CHAPTER 5
Race went a little ways down the road to make the call to Jack, leaving Davey sitting on the patio outside of The Wooden Nickel to finish up the last of the biscuits and gravy and to ponder how they were going to get out of the mess that they'd found themselves in.
The way Davey saw it, the main issue that needed to be addressed was their lack of money, or cash specifically. They were going to be stuck in this little town until dinnertime at least, and would need to find a way to pay for a meal (unless they planned on subsisting solely on Race's remaining Pop-Tarts) and to gas up the moving van once the tires had been replaced. Thankfully, there was a service station not far from the auto shop, but like all of the other establishments in town, the only form of payment it took was cash. So, finding some kind of work would be necessary.
Davey cleaned up the utensils and napkins from their meager meal and walked back to the main entrance of the restaurant to throw away the trash. As he did, a small sign on the door caught his eye. It read: HELP WANTED.
Thank you, God! Davey thought. This could be the answer to their problems!
He waited as patiently as he could for Race to finish his phone call. It looked like Jack was giving him a bit of a hard time from the way Race was gesturing and pacing back and forth, but finally Race hung up the phone and came over to Davey, looking a bit sour but saying nothing.
"I won't ask you how that went," Davey said, "but I do have some good news for you." He pointed excitedly to the sign on the door. Race squinted at it.
"'Help wanted,'" he read, sounding unimpressed.
"Don't you get it, Race? This is how we can earn the cash that we need!" Davey exclaimed. "Come on, let's go see if we can find someone inside to talk to about this."
Race followed him into the restaurant, letting out an audible sigh of relief as he stepped into the cool, air-conditioned building.
The Wooden Nickel was a fairly sizable establishment with a large waiting area for guests adjacent to the bar area. A table with a chess set and several board games sat by the door, and beyond that, racks of cue sticks lined the wall, overlooking what could only be described as...
"A pool table!" Race gasped, stopping short.
Davey gave him a perplexed look, and Race waved his arm at the offending object. "A pool table, don'tcha understand?"
"What's wrong with a pool table?" Davey asked innocently.
Race slung his arm around his shoulders, leaning in conspiratorially. "Friend, either you are closing your eyes to a situation you do not wish to acknowledge, or you are not aware of the caliber of disaster indicated by the presence of a pool table in this community. Well, you got trouble my friend! Right here I say trouble right here in - "
"Yes, Race," Davey cut in. "We do. Have trouble. A lot of trouble. Remember the van? And the money? Can we please focus here?"
"Make your blood boil? Well, I should say!"
"Race, please," Davey pleaded.
"Alright, Dave, alright," Race acquiesced. "Keep your shirt on."
He glanced around the restaurant. Opposite the bar and waiting area was a large dining room full of tables and chairs. It was currently corded off and empty, but looked like it could accommodate quite a few dinner guests, as the room was fairly deep. On the far wall Race could make out a platform on which sat a piano and several microphones, presumably the stage for The Wooden Nickel's advertised live entertainment.
A man was crouched near the corner of the stage with his back to them, fiddling with some of the electrical cords.
Davey cleared his throat. "Um, excuse me, sir," he called, leaning as far as he could over the barrier. "Could we speak to you about something?"
The man didn't turn around.
Race rolled his eyes. "Hey!" he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth and using his best theater voice. This time, the man heard him, glancing over his shoulder in surprise. Race waved at him, motioning for him to come over.
"So, what do I tell him, Dave?" he asked, as the man walked towards them.
"Just tell him we're a couple of hungry kids with no money," Davey answered. "And ask him if there are any odd jobs we can do around here in exchange for cash." Race nodded as the man drew near.
"Hey, 'scuse me, mister!" he began, "I know this sounds funny, but we're down on our luck and we ain't got no money. Any chance you need some prep cooks or a busboy or two? We're willing to do anything you've got for us to do."
"Just can't help yourself, can you?" Davey muttered under his breath.
Race only grinned.
The man gave them an appraising look, as if unsure of whether to speak with them or to throw them out. Davey was sure that their bedraggled appearance wasn't doing them any favors, but there was nothing for that now. He was about to say something, to plead if necessary, when the man broke the silence.
"Well, we are looking for some help in the kitchen," he said cautiously. "And we're expecting a pretty large crowd for dinner tonight. But I've got to ask Mr. Jacobi, the owner, first. All new hires have to come through him - "
"What's this, Darcy?" came a voice from behind them.
