Tell Me Where My Heart Is

"Did I not tell you that church was a good idea?" Racetrack gloated happily, jingling the change in his pocket.

"You did," Skittery obliged, scratching his head for no apparent reason. "How 'bout the red in the tight black dress, huh?"

His friend snickered in agreement. "That dress had to be at least three sizes too small for her."

"She looked like frickin' Vaudeville," Skittery added with a smile. "And I wasn't opposed."

Racetrack laughed aloud, scooping out all the coins he was toying with and glancing them over as they lay in his palm. "Let's go to Tibby's."

Skittery shrugged. "Sure."

"Hey," his shorter companion added after a moment, "whaddya think 'a Jack's girl?"

They were nearing Tibby's now; Skittery watched Blink and Mush walk in, laughing about some damn thing. He glanced at Race.

"I think she was tryin' too hard to be chummy. She'd annoy the hell outta me. Jack puts up with some real pain in the asses."

Racetrack shrugged. "Ah'right, but she was pretty, huh?"

"Almost as pretty as that rock on her hand," Skittery retorted dryly, opening up the door to Tibby's. Racetrack stepped in, despite the fact that the door had not been intended to be opened for him. Skittery sighed and walked in behind him.

"Gracious me, that was a hell of a stone, huh?" the aspiring bookie agreed, waving across the room at Jack and a few of the others. Through a wide, gritted smile he murmured, "Ya think he has any idea?"

Skittery glanced at the grin on Jack Kelly's face as he sunk back into his chair with the satisfaction of the others' laughter. He shrugged stiffly, irritated by the slick streetwise without even entering his presence yet.

"Ya think he cares?"

Race yelled across the room. "Whaddya do, fellas?" then lowered his voice without moving his lips: "Good point."

"Whaddya standin' over there for? Come get some grub!" Kid Blink shouted back, shoving Mush out of the booth to go grab some chairs. Skittery started to cross the room first. He grabbed one of the chairs from Mush's arm and sat down, grabbing one of Bumlets's greasy chips off the oily plate of fish-and-chips.

"Hey! Getcha grimy fingers off!" his friend reprimended good-humoredly, stuffing a whole sardine in his mouth between two ink-stained digits. Skittery ignored him and went for another.

"I only really like the chips," he told him absently. Race sat down and waited for Mush to regain his seat.

"Hey, Jack, we saw yah girl today."

Cowboy took a bite of his corn beef sandwich and let the grease slide down his chin before retorting with his mouth full:

"Which one?"

Skittery gave him a stoney look. Racetrack wasn't even phased.

"The rich one you took to the docks. Elsie somethin'."

Jack was interested. He swallowed and drug his sleeve across his mouth. "Yeah?"

Mush leaned forward. "The blonde one who talked all proper?"

Jack nodded. Blink whistled. "Dear me, what a looker."

Skittery didn't have to look up to know that Jack Kelly was smirking with delight. Racetrack continued:

"Yeah, she was at that there Vanderbilt's funeral. Had this friend with her. Some gad-awful name ... what was it, Skitts?"

Skittery shrugged, grabbing a handful of chips off Bumlets's plate. "Er-somethin'. Sounded like Earl."

"Cripes," Blink commented, "Earl?"

"Do ya mean Pearl?" Jack suggested dryly. Skittery met his eyes evenly.

"No. It wasn't Pearl. I'd remember somethin' like Pearl."

Cowboy shrugged, allowing it. "What'd she look like?"

Race and Skittery glanced at each other. The former started. "I dunno. I thought she was pretty."

"How could ya tell?" his companion retorted, stealing another chip. "She kept lookin' at us with the worst look on her face. Had a little upturned nose. Made her look like a snoot."

Race shrugged. "Well maybe if you'd take a bath more often, folks wouldn't look atcha like that. So anyway, she was kinda thin --"

"She was real thin," Skittery intervened. "Didn't look like she ever ate. No bust or hips, neither."

The smaller newsie shot him a look, grinning despite himself. "Skitts was really studyin' her."

"Get ya own!" Bumlets suddenly exclaimed, sheltering his plate.

The chip-thief glared at Race, settling back down quietly. "Fine, Race. What did she look like?"

"So I thought she had a nice waist. Could fit yah hands around it."

"Maybe a regular guy's hands," Skittery perried almost conversationally, not even looking up. "You got short little stubby hands ..." He caught his friend's glare. It was too perfect to pass up. "Among other things."

"Ooh," Blink commented, laughing loudly. Mush found it funnier much longer than the rest of them did.

"So ya're not helpin' me any," Jack interrupted finally. "This dame could be any one on Fifth Avenue. What color was her hair?"

"Kinda blonde," Race decided after a moment of consideration. Skittery snorted.

"It wasn't blonde. It was darker."

"Well it wasn't brown!" Race returned, his voice rising a little. His friend shrugged.

"Okay, but it wasn't blonde --"

"So, what?" Jack stopped them nonchalantly. "Not quite blonde? Like a dirty blonde?"

"Ursula!" Racetrack exclaimed suddenly. "That was her name. Ursula."

Mush's face contorted in response. "Cripes. What's the matter with rich folks anyhow?"

Jack shook his head. "I never met her. I don't think Elsie's ever even brought her up. She's got some other friend ... but she's got kinda red hair, and real green eyes. Her name wasn't Ursula ... it was somethin' god-awful, though."

