Bella-issima!
Summary: In which Race tries his hand at matchmaking.
A/N: This fic is dedicated to my longtime fanfiction friend Crystal (Nycnewsgirl). We have a running joke about how modern day Race and Albert have several animals that they keep as pets, and while the animal mentioned in this fic predates those headcanons, I wanted to write a story that gave a nod to some of the unapologetically silly discussions that Crystal and I have had in a similar vein. (Thanks, friend, for your kind heart and your sense of humor. I hope you enjoy this! :)).
February, 1900
It was laundry day at the Duane Street lodging house, and Racetrack Higgins had been saddled with the unenviable task of washing, hanging, and folding clothes for the rest of the newsies. As chores went, it wasn't the most disagreeable work, and he knew that he had to take his turn just like everyone else, but it was an unusually quiet afternoon, and the lack of noise and distraction only made his already-monotonous job even more humdrum.
The sun was already sinking slowly in the sky, casting long shadows across the floor, and Race began whistling as he plucked a few clean shirts from the pile that he'd hauled in from the clotheslines. He'd made sure to keep Jack and Romeo's clothes on top, knowing that the two newsies would give him an earful if their apparel came back wrinkled, but after carefully folding and setting aside their wearables, he turned a much less attentive eye to the rest of the jumble, pulling out knickers and socks at random and tossing them onto their owners' beds like rings in a game of quoits.
"Flyin' low and flyin' high," Race sang as he sized up the distance to the furthest bunk and prepared to launch Henry's balled-up shirt towards it. "Just like birdies in the skyyyyyy!"
The shirt soared through the air, landing squarely on Henry's pillow, and Race gave himself a little round of applause and bowed grandly, even though there was no one around to appreciate his dexterity (or his antics).
"You've still got it, Higgins," he pronounced as he plucked a pair of socks from the pile. "Maybe instead of hawkin' headlines you should've hauled yourself over to the Polo Grounds* and made your livin' tossin' balls instead of papes!"
The thought was absurd, of course, but Race had never been particularly keen on realism. What was the point in dreaming if you couldn't dream big?
He spent the next several moments pitching balled up socks and shirts and trousers at imaginary batters, then got back to business, making his way down the row of bunkbeds, folding each set of clothes into a neat pile. It went fairly quickly - most of the newsies only had one or two sets of clothing apiece - but it was dull and monotonous, and by the time Race had finished his task, he decided that a break and a reward was in order.
Flopping down on his bunk, he reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a half-eaten packet of dried fruit that he'd nicked from the grocer's earlier that day. After fishing around in the bag for a moment, he selected a dried apricot and popped it into his mouth, savoring the chewy-sweet morsel's delicate flavor.
No sooner had he reached for another piece, when a faint rustling sound came from underneath the bunk nearby, and a moment later, a fluffy black and white ball of fur emerged between Albert's old boots.
"Heya Bella**!" Race greeted her cheerfully. "You's up a little early. It ain't even twilight yet!"
The skunk sniffed the air, then waddled closer.
"The rest of the fellas is out canoodlin' or drowin' their sorrows on account of it bein' Valentine's Day weekend," Race informed her with a grin. "You only got me for company this evenin'." Reaching down, he stroked the skunk's striped back, then lifted her up and set her on the bed next to him. She sniffed curiously at the package that he was holding, and he shook a few raisins into his hand and held them out to her.
"Hey, that reminds me," he said as Bella eagerly began to eat, "it's mid-February already. I was just tellin' Stophie 'bout how 'round this time of year you start stinkin' to high heaven 'cause you ain't too fond of the male skunks gettin' close during matin' season." He cocked his head. "But you ain't stinkin' any more than you normally do. Does that mean you's finally ready to give some lucky fella a chance instead of givin' 'em all the cold shoulder like usual?"
Bella's only response was to bolt down the last raisin and paw impatiently at the bag of fruit, so Race obligingly emptied the rest of the contents into his hand.
"'Course, I could be readin' you all wrong," he continued, figuring the sound of his own voice was preferable to the silence of the lodging house. "It just seems like everyone's lookin' for love these days. Jacky's gonna be poppin' the question to his gal soon, and all the rest of the fellas is either paired off or wishin' they was. Even Les has got himself a little sugar cube. You's one of the only souls here who ain't coupled up." He reached over to give the skunk an affectionate pat. "The real question, though, is whether you's single 'cause you got no interest in gettin' tied up in a romance like me, or whether you's a sad sap like Romeo who'd kill for a sweetheart but can't land himself one no matter how hard he tries."