A burly, bearded man strolled over to the dining area, a glass of seltzer water in hand.
Darcy motioned to Race and Davey. "Mr. Jacobi, these boys are looking for some kind of work."
"Work?" The man stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment. "Hmmm...I might have a few options for you."
"What've you got?" Race asked, trying not to sound too eager.
"Well, here are your choices: I heard you shouting all the way back in the kitchen, and I'm not sure if you've got a set of pipes to go with that voice of yours or not, but I just got word that our vocalist for tonight came down with a bout of bronchitis. We've got a large crowd coming for dinner tonight, and I need someone to step in at the last minute to handle the entertainment. As you can see, we've got a piano and sound system in our dining hall. If you and your friend can put together a program for our guests tonight, I'll let you sing for your supper, and I'll throw in the amount we would have paid our scheduled performer and her accompanist."
He paused, and took a sip of seltzer water. "Or, if you'd prefer, you can join the kitchen crew in the back and help us through the dinner rush at the hourly minimum wage. Your choice. I'll pay you in cash either way." He gestured to Davey. "Discuss it with your friend, if you'd like."
Race was about to say that they'd do kitchen duty, when Davey grabbed his arm.
"Race," he whispered urgently, "the first option - take him up on it!"
"What, are you crazy?" Race hissed.
"Come on, Race! I've heard you sing," Davey insisted. "You're really good. And I've had ten years of piano lessons. I think we can handle a little dinner show."
Race hesitated. Despite his theater background and obsession with musicals, he considered himself more of an actor than a singer and had no desire to give a concert to a crowd of strangers. But it did seem to be the more potentially lucrative of the two options. And besides, he was the one who had gotten them into this mess. The least he could do was listen to Davey this one time. If he thought that they could pull it off, then who was Race to argue with him?
"Sure beats washin' dishes," he conceded.
Davey gave him an encouraging pat on the back.
"Alright, Mr. Jacobi. You've got yourself a dinner show," Race declared.
The burly man looked pleased. "Excellent! There's a makeshift green room off to the left of the stage. Feel free to tidy up there and make yourself comfortable. Darcy can help you with your setup for tonight. The program will begin at 7:00 p.m. sharp. I look forward to seeing what you boys come up with."
Toasting them with his seltzer water, Mr. Jacobi took his leave.
"We'll sound check at 5:45 before the dinner begins at 6:00," Darcy said, all business. "In the meantime, you're welcome to use the piano, and I'll show you how the board works if you want to try out the sound system."
The next several hours passed by in a flash as Davey and Race got acquainted with the setup of the stage and hurriedly tried to figure out exactly what they would be performing for the guests that night. Davey suggested that Race use the songs in his audition book as a starting point, which turned out to be a wise decision, as running through the well-rehearsed numbers eased Race's nerves somewhat. Lacking the actual book, Davey was left to figure out the accompaniment on his own, but after watching a few YouTube performances and acquainting himself especially with the songs that he didn't know, he somehow managed to pull it off, much to Race's amazement.
They worked away tirelessly until the late afternoon, rehearsing song after song until they'd settled on a lineup that they were both happy with.
Deciding that a break was in order, they retreated to the green room. To their delight, it was fully stocked with water bottles and small snacks, and even had a table and chairs and a set of couches.
"I don't know if I'd rather eat or sleep," Davey sighed, collapsing onto one of the sofas. Race copied him, flopping down on the remaining couch before opening a package of chips and emptying the entire contents into his mouth.
"Well, we certainly could be doing worse," Davey remarked, surveying their surroundings with satisfaction as Race crunched away. "If we had taken the dishwashing job, we'd probably be sitting out in the heat with empty stomachs." He grinned at Race. "Thanks for being willing to give this dinner show thing a try."
Race shook his head, still in disbelief. "Never thought I'd see the day when Davey Jacobs would be the one convincing me to do something a little crazy," he responded.
Davey only shrugged, but Race could see a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "Yeah, well...I guess there's a first time for everything." He jumped to his feet, suddenly full of energy. "Hey, I just remembered that I brought my sports jacket with me, and a button down and tie, too. I'm going to go back to the van to get them, and I'll check in with the Delanceys while I'm there to see when we can pick up Rachelle. I'll bring your duffel bag back, too, in case you want to change before tonight. We should probably try to clean up a little before we go on."
