Author's Note: And, alas, I come bearing the third part of A Virgin's Touch. In this part, set five months after Part I, and three months after Part II, I used this chapter to show the conflicting feelings within Luke. He goes from times where he feels certain emotions to times where he is hollow and empty. But, over all, he is still a young boy – he has been traumatized by his sister's death but he has yet to be victimized. That will be seen in following chapters. Part III and (following soon) Part IV are set at the same time; while there was time separating Parts I, II & III, I am starting to bring this piece closer in time for a bit. I hope you all enjoy.

Also, I just want to say what a major pain in the ass it is to have to research this piece. Before I make any fact, I'm spending time verifying it. Wikipedia is my friend :) The big problem I had with this part is the legal drinking age in 1893(when this all takes place, by the way – 1895 is when it'll end). From all the research I did, it appears that a legal drinking age wasn't established until 1934, when it was 18. In 1984, it was increased to 21. I could find no mention of it prior to Prohibition in the 1920's; it was said that society's standards kept too young children from drinking.

Disclaimer: These are always mandatory when dabbling in fan fiction. If there is anything at all that is reminiscent of the 1992 musical Newsies, then it probably belongs to Disney. The characters of Luke/Rip & his family, Caitlin/Spindle, and Jessa, specifically, are mine, as well as others that may work their way into this story. Any others belong to their respective authors and will be noted in individual disclaimers.

The character of Melody/Bittah is the creative property of the author, Bittersweet Harmony. Thank you for letting me include her in this story, Bittah – Stress.

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A Virgin's Touch

05.31.06

They say that what men desire is a virgin who is a whore.
Maybe that's what I was looking for. It's what I made her, after all.

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PART III

There was a knock at the door. Luke glanced up from his cold and half-eaten meal of frittata. He pushed the peas and eggs around with his fork, intent on ignoring the rapping at the apartment door. It's probably just Gabriel, too lazy to take out his key. He speared a pea with the edge of his fork and brought it to his lips.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Whoever it was had progressed from knocking to incessant tapping. Luke sighed and lowered his fork. He hadn't been able to sit peacefully at the table when his father and younger brothers were in the kitchen earlier that evening. Now that Tonio and Paolo were in bed, and his father was in the midst of another of his drunken stupors, he had tried to finish his supper before Gabriel returned from working the late shift at Vincenzo's. And now this. If it wasn't Gabriel – for, if it was, he would have surely taken out his key by now – who could it be? After Maria's death five months ago, and Carolina Divenize's hospitalization three months later following a strong bout of pneumonia couple with severe depression, not many visitors had come to call at their apartment. I wonder who it could be. But curiosity was not enough to entice him to leave his seat; it had been a long day out on the street and he was eager to relax and take some time for himself.

Bang. Bang. Whoever it was, they were not leaving until someone answered the door.

"Ottenga il portello, ragazzo pigro." His father, not as passed out as he would like, slurred out the command. The banging was probably heard much louder in his inebriated state. But, of course, he couldn't leave his bedroom to answer the door. That was Luke's job.

"Sì," Luke called back before muttering under his breath, "you drunken ass." He pushed his chair away from the table before rising. His hair, even longer than it had been – after all, five months was a long time to go without a haircut – fell forward and nearly hid his blue eyes, narrowed in dislike at the door. Whoever it was, they were leaving as soon as he gave them a piece of his mind.

He opened the door, a scowl on his face. "What do you…want?" Though his question started out harsh, matching his annoyed expression, it softened on the last word. It wasn't Gabriel at the door or anyone else he knew – it was a girl.

Her hand, tucked into a fist, was poised to hit the door again. When she saw that someone had finally answered, she lowered her hand and stuck it into the right side pocket of her dark slacks. Her grey eyes were staring intently at him and she appeared as frustrated as Luke felt. "Does Gabriel Divenize live here?" she asked, and he had to try not to roll his eyes at the way she butchered his last name.

He nodded but kept his eyes on her. She was dressed so strangely. He was used to girls wearing skirts and dresses; that's the sort of clothes Mama had made for Maria. But this girl – not only did she wear dark slacks, but her shirt was similar to his. The grey button down shirt suited her coloring. The pale color matched the shade of her eyes and complimented the short, dirty-blonde hair that he spied peeking out from under her dark cap. If it wasn't for the delicacy of her features, he might have mistaken her for a boy.

