*~*~*
Racetrack's Quest
*~*~*
By the time he reached Irving hall, Racetrack was sopping wet and chilled to the bone, his spirits low and his teeth chattering. But the moment he slipped in through the back entrance, he felt happier. Medda would know what to do. He was sure of it. Barely taking heed of the fairly good- sized pool of water that was forming around him on the floor as it dripped from his soaked shoes, Racetrack wrung out his cap and stepped forward into the warmth of backstage, and began to search for the person who he knew was the answer to all his problems.
He didn't have to look long. Medda, always easy to pick out in a crowd, was especially visible tonight: standing near the stage shouting orders at some workmen, she looked like nothing so much as a giant fuchsia sequin in her glittery skintight leotard and tights. As soon as she saw Racetrack, standing a few yards away and shaking his hair like a shaggy dog after its bath, she called to him. "Rrrrrracetrack? Vut brings you here?"
Race grinned, and walked over, "heya, Medda. Nice outfit."
"Thank you," Medda said graciously. "I am preeeparring for ze beeg show tonight."
"Could ya can the stage accent? I'm kinda here on important business."
Medda looked at him wide-eyed, batting her lashes, innocent as sin. "Vut stage accent?"
Racetrack sighed. "Nevah mind." Even if she was acting oddly, he could still get advice.
"So, my leetle dumpling, vut seems to be ze prrroblem?"
Dumpling? Where did that come from? "Well, y'see, it's Sapphy's half- birthday tonight, an' I wanna surprise her with something really special."
"Ahh, yes," said Medda. "Sapphire Eyes. My leetle Svedish meatball. Yes, ze celebrration eez coming up."
"Right. So, bein' a...woman, an' all, I figure you might know what she might want."
"Let me tell you something, Rrracetrack," Medda said conspiratorially, "girls, zey want ze rrromance. Surrprise her weeth a candle-lit dinerrrr, or a special evening alone. Some music, some flowers..."
"I'm not sure I'm followin' ya," Racetrack said.
Medda sighed. "Put zese on," she said, handing him a bundle, "and I vill trrrry to explain."
Having reached the point where he was willing to put on anything if it meant getting good advice, Racetrack stepped behind a screen, slipped out of his wet clothes, and put on a glittery lavender miniskirt, pale-pink bodice, and pink tights. When he stepped out, Medda squealed with glee.
"Rrrracetrack!" she squeaked, "you look perfect! Ze clothes, zey feet you so vell!"
"Yeah well..." Race mumbled, "I'm a perfect size six."
"Eet is ze perfect outfeet," Medda said as she stepped forward and sprinkled some glitter in Racetrack's extensions. "And I shall call you...Rrracina."
"WHAT?"
"YES!" Medda said, stopping just short of a mad scientist laugh. "You see, I am brrranching out, from just ze singing and ze dancing. I am doing a magic act! I vill be ze grrrreat Meddazza, and you shall be my lovely assistant, Rracina!"
It was at this point that Racetrack turned and ran, as fast as he could, straight out of Irving Hall.
Nothing was going right, he thought. All he wanted to do was surprise Sapphy with something wonderful. He just wanted for her to have a good half-birthday. But diamonds were to expensive, and he wasn't cheap enough to do what Medda had suggested. He didn't want to give her a sock. He didn't know how to find the one ring. Besides—none of those things could have ever worked, anyway. What he needed was a gift that proved how well he knew her, how much he cared about her. How much he loved her.
But he didn't have anything to show her how he felt. And he was dressed like a girl.
With a heavy heart, Racetrack began to walk back to the lodging house, giving thanks only for the fact that spandex repelled water.
*~*~*
TBC...
Racetrack's Quest
*~*~*
By the time he reached Irving hall, Racetrack was sopping wet and chilled to the bone, his spirits low and his teeth chattering. But the moment he slipped in through the back entrance, he felt happier. Medda would know what to do. He was sure of it. Barely taking heed of the fairly good- sized pool of water that was forming around him on the floor as it dripped from his soaked shoes, Racetrack wrung out his cap and stepped forward into the warmth of backstage, and began to search for the person who he knew was the answer to all his problems.
He didn't have to look long. Medda, always easy to pick out in a crowd, was especially visible tonight: standing near the stage shouting orders at some workmen, she looked like nothing so much as a giant fuchsia sequin in her glittery skintight leotard and tights. As soon as she saw Racetrack, standing a few yards away and shaking his hair like a shaggy dog after its bath, she called to him. "Rrrrrracetrack? Vut brings you here?"
Race grinned, and walked over, "heya, Medda. Nice outfit."
"Thank you," Medda said graciously. "I am preeeparring for ze beeg show tonight."
"Could ya can the stage accent? I'm kinda here on important business."
Medda looked at him wide-eyed, batting her lashes, innocent as sin. "Vut stage accent?"
Racetrack sighed. "Nevah mind." Even if she was acting oddly, he could still get advice.
"So, my leetle dumpling, vut seems to be ze prrroblem?"
Dumpling? Where did that come from? "Well, y'see, it's Sapphy's half- birthday tonight, an' I wanna surprise her with something really special."
"Ahh, yes," said Medda. "Sapphire Eyes. My leetle Svedish meatball. Yes, ze celebrration eez coming up."
"Right. So, bein' a...woman, an' all, I figure you might know what she might want."
"Let me tell you something, Rrracetrack," Medda said conspiratorially, "girls, zey want ze rrromance. Surrprise her weeth a candle-lit dinerrrr, or a special evening alone. Some music, some flowers..."
"I'm not sure I'm followin' ya," Racetrack said.
Medda sighed. "Put zese on," she said, handing him a bundle, "and I vill trrrry to explain."
Having reached the point where he was willing to put on anything if it meant getting good advice, Racetrack stepped behind a screen, slipped out of his wet clothes, and put on a glittery lavender miniskirt, pale-pink bodice, and pink tights. When he stepped out, Medda squealed with glee.
"Rrrracetrack!" she squeaked, "you look perfect! Ze clothes, zey feet you so vell!"
"Yeah well..." Race mumbled, "I'm a perfect size six."
"Eet is ze perfect outfeet," Medda said as she stepped forward and sprinkled some glitter in Racetrack's extensions. "And I shall call you...Rrracina."
"WHAT?"
"YES!" Medda said, stopping just short of a mad scientist laugh. "You see, I am brrranching out, from just ze singing and ze dancing. I am doing a magic act! I vill be ze grrrreat Meddazza, and you shall be my lovely assistant, Rracina!"
It was at this point that Racetrack turned and ran, as fast as he could, straight out of Irving Hall.
Nothing was going right, he thought. All he wanted to do was surprise Sapphy with something wonderful. He just wanted for her to have a good half-birthday. But diamonds were to expensive, and he wasn't cheap enough to do what Medda had suggested. He didn't want to give her a sock. He didn't know how to find the one ring. Besides—none of those things could have ever worked, anyway. What he needed was a gift that proved how well he knew her, how much he cared about her. How much he loved her.
But he didn't have anything to show her how he felt. And he was dressed like a girl.
With a heavy heart, Racetrack began to walk back to the lodging house, giving thanks only for the fact that spandex repelled water.
*~*~*
TBC...