Disclaimer: Newsies is the property of Disney and Steel Pier is the property of John Kander, Fred Ebb, David Thompson, Scott Ellis, and Susan Stroman.
The marathon had been going 42 hours straight and it was now 3:00pm on Monday, August 14. So far all couples were still standing, though many were beginning to falter and weaken. Many of the men could be seen literally holding up their female partners who were half-sleeping. Some of the women were doing the same for their male partners, though that proved to be a bit more difficult. Despite this, the mood of the marathon was still light and happy.
As the band played the rhumba and the couples tried their best to keep up, long tables of food were rolled onto the edge of the dance floor. Generally the food was a small assortment of sandwiches, fruit, and pastries. Not exactly a feast, but for the dancers food was food and they were likely eating better in here than they would be out in the rest of the country. Most of the couples danced toward the table, each partner grabbing a little bit of food that they could eat while dancing, and then dancing back to the center of the floor to enjoy the snack.
"All over the country, families are starving in the streets or standing in line at soup kitchens," Oscar droned into the microphone, "but here, our dancers all get three snacks and three square meals a day. Not a bad deal, huh, kids?" The marathon dancers cheered in response, though their cheering was not as exuberant as it had been at the start of the marathon.
Kloppman was roaming in and out of the crowd of dancers, looking to make sure no one had stopped. "I told you no Grizzly Bear!" he scolded, pulling couple #46 apart. The male partner scowled at him, but returned to a proper dance position. Kloppman turned from the couple and spotted Jack and Daisy. From what he could tell, Daisy was trying to show Jack a new step. From the grimace on her face, the lesson didn't seem to be going well.
"Jack," Kloppman commented as he passed, "I never see you eat. You need some food to keep up your stamina. It also helps you keep living."
"Kloppman, have you ever had something wonderful come your way? Something just out of the blue! After that, you realize what is and isn't important."
Kloppman paused at Jack's statement and looked at him for a moment. "Did you eat the shepherd's pie? Never eat the shepherd's pie. It makes you a bit weird in the head. But don't worry," he said patting Jack on the shoulder, "once it gets out of your system you're usually okay." Over Jack's shoulder Kloppman spotted a couple that was staggering. "Excuse me," he muttered rushing over there.
It was couple #44. The girl was furiously rubbing her leg, telling her partner she had a charlie horse. As Kloppman stood there telling them to get back into position, both the girl and her partner rubbed furiously at her leg. "Ten seconds!" Kloppman yelled, by now catching the attention of the audience, the other dancers, and Oscar.
"Folks," Oscar said milking the drama, "it looks like we may be about to have the first fall in our marathon."
"Three...two...one!" Kloppman cried. "You're out!"
Dejected, the couple removed their numbers and left he floor, the man supporting his limping partner. Above the bandstand, the number of remaining couples dropped to "70."
"Oh, how sad it is for couple #44," Oscar said without a hint of sympathy in his voice. "However, this is a competition and if no one loses, no one can win, right? As for our remaining couples, remember to throw those coins! Also, you can purchase photographs of your favorites at the concession stand. Buy them now because there is no guarantee they will be there tomorrow! Now, everybody dance!"
In his office Oscar was sitting back scanning the newspaper. In his mouth he held a smouldering cigarette. When Kloppman entered Oscar didn't look up and hardly acknowledged the older man in any way. Kloppman stood quietly, waiting for Oscar to speak first. After only a moment, Oscar tossed the newspaper to Kloppman. "Here, read the headlines to everyone. Maybe it'll show 'em how lucky they are to be here. You know, raise their spirits." He removed the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it into the ashtray on his desk.
"Oscar, I got a call from Nedick's. They said they'd sponsor the sprints, even provide the running suits."
Oscar clapped his hands in delight. "Perfect! Now I just need Fralinger to agree."
"He called too," Kloppman said hesitantly. "He's declining the offer."
"What?" Oscar slammed his hand on his desk and stood. "He can't pass. I need this sponsor."
"He said maybe another time."
"Time? What time!" Oscar began pacing. "Christ, this isn't the time to be playing the waiting game on me. Kloppman, I've sunk every penny I ever earned into this. I even sunk some pennies I stole into it. If we miss we're out on the streets. If it's a hit, though, we're golden."
"It's just one sponsor, Oscar."
"Not just any sponsor, though. It's the sponsor that could get us to St. Louis."
"What's in St. Louis?"
Oscar chuckled. " Biggest marathon in the country, that's what. $5,000 for the winner, which will be Daisy. They'll only take me for it if I can provide her. If I can't get a Fralinger sponsor for Lindy's Lovebird, they'll think maybe she isn't so big a star as she used to be and then she won't be as valuable."
