Angel, Faeries, and Other Such Things
Angels, Faeries, and Other Such Things.
A Racetrack Story
By Stage DeLeon
Email: YogurtGoddess@charter.net
Page: hhtp://webpages.charter.net/stevescott/newsies/NewsiesForever.html
AIM: Pink Tuba

Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins sat on his bed, swinging his feet through the air, lazily. It was three days after the end of the Newsboys Strike of 1899. They were all supposed to be celebrating, overjoyed with their freedom and rights- they were supposed to be happy! But in some strange way, he wasn't.
He felt so . . . lonely. All of the other newsies were running around, having fun with their friends, but nobody paid much attention to him. While he had yelled at the rally, and in the crowds, he had lost his voice for a while, and it had just come back that morning. Being short didn't help much either.
Hopping off of his bed, he sighed, and picked up a cigar. After lighting it, he snatched a small pouch of money from it's spot on his bedside table, and headed off for his favorite restaurant, Tibby's. It was nearing lunchtime, so he thought he'd grab some roast beef.
He was hungrier than he could ever remember being, and with each step he took, it felt as though a pack of wolves were in his stomach, fighting hard to get out. However, the awful feeling inside of him wasn't all hunger. Part of it was loneliness, and sorrow.
Tibby's seemed to jump out at him unexpectedly, like a tiger in the jungle. Racetrack slowly opened the door, and walked inside, to see an empty Tibby's. No doubt the newsies were off celebrating again. Without him.
Plopping down at a table, Race snapped for the waiter, and ordered a roast beef sandwich and a sarsaparilla. He felt lonelier than ever when he looked around the restaurant to see only an old man drinking a beer in a corner booth. He quietly sipped his drink as he looked at a dust-ball float smoothly across the floor.
Suddenly, he heard a loud SQUEEEAAK as the door opened, and looked up to see whom it was. He saw a faint figure in the door, but the sun was behind it, shining so brightly that you could not make out any features of this mysterious person. It stepped away from the door, revealing itself.
It was a short, Italian looking girl, with thick black hair that went down to her shoulders, and then curled in perfectly. She had large, brown, feisty eyes, a sharp nose, elfin ears, and a broad smile. She almost looked like a fairy folk . . . Her pale skin seemed to shimmer as she looked in Racetrack's direction.
He stared at her, practically swallowing his cigar whole. The feeling in his stomach changed from the wolf claws to butterflies as he watched her. She wasn't amazingly gorgeous, but she had a certain quality to her, that made Racetrack think- no, he knew that there was something special about her. She ordered a hot dog and a sarsaparilla from the waiter.
She noticed Racetrack, sitting alone, and she stood up to walk to his table. "Hiya," she greeted him. "I'se Maria!" (She pronounced her name MAH-ree-ah, not the commonly used form ma-REE-ah)
He stuttered, "I- I- I'se Anthony, but everyone cawls me Racetrack, or Race."
"Pleased ta meetcha!" She exclaimed, spitting on her hand, and offering it to him. He did the same; they shook. "So, Racetrack, do you know where I could find a 'newsie' around heah?" She questioned.
Race laughed. "Hey, Missy, yoah tawkin' ta one!"
Her unusually large eyes drew open even wider. "Really?!? Wow! Do ya, by any chance, know da guys whom stahted da strike?"
Race laughed even harder. "Yoah lookin' at one of 'em!"
Maria accidentally spit out her sarsaparilla all over the table out of surprise. "Nah! Yoah kiddin'!"
"Hey, I ain't kiddin'! I'se a Manhattan newsie, tried an' true," He defended.
"Wow! You oughta heah me story, den. A'right . . . I'm a runaway from an orphanage in Harlem. I heard da story about da strike a couple days ago, and it totally inspired me! I left da orphanage early today, an' I came heah ta find da strike leadahs. Well, it looks like I found just da right poison! An' in da foist place I look, I find ya- I just sat down ta eat lunch! What luck? So, I was, uh, wonderin'- can I join ya?"
Race nodded dumbly as the waiter came with her food. He was still trying to find out why she was so special . . .. "Of coise you can join us! I'd be honahed ta take ya in."
She grinned, scarfing down half of her hot dog like a hungry wolf. "Great!" She cried, her mouth half-full. "Come on, whudda ya waitin' foah? Let's go see da sights! Meet da people!"
"A'right!" Race chuckled. "Where do ya wanna go foist?"
"Show me where ya stay!" She smirked.
Race nodded. "Dat sounds like a great place ta go! Follow me."
They walked out of Tibby's, paying the waiter as they left. The hot summer sun beamed down on their skin, soaking into each pore, filling them with warmth. Maria took out two hair ties, and swept up her black tresses into two low pigtails. Racetrack smiled, as he realized how much she was like him. They looked a lot a like, were both Italian, both were outgoing, and both supporting the newsies strike. He wondered if there was anything else they had in common.