"You're probably the only person I know who would pack a shirt and tie for a road trip, Davey," Race teased. "But seeing as they're actually coming in handy, I guess I can't say much." He laid back on the sofa, kicking his feet up and resting his arms behind his head. "I'm gonna try to get a little shut-eye in before we gotta go sound check."
Davey nodded. "I'll join you when I get back." He was halfway out the door, when he turned back and said tentatively, "Race...we'd better make sure that we get up on time for tonight. You're...uh...going to set an alarm, right?"
The pained look on his face was priceless, and Race guffawed. "You know you can always count on me for that, Dave."
Davey's trip to the auto shop to retrieve their belongings was quick, and Morris and Oscar assured him that the van would be ready to go by evening. Since Race and Davey would be in the middle of their performance when the shop closed, Davey arranged to have the van parked outside of the shop and the key dropped off at The Wooden Nickel. Logistics settled, he returned to the green room, where Race was already snoring away, clutching one of the sofa's throw pillows like a teddy bear.
Careful not to wake the other young man Davey set down their things, then pulled a notebook and pencil out of his luggage. He sat down at the table and began scribbling down notes for the evening's performance. Silently, he thanked his parents for forcing him through a decade of piano lessons. He'd hated it then, but he sure was grateful for it now.
His preparations took a little longer than expected, but by the time he'd finished, there was still time for a short nap. Pushing aside his notebook, Davey walked over to the available couch and stretched out, tiredness claiming him almost as soon as his head hit the pillow...
In reality, it was the better part of an hour, but to him it felt like mere minutes before he was dragged from slumber by the urgent sound of drums and brass blaring throughout the green room.
"Now is the time to seize the day! (Now is the time to seize the day!) Answer the call and don't delay! (Answer the call and don't delay!) Wrongs will be righted if we're united, let us seize the day!"
"Race, what is this?" Davey groused, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes as the anthemic song continued to play at a jarringly loud volume.
"Only one of the most motivating show tunes out there!" Race replied cheerfully, reaching for his phone. "You sure you've never heard of Newsies, Davey? The musical about the newsboy strike of 1899?"
"No, I haven't; I think my ignorance of Broadway musicals has been well established. Can we just go back to Hamilton or something?" Davey grumbled. "This guy's cheeriness is grating."
"Suit yourself," Race replied, cuing up "Guns and Ships." "Better?"
Davey mumbled something unintelligible, and Race silently wondered if Mr. Jacobi would be willing to spot them for half a cup of coffee.
"Hey, just sit tight, Dave," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll be right back." He hurried out of the room. Within minutes, he was back, holding a mug of steaming liquid, which he shoved gently into Davey's hands.
"Can't have you falling asleep at the piano tonight," Race remarked, his tone light but his face serious. He could sense the beginning of pre-show jitters beginning to churn in his stomach, and knew that the last thing he needed was a sullen accompanist on his hands.
The coffee had its desired effect, and Davey soon perked up, much to Race's relief. Both boys had missed calls from Jack on their phones, but neither of them wanted to answer him right then. Race shoved his phone into his duffel bag, out of sight. "Come on, Davey," he motioned. "Let's go wash up."
Davey hesitated, feeling slightly guilty. He knew that they had Jack worried - really worried. But he walked away, leaving his phone in the green room, and, with Race on his heels, went to go clean up before it was time to meet Darcy for their sound check.
"I'm wondering how big this crowd's really gonna be," Race remarked, as he adjusted his microphone on stage. "It doesn't make sense for folks to be driving out to the middle of nowhere just to eat some biscuits and gravy and hear some no-name performer sing."
"I was thinking the same," Davey said, "so I took the liberty of doing a little research. It turns out this place is actually a hidden gem; it's been written up in travel magazines and featured on The Food Network. So we might actually have quite a crowd tonight."
This was unwelcome news to Race.
After they completed their sound check with Darcy, they retired to the green room to wait until it was time to go on stage. Davey sat down at the table to review his notebook while Race paced back and forth, unable to focus on anything in particular.
True to his word, Mr. Jacobi provided them with dinner, sending over a waiter with two warm meals, a glass of juice for Race, and another cup of coffee for Davey.
Race joined Davey at the table, but found himself too full of nervous energy to eat. Instead, he morosely pushed his chicken cutlet around on his plate, shooting envious glances at Davey, who had quickly demolished his dinner and was already tucking into dessert.
