of a certain individual who it is said you have done wrong. One-Hand Charlie needs repayment and I am his liaison in this matter.”

Jack’s eyebrows crease in confusion and he looks to David and then back to Les. He lifts his chin and says “Well it just so happens that I come back to New York to pay the money I owe. I painted for picture after picture and I saved what I earned and I’m here to settle up.”

Jack pulls the largest wad of dough yet from his coat. The sheer volume of bills makes an impression on the crowd. He counts out the bulk of the cash and hands it to Les. Les scowls and starts to count it for himself.

David is studiously avoiding this conversation, but now that the matter seems to be settled he moves to Jack’s side and places one of his hands over Jack’s. He quietly says, “I didn’t realize you were meaning to stay.” Jack laces his fingers through David’s and struggles to find the right way to reply.

Then Les comes to the end of his count and begins shaking his head.“Jack, Jack, Jack, you cannot expect to return after six years and pay Charlie back dollar for dollar. There is interest to be considered. Davey, what’s the interest on the amount Jack owes?”

David draws his hand back, embarrassed. He reluctantly performs the calculation and it seems that the interest alone comes to a several month’s pay, or a really lucky night at the craps table.

“You do not happen to have an extra grand on hand, do you, Jack?”

Jack’s face has clouded over with desperation. “Les, just a fresh start, that’s all I’m askin’.”
Les raises his voice as he says “A fresh start but with all the guys sayin Jack Kelly is a welcher? That is no kind of fresh start at all.”

Jack glares at Les and says nothing.

“But I can make you an offer, Jack. You could have great success working with me and Charlie. You have been known to give a rousing speech – the boys would work for you, even though you are getting on in age. You saw the boy at the newsstand outside? Part of the family, just like back in the day. And just look at your face -- the city is not so safe no more. Especially for a temperamental guy like you or my brother. You come to my bar and you better believe the heat will not mess with you, queer or no. You see, I even got my top sergeant here working as a lookout and runner and she gets no trouble from nobody.”

All eyes in the room turn to me, as it is in my direction that Lucky Les has gestured. With a brief nod, I acknowledge the reason I take such an interest in the business of David Jacobs this evening. I was told that I could make a buck if I brought one Jack Kelly to McCloskey’s in order to resolve an important matter. The business I had to attend to after we arrived was a phone call. I swear on my best pinstripes I did not know that Jack owed such a great deal of money, or I would have asked for a larger cut when making the call. Poppa needs a new pair of shoes, what can I say.

“So you sent Benny to find me. How did you know I was coming?

“Davey is a sentimental guy and I know where he keeps your letters. He only ever gets mail from you.”

Jack lurches to his feet. He takes a couple of hurried steps toward Les, which is a bold and ill-considered maneuver. Two men at different tables stand and draw revolvers. The rest of the bar goes even quieter – guys know when there might be a fight. This time the fight is not one Jack has a hope of winning.

Jack’s voice is starting to strain and there’s still a bit of blood trickling down his cheek. “Going through your brother’s personal mail? That’s disgusting.”

Les keeps his voice calm and measured. “It’s just business, Jack. I thought you’d understand that.”

“What happened to family, Les? We all looked out for each other. Now you’re lookin’ out for Charlie and payin’ folks to look out for you. Who’s lookin’ out for the little guy anymore, huh? Davey, you oughtta be ashamed, lettin’ it come to this!”

David lashes out. “I’m not the one that left, Jack.” As soon as he say it, he winces.

Jack’s demeanor changes on a dime, angry gesticulations unspooling into hunched shoulders and bowed head. There is another long moment when I expect a fight, but either because he knows he is surrounded, because he is old, or because he has lost quite a bit of blood from his broken nose, Jack begins to slump to the ground. David rushes to his side, and Jack gratefully leans on him for support.

Les takes a final drag on his cigar and stubs it out. “Jack, my driver will take you to see One-Hand Charlie. I recommend that you do not give him one of your speeches. I love you dearly, but all that palaver wears out its welcome. Make nice and the rest of your life will be much easier.” Les motions to the men with guns. “Get him in the car and keep it warm. Rosie and I will be along shortly.” The men take Jack from David and lead him outside.

David takes off his glasses to think, watching through the window as Jack is pushed into the back of a Model 18. The guards keep both sides of the car under watch. The driver starts the engine. I can see that David Jacobs is running out of options as the rest of the stockroom turns back to cards and music.

Then he puts his glasses on and looks directly at me. “Benny, I need your help. Is there anybody here you know is in desperate need of some dough?”

Without hesitation I reply “I know just the guy.”

Nathan Detroit is pacing near the phone behind the bar. He sees me approach with David and says, “I’m close to finding a spot for the game, Benny. Real close. Joey’s calling me here any minute.”

David is carefully taking stock of Nathan, sizing him up for whatever plan he has in mind. I notice his eyes lingering in certain areas, and I realize that David is checking him out. It is only then that I realize Nathan looks like a younger version of Jack.

“Nathan, I have the great honor of introducing David Jacobs, who would like to speak to you.”
“To me? About what?”

David leans in and says “How would you like to make a thousand bucks tonight?”