Bella looked up for a moment, and at first Race thought that she was considering his question, but then she shoved her nose impatiently against his hand, and he realized that he'd inadvertently curled his fingers around a large piece of dried apple, making it difficult for her to eat.
"Whoops, sorry about that, girl." He opened his hand wider so that the skunk could access the fruit and resume her snacking.
"Either way you lean, here's the way I see it," Race resumed, thinking he might as well impart a bit of home-grown wisdom, even if the audience was only a skunk. "Love's a tricky sort of thing. Sure, the feelin's and fun of it's probably real intoxicatin' at first, but you's liable to be paid back tenfold with nothin' but trouble, and those ain't the kind of odds I wanna play when the stake is my freedom, ya know? I've seen way too many romances go south - take my folks, for example: they was probably real besotted at first, but along the way somethin' happened, and by the end, they hated each other worse than cats an' dogs. There ain't no way a few kisses under the moonlight was worth all those years of bein' miserable - not to mention makin' me and my sister miserable while they was at it.
"And I ain't just talkin' about older folks, either. It's the same with most of the fellas here, too. Even Jack and Kath - they's real stuck on each other right now, and I hope it's gonna last 'cause they's a real cute couple and I know Jacky's over the moon…but I overheard 'em arguin' up on the rooftop not too long ago, and I'd bet a day's pay they's gonna keep arguin' even long after they's hitched. It don't mean things haf'ta end badly between 'em like it did with my folks, but it don't sound like a real nice way to live, ya know? 'Specially when a body could be sittin' pretty by himself, doin' whatever he pleased without havin' to answer to no one."
Bella, having by now finished the last of the fruit, snuffled at his hand, trying to see if he had anything else to offer, and Race reached over to scratch her gently behind the ears.
"I know what you's thinkin': you's wonderin' how an easygoing, open-minded fella like me could come down on love so hard. 'Ain't you seen any good relationships in your seventeen years of life, Racetrack?' you might ask. 'What about all the couples who's blissfully married, Racetrack?' Well, here's the thing, girl: I ain't denyin' those folks exist, and I've seen a few of 'em in my time. But for every one or two of 'em, there's a couple dozen that've gone all to pieces, and like I said, those ain't odds I'm willin' to take - nothin' against the fellas who choose to roll the dice, of course."
Bella stomped her feet, clearly disinterested in any sort of conversation that did not involve more food being offered, and Race fished around in his pockets to see if he had any more snacks.
"Here's my last bit of donut from this mornin'," he said, holding out the linty piece of pastry to the skunk. "It's harder than a block of concrete, but you's welcome to have it."
Bella dug in.
"So what about you, eh?" Race asked as she nibbled away. "You ain't got no family history weighin' you down, and you's gettin' on in years - you think you's ready to give romance a go? Pretty sure Kloppman wouldn't be happy havin' a whole passel of skunks runnin' loose in this place, but the fellas'll be thrilled, and we can fix you up a nice little den downstairs by the boiler room. Your ma was a real good nester, and I'm sure you's gonna be one too, if that's your inclination."
He reached over to give Bella another pat, but the skunk pointedly pushed his hand away and kept on eating.
"You's in some kinda mood today, ain'tcha?" Race observed, not at all put off but curious at the skunk's unusual behavior. "It ain't like you to be so grumpy and only into your food. Don't tell me you's like Romeo and the other fellas, drownin' your sorrows in sweets 'cause you got the Valentine's blues***!"
It was another absurd thought, but maybe one with a little more merit this time. Albert had mentioned earlier that week that he thought Bella was dragging a little, and now that Race had gotten a chance to observe her himself, he could see what the other newsie had meant. The skunk was always amenable to food, but she was normally far more interactive and affectionate, and even if she'd never shown any interest in mating before, maybe her animal instincts were catching up to her.
An idea suddenly popped into Race's mind.
It was getting close to twilight, he'd already finished the laundry, and he was pretty sure that there was a tin of sardines stashed away somewhere in his locker… What he had in mind probably wouldn't be the best use of his time, strictly speaking, but the alternative was just bumming around the lodging house, and if there was one thing Race lived by, it was that there was no point in being sensible but bored if you could amuse yourself instead.
