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Author's Chapter Notes:

I just realized that the summary for this fic gives total spoilers through the first couple of chapters... D'oh!  Well, it can't be helped so here's another chapter to move things along until we're no longer in spoilers territory =D


II (Two Days Later, Monday)

Carla lied in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin.  "I should be in school," she said thoughtfully.  But do I want to be there?  The answer was no, she didn't want to go to school and she didn't have to go because she was on her own.  Besides, there wasn't the time for school anyway.  Carla needed money badly.  She hadn't enough to stay even one more night in the hotel, so she would have to go out and find herself some work.  There was no way one could make a living and go to school at the same time.  She was on her own now and when she needed food or money, no one would get those things for her.

Carla turned her head to look at the smudged old clock on the bureau.  "I could make it to English class if I leave now," she told herself.  "Maybe somebody will be nice enough to give me a lift...  Ugh, I should be in school..."  Then Carla told herself to stop saying that.  She didn't want school; she just wanted familiarity.  She wanted routine and for everything to be the same again.  She wanted to be back home.

And what if she were to go back today?  She could deal with Paul and his speakeasies.  She could deal with the growing family and shrinking savings funds.  She could deal with the small meals and the neighborhood gossip and the—

Carla shook her head.  "No, you don't want that...  They kicked you out remember?  You can't go back.  If you want routine, you'll just have to make yourself a new routine."  She looked at the clock again and sighed.  "I should be in school..."

...

Nick sat on a crate outside an empty delicatessen near De Anza.  With his trusty hat—or maybe not so trusty as it had been getting him few tips lately—at his feet and the vacant deli's closed-for-business sign nailed above his head, he slouched against the wall and played a little ditty he'd been putting together.  He thought it would be a nice piece when it was done, but so far it was just the mere sprout of a song:  It had the possibility to grow into something great, to be sure, yet that would happen only if he cultivated it right.

"I've never heard that one before.  Is the song one of yours?"

Nick recognized the voice but couldn't place it.  He looked up from his guitar, "Ah...  Carla, isn't it?  Hi.  Yeah, it's one of mine.  Needs some work, but it's getting there.  Are you..." he looked at her clothes, a right smart looking outfit with a matching cap and purse, "still looking for that job?"

She nodded.  "No luck yet.  Been at it for hours, though.  I'm starting to understand Paul's difficulty with employment…  Paul is my stepfather," she explained, at the confused look on his face.  "He's on the job search, too.  Or at least he should be."

"Well, if it's of any reassurance to you, I'm not having much luck either," he kicked at the "trusty" tip hat.  "Hey, it's Monday,” he said as though a thought had suddenly crossed his mind. “Shouldn't you be in school?"

Carla made a funny sound in her throat.

"Gee, you shouldn't think so much of my question," Nick said, catching the look on her face. "I just thought since you’re such a little piece, and all, that you should be in school still.  How old’re you, kid?  Fourteen, fifteen?”

“Just turned seventeen,” Carla muttered, and Nick picked up her air of discomfort.

He wasn’t sure whether it was because he’d called her out for being a truant, or because he’d mistaken her age.  He decided to go with truancy rather than say something idiotic and dig himself into a deeper hole about her age.  “Oh, well anyway if you aren’t in school anymore it’s no big deal.  What’s the point of school, times being what they area, right?  Even I haven't been to school in ages," he said quite frankly and then changed the subject.  "So have you eaten yet?  It's getting to be about lunch time.  Want to join me?"

After a bit of wheedling, he got her to agree and they headed back to De Anza Hotel for something to eat.  “I got a little deal going on with the hotel,” Nick explained.  “I entertain their guests for free but I get to keep the tips and my room’s free.  They even give me a little discount on food from their cafeteria.”  The two made small talk as they ate and Nick found Carla to be an amiable companion.  Now that he knew she was old enough to fall within his age range, he gave her the critical Carter once-over but decided that she wasn’t his type—too youthful-sweet-happy perhaps?  That must've been what had caused him to mistake her as a few years younger.  She was pretty enough, but he was more into sultry dolled up types and had a certain penchant for flappers with their scandalous fashions, not to mention those flashes of long, dance-toned legs.

Turning his mind away from the subject of the fairer sex, Nick focused his attention back on Carla.  Somehow he could tell that beneath her friendly demeanor there was something troubling her, and he decided to find out what it was.  When they finished eating he kept her at the table talking and shared a little about himself, trying to break the ice and get her talking.

"I was with a band for a few years.  I met those guys when I was pretty young and we toured a lot back in the booming days.  And then when rough times came on, they dumped me right-quick," he shook his head and then shrugged.  "I was really disappointed.  I mean, I felt like I grew up with those guys.  The band scattered when I was about... seventeen—no, sixteen.  I was sixteen.  So for the past three years, I've been performing on my own, traveling the rails.  Know what I mean?"

"Traveling the rails...  You mean like the 'free' kind of traveling?  I’ve heard a little about it," Carla admitted, at his nod.  "In school, there was a lot of gossip about those homeless folks who catch trains without paying.  But from the way others said it, it sounded like they were talking about a bunch of stowaway hobos.  Normal, respectable folk wouldn’t do that kind of