Chapter 2

Like the earth and moon

I am covered

with craters and scars.

That is not something

I need to be saved from.

— Clementine von Radics

When they weren't in practice, Natalia went exploring in the city. She was not Nina, who planned and dreamed where she would go as she sat in her hotel room or practiced too hard, though Natalia had tried time and again to convince her to come out with her. Nina always refused, as though she wanted someone familiar with the city to show her the best spots rather than taking it all in, the good and the bad. Natalia didn't have time for that, she didn't wait for anyone or anything. Her mother had always told her she was a storm and if people wanted to keep up, they had to chase after her. Nikolai was the only one who cared to try and keep up, and she believed that was because he hated being cooped up in a hotel room.

"Where are we going?" He asked, as she weaved in and out of the crowd. Though her legs were shorter than his, she was excited to be in the middle of it all and her legs propelled her forward in quick, short steps. Nikolai loped just behind her, his eyes narrowed against the sunlight that streamed into the two different colored irises, his handsome face set into a scowl.

Her friend was tall, imposing, and always so surly she wondered that any man had the courage to approach her. Yet, she let him continue to tag along on her whirlwind adventures because despite how close he stuck to her side, anyone who looked at them could see he was not at all enamored by her. Which was a blessing to her because as handsome as the man was, he was the biggest grump she knew and when Natalia chose a man to settle down with, she wanted one much more fun and easy going. "You'll see!" She chirped, her eyes snagging on the sign that proclaimed 65th street. They had two more blocks to go.

The truth was she had heard about a popular art gallery on 67th street and she was eager to see it. James Graham Sons gallery was said to have some exquisite art on exhibit and as an amateur artist, Natalia loved to see others' skills and techniques. She had all her Sundays planned for the entire tour and today was this little Gallery. Next Sunday she was planning on going to the New York City Metropolitan Museum. The Met was a treasure trove of rare and beautiful objects-not just art. She was excited to go there, but she wanted to wait just a little bit longer, get to know the city better before she dove into the museum.

"Art." Nikolai said, his tone bored as he halted beside her in front of the gallery, a few paintings featured in the window catching her eye.

She sighed, "Art."

He let out a scoff, but stepped forward and held the door open for her to enter first, her eyes turning glassy as she looked around the canvases lined up on the walls, about a foot in between each one, a small title card below them. Some canvases were as tall as she was, but most were reasonably sized. She thought of her collection of small postcard-sized paintings tucked in the secret pocket in her trunk and she yearned to do bigger paintings.

But, bigger paintings meant others would see them and that she couldn't travel with them. She was not ready, yet, for others to look at her paintings. They were her very heart and soul on paper and the thought of others viewing them made her flushed and anxious just thinking about it.

She knew, as everyone else in the company knew, that she had a bad habit. That habit was men, and she was always too quick to trust them, to share the parts of herself with the ones she liked too soon and it always ended with them getting bored and leaving. So, when it came to her art she guarded her secret zealously, like a dragon hoards its treasures, and refused to let anyone else see it. No one, including Nikolai and Nina. They knew she loved art, paintings in particular but neither of them got to see hers.

All Natalia wanted was one thing another person couldn't take from her. And that was painting.

Spinning on her heel, she took in the art surrounding her before her eyes caught on one particular coloring of a painting and she shot towards it like a bullet. Nikolai stood back and let her go as she went from painting to painting, in no particular order, just as each one caught her eye. She oohed and awed at the colors created by the painters and the different ways they painted. Oil on canvas, panels, and boards, watercolors on canvas and gouache on paper. All of it pleased and enthralled her. The technique on one painting was familiar to her and she smiled as she recognized the artist. It was an oil painting on canvas of a picture gallery, a painting of paintings, and she giggled as she leaned closer to see the details of what looked like New York, or some other coastal city.

"Nikolai, come look at Walter's painting!" She called to her friend and he made his way over to peer at it over her head.

He eyed the painting as he did everything, mistrustfully, and she smiled as he nodded, "Did he tell you he sold one of his pieces to this gallery?" He asked.

She shook her head as she gazed at something familiar, taking comfort and missing Walter Gay and his wife, Matilda. She had met them while she was in Paris and she had eagerly learned what she could from him. They were a lovely couple, coming to her shows and having brunch with her, but they rarely left France and with each passing day that Natalia spent in New York, she was beginning to wonder if she would ever want to leave.

"I would buy this, you know. I would settle down in a small townhouse, hang it on a wall where the morning light cast the best light on it, and admire and miss Walt and Tilly." She told Nikolai, matter-of-factly, though they both know that she was extremely frugal with her money, so the chances of her buying a painting were slim.

