Too Smart for Love
A/N I recently performed a production of Newsies cast as Hannah. I also kinda have the hots for the guy who played Davey;) So that's kinda why I aged down Hannah.
So having always wanted to write fanfiction I figured I'd give it a try. Based on the cast and production of Newsies that I did (not the broadway one), I present to you a tale of romance for two characters who didn't exactly get love interests in the show :) feel free to R
There was one thing I made myself remember every morning I buttoned up my skirt and pinned my hair up into a french knot. I was the secretary of the famed Joseph Pulitzer, at age 17 I got to work for one of the most influential men in American journalism. Most girls weren't even allowed to work so I had to be grateful. I kept him well-liked by the public and in good graces with powerful politicians from the cover of the shadows. Let's just say expensive whiskey and cigars imported from the Dominican Republic go a long way.
I'd like to believe that without me Mr. Pulitzer would be lost. But I am also aware that Bunsen or Seitz can easily replace me at the drop of a hat. It wasn't hard to notice that every man in that office treated me like a burden. Giving me slaps, grabs, yells, and catcalls as proper office etiquette. Which made me cry river fulls of tears behind closed doors. Fortunately, they also bestowed to me the gift of building up my tolerance to the point where I have become emotionally and mentally strong like bricks. I've learned that it's just a part of the job, something that I have to live with.
In all honesty, the secretary profession isn't my true calling. I am a girl who uses her time off to dance in a burlesque house. A girl that spends hours writing away crazy stories of adventure and magic. Journals never seem to have enough pages to be filled with my words. I have auburn straight hair and high cheekbones. I am Hannah Evangeline Hart and I am nobody.
The sun had barely risen when Davey Jacobs stepped off the grey cement of the sidewalk. His lighter brown dress shoes made no sound when they graced the lavish carpet of the World's lobby. Why was a scholar Newsie in such a prestigious building? The very residence of Newspaper he worked for? Well, he could explain that.
Jack Kelly was sick/more like he had slept in late with Katharine at his bedside again. So Kelly's trusty pal Davey got to be the messenger entrusted in delivering Jack's final draft of a cartoon for Sunday's paper. Unfortunately, Davey couldn't pass down the task to Crutchie because that newsie was not capable of scaling the many stairs of a skyscraper without the aid of a crutch.
He had asked if Les had wanted to come with him and admire the grandness of the building. Maybe even charm the secretaries with his boyish charm. This idea fell apart when Jack and Katharine had offered to take Les and Sally out on a double date last Friday. So after the pair got out of bed that's where his little brother would be.
Speaking of Sally, Davey remembered the relief he felt when he found out Sally was only ten too. He chuckled to himself, that "double date" was going to be more like glorified babysitting. He ran a hand through his straight dark hair. It was currently combed to the side and styled like Prince Philip's hair from sleeping beauty. It still puzzled him how his kid brother had found someone and that Katharine and Jack were still madly in love. Because even after the strike, he was still lonely as hell. Not saying that he needed the companionship of a woman to be complete. He just wanted to understand why Jack sang of moonlight and sappy poetry.
When he reached the top floor his breath was gone and his vest undone. Instinctually his fingers did the grey buttons up as he walked past the waiting room plants. The mahogany secretary's desk looked too short and small for any fully grown man. It was empty when he reached it. Continuing onwards until he was met with very tall doors.
Standing behind the very doors he had once barged into not knowing if he was going to eat the next day. He felt surprisingly calm and at peace with the memory of the final days of the strike. A potential sign of final closure perhaps. As he lifted his fist to knock, a light drifty soprano voice hummed behind the thick wood of the doors. Then it stopped, it must have been the radio. He took Mr. Pulitzer for a classical kind of guy, not a musical one.
Taking a mental note not to mention music taste to the journalist he pushed the sturdy doors open. His breath was immediately intaken.
It wasn't a suit-clad Pulitzer that stood behind the dark desk but a shimmery corseted girl. Her hair cascaded in auburn curls down to her derriere and her eyes were the color of emeralds. The sheer skirt was made of light pink tulle and cut short to her upper thigh. While in the back being long down to her ankles. His mouth betrayed his awe.
"I thought Mr. Pulitzer was a faithful husband."
Her polite greeting smile wiped away. Davey the shadow creator of the Newsboys Strike was standing in the office she worked in. And his kissable lips had just declared her a mistress. All her assumptions about him had been dead wrong.
"And I thought you were the chivalrous Newsboy."
There was an extra insult to injury on her part because he hadn't recognized her at all. Even though she had danced right in front of him countless times and had been standing in this very spot when he had barged into the office. They had run into each other so many times so she saw it fit to go after his gentleman's honor.
His entire body clenched up, shoulders straighter and inwards, "How did you even know?"
She felt like she was talking to an amnesic toddler, "You barged into this office criticizing my boss's communication skills."
He looked even more taken aback. Needing some sort of comeback he revisited her laced-up attire, "A corset isn't office attire."
"Most Newsboys don't have matching laces or a tie."
He slapped the strip of paper down on the smooth desk surface "Fair, here's Jack's comic and I hope you can get it to Pulitzer before Sunday." He implied a lot more than just passing a piece of paper along.
"I am his secretary after all."
She'd left him in it was the butler all along murder mystery kind of shock. Defeated, he went to leave but turned back hesitantly, "What's your name?"
"Hannah Hart, and I am no one's Mistress Mr. Jacobs."
She was good, she knew his last name without even having to ask him for it. How could some young secretary be the master of getting under his skin? With a single well-spoken phrase, she'd bested him. Before the strike, he would have let the corseted secretary push him around. After winning the strike he had learned how to stand his ground. Widening out his shoulders and posture he once more prepared a final attack. Just before he could launch it Bunsen and Seitz came speed walking past him.
Both middle-aged men were horrified at the secretary's outfit and the fact that there was also a young gentleman in her proximity.
"Dear Heaven's child, what on earth are you wearing?" Bunsen removed his dark grey suit jacket and wrapped it around Hannah's bare shoulders. Also doing the buttons up as an attempt to hide her exposed collarbones.
Seitz squared up with Davey, "I suggest you leave before I get security to escort you out."
Though these pudgy old men were referring to him like a pest, they still smelled of butterscotch. Both seeming to care about Hannah's well-being and dignity. So Davey declared them fine companions and left never once daring to look back at those angel-like auburn curls.