"It doesn't seem fair that I'm the one with the butterflies, seeing as you're usually the nervous one of the two of us," Race finally remarked, pushing his plate away
Davey finished a bite of pie before putting down his fork.
"Sorry, Race…" he said sympathetically. "I don't know why I don't get nervous about these kinds of things." He paused, then elaborated, "I guess it's because when I was growing up, whenever I had a piano recital or competition or something like that, my mom would always come in before my performance and tell me that she was proud of me. And she'd always say the same thing to me afterwards, even if I'd screwed up horribly." He shrugged. "I guess it just kind of helped me not to worry so much, knowing that her words would be the same, regardless of my performance."
"Yeah, well, it's too bad some of us don't have moms who come around to tell us things like that," Race mumbled, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone.
Davey stared at him in silence for a moment. "Your mom never came to watch you perform?" he asked quietly.
Race shook his head. "Nah. She had other things to do. Never quite managed to make it to anything."
There was a little flicker of pain in Race's eyes, and Davey found himself reaching out to put a hand on his traveling partner's shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "Your mom missed out."
Race shrugged him off. "Stow it, you sap. My friends was always there for me, and my little sister came to everything she could." He added, almost defensively, "I got my own personal fan army back home, so don't you dare feel sorry for me, Davey."
"Okay, okay…" Davey raised his hands in surrender. "I hear ya." He sensed that he had narrowly avoided crossing a line, and made a mental note to tread carefully around the topic of family with Race in the future.
Anxious to change the subject, his eye fell upon Race's uneaten piece of pie.
Davey hesitated. He felt bad for taking advantage of his traveling partner's loss of appetite, but still, it was chocolate cream pie, and it seemed a shame for it to go to waste.
"Um," he began tentatively, "if you're not going to eat that…"
Race gave him a disbelieving look.
"Sorry, never mind," Davey backpedaled.
"No, no, it's fine, Dave," Race said, suddenly sounding a little more like himself. "You're welcome to have it." He paused. "I just didn't think you'd want to eat this particular piece of pie."
"Why not?" Davey asked.
"Don'tcha see it?" Race motioned to the dessert. Davey craned his neck, trying to figure out what the other boy was referring to, but failing. Race rolled his eyes. "You sure you don't need glasses, Davey?" He held up the plate. "Look!"
Davey leaned over. "I don't see anything wrong with - "
Race shoved the pie into his face.
"Didn't think that would work," he chortled gleefully. "But I guess I was wrong!" He slapped Davey on the back. "You sure know how to make a guy feel better, Dave - my butterflies are all gone now!" Springing up from the table, Race grabbed his empty cup. "Be right back - I'm gonna get a refill!" And he sauntered away, whistling the notes of their opening number.
"Unbelievable," Davey muttered as the door slammed behind him. He reached for a napkin.
Unfortunately, Darcy chose that exact moment to poke his head in the door. "Ten minutes to places, gents!" he announced. He caught sight of Davey and stared. "Ah...enjoying the pie, I see?" he ventured.
"It was delicious," Davey answered, with as much dignity as he could muster.
"It's actually one of our specialties - Sunset magazine did a feature on it last month." Darcy paused, clearly wanting to say something more. But he checked himself and, with one last reminder about their start time, backed out of the room, nearly running into Race, who was just returning with his drink.
"Geez, Davey, I leave you alone for one minute and look what happens!" Race said loudly for Darcy's benefit.
"Give it a rest, pal," Davey said, wiping his face with a napkin, "unless you want your songs magically transposed up a key or two higher tonight."
Race immediately fell silent.
The dining room was completely packed, humming with noisy anticipation as Race stepped on stage, adjusting his microphone for probably the fiftieth time and giving a thumbs up to Darcy, who was working the soundboard at the back of the room. Lacking appropriate attire for the occasion, Race had borrowed Davey's sport coat to wear over his t-shirt and jeans. It was a little big on him, but it got the job done. As he fiddled nervously with the jacket's sleeves and looked out over the audience, he reminded himself that he'd never have to see any of these people again, and took some small comfort in that fact.
Glancing over at Davey, who was at his seat behind the piano, Race nodded. He was as ready as he was going to be. Davey gave him an encouraging look, then began to play. The crowd fell silent, and Race gave them his most winning smile.
Show time.