"Finish eatin', Bella," he said, making up his mind. "We got a little social call to make. I'm gonna find you a nice skunk fella to pair off with so you don't haf'ta be lonely no more. If you don't like him, you's free to turn up your nose and go back to the bachelorette life, but if you's just needin' a little help gettin' yourself out there, well, consider me your own personal matchmaker!"
Leaving the skunk to finish her donut, Race got up and walked over to his locker in the wash room. After digging around inside of it for a moment or two, he triumphantly withdrew the tin of sardines and his hair comb, then made his way back over to Bella.
"Don'tcha worry, girl," he assured her with a grin. "We's gonna get you all gussied up before you go a-courtin'."
Dropping to his knees so that he could reach the skunk more easily, he carefully ran the comb through her fur, smoothing out the tangles and matted parts and removing bits of debris that had stuck to her belly. It probably would have been much more risky business if Bella hadn't been distracted by food, but Race worked gently, and soon the skunk's coat looked sleeker and more glossy than it ever had before.
"Bellissima!" Race pronounced grandly. "Or maybe it oughta be 'Bella-issima!'" He chuckled at his own joke. "You's lookin' mighty swell if I do say so myself!"
Bella paid him no mind, but once she had finished eating her donut, Race held out his hands, ready to put his scheme into motion. "Come on, girl," he coaxed. "Let's go. There's a fine gentleman skunk out there waitin' for you, I just know it, and we ain't gonna find him sittin' on our bums in the lodgin' house!"
Bella obligingly waddled over, seemingly agreeable to the prospect (or perhaps just happier now that her stomach was full). Race picked her up and then made his way out of the bunk room, down the stairs, and out of the lodging house, quietly bypassing Kloppman, who was dozing off at his desk.
Twilight had descended by this time, and the lamps on Duane Street were already flickering away. Race followed their glow south-east, keeping his eyes peeled for any sight of crepuscular**** wildlife. He'd occasionally seen skunks trotting through the alleyways or rummaging around the trash bins behind the nearby buildings, but he was hoping to find Bella a mate somewhere a bit more respectable (and hopefully less stinky).
George Park was less of a park and more of a grass patch that looked like it had been accidentally dropped into the middle of Lower Manhattan. Consisting of only a few trees and bushes flanking a short footpath, it wasn't the sort of place where one would expect to find animals, but Race had noticed before that the park's trash bins were rarely secured properly, and where there was easily-accessible rubbish, you were sure to find critters hanging around.
After making the short block-and-a-half jaunt to the park, Race came to a stop, carefully setting Bella down at the foot of the path. The skunk hesitated for a moment, then trotted a few paces towards the nearest bush, sniffing the foliage. Race stayed close by, keeping an eye on the trees overhead. A wild skunk would have known how to avoid predators, but Bella was basically domesticated, so he didn't want to take any chances.
As he was scanning the branches, a flash of red suddenly caught his eye, and he turned just in time to see a familiar boy wearing a red shirt and a medallion-patterned bandana dart around the corner of a nearby building. If it had been a bit darker, or if Race hadn't been looking up at that very moment, he would have missed him altogether.
"Those Brooklyn boys never rest," he muttered, chuffing a dry laugh at the irony of sighting one of Spot's birds when he'd been scanning the trees for hawks and owls instead. "I gotta respect their dedication, but I can't say I envy 'em. Sure would hate to be this far from home so late in the evenin'."
Giving the retreating bird a two-fingered salute, he knelt down next to Bella, who had caught a beetle and was quickly dispatching it.
"Come on, girl - we gotta focus here," Race chided, grimacing a little as the insect disappeared into the skunk's mouth. "There's some trash bins down at the far end of the park - let's see if we can find anybody down there."
He led the way, and Bella trotted along beside him, crunching on her snack. As they got closer to their destination, Race could hear the quiet sound of something scrounging through the rubbish that had piled up behind the bin, and he slowed his pace, leaning close to Bella so that he could scoop her up if the mysterious animal proved to be a threat.
As luck would have it, however, it was not a stray dog or bird of prey that emerged from behind the trash can, but a large skunk with an apple core in its mouth.
"Bingo," Race whispered.
He slowly reached into his vest pocket. "I dunno if this one's a gal or a fella," he said to Bella, "but I'm sure you know, and we's about to make some introductions."