As if on cue, Maria suddenly looked at him. "So Race, do you like ta gamble? 'Cause I thought dat maybe we could spend some time at da tracks tanight, an' maybe tomorrow we can play some cards wit' da newsies from Queens. We'd whip 'em good!"
Racetrack looked at her in surprise. "Yeah, I do like ta gamble! Hmm, I nevah woulda guessed you was da gamblin' type, dough."
Maria thought that that was the funniest thing she had ever heard. "Me? Without gamblin'? Dat's like hot chocolate without marshmallows! Eggs without bacon! Music without it's beat! Why, dat would be like a violin solo widout da violin!"
Racetrack laughed. "Ya know, yoah a cute lil' kid."
She frowned. "Who're ya callin' lil'?"
He smiled. "You! I may be shoat, but I ain't dat shoat!"
"Hey!" She yelled. "I'se only twelve!"
He looked surprised. "Really? I'se sixteen."
She smirked. "An' you tought I was shoat!"
Scowling, he mumbled, "Come on, pick up yoah feet. We wanna get deah befoah next yeah!"
She got an evil smile on her face. "Yoah jus' jealous dat I'm practically tawlah dan you, an' I'se only thoiteen!"
Race shook his head. "Nah! Now, weah almost deah . . . ah! Heah's da street . . . "
"Tryin' ta change da subject, ah we now, Anthony 'Racetrack' Higgins?" She sighed.
He gasped. "Hey, 'ow did ya know me last name?"
She shrugged. "Uhhh . . . umm . . . ya told it ta me?"
He vigorously shook his head. "I hates me last name, so I never tells it ta anyone. 'Aven't foah yeahs. 'Ow did ya know?" He demanded.
"I don't know . . . I just . . . knew it!" She said nervously, biting her lip.
He shrugged, and walked on, suspicious. Could she be a spy? No, he knew what spies were like, and they were definitely not like her. He knew that something was different, but he still couldn't put his finger on it!
"Okay, Maria! Now da tracks are just down da road, an' off ta our right. If yoah a gambler in Manhattan, ya gots ta know dat ta survive." He explained, pointing out the large building. Maria nodded along.
He pointed out the good and the bad of the Tracks as he walked Maria down the street, listing what was right and wrong with it, what the people were like, what the food was like, and more than anyone ever wanted to know about it. They reached the door, and Racetrack opened it for her. They stepped into the stadium, and Race placed His bet at the counter. Soon, they were pushing their way through a large crowd. Racetrack struggled his way to a small, un-noticeable hallway.
"Dis is a hallway dat has a vent in it dat leads ta da best seats in da house! Follow me." Maria followed him as he walked down the narrow hallway, and stopped at a large vent in the wall. He took a small piece of metal, and pried the cover off, working quickly. As soon as the cover was off, he rushed Maria into the vent, and crawled in after her, popping the cover back on. It was dark and dusty inside the vent, but large and easy to get around in. "Follow me!" Racetrack whispered, pushing past Maria to lead the way.
She tiptoed after him, around corners, down slopes, and past forks in the vent. Soon, she heard Racetrack warn her, "Watch out, this is the hardest part." He pointed up, to see a huge jump to the opening of the vent on the other side. He grabbed Maria's arm, and pulled her over to the bottom of the jump. He put his arms around her waist, and hoisted her up. She popped off the cover, and crawled over. Offering her hand to Race, he took it and climbed up. They popped the cover back on, and looked up. "Ya see," Race explained, "Dey closed dis section a while ago, I'm not sure why. Nobody can see us here, and dey're really good seats, too!"
Maria smiled. "Dey're about ta start!"
"Hey, Maria, dere's dis hoahs dat I tink I'm gonna bet on tanight. 'Er name is Maria, jus' like you! I've been watchin' 'er foah a while, an' she looks like she could win. And tonight, she 'as ta! Yoah me lucky charm, an' wit you heah, deah's no way she could lose. I know it. I bet on 'er when we walked in, so I'm ready. . ." he smirked. "It'll be a good race tanight, Mar'."
Maria suddenly laughed. "Ah! So dat's why dey cawls ya Racetrack, huh? Ahh, yoah too funny."
Race jumped as he heard the gun blast, and the horses were off. Maria's eyes lit up as she watched the horses fly across the tracks. She knew which horse Maria was without even being told. She closed her eyes, and concentrated hard. She breathed in and out deeply. Suddenly, the horse Maria pulled ahead, just in time to cross the finish line. Racetrack screamed at the top of his lungs, as Maria closed her eyes, and smiled. She opened them, and hugged Racetrack. "So, how much did ya bet, anyway?"
Racetrack smiled. "Everytin' I had."
Gasping, Maria inquired, "but what if you lost?"
"Well, I didn't" He smirked. "Come on, let's pick up me money. Dere's an easier way out dan in!"
"Good!" Maria exclaimed. "Where?"
Racetrack pointed to a small, one-way gate to their left. "Just keep low when ya slip out. Don't wanna make dem suspicious!"
