CHAPTER TWO - LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT'S FOR SUCKERS, AT LEAST IT USED TO BE
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That Night - Medda's Theatre

"MISS ELIZA, it has been too long. What's been keeping you away, kid?" Medda greeted the young girl upon her arrival in the dressing room, gripping her in an embrace.

"My job," Elizabeth replied once she drew back, flicking up her notebook and pen with a grin. 

"Ah, yes. Quite the buzz I've been hearing about your articles. You have a unique talent," Medda enthused as she clipped on her strands of pearls. "But, your talent here has been missed. Why don't you do a small number tonight - relieve some stress?"

"I'd prefer to simply review the show," she indistinctly retorted, shoving away her notebook and pen with a shake of her head.

"Doll, you're up to your ears in stress. This could relieve you a little," Medda pressed, turning back to the vanity mirror.

"I'm fine," Elizabeth ardently stated, "I can handle stress in my own ways."

"Uh-huh. It's only for one night. What harm could come of it?" Medda quirked an eyebrow at Eliza in the mirror's reflection.

"Exploitation," she mumbled, rubbing the side of her neck with a couple fingers.

"There isn't a soul out in the audience that would care. You are gonna perform," Medda determined, refusing anymore of the writer's grouses. The performer whirled around with her skirt grazing her ankles, looking ahead to the defeated girl. "Stop pouting your lips, Elizabeth. You're starting tonight's show."

Eliza forced herself up from a slouch as the words registered. Starting the show? Has she gone entirely insane? She resisted the urge to slip out the dressing room door and break for the streets. The writer straightened her crumpling blouse, nodding at Medda despite being still uncertain.

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"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, a very special guest will be opening this evening's show. Please join me in giving Miss Elizabeth Plumber a cordial welcome!" The announcer exclaimed to a sea of faces - rich and middle class alike with a few poor sneaks. Eliza shuddered off the jitters that buzzed in her stomach, and walked out on stage, an overwhelming amount of applause slamming into her ears.

Using all of the pointers Medda had told her over the years, she looked up to the bright orb of spotlight, the starting notes of her song trickling out into the now hushed theater. 

"Tell me that I'm your own, my baby. Hello my baby, hello my honey. Hello my ragtime, summertime gal. Send me a kiss by wire, by wire," she sang, gradually increasing her volume to be heard by the entire crowd. Despite her rattling nerves, no crack altered her voice and it didn't tremble. "Baby, my heart's on fire, fire. If you refuse me, honey, you lose me. And you'll be left alone, oh baby. Telephone, and tell me, tell me. Tell me I'm your very own, oh."

Her eyes scanned out the crowd - an arrangement of faces with mostly awed expressions and buggy eyes. One of the faces she landed upon, though, was recognizable. It was that imbecile newsie that had pestered her that morning. Around him were other - from what she assumed - newsies. Their dirtied faces somehow caught the light and she found most of them were staring just as intently. A select few nudged each other, probably muttering crude snips into each other's ears like schoolgirl's.

Elizabeth restrained an irritated look to her face as she re-sang the lyrics. Her aggravation trickled into her voice, "Baby, my heart's on fire, fire. If you refuse me, honey, you lose me. And you'll be left alone, oh baby. Telephone, and tell me, tell me. Tell me I'm your very own, oh." She persisted the last note for a few moments, staring down the dirty-blonde newsboy in the audience. The piano released its final notes of the piece out of ear shot, until she remained holding the same note.

The deafening applause broke her infuriated mindset and she felt silent with a huff. Giving a couple short-lasting bows, Eliza hurried off the stage and threw back the curtains of backstage. Medda stood not far away, humming a foreign tune as she adjusted a hat onto her drawn up hair.

"Wasn't too bad, now was it?" the older woman quipped in question, not even sparing a glance to the peeved girl.

"I have to leave now. Good luck with your performance," Eliza rushed with her words, slipping past her friend and taking hastened steps to the door. Bracing her weight against it, she welcomed in the stuffy evening air with a slap to her cheeks. She walked out of the dim lit alley and out onto the barely occupied streets.

"Hey Dimples!" a heavily accented voice clamored from behind her, just as she barely reached a few feet from the theater's entrance. With a spike in her annoyance, she whirled around to find the dirty-blonde newsboy sprinting across the sidewalk to her.

"It's Elizabeth Plumber," she says brusquely once he halted in front of her, stumbling slightly in his steps. She stepped away before he could clamber into her, casting him a glance to further show her contempt with him. He blocked her slightly, preventing any means of escape.

"May I help you?" Elizabeth mustered the small wisps of patience she had, glancing up with a challenge for him to do his worst.

He flashed her his most charming grin, "I's really enjoyed 'ya performance. You's got quite 'da voice."

"I'm glad I serenaded you," she gave him her most pompous smile. "I have to be getting home now - quite unfortunate I know. But I'm certain I'll see you again...." a questioning twang peaked in her tone as she quirked an eyebrow to him.

"Race," he answered, tipping the brim of his cap cordially to her with a wink.

"...Race. Good night," she returned with a bow of her head, turning to hurry off down the sidewalk toward her home. A hand caught her own and snagged her back. She furiously twisted to glower back at the newsboy.

"You's just think I'd let you's go off on your own at 'dis time of night?" he inquired with a tilt of his head, his blue eyes catching the blinding moonlight above. The newsboy looked at her through the dimness; her outline illuminated by the moon's shine as well as her billowing curls. Almost like's an angel. "You's never know - one of 'dem Delancey scabs could get 'ya."

"Oh well," she had the audacity to respond, slipping her hand from his with a jerk, "It would spare me from my misery." Truth be told, she would prefer an escort but she'd risk exposure of her true identity. 

"A smart goil, eh?" Race shortly clicked his tongue, stepping in front of her when she went to move past him.

"Well not all of us are just our looks," Eliza whispered, taking a step closer to him, only mere inches distancing their faces.

"You's certainly proved that, Miss Plumber," Race smirked, though he still gawked over her.

She only shook her head. "I must be going. If could kindly step aside, that would be nice." The newsboy offered his elbow rather than allowing her to pass.

"What are you doing?" Eliza questioned.

"I's told 'ya that I's wouldn't allow you's to go all's by yourself." Once again, he gave her an endearing, lopsided grin. Reluctantly, she hooked her elbow into his own, poorly hiding how uncomfortable she was. She couldn't go home. She'd have to go to Katherine's house instead.

The dim odor of sweat whirled into her nostrils and she restrained a gag that caught in her throat. But, she couldn't ridicule too much, considering she probably didn't smell any better and perhaps look any better.

They began to walk down the moon-lit sidewalk, his subduing hums interrupting any silence, to her annoyance. She resisted the urge to slip away her elbow and just walk at his side with no means of physical contact. 

Fortunately, her sister's small home was only a five minute walk away.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't own the lyrics featured in this chapter. Rights go to the rightful artists.