She seemed a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny but did not comment on it. She's a tough one, Luke admired briefly. Though she was only a couple of inches shorter than he was, the way she carried herself spoke of a strong personality; it easily made her appear to be much bigger than she was. "Is he here?"

"Who?"

She sighed and the exhale sounded just like his mother when she was cleaning up after her children. Well, at least before she got so sick and had to go away. "Gabriel. Your brother, I assume." Now it was her turn to look him over. He could almost feel her eyes traveling across his body and he smirked. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Like what you see?"

She jerked her head up and almost snorted. "You wish, kid," she answered. His smirk wavered a bit but did not slide off of his face. That's not fair really, he thought. She can't be more than two years older than me.

The girl stood there, waiting, now. Luke realized that it was his turn. "Why are looking for Gabriel, girlie?" he asked, sticking his chin outward and looking down. He may be younger than her but he was taller.

A slight flush came over her. She seemed angry. "Bittah."

"Bitter?" he asked, drawing out the second syllable. He wasn't sure if that's what she actually said.

She shook her head sharply. "No. Bittah. That's my name," she added. "Listen, can you just tell Gabriel that I'm here?" She looked over his shoulder and tried to scan the room behind him. Yet, there was no sight of Gabriel.

But Luke wasn't done with her yet. "Why is your name so odd?" His arms still crossed, he leaned back against the doorway, blocking her view into the apartment. He hadn't missed her quick glance past him. "Well?"

His questions were getting her even more frustrated. She reached up and began to fiddle with the silver cross that had been tucked underneath her white undershirt. "They called me Melody, alright? But I go by Bittah now."

He nodded again, trading his smirk for a small smile. He was having fun baiting this girl. Ever since his mother had been hospitalized, Gabriel had been spending more and more time out of the apartment. Without his older brother around to bother, Luke had been visiting Maria's grave all the more frequent. And it's hard to pester a slab of marble.

She dropped the cross and, after making sure it was tucked back under her shirt, she placed her hands on her hips. "Do me a favor, kid? Just tell Gabriel to meet me down at Red's Bar down on 25th street. You got that?"

25th street? Luke raised his eyebrow. "Ain't that joint on the edge of the Tenderloin, Melody?" What the hell is Gabriel doing, going to the Tenderloin?

Bittah matched his grin, providing one of her own. "You're smarter than you look, kid. Have you ever been out there?" When Luke didn't answer, she cocked her head. "You should check it out sometime," she said. She winked at him once and stuck her hands back in her pockets. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away from him. Luke just closed the door behind her.

And, when Gabriel finally came home hours later, stumbling into the kitchen where Luke was waiting for him, he had no doubts that Gabriel had found his way to Red's without Luke having to share Melody's message with him. The boy reeked of alcohol.

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In the days that followed, Luke spent more time home than ever. That, of course, was a good thing. Giovanni Divenize, a mere illusion of the man he had once been, refused to leave his bedroom; after burying his little girl and losing his wife to the institute, he saw no reason to do anything more than holler for one of his sons to bring him more beer. Tonio had taken to haunting the Romano's apartment, the home of the girl, Elisabetta, he had been visiting the day Maria had been killed. Paolo rarely left the house, himself, but spent his time reading. Rather than face the harsh reality that had consumed his life, the youngest Divenize preferred to enter fantastical worlds where he could escape. Luke remained in the kitchen, preparing simple meals in order to get his family to eat; it was what his Mama would have wanted. He told himself that he didn't want to upset her further and how happy would she be when she returned from the hospital, if everything had been taken care of while she was gone.

The truth, though, was that he spent much of his time in the kitchen because, when Gabriel was actually home, he was in the kitchen. Ever since that brief encounter with that girl, all Luke wanted to do was find out what had happened to Gabriel. He had been the son who kept the family together. Now it was Luke. And Luke was concerned with his brother's secretive actions.