He opened the gate, and ducked down low, dragging Maria behind him. He closed the gate again, and wiggled it to make sure it had locked behind him. "Okay, now you can act normal," he explained. "Let's go pick up me money!"
Maria smiled, "Do ya know how much you won?"
He shook his head. "I'm not very good at math and such."
They reached the counter. Race asked the tall man behind the window, "'Scuse me, but could you help me?"
The man nodded. "Your name?"
"Anthony Higgins." he replied.
The man looked at some papers. "Ahhh, you bet on Maria! Good choice, young man. Here's your money."
Race took the money, and counted the bills carefully. His eyes widened, as he stared at Maria. "Eighty-seven dollars . . ." he whispered.
Maria grinned. "Great! So watcha gonna do wit it?"
Racetrack shrugged. "It's a lot! Maybe I'll turn. . ." he turned his voice into a snobby accent. ". . .High class! Dahling Maria, be a dear, and escort me to the door."
Maria chuckled, but followed his lead. "Yes, I believe I will!" She linked arms with him, and flounced out of the tracks, looking goofily overdone. Suddenly, it was too much for her. She broke out into joyous peals of laughter, music to the world's ears. It would have humbled the brightest of laughs, almost inhuman. Racetrack chuckled along with her, and was dazzled when she flashed him a blinding smile. He was slowly falling in love with her. . . .
Slipping back into his New Yawk accent, he asked, "So, whudda ya tink I should do wid it?"
"Hmmmm. . . ." she pondered. "Get yoahself sumptin' fancy! Everyone desoives sumptin' special now an' den."
"Well, 'ow about we tink about it ovah dinnah?" he asked.
"Shuah! But wheah?" She pondered.
"Maybe. . . . Roberto's?" he suggested.
"Don't ask me!" she chuckled. "I've hardly been heah foah a day, mind you! But if you tink it's good, let's go deah."
Racetrack nodded. "It's about three stoahs down dat way, I tink."
Maria giggled, grabbed his arm, and started running there. "Come on, hurry up! We wanna be back ta da lodgin' house by next yeah!"
He stumbled after her. "Hey! HEY!" he laughed as she pulled him along. "Whoah whoah whoah, stop deah Missy! You almost passed da restaurant!"
She halted, and looked up at the building on her left. It was an elegant looking place, but not extremely fancy. From the looks of it, it was an Italian restaurant, with heaps of spaghetti, pizza, noodles, and breads of all kinds. An awed look crept over Maria's face as she stared at the restaurant.
"Whussa mattah? Race asked. "'Aven't ya eva seen a restaurant before?" he chuckled, laughing at his own joke.
She slowly turned her head to look at Race's. "All of my life, I nevah got ta eat in an Italian restaurant. I always wanted ta see what their food tasted like. I would pass da fancy restaurant- Palcutto's- in Harlem day afta day, watching people's faces as they ate the pasta. Me mudda died when I was three, an' I can still remembah 'er. The orphanage I was sent to would nevah let me eat deah, an' would yell at me if I even looked. It always looked so good. . . ."
Racetrack smiled as he thought of what Maria's mother would look like. Large, gentle eyes, coal black hair, olive skin, dark lips, with a soothing smile that could do you more wonders than a hot bowl of chicken soup. He somehow felt like he knew her mother, although he didn't know why. . .
"Well, den, let's eat! You'll finally see what pasta tastes like. It's quite a wonder." He sighed, opening the door for her. "Ladies foist!"
Maria smiled as she walked daintily into the restaurant. She glanced around, seeing a waiter start to walk over to the door, a disdained look on his face, as if to show how utterly disgusting the street rats of New York were.
"Follow me," the waiter sneered, as he lead them to a small booth in the back of the restaurant. He seated them, and handed them their menus. As soon as the last menu left his hand, he rushed off to the kitchen, obviously revolted.
Racetrack rolled his eyes. "I don't get da impression dat he respects us. . ." he said in a funny voice, making Maria laugh.
"Yoah too funny, Race!" she grinned. "Hmmm. . . . I tink I'll 'ave da pepperoni an' spaghetti bread. Do you tink dat's a good choice?"
Race shrugged. "I've only been heah once befoah, a while back. I can't remember what anytin's like at awl. All I know is dat it's Italian!"
Maria read the description of the meal once more, then nodded in approval. "I tink I'll get it. Yeah, I will."
"I'm gettin' da marinated steak an' mushrooms on top a'. . . ling. . luang. . .lambergini?!?" Race stuttered, not able to pronounce the name of his dish.
"Linguini!" Maria chuckled.
Race furrowed his brow. "Wait a sec. Didn't you say dat you nevah ate out Italian befoah? How did you know what it was called? You didn't even look at the menu!" Race exclaimed.
Maria's eyes widened again. "I. . . I . .. I dunno! I just. . . knew it!"
Race shook his head. "Deah's sumptin' about ya dat saprises me, Mar'. I'm gonna find it out, too!"
Maria suddenly turned pale.


TO BE CONTINUED . . . . .