Sway lounges on a rickety old chair, one leg over the arm rest, listening to Rumor babble on about her latest boy. Sway knows by the end of the week he'll be old news, but she listens anyway for Rumor's sake. Ever since Rumor gave up hope for a proper marriage, she's contented herself with being the one who loves and leaves.
Her mind wanders to Mush. Why does he want to meet her at Medda's? She's never been, but she's heard that it's a pretty good show. The best vaudeville show in Manhattan, actually. She stretches her legs restlessly, pointing her toes. It's been too long since she took a night off for pleasure. She'll go, but only to thank Mush for returning her dagger and to see what all the fuss is about. That's what she tells herself.
". . . Don't you think, Sway?" Rumor asks. She is smudging red rouge onto her pretty mouth and admiring her reflection in the single mirror shared by all the girls. Sway jerks upright in her seat.
"Uh . . . yeah, yeah, I do," Sway stutters, not wanting to hurt Rumor's feelings. "Is that makeup or am I seeing things?" Rumor grins mischievously and winks at a passing man through the window.
"Stole it outta a rich dame's bag, I just told ya. The boys love it." Sway giggles at her antics and sprawls back onto the chair, tipping it up onto two legs. The air inside the Thieves Palace seems stifling to her, heavy with petty troubles and hopeless desires. Her chest feels so tight with need that she wants to scream and relieve the pressure. The distant bells of the clock tower echo dully. Seven o'clock. Sway's chair slams back onto all four legs as she stands, grabbing the mirror from Rumor.
"I'll see you around, Rumor. I need to get out of this place." Rumor nods and her trouble-maker's grin slips for a second. She knows the feeling all too well, but she hitches her carefree facade back up regardless. She has to keep up appearances.
Sway exits the room and shoves open her door, tossing the mirror onto her bed. She pops the lid off of her whiskey flask and takes a long pull, then tugs a bright blue tee-shirt over her head. Tired and frayed it may be, but it's clean. Her pants are smudged with dirt or soot wet where the cuffs drag on the street, but there's nothing she can do about it. She shrugs at the mirror. Presentable, at least. Sway smooths her dark hair in the mirror, running her fingers through her twisting curls. She strikes a pose and blows a kiss to the emptiness, then laughs at herself and walks out. She feels lighter already.
Sway strolls towards Medda's, wondering if it will live up to its reputation. She hooks a thumb in the waistband of her trousers and studies the building, wondering who thought that "the Swedish Meadowlark" sounded clever or enticing enough to put on the sign. She notices Mush lounging on the steps, lazy and sexy. His eyes dart up every few moments, looking for someone.
Sway approaches with a touch of uncertainty. Mush sees her and calls out a greeting.. "How's it rollin', Mush?" she says. Her voice is cautious. She still doesn't know wether or not she's in his good graces. "So what's the occasion?" Mush takes a long look at her serious face.
"Actually, I only asked ya here so me and the boys wouldn't have to rescue ya tonight. My schedule's a bit to full for those hijinks on Tuesdays." His mouth twitches slightly at the indignation on her face. She's about to say something quite rude when she notices that he's having a difficult time keeping a straight face. A laugh bubbles out of her as she smacks him on the arm, realizing that he's only joking. A smile breaks out on his face. It's the first time he's seen her truly laugh.
"If that's all, then I'll be going," she says, adopting a hoity toity voice. She turns away and he catches her arm, a grin still lingering on his face.
"Naw, come with me," he says. "You'll love this." He guides her to the entrance of Medda's, and the two slip inside to a world of bright lights, glittering ornaments, and stage props.
"It's Newsie Night," Mush explains. "Medda has a bit of a soft spot for the newsies, so every once in a while she puts on a free show for us." Mush shoves his way through the crowd of kids to a place with a good view o the stage, towing Sway after him. She trips on someone's shoe, and her ankle twinges.
Jack and Racetrack are already there, leaning over the balcony rail eagerly and laughing at something. "Whatdya hear, boys?" Mush tosses out. "You remember Sway?"