He cast her a bored gaze, "I'll believe it when I see it." He murmured, his voice monotone.

She grinned, because she knew that if she had her own home, she'd cover every wall with her own artwork; even if every single piece was considered ugly by everyone in the entire world. She didn't get a chance to answer him, though as her eyes had already caught another painting and she was off to admire the red and orange autumn trees it depicted. They matched the ones she had seen when passing central park and she couldn't wait to try her hand on colors so vibrant.

It was nearly two hours later when Nikolai appeared by her elbow, "We should be going." He told her and she glanced towards the front of the gallery to see the light waning.

Her bottom lip stuck out as she pouted, but she sighed and let him take her elbow as she tried to look at everything before they left, "I know I saw every one of them, but some just need extra attention." She told him, as though he really cared.

The tall, Russian man grunted at her, but he glanced around one more time. "I guess."

At least her friend tried. She smiled up at him, "Next time we go out, you can pick the place."

A twinkle of mischief appeared unexpectedly at her words as they walked down the street, the setting sun casting a golden orange glow over the city that Natalia tried to commit to memory. "Alright." He murmured, "How about there? Tomorrow, after practice?" He inclined his head towards a building to their right, across the street. A painting of a red-haired woman in a lavender dress proclaimed it as Irving Hall, the signature theater for Medda Larkins, the Swedish Meadow Lark.

Natalia's eyebrows drew closer together as she took in the men that milled outside it, "Is that one of the vaudeville theaters?" She asked him, her voice low, "I've always wanted to go."

He looked pleased, "It's settled. Tomorrow, Irving Hall."

She bumped her hip against his leg, "Is it because of the red-head?"

They both turned their head to look at the redhead out in front of the hall. Nikolai shot her a rare grin that looked more predatory than amused. "You know how I feel about redheads, Nat."

Laughing, they continued down the street back to the Benjamin and he made sure she got back to her room. She closed the door behind her and called out for Nina, but when she didn't reply, she assumed she was still practicing. The woman was a perfectionist, which was probably why she was Prima and Natalia wasn't. Her life didn't revolve around dancing, had only tried out as a young girl to escape the poverty and crowdedness of her parent's small apartment. It got her out of Saint Petersburg and allowed her to travel the world, but she wasn't going to break her back trying to become the best. She was quite happy as a supporting cast member.

She ordered in and sat at the small table toying with different shades of red, yellow, and orange on a small postcard sized paper while she ate. She spent a lot of time with the other ballerinas but tonight felt like a stay-in evening. A moment of peace from everyone; the younger girls twittering gossip and rumors, Nikolai's snarky moodiness, and Nina's hardness that sometimes got to be too much for Natalia.

This bit of silence in her hotel room for her to play around with her painting was exactly what she needed until she felt tired.

Natalia yawned as she crawled into her bed, used to getting up early which made falling asleep early easy. She wasn't sure how long she slept, whether it was an hour or two, but when she woke it wasn't natural. Her stomach was flipping with nerves, as though alerting her to the strange displacement in her room. Someone was in her room. She froze up in the bed as she heard the person curse, a man by the sound of his deep voice. It sounded as though he wasn't far away, rifling through her dresser drawers.

For a moment, she could do nothing but lay there, too paralyzed with fear. But, she had to do something. She searched her mind for anything that would scare him as she grabbed her pillow and tossed it behind her, "GET OUTTA MY ROOM!" She yelled, as loud and as deep as possible. She wanted whoever broke in to think she was a man, a very large man, and she wanted them gone.

Her scream worked in startling the man and he bolted for the open window and the fire escape before she could get a good look at him. In a matter of a minute, the entire thing was over, he was gone, and she was jittery from the violation of a stranger being in her room as she slept. She quickly got up, her legs feeling like jelly from the fear that coursed through her, closed and locked the window, grabbed her wrapper, and then pulled three times on the service rope so she could alert the staff.

"Every man has his secret sorrow which the world knows not; and often we call a man cold when he is only sad."

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sunday was Jack's favorite day because he didn't work at the factory and he got to spend the entire day with Hazel. He couldn't really afford to do a whole lot with her but he knew they both enjoyed just being together, wherever they decided to go. And in the evening, they always had Race and Clara's to go to for dinner.

Today, he'd taken her to Central Park with a book about birds that they'd taken out of the library last week. Sitting side by side on the bench, they went through the book looking to identify as many as they could-which wasn't a whole lot. New York in the fall was not the best place for bird watching.

"Wait, lemme guess. Another pigeon." Hazel said, her dry sarcasm making a surprised laugh come from his gut.