He pulled out the tin of sardines, lifted the lid, then tossed a single silvery fish to the newcomer. The skunk snapped it up immediately, abandoning the apple core in favor of the more tasty fare being offered, and Race dropped another sardine in front of Bella to make sure the skunks didn't tussle over the food. He repeated the action with the rest of the sardines, making sure to land each one progressively closer to Bella, then took a few steps back himself once the animals were within a yard of each other.
"There. That oughta break the ice a bit. Now, let's see if the two of you's ready to roll."
The larger skunk scampered towards Bella, who calmly finished eating her last sardine, then loped a few feet away down the path, looking over her shoulder as if to see whether or not her companion would follow.
"That's right, girl. Play hard to get 'till you's sure he's serious." Race tossed the empty can of sardines into the trash. "Let him chase you a pace or two and see what he's made of."
The larger skunk trotted after Bella who turned around to face him, and a playful and noisy scuffle soon ensued. If Race hadn't seen the mating process between Bella's mother and her mate a few years ago, he might have been concerned for the female skunk's safety, but it all looked to be the same frisky tumbling and sprawling that he and the rest of the newsies had observed from the fire escape two stories above the action unfolding in the alleyway below.
Sure wasn't expectin' it to go that quickly or easily, but I ain't complainin', he thought.
Satisfied that his work was done for the time being, he took a few steps backwards.
"All right, you two lovey-dovies look like you got things under control, so I'll leave you alone for a spell to have your privacy." He wagged a finger in the male skunk's direction. "I ain't goin' far, though, so don't get any ideas. I know your kind, and I know you ain't gonna be stickin' around long once you've done the deed, but you'd better treat Bella like a lady while she's with ya, 'cause if I find a scratch on her, I'm makin' you into a hat, ya hear?"
The male skunk paid him no mind, and Race turned around and continued strolling up the path, grinning a little as he left the creatures to conduct their business.
Guess you ain't half bad at this match-makin' bit, Higgins, he congratulated himself. Maybe you oughta try settin' up Romeo next.
The thought was ludicrous, of course. No one short of a professional matchmaker would have any success in that arena as far as Race was concerned, but still, it was diverting to think about. He really didn't mind getting involved with his friends' love lives (or lack thereof) if there was a good chance of success, for it was all in the interest of making them happy (and, perhaps more importantly, it was amusing to boot).
Maybe not Romeo, Race conceded, but I can think of a few other lovesick saps who'd benefit from my expertise. A fella don't have to be struck by Cupid's arrow himself to know how to charm a lady, after all, and unlike those sorry suckers, I ain't so blinded by a pretty face that I can't see reason and plan a strategy for success.
Mulling over where his services might be best employed next, Race continued down the path, heading towards the street corner where several food carts had congregated. He would buy himself a before-dinner snack, bum around for a bit, then return to pick up Bella and take her back to the lodging house. With any luck, come spring there would be little Bellas to play with, and when that time came, he fully planned to claim the credit for helping the lodging house mascot preserve her illustrious bloodline. After all, if he hadn't pushed her to put herself out there, she probably would have still been scrounging for food behind Albert's old boots.
Best use of a can of sardines and no mistake, Race thought to himself as he headed towards a cart selling bacon-wrapped pretzels.
It was the most fun he'd had on laundry day in quite a while.
A/N: Not exactly your normal fare for Valentine's season ("Well, whatever happened to romance?" you might justifiably ask :P), but if you've been around here for a while, you know that my mind regularly comes up with random ideas and runs with them. Race will have a chance to put his "expertise" to use in Something Worth Winning's narrative soon (I'll leave it to you to guess where and with whom), but in the meantime, he'll probably be living off of this success for a while. ;)
Chapter notes:
*The Polo Grounds in Upper Manhattan served as a home to several New York baseball teams (spanning a period from 1880 to 1963). Source: wiki/Polo_Grounds.
**This skunk is technically Bella II, but she is referred to as "Bella" throughout the fic for readability's sake.
***Here Race refers to Romeo's Valentine's Day tradition of gathering all the single newsies together on February 14 to communally mourn their unluckiness in love. One such gathering is depicted in Chapter 131 of Something Worth Winning.
****The Walking Encyclopedia - I mean, Walking Mouth - taught Race this word in Chapter 82 of SWW. Race brushed it off at the time, but it seems that the term stuck with him (even if he'd never admit that to Davey).