DISCLAIMER: I do not own Newsies or any part of anything remotely related
to the movie. If I did, I'm sure I would not be here writing the weird
workings of my mind.
A handsome teenage boy sat in front of a mirror in the dusty backstage dressing room of Irving Hall. Medda had let him in, to fulfill one of his life-long fantasies that was simply not possible in the rough-and-tumble world the newsies lived in.
The boy grinned to himself. Tonight would be a night to cherish for the rest of his life, and the best part was no one even knew he was here. The show he would perform in later that evening was not for his fellow newsies' eyes. They would never find out, never be able to torment him, as he knew they would if his friends discovered one of their own in drag.
Rubbing his delicate hands together, he set about the deliciously long process that turned a dirty boy into a glamorous woman.
First, the boy washed his face in the cracked porcelain sink in the corner. Wiping his dripping mug with a towel, he glanced into the mirror that sat above the vanity table. This was the last time he would see that boyishly beautiful face. When he was finished, someone totally different would be looking back at him. Or he hoped it would, anyway.
The surface of the vanity was crowded with cosmetics of every kind. Blushes and tubes of mascaras were jumbled with pots of eye-shadow and glitter. The boy frowned at the mess. How could one work in such an environment? With a neatness usually not found in one of his own born gender, he lined up the makeup and creams in an orderly row.
"Now...." The boy whispered reverently. "Now, I'se ready ta become a masterpice."
With that, he set about making his creation.
Grabbing a tube of hair grease, he squeezed a generous amount into his hands and slicked back his hair, gluing every strand in place. Next, he surveyed his newly-clean, baby smooth face. Not much greasepaint needed to cover and blemishes, but he did it anyway, dusting his face afterwards with poof of white powder.
Then came his eyes, which also included his eyebrows. He looked at them fretfully. Should he pluck them or not? They would defiantly look more womanly that way, but the guys would notice a thing like perfectly arched eyebrows. Deciding not to take the chance, the boy moved onto shadowing his lids with a light blue shade, and lining his eyes with kohl. He then applied black greasepaint to his eyelashes to make them darker and longer. One thing he had always been proud of were his lashes. They were long and thick, but light at the tips from the sun.
His eyes finished, huge and bright and glittery, he moved onto his cheeks. The peach blush or the rose? Heck, why not both? He smiled at his eagerness. With all the sadness in his young life, he hadn't felt this enthusiastic about anything in years.
Now for his best feature - his lips. They were full and pink and extremely kissable. With the boy's deft touch and some deep wine lipstick, they became even more so. Smoothing on some gloss, he looked once more at his face in the mirror and was satisfied.
But he still wasn't finished. As much as I might now have the face of a woman, he thought ruefully, I need the body of one! And that's were the hard part came in.
He looked at the garments Medda had laid out for him over one of the chairs. A corset, a chemise, stockings, a garter belt, and a gorgeous slinky red dress. He mentally groaned. This was the best and worst part - he loved wearing the clothes, but they were such a pain to get into! Such is the pain if beauty.
First, he put on the garter belt. Then, he slid the stockings up he smooth legs and fastened the clips. On went the high-heeled red shoes. Next came the corset, witch was thankfully a front-tying one. He stuffed the front with some scraps of material he had found. As much as he had the beauty, he still didn't have the breasts!
Now he had the curvy figure. All he need was the dress to compliment it. He slipped the chemise and then the dress over his head. Catching a look of himself in the mirror, he jumped. Except for the slicked back hair, he would never have recognized himself. Whoa, I'm a babe! He thought to himself, grinning.
Finally, the finishing touch. He went to the corner where a wig stand stood, stroking the blond hairpiece before setting it on his head. The blond waves fell down his back with a tickling sensation. Now, he was ready. Turning around, he faced the mirror to get the full impact.
No more was there a gangly boy looking back at him. A curvy, slender woman winked back at him instead, her lips full and red, her hair curling over her shoulder and shining golden in the light. The boy/woman just stood their stunned. He should really do this more often, he thought in wonderment. It's all I thought it would be, and so much more.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door.
"Showtime in five!" A harsh voice said. Then the footsteps faded away, leaving the muted sound of the crowd outside in their place.
Nervously, the boy adjusted his wig and straightened his dress. It was time! Looking at his reflection one last time, he smiled seductively and laughed.