It is only a few minutes later that I am skulking outside McCloskey’s bar near the Model 18 where Les’ toughs are holding Jack captive. I watch as Nathan rushes through the snow to the car and taps on the door. After a few beats the window is lowered. Nathan delivers a fur stole through the window, explaining that he saw that Rosie had left it. As he turns back toward the bar, the car door flies open. Rosie is pushed out into the snow, and Les comes tumbling out after her. He is red-faced and sneezing. He gesticulates wildly at Rosie and motions for his men as he stumbles towards Nathan. At the end of the day, Nathan knows when to stay and when to scram. Though he does not understand why, he promptly scrams. I will have to apologize to Nathan for not telling him about the extreme cat allergy. And further, for not telling him David Jacobs had no way to pay him for services rendered.

Les and his men set off in pursuit of Nathan Detroit. As David anticipated, the driver soon gets out for a smoke. I am there to light his cigarette and, once he is leaning down to the flame in my hands, put the lights out where the rest of him is concerned. I pick up the keys and hop in the car.

I am not often the getaway driver but these are unusual circumstances. If I help them I may lose out on future jobs with Lucky Les and One-Hand Charlie’s gang. Worse still, I may develop a reputation for having a soft heart. But if I do not help them, Jack Kelly and David Jacobs close the book as sorry footnotes in a gangster drama. I flip the ignition of the Model 18 and take them to where they can write another ending.

Though it is late, the streets are full of cars and cabs and the snow drifts are slowing down traffic even further. Jack is laughing at David’s audacity even as he turns the conversation in a more serious direction. 

“Carjackin’? You want to be in trouble with One-Hand Charlie too? It’s bad enough I owe interest.”

“Jack, you’re a fool if you think you can get out of that debt. Charlie will have you back in jail or killed before the year is out.”

“I got nothin’ left but to try, Davey. Les took all my dough. Lost my job paintin’. Folks still dead. And the city don’t want me no more. Don’t want us.”

“Jack, maybe we could change that. Remember when you stood up to Pulitzer? I’ve been reading some pamphlets. Some fellas started a Gay Lib movement in Germany…”

“You been reading the papes, Davey? You see today’s headline in the Journal? ‘Sex Pervert Kills Mother And Son’? That’s how they call us in Hollywood and tabloids now – perverts. What’s it matter whether a lunatic prefers men?”

“Jack, you taught me to make up headlines worse than that. That’s how papes get sold when folks haven’t got money for bread.”

“This ain’t fair, Davey. The market crashes and we’re payin’ the price more than other folks. What do we got to with it?”

“Maybe we can get Les to forgive the debt, Jack. Don’t see Charlie. If you want to work it out, I can talk to Les.”

“Don’t talk to me about your brother, Davey. You want to do figures for the mob for the rest of your life? Les is a crook. He’s not your family, Davey. Not like you had running papes. That’s another thing. They don’t even have newsies anymore. Young kids like we was, hard on their luck, they’re joining the mob now?”

“Les is family, Jack. And my nephew is family, too.”

“And what kinda man is he turning out to be, huh? He’s always gonna be your brother’s kid. Was it worth it for you to stay here and raise him?”
“Who knows, Jack? I just know that I would have made the same decision if I had to do it again today. He made it through school and now it’s his choice what he does. I had to help out. You have to understand, I wanted to come with you, but family came first.”

Jack nods, accepting, but continues, “Davey, I don’t know what I’m doin’ anymore. We worked the union, I worked my art, but what do I have to show for it? My so-called brothers are crooks or killed or moved on. I need somethin’ to hold on to, somethin’ to call mine.”

The conversation stops for a long moment. In the rear-view mirror I see David put his hand on Jack’s hand again. Jack looks at David with longing and David brings his hand up to Jack’s cheek. “You remember what I promised you that night on the roof? I meant it, Jack. And I never left you, not here.” He drops his hand for a moment, touching his heart.

I stop the car and cough lightly, interrupting them. “Fellas, last stop. This is Penn Station. The last train departs in ten minutes. I do not need to impress upon you that you should not be in New York City tonight, Jack Kelly.”

“I can’t agree more, Benny.” Jack takes a deep breath. “Listen, Davey, let me come clean. It was never about the debt or coming home again. I don’t care about One-Hand Charlie’s money. I don’t care about the stinkin’ streets of New York or the Great Depression. I don’t care if Hollywood tells our story. Davey, I just couldn’t stay away from you no more. I saved up that dough and came here so I could be back where you are. I just need to be with you.”

“Jack, you can’t stay. There’s no life here for you, money or no money. You’re practically broke and I’m not much better off. How’s either of us going to get by? The world’s changing faster than I can keep up with. What’s coming for us next?”

“I can’t say, Davey. I don’t know the future. But I know what we been though. We didn’t have money when we hitched to the World’s Fair in Buffalo. We didn’t have money during the war or when we went to the governor’s ball on Halloween and had to steal those dresses. And I had no money, in fact, nothing but the clothes on my back the first day I kissed you – and nothing ever felt more right. All the money in the world don’t matter if you ain’t with me, Davey. I gotta leave now, but I also gotta ask – come with me?”

“It’s about time you got around to asking me, Jack. I expected to die an old maid waiting,” David exclaims, grabbing Jack by the lapels. “And if you don’t already know the answer–” He pulls Jack’s mouth to his, kissing him urgently, then softly. I slip out of the car into the night air and in short order they join me and we say our goodbyes.

The last I see of David Jacobs and Jack Kelly they are holding hands and entering Pennsylvania Station to take the last train out of New York City for parts unknown. It is still cold but the sky is clear.