But it was clear that Gabriel, during the brief occasions when he came home sober enough, did not intend to share any of his activities with his younger brother. When Luke mentioned Melody – and then "Bittah" because Gabriel seemed to have no idea who Melody was – to him, he smiled and said she was "a sweet girl despite her attitude" and that "he was lucky to have made friends with her." Luke wasn't sure what that meant; Gabriel had smiled when he said it but, besides the slur in which he said the comments, he seemed sincere. But sweet girls did not spend nights down at Red's Bar. And honest, hard-working Italian Catholic boys were not supposed to get drunk.

For the first time in a long time, Luke felt something stirring deep within him – and it wasn't anger. It was curiosity, a curiosity so strong that, one night, after he had checked to make sure that Paolo was in bed and his father was locked in his room, he decided he was going to find out exactly what Gabriel was up to.

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It didn't take him as long as he thought to find Red's Bar. When Melody had said that it was on 25th street, she wasn't kidding. Though the establishment was small, it was right across from the street sign that indicated that it was, in fact, on 25th street.

He stood outside the door and peered inside but, considering it was probably just as dark inside as it was outside, he could see nothing. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled on the door.

His first impression, besides the assertion that it really was that dark inside, was that the place was way too smoky for him. With his first breath, he coughed slightly. His lungs were unused to the potency of the tobacco; though his father, even when Luke was younger, drank his beer, neither his father nor mother ever smoked.

He tried to cover up his discomfort quickly when the bartender, the only person who noticed his entrance into the dank and smoky building, glanced up at him. The man, even taller and bulkier than his father, was biting down on the edge of a cigar and scowling at Luke. His eyes were narrowed in dislike at the boy and his chin was hidden by a thick array of red whiskers. This man, undoubtedly, must be the Red of Red's Bar.

Luke straightened up and looked around. Apart from the counter just to the right of the place, he saw that there were a variety of small tables filled with people talking and drinking. Then, in the back, hardly discernable through the smoke, there was a door with a sign above it. The sign, in brick print, said: PRIVATE.

From his quick scanning, Luke did not find his brother among the other patrons of the bar. Though it was dark outside, it was still early. Maybe Gabriel hadn't finished his shift at Vincenzo's yet.

Trying to appear much older than he was – fourteen year old boys, he reminded himself, did not belong in bars – he approached the counter and took the only vacant seat he saw, between a bald man and young boy with a black cap slung low. He waited for the large bartender to look his way and, when he did, he barked out his order. "Gimme a sarsaparilla," he said, trying to keep the Italian lilt from his voice. With such red hair, Luke had no doubts that Red was an Irishman; could this, perhaps, be an Irish bar? And, despite the occasional wine he had at home, he was not comfortable ordering liquor in an establishment. To him, there was a big difference between his actions at home and his actions at public.

Red, as he assumed was the bartender's name, just nodded before grabbing a glass from beneath the counter and pouring the brown drink into it. When the glass was filled about halfway, he slammed it in front of Luke. "Grazie," he muttered under his breath before raising the glass up. He did a mock toast towards the back of Red's head before downing half of the glass' contents.

The drink was somewhat bitter and Luke had a hard time controlling his facial expression. Like the first time he drank wine, he had expected something better tasting. In this case, however, it was harder to keep a straight face because he was used to sarsaparilla treated with oil of wintergreen to make it taste better. It seemed like Red liked to skimp on the flavoring.

"Can't hold your liquor, eh, kid?" The boy sitting to his right was speaking to him. He had kept his head straight, nursing his own glass, but had witnessed the struggle of control on Luke's face.

Luke felt his face growing hot. I didn't come down here to get pissed on, he thought and tapped the boy on his shoulder. "Did you say something, buddy?" When the boy didn't answer him, he tapped even harder. "Hey…"

That's when he turned and Luke saw that "he" was really a she. It was Melody. Her grey eyes were not grey but, rather, blue and they were watery and rimmed with red. That glass in her hand was definitely not her first that night. "Hey kid. Looking for Gabriel, I gather?"

All Luke could do was nod.

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Translations:

Fritatta – An open faced omelette. There can be potatoes and eggs, peas and eggs, asparagus and eggs, peppers and eggs, cucuzza and eggs.
Ottenga il portello, ragazzo pigro – Get the door, lazy boy.
Sì – Yes
Tenderloin – A (now defunct) seedy, red-light district on the West Side of Manhattan from 24th Street to 40th Street
Grazie - Thanks