The thunderous sound of applause actually startled Race as he took a bow, extending his arm to acknowledge first Davey's accompaniment, and then Darcy's work on the soundboard in the back of the room. The patrons of The Wooden Nickel were on their feet, clapping, smiling, and cheering, having clearly enjoyed themselves and his performance, and Race let himself drink in the moment.
So this is what it feels like to be famous!
He shot Davey a grin, still amazed that they had pulled it off. He had to admit, it would have been a much more faltering performance if it hadn't been for his pianist's understated musicality, which had covered a few of Race's stumbles near the beginning of the set when his nerves had almost gotten to him. But after a while, he had settled in nicely and was feeling the rush, feeling the high...and then after that it was like walking on air.
Taking a final bow, Race stepped down from the stage and was almost immediately swarmed by congratulatory handshakes and hearty compliments on his performance.
Davey watched him proudly - he knew that Race would accuse him of being a sap, but he couldn't help it. Race was naturally talented, and it was good to see him get his chance to shine.
Closing the piano lid and gathering his notebook, Davey was about to go thank Darcy for his help, when Mr. Jacobi came walking through the crowd and up to the stage, looking pleased as punch.
"You boys did an excellent job tonight!" he boomed. "Far exceeded my expectations! It would have been an unfortunate waste of talent to have you in the kitchen washing dishes." He handed Davey an envelope "Here's the payment for tonight, as promised, and…" he dug into his pocket and then held up a key, "Oscar from the repair shop dropped this off about an hour ago."
Davey took the key, relieved to have it back in his hands. "Thanks, Mr. Jacobi," he said gratefully. "We would have been in a bind if you hadn't given us a chance to do this."
The burly man shook his head knowingly. "Well, I had a feeling about you boys, and my instincts are never wrong! Speaking of which…I had a band cancel on me, so can I book you guys again for tomorrow night? I know it's last minute."
Davey shook his head regretfully. "We really appreciate the offer, but we've got to be hitting the road first thing tomorrow morning. Thanks, though - and for the dinner, too. Everything was great, the pie especially."
"Well, that is one of our specialties!" Mr. Jacobi beamed. He stuck out his hand for Davey to shake. "You boys are always welcome at The Wooden Nickel. Come back and play for us again sometime, alright?" He glanced over at Race, who was still surrounded. "I'd tell your friend myself, but he seems a little busy right now."
"I'll make sure to let him know," Davey promised. He bid Mr. Jacobi goodbye, and then, after a brief word of thanks to Darcy, retreated to the green room to pack things up. They'd done what they'd needed to do here, and with cash in hand and Rachelle up and running, they could once again set their sights on Santa Fe.
Race pushed open the door to the green room nearly an hour later, still feeling the adrenaline rush of the night's success.
Everything was neat and in order. Davey had cleaned up the room and packed their bags and was standing with his back to the door, engrossed in conversation on his phone. "Hey, you'll do great," he said encouragingly to the person on the other end of the line. He noticed Race and gave a small wave of acknowledgement. "No, don't worry about that, Les…" Davey continued. He paused, then added firmly, "If Sally's really your friend, she'll support you." Another pause. "Yeah, I know...don't remind me," Davey sighed, rubbing his temple. "Les, you promised, remember?" There was another long pause as Les replied.
"We'll talk more about this later," Davey said finally. "I gotta go now. But I'll see you soon, alright? Okay...you too...you're welcome. Goodnight, Les." Davey ended the call, then glanced apologetically at Race. "Sorry about that. My little brother has a presentation in class tomorrow, and he wanted me to listen to his run-through."
Race waved it off. "Don't need to apologize, Dave," he said. He remembered from his college days that Davey had always been close to his family. "Hey, guess what?" he said, grinning. "I met a fella tonight after the show, and he gave me this." He held something out to Davey.
It was a business card that read: B. Denton. Talent Scout.
Davey's eyes widened. "Race, that's...that's great! He told you to call him?"
"Yup," Race answered proudly. "Said he'd want to work with me if I was interested. Turns out he's from New York, too."
"What are the chances of that?" Davey laughed. "Well, I think we can chalk tonight up as an undisputed success for you. Aren't you glad that you listened to me about taking this job?"
"Smugness ain't a good look on you, Dave," Race jibed, smiling but refusing to answer the question. He tucked the business card into his wallet, then shouldered his duffel bag. "You ready to head out?"
Davey took one last look around the room, then picked up his suitcase and nodded. "Mr. Jacobi gave me the money for tonight, and I've got Rachelle's key, too, so I think we have everything we need. Let's go."