The kids around them erupt with cheers when Medda steps onto the stage. Shaking her blonde curls out of her face and striking a pose, she trills, "Hello, newsies! What's new?" The boys whistle and cheer, held captive by her unique beauty. The light glitters on her jewelry. A few bars of music roll out onto the stage, and Medda's crystal voice rises to meet them. Even Sway is fascinated by the way she moves, kicking up her skirts and twirling, swaying, bending. She glances around at the love-sick boys around her, transfixed with longing, and swallows a laugh. She leans into Mush, who is singing along with the music boisterously. She has to almost shout to get his attention.
"Hey! Hey. Thanks for getting my knife back, Mush." She hopes he can tell how much it means to her.
"No problem," he replies casually. He grabs her hand impulsively and spins her around as the music crescendos, making her giggle.
By the end of the night, Sway's voice is hoarse from shouting. The atmosphere of excitement and lust and joy washes over her, permeating her skin. She can't remember the last time she felt so full of energy and life. Medda takes one last bow before the curtains close, and applause roars through the building, punctuated by the whoops and hollers of the most devoted fans.
The newsies trickle out of the theater in small groups, talking among themselves, grinning with the afterglow. Sway steps out and turns to say goodbye, but Mush shakes his head.
"I'll walk you to your place," he says. She starts to protest, but he's already moving. They walk back to the Thieves Quarter in silence. The faint light of the moon glows around them, softly tracing the shadows. The city appears cleaner and purer by moonlight, but one only has to look into the shadows to see the gritty truth; the homeless rustling in dark spaces, and whores raising smoky voices to tempt lonely men.
They reach the steps leading up to the door of the Palace, and Sway turns to say goodnight. Her eyes wander over Mush, strong and handsome and so very male. Something twists inside of her and her breath catches in her throat. She feels an intimacy between them born of passion and desperation.
She takes a small step forward, unable to resist. Suddenly she is kissing him, demanding and challenging at once. Sway's heart races at the sensation. The shadows glide over them as Mush pushes her backwards towards the wall, his hands running over her body possessively. He can taste the tang of whiskey lingering on her mouth. The stones of the Palace press against Sway's back. Mush slides his hands to the back of her thighs, and she tenses her legs so he can lift her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. The world swirls and glows around her dizzily. She softens, curving her body against his until . . . the dress rustles sullenly as it slips to the floor. His hands are sliding up under her shirt, caressing her soft skin, but she's lost the moment.
. . . bites her lip as the sharp pain flares . . . Her breath catches in her throat. . . . just another petty pleasure . . . She can't break away from the ghost of that other night. Mush feels her stiffen, drawing back from him unconsciously. She draws a shaky breath, her hands clenching on his shoulders. She's afraid. He breaks the kiss and looks her in the eyes, questioning.
"What's the matter, doll?" he asks huskily. Sway's lips curve in a sweet smile, a smooth cover for her fears and uncertainties. She's always been a good pretender.
"Nothing, except that you've stopped kissing me." She leans in once more, but he can feel her braced against him. Mush takes a dry swallow and steps back, setting her feet upon the dirty cobblestones. He knows the difference between true passion and pretense. He brushes his hand along her cheek reassuringly, his hands lingering for just a moment. He can hear her stifled sigh of relief. Deciding not to push her for any answers tonight, he simply murmurs something about getting back to the lodge house. He cups his chin in her hand and kisses her once more, slowly, gently, and leaves her to herself.
His sudden absence bothers her in a way she wouldn't have expected. She smooths down her hair and knocks on the door, waiting just a moment until Shadow opens it. She raises an eyebrow knowingly when she sees Sway's swollen lips and rumpled clothes. "Tell ya later," Sway promises, brushing past her friend. She's suddenly bone tired. She climbs the stairs to her room and slumps on her bed, noticing with disgust that she is shaking. It's been months since she has had a flashback like this, although she still dreams about it during the nights. None of the other boys she's kissed lately have affected her like this, but none of them have gotten under her skin like this either. Perhaps it's just the heightened emotion that recalls the memories.
Her hand fumbles for the familiar shape of her little bottle of alcohol, her panacea. A couple of swallows later, the incident begins to blur and fade. She pulls off her shoes, then collapses onto her bed and waits for sleep to claim her.