Someone’s coming. You must go. I’ll send word when it'd be a good time to return.” Rose started to panic. “I don’t know a soul in New York, save for you. Where will I go? How will you find me?” Kathleen retreated into the servants entrance and whispered, “Go to Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s boarding house on Mott. I’ll write to you there. Hurry now, off with you.” “Kathleen,” Rose started to protest, but Kathleen shut the door and rushed away. The next three weeks became the most harrowing time in Rose’s life. She found Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s boarding house in the decayed heart of the Five Points. Mrs. Fitzpatrick, a toothless crone with a face that had not smiled in many a long year, charged Rose six cents a day for the privilege of sleeping in a crowded cellar with up to fifteen other women and their children. Rose’s world became a five-foot by three-foot cot of flea-infested rags. Rose had a lovely shawl of delicate Irish lace made by her Ma to give to Kathleen by way of showing thanks for. He protested but she would hear none of it, handing him a navy blue napkin and watching as he spread it across his lap. Lifting and biting into a jumbo shrimp, he was so grateful to have a homemade meal that he suddenly felt close to tears and had to take a deep breath. An exquisite combination of lemon, butter and garlic burst across his taste buds, perfectly amplifying the sweetness of the shrimp. He closed his eyes and chewed, enjoying the slight crust that provided a counterpoint to the dish. It was just heavenly. When he opened his eyes, he was startled to find her watching him. ‘How is it?’ ‘Fantastic. I’ve never had scampi this good anywhere.’ She smiled and shyly looked away, raising her glass for a sip. They continued with the appetizer, eating silently and enjoying both the food and the company. Velvet lifted the bottle of Asti from the metal container and arose to refill his glass, then filled her own, taking her seat again. She stared at him for a moment before speaking..
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