A waiter stopped by, raising a pen and pad of paper. "Sorry, guys. It's crazy in here. What can I get ya?"

Race didn't even think about it. "Ya got any provalone?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

"I'll have that."

"Whaddya take, Skittery?"

Bumlets swallowed another sardine and intervened irritably: "Get him a whole big mess 'a fish-and-chips!"

The waiter laughed and walked away. Skittery glared at Bumlets. "Now who says I want fish-and-chips? I'm freakin' tired of 'em now. Why'd you go and do that?"

The conversation had already turned against his rant. Racetrack was coaxing Jack.

"So them rich girls, they like to get away from all their uptight rich person stuff?"

His friend shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

"Yeah, but you ain't gettin' nothin' from 'em," Skittery commented darkly, glaring down Bumlets's greasy plate that symbolized his impending unwanted meal. He could feel Racetrack's eyes on him heavily.

"So maybe gettin' laid ain't all I'm concerned with."

Skittery met his eyes. "So maybe that's bullshit." He glanced around the table, waiting for some acknowledgement of his correctness. "Am I right? That's all it always boils down to, huh?"

Mush was uneasy. "Well ..."

"C'mon," Skittery was getting on his soapbox. "So I sound like a bad guy sayin' it because I'm just a horny street kid. But I tell ya what, all that's gonna happen is some hot-shot science fella's gonna come along and say, 'Guess what? Everythin' everybody does comes down to gettin' laid.' And everybody'll go ... 'jee, that's all it is.' And he'll be some genius for sayin' all everybody thinks about is sex." He picked up Bumlets's glass of water and held it up. "Mr. Genius-Science-Fella, here's to you. Anybody else would be called a pervert."

He downed the glass just in time for his fish-and-chips to show up. Jack coughed quietly, trying to keep from laughing for the moment.

"Whatever you say, Skitts."

A pause. Racetrack turned back to Cowboy.

"Ah'right. So Jack, I'm thinkin' this dame could let loose a little, under the right circumstances. So I'll buy ya lunch if you can get yah girl to drag her along to the docks this weekend."

Jack considered this, taking a sip from his water. " 'Kay. I can agree to that. Ursula, right?"

Racetrack nodded, glancing sidelong at the kitchen. "I think she's a nice dame."

"I think she's a tight-ass," Skittery mumbled. Nobody listened to him. He glared down at the fish-and-chips distastefully, the smell of vinegar and salt wafting up to his nose poignantly. He blinked a few times, pushing the plate over to Bumlets.

"Hey, wait," Racetrack thought of something suddenly. "Spot Conlon's gonna be there, huh?"

Jack shrugged. "I'd assume. It's his docks, ain't they?"

"You'll keep 'im occupied, Skitts? So he don't ... do nothin' stupid?"

Skittery looked up, his brow furrowing. "Why me? You's the one who likes the guy so much."

Race's eyes widened. "I'm gonna be with the dame!"

"Doin' what? She's a regular prude. Won't even kiss a guy until her weddin' day."

Kid Blink groaned. "Jeeze, Skitts, just do somethin' nice for somebody and start a poker game or somethin' with Spot. That way he won't bother 'er. You know how he is."

"I know exactly how he is," Skittery retorted evenly, "and that's why I don' wanna be around the guy. Last time I just about soaked 'im."

Jack looked up from his sandwich. "He'd break your face."

That set him off. "He would not. The guy weighs like ninety pounds."

"He's wiry," Mush commented, leaning back into the booth. Skittery let out a long sigh, pushing back from the table.

"Say, I'm fed up. I'm gonna go sell some papes, Race."

His companion looked up at him, brow furrowed. "Why? We got enough dough just at the church. I'm not even goin' out tomorrow."

Skittery had already turned his back and walked out of the restaurant. Kid Blink let out a whistle.

"Jeeze, he's in a mood today."

"Argued with every freakin' thing I says since we left the church," Racetrack agreed, shrugging hopelessly. "I don't get it. He's great this mornin'. Makes almost five bucks, just at one spot by itself, and he's rippin' my head off about every damn thing. Now he's gonna go out sellin', when he could go back to the Lodgin' House and sleep the rest 'a the afternoon."

"He's a stange guy," Mush added, letting out a belch.

Jack made known his agreement, staring at the plate of fish-and-chips in front of Bumlets. His brow furrowed, puzzling.

"I thought you ate yah lunch, Bum."

The other newsie glanced down, sighing at the untouched meal in front of him. "I did. Now, look at that. How many meals you think he's missed in his life?"

"I can't exactly guess," Kid Blink put in, "but I would figure enough that he wouldn't let perfectly good food go to waste."

"Ungrateful's what he is," Mush agreed, picking out a couple sardines. All eyes turned to the heaping plate. Mush looked about, chewing one sardine, his face questioning.

Three, two ...

"I ain't payin' for it!" they shouted at each other. The unfortunate one left with a fish tail hanging between his lips groaned. Racetrack took pity on him.

"We'll all put in for it."

They agreed reluctantly. A devilish smirk pulled the corners of Jack Kelly's mouth, and he looked around the group cleverly.

"Let's do somethin' nasty to it and give it to Oscar and Morris!"