They left the restaurant in high spirits, walking slowly down the road towards the repair shop where the moving van was sitting, parked at the end of the street.
"Your theater chops definitely showed tonight," Davey remarked, clapping Race on the back.
"And you're a heck of a piano player," Race returned admiringly. "Got that stage presence too - never woulda pegged you as an entertainer, Davey."
"I actually thought about going into performing arts in college," Davey confessed.
Race was shocked. "Well, why didn'tcha?" he asked. The possibility that he and Davey could have been classmates was yet another startling revelation on a day that had already been full of surprises.
Davey shrugged. "I didn't think it would be practical for me to try to make a career out of it, so I went in a different direction."
"What was your major?" Race asked, wracking his brain as he tried to remember. "Something...smart, right?"
"Biochemistry," Davey answered. "Something practical."
"Do you ever wish you'd done something a little less practical?" Race wondered.
Davey shook his head. "It was my choice; no regrets." He grinned. "But tonight was fun. I kind of miss the thrill of performing sometimes. It's been a while since I've done anything like this."
They reached the van, which was looking shipshape with its brand new tires, and it oddly felt a little like coming home.
"Good to see you again, Rachelle," Race said. "We're gonna rest a bit for tonight, but we'll be hitting the road first thing tomorrow morning once the service station opens and we can getcha a full tank of gas."
He turned to Davey. "I'm pretty sure we've got nothing to worry about around here, but maybe we should take turns keeping watch for tonight." They would only be resting for a few hours anyway, and could always sleep on the road once they left for Santa Fe in the morning.
Davey concurred, volunteering to stay awake for the first shift while Race got some sleep. Surprisingly, Race was actually starting to get tired - the rush of the evening had begun to wear off, and the fatigue was setting in - so he agreed.
"I'm gonna check out the view from the roof," he said, digging through his duffel bag and pulling out a sweatshirt. "I still don't know how you can sleep inside the van sitting up like that. I gotta be somewhere where I can stretch out."
Davey cracked open the windows of the van slightly to allow for a cross-breeze, then settled back into the passenger seat. "Well, it's certainly not the comfiest place for an overnighter, but it still beats that hotel of yours in Springfield," he joked.
Race protested. "Ah, come on, Dave - it wasn't that bad!"
"The only redeeming quality of that hotel was that it didn't have a pool," Davey replied mercilessly.
Race scoffed, but said nothing, tossing the sweatshirt onto the top of the van and then climbing nimbly up after it.
From the roof, he could see the entirety of the little town.
Race laid down and put his rolled up sweatshirt behind his head as a makeshift pillow. With relatively few lights piercing the darkness of the night sky and no buildings in the way, the view of the stars was breathtakingly beautiful. It was almost as if he could reach out and touch them if he just stretched his hands up high enough.
"At the top, at the top, at the top of the world…" Race sang quietly to himself.
The moving van door opened, and a light blanket was thrown up onto the roof. "It might get a little chilly tonight," Davey's voice came floating out of the darkness.
"I've stopped asking myself how you packed all this stuff in such a small space, Dave," Race remarked playfully. "You're a regular Mary Poppins with who knows what else coming out of that suitcase of yours!"
"Like I said, it pays to be prepared," Davey replied, and Race had to give him credit for sounding more earnest than smug. "Just be careful, Race. Don't sleep too near the edge of the roof. And if it gets too cold, come down and get another layer, alright?"
"Yes, Mother," Race answered, pulling the blanket over himself. "I promise, I'll be good." He shook his head, grinning a little, then added, "'Night, Davey. Make sure an' wake me up when it's my turn."
"I've already picked out the most ear-splitting, bothersome show tune I can think of," Davey deadpanned. "Goodnight, Race."
A/N: Apologies if this got a little too meta...I just thought it wouldn't be an accurate representation of Race's well-rounded musical theater repertoire if I didn't include Newsies in there somewhere. :)
This trip is coming to an end, but I promise I'll do my best to give you a doozy of a finale without causing any undue harm to either Race or Davey. (There may be an appearance by a certain bowler-wearing little brother, but I'll just leave it at that, lest said little brother accuse the author of palavering).
Please let me know what you thought! Your comments are to me what Pop-Tarts are to Race and coffee is to Davey (okay, maybe exaggerating juuuust a bit...but "a little hyperbole never hurt anyone," right? ;)).