"Who taught ya all that sarcasm?" He asked, nudging her with his elbow. She was getting big, growing out of her clothes faster than he could save up to buy her new ones. Her coat was a tad small for the approaching winter, too, and he knew that if any opportunity arose to get a better job-he'd take it. No matter what it was. His daughter was going to be seven in February, and if she was going to continue growing like a weed, he needed to have the money to pay for new clothes.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, their shade more green than brown today, as she answered his question, "Race, of course." Her tone was prim and matter-of-fact, for a moment reminding him of Lily.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him and ruffling her dark, blonde hair. Spun gold, it looked like to him, and he often told her if she'd let him shave her hair, they could make a fortune. But, Hazel was very protective of her hair, would never allow him to even trim it, which made the ends look jagged and frayed. Like he didn't take care of her properly.

Ignoring that thought, he smiled as she squealed at his show of affection, "Dad." She said, pushing the hand that was messing up her hair away, "Stoooop."

Chuckling, he smoothed her hair and let her go back to her book, watching her eyebrows pucker as she went over each page carefully. That was something he did, and he grinned at signs of himself in the kid. A kid that was a character all her own; cracking silly jokes she'd heard Race tell, or getting irritated when she was tired, and she was always trying to speak like a 'proper' lady. Yet, she didn't bother with it when it was just the two of them, and she didn't call any of his friends by any name except what he called them-their newsie names-which always made him laugh. There was just something about a little girl yelling at Racetrack Higgins that always brought tears of laughter to his eyes.

Especially one as fierce as his Hazel.

"Hey, Haz?" He asked, looking up at the overcast sky, "Whatya think about that bird, right up there?"

She followed his gaze and peered up through the branches at the small, grey and black bird. "I think I saw that one a few pages back…" She flipped hurriedly back in her book and then held it up to the bird and compared it, "That's a…Dark-eyed Junco."

He patted her shoulder, "Good job, love. Ya be a bettah reader than me in a few years."

Hazel beamed at his praise before she dug into his coat pocket to check his watch, "We gotta go." She closed it was a snap that said her word was final and he laughed as she pulled him to his feet. He dug his heels in on purpose just to tease her and she huffed as she pulled at his hand, "We'll be late!" She groused, dropping his hand to get behind him and push him forward.

"But, Haz, I wanted ta just stroll along…" He made his steps big, but slow and she gave a shriek of annoyance and bolted passed him, her tiny legs taking her a little too far ahead of him, "Hazel!" He called out and she halted, turning to look at him with both fists on her hips.

"What?" She asked, a tad snottily.

The little spitfire had him hiding his smile, amusement at her bratty behavior would not be a good parenting tactic he decided, as he forced himself to appear intimidating, "You are about six feet too far from me, young lady. Get back here."

"You come here." She shot back, standing her ground.

He scowled at that, not used to her acting out like this. "Imma count to three, Hazel Lillian Kelly. One…" Her hands fell from her hips at the first number, her gaze becoming weary, "Two…" As the second number left his mouth, she ran back to him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it.

"Alright." She mumbled, staring at the ground, abashed.

He knelt on the paved pathway where they stood and put his finger under her chin, "Hey, let's not let this ruin ouah day, awright?"

Hazel nodded, not quite meeting his eyes.

Lightly, he chucked her chin with his knuckles, "Haz?" He asked, trying to catch her eyes, "Ya know, if somethin's botherin' you, you can tell me. Anything."

When she did meet his eyes, her shoulders slumped, "I get…jittery. Thinkin' about getting places on time."

"You do?" He asked, surprised. "Would it make you feel better if we got to places earlier?" It was weird that a six-year-old got nervous about her time, but he didn't ever want her to feel like she couldn't tell him what was bothering her. Even if it sounded ridiculous to him, it obviously meant something to her.

Hazel looked relieved, "Yes, please." Her words were soft but she looked so much more relaxed having told him what it was that she was having trouble with.

Standing, he took her hand in his, "If we leave now, we'll be, ehhh, ten minutes early ta Race and Clara's. But…" He paused as she looked up at him, her eyebrows pinching in curiosity, "If I give you a piggy back ride, we'll be fifteen minutes early!"

That made her laugh, which was his favorite thing to make her do. He swung her easily up on his back and pawed the ground with one foot before taking off at a run. Their surroundings blurred all together as he wove through the crowds of people, Hazel's laughter ringing in his ears as he pretended to be her gallant steed.

It was something he never would have done when he was younger. Not in a million years, for any of the boys at the lodging house. Jack Kelly act silly to make a kid laugh? No, he would have stood up to a bully or acted tough or brave, but never silly.

Nothing made him realize how much he'd changed more than when he acted a complete fool for his kid.

A/N: Review if you like Jack being a horsey!

Truly,

Joker is Poker with a J~