"Didn't you tell her this was her last marathon?"
There was an uncomfortable bout of silence between the two men. "Kloppman," Oscar sighed, "sometimes you've got to do low down things to stay on top. I'm not proud of lying to Daisy, but really I'm doing this for her. Besides, if I give into her I lose the most important thing in life: power."
"Do you really think power is that important?"
"I know so. It's one of the many lessons my old man taught me as a kid."
Kloppman snorted. "I see you were a straight A student of your father's."
"You joke, but just look at me up on that bandstand. I say 'dance,' they dance. I say 'stop,' they stop. Sing, cry, smile, anything. You name it, and they'll do it if I tell them to. Hell, most of them probably wouldn't breathe if I told them not to." Oscar fell back into his seat. "Even you," he mused, "were once an honest man."
"I suppose so," Kloppman conceded with a shrug.
"But now, if I say lie or cheat or steal, you do it, don't you." Kloppman responded with a shameful nod. "So yes, I value my power over Daisy's happiness. But she has me to thank anyway. She became a star thanks to me! You think her kissing Lindbergh was just luck? I put hours into making that stunt work, pulling strings to have her at the front of the crowd. I made her a star, and I think I'm entitled to a little of her respect."
"But aren't you ever afraid that all of that power could corrupt you?" Kloppman asked, choosing his words carefully.
Oscar threw his head back with raucous laughter. "Oh, Kloppman, I'm already corrupted!"
"Well, just remember that power also has a way of destroying people."
"Well, lucky for me, I'm indestructible." Oscar leaned back in his chair, obviously content with himself. "I tell ya, Kloppman, power is a powerful thing.
From atop the bandstand, a handful of coins flew into the air, clattering onto the dance floor. The couples stood off to the sides, all waiting in anticipation. All eyes were on Oscar, who had thrown the coins. He stood still for a moment, reveling in the fact that no one would dare move until his say so. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he yelled, "Go get them!"
In a moment, bodies dove to the floor, dancers scooping as many coins as they could into their pockets, shirts, or dresses. The only person who remained standing was Valerie, who simply walked past the pile of coins and people. From his place on the ground, Patrick scowled at his partner, but didn't stop grabbing coins.
The tally board read "Hours Elapsed: 188" and "Couples Remaining: 36." With one week past and practically half of the starting couples gone, the marathon was beginning to slow down considerably. The dancers cheers ranged from small to non-existent and, for most couples, the fast dances had been substituted with slower, less athletic dances. Clothing, which had likely been second-hand to begin with, was beginning to tear and soil. Even the audience had begun to dwindle. Worst of all, many of the amateurs had begun to realize this marathon wasn't fun and games: it was a dog eat dog competition, every couple for themselves. There were few amateurs who hadn't hardened in the past week.
"We're here in hour 188, folks," Oscar announced, "and for a change of scenery, let's do some solo dancing!" The couples broke apart and began dancing about the floor separately. Some read the newspaper, some knitted, some flirted with other dancers. However, all remained moving.
Medda was holding a fan and waving it furiously in front of herself, drops of sweat rolling down her face. 'Christ, it must be 100 degrees today!" she said to no one in particular, running the heel of her hand across her forehead in a vain effort to stop the sweat.
"91 degrees actually," said Mush who was dancing nearby.
"Are you a human thermometer?"
"Oh, no ma'am," he explained politely. "You can tell the temperature by counting the beats of the crickets. Granted, my count may be off a bit," he added shyly.
Medda grinned a genuine grin. Despite her cynical exterior, she was a sucker for men like this. Charming, genuine, and, most importantly, a bit naive. Of course, looking at him, he seemed more like a boy than a man. "Well, they must be pretty raw tonight, kid. What's your name?"
"Mush Meyers. And you're Medda Larkson!"
"Very good. Are you psychic in addition to being able to commune with animals?"
"No, ma'am," he said blushing, " I just saw your name in the paper." He drew a page from the newspaper from his back pocket and showed it to her. "See here, it says 'Among the marathon dancers is pro Medda Larkson, guaranteed to heat things up.' What does that mean?"
Medda took the paper from him and ripped out the part with her name in it. "That I'm a pro," she answered, tucking the piece of paper into her dress. This drew Mush's attention to her bust line which was prominently being shown. At least, it was more prominently than Mush had ever seen on any other woman, save of course for his wife.
Feeling warmth rushing to his face, he stammered, "No, I mean the part about 'heating things up.'" Though by now he had a pretty good idea of what the blurb had meant.