Spot "Esmerelda" Conlon was ready to go!
The crowds would never know what hit them.
A handsome teenage boy sat in front of a mirror in the dusty backstage dressing room of Irving Hall. Medda had let him in, to fulfill one of his life-long fantasies that was simply not possible in the rough-and-tumble world the newsies lived in.
The boy grinned to himself. Tonight would be a night to cherish for the rest of his life, and the best part was no one even knew he was here. The show he would perform in later that evening was not for his fellow newsies' eyes. They would never find out, never be able to torment him, as he knew they would if his friends discovered one of their own in drag.
Rubbing his delicate hands together, he set about the deliciously long process that turned a dirty boy into a glamorous woman.
First, the boy washed his face in the cracked porcelain sink in the corner. Wiping his dripping mug with a towel, he glanced into the mirror that sat above the vanity table. This was the last time he would see that boyishly beautiful face. When he was finished, someone totally different would be looking back at him. Or he hoped it would, anyway.
The surface of the vanity was crowded with cosmetics of every kind. Blushes and tubes of mascaras were jumbled with pots of eye-shadow and glitter. The boy frowned at the mess. How could one work in such an environment? With a neatness usually not found in one of his own born gender, he lined up the makeup and creams in an orderly row.
"Now...." The boy whispered reverently. "Now, I'se ready ta become a masterpice."
With that, he set about making his creation.
Grabbing a tube of hair grease, he squeezed a generous amount into his hands and slicked back his hair, gluing every strand in place. Next, he surveyed his newly-clean, baby smooth face. Not much greasepaint needed to cover and blemishes, but he did it anyway, dusting his face afterwards with poof of white powder.
Then came his eyes, which also included his eyebrows. He looked at them fretfully. Should he pluck them or not? They would defiantly look more womanly that way, but the guys would notice a thing like perfectly arched eyebrows. Deciding not to take the chance, the boy moved onto shadowing his lids with a light blue shade, and lining his eyes with kohl. He then applied black greasepaint to his eyelashes to make them darker and longer. One thing he had always been proud of were his lashes. They were long and thick, but light at the tips from the sun.
His eyes finished, huge and bright and glittery, he moved onto his cheeks. The peach blush or the rose? Heck, why not both? He smiled at his eagerness. With all the sadness in his young life, he hadn't felt this enthusiastic about anything in years.
Now for his best feature - his lips. They were full and pink and extremely kissable. With the boy's deft touch and some deep wine lipstick, they became even more so. Smoothing on some gloss, he looked once more at his face in the mirror and was satisfied.
But he still wasn't finished. As much as I might now have the face of a woman, he thought ruefully, I need the body of one! And that's were the hard part came in.
He looked at the garments Medda had laid out for him over one of the chairs. A corset, a chemise, stockings, a garter belt, and a gorgeous slinky red dress. He mentally groaned. This was the best and worst part - he loved wearing the clothes, but they were such a pain to get into! Such is the pain if beauty.
First, he put on the garter belt. Then, he slid the stockings up he smooth legs and fastened the clips. On went the high-heeled red shoes. Next came the corset, witch was thankfully a front-tying one. He stuffed the front with some scraps of material he had found. As much as he had the beauty, he still didn't have the breasts!
Now he had the curvy figure. All he need was the dress to compliment it. He slipped the chemise and then the dress over his head. Catching a look of himself in the mirror, he jumped. Except for the slicked back hair, he would never have recognized himself. Whoa, I'm a babe! He thought to himself, grinning.
Finally, the finishing touch. He went to the corner where a wig stand stood, stroking the blond hairpiece before setting it on his head. The blond waves fell down his back with a tickling sensation. Now, he was ready. Turning around, he faced the mirror to get the full impact.
No more was there a gangly boy looking back at him. A curvy, slender woman winked back at him instead, her lips full and red, her hair curling over her shoulder and shining golden in the light. The boy/woman just stood their stunned. He should really do this more often, he thought in wonderment. It's all I thought it would be, and so much more.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door.
"Showtime in five!" A harsh voice said. Then the footsteps faded away, leaving the muted sound of the crowd outside in their place.
Nervously, the boy adjusted his wig and straightened his dress. It was time! Looking at his reflection one last time, he smiled seductively and laughed.
Spot "Esmerelda" Conlon was ready to go!
The crowds would never know what hit them.