"Oh that. Well, kid, let's just say it's good thing this pier is steel because once I do my specialty number this place is going to be in flames." She began once again fanning herself "In fact, it feels like it already is."
"You know, my wife, Precious–"
"Wife? You two look like you're fifteen."
"No, ma'am–"
"Kid, you can cut it with the "ma'am stuff. Just call me 'Medda.'"
"Oh, okay–Medda. As I was saying about me and Precious, we're both nineteen. See, back home in Utah, Precious entered a church beauty pageant. For her talent, she sang this song. Boy, just sitting there watching her sing, I got more excited than I ever had in my life."
Medda smirked, glancing down at Mush's groin area. "I see the excitement has worn off." Mush furrowed his brow, not understanding what she had just said. She shook her head, not wanting to corrupt the youth. "Sorry, go on, kid. What were you saying?"
"Oh, well I got so excited that when she came off stage I asked her to marry me, right there on the spot."
"Oh that happens to me all the time."
"But you see, because of all the trouble back home–we had both just lost our homes–no one wanted us to get married. So we left and had a quick marriage. Then Precious read about this marathon and we decided it was worth a shot."
Medda shook her head in disbelief. "Getting married during a depression? Couldn't you have waited until a happier time?"
"Well, we just couldn't stand having to wait. Besides, better to spend hard times with a loved one than to spend it alone, huh? I figure our love will help make the depression...well...I guess more bearable. Anyway, these marathon deals ain't bad!"
"Are you still excited?" Medda asked, her eyes shining with amusement. Mush nodded eagerly. "See, that's how you can tell the difference between an amateur and a pro: A pro doesn't get excited; a pro gets other people excited. And like the paper said, I'm a pro." She turned to dance off, giving Mush a small wave as she left. Mush stood stock still watching her go, feeling both embarrassed, giddy, and even a bit star struck. Behind him Precious tapped his shoulder, but he didn't even notice.
In front of the bandstand, David and Sarah were dancing near each other. Both continued playing up to the crowd, their eyes the only part of them that showed how tired they truly were. When Oscar took his place atop the bandstand, they practically rushed toward him. "Hey, Mr. Delancy," David called congenially, "me and Sarah were wondering if we could talk to you about a star spot."
"We've been working on some routines that will get the crowds going," Sarah cut in. Oscar barely acknowledged their presence. Instead he called over Kloppman. "Please," Sarah continued, desperation appearing in her eyes, "we could sure use a break and a star spot could get a sponsor much more easily."
"Not now, kids," Oscar said quickly as Kloppman approached. Disappointedly, Sarah pulled a peeved David back on to the dance floor.
"What is it?" Kloppman asked.
"Do you know yet if Fralinger is here? He said he'd be here today to check Daisy out, so I have to make sure she's looking her best."
"Right over there," Kloppman informed him, pointing to a man sitting center in the fourth row.
A smile played across Oscar's lips. "Perfect. I'm going to show off Daisy myself. If Fralinger is going to sponsor her, he needs to see her really go to town, and that Kelly guy is just going to hold her back." Oscar nodded his head in the direction of the Fralinger. "Go make sure he's content," he instructed before returning to the microphone. "Okay, kids, your single days are through. Get back to your partners," he ordered the contestants.
Dancers scrambled through the crowd of people, reuniting with their respective partners. "Miss me?" Jack asked jokingly as he and Daisy found each other and got back into their dance position. However, no sooner had they done so than Oscar took Daisy's hand and led her to the center of the dance floor.
"Folks, as I've said before, we have a genuine celebrity here before us. Miss Daisy Bloom, best known for giving Mr. Lindbergh a hero's kiss after he flew across the Atlantic." The audience and the other dancers applauded as Daisy curtseyed modestly. "Well, I think it would be a treat for the audience–not to mention a treat for myself– to show off Miss Bloom around the floor. What do you say, Miss Bloom?" Without even waiting for an answer, Oscar took her hand and pulled her into a dance position. He nodded to the band and a soft, lull tune began.
The two of them floated across the dance floor. Daisy, now with a partner who could compliment her rather than hinder her, moved smoothly across the floor. The pale white gown she wore swirled around her, giving her an almost angelic appearance. When the spotlight hit her, her entire body seemed to glow, particularly her face where soft tendrils of her hair hung, having fallen out of place. Oscar led her about the floor, twirling and dipping her. Near the back of the crowd of dancers, Jack watched. He felt neither anger nor jealousy nor sadness. He only felt proud to know that was his dance partner and that was the woman with whom he had won a free dance.
That's her, he thought, that's the last girl I'll ever care about. Sure she's dancing with another man, but she's my dance partner. She's the first girl I've ever loved, he mused with a grin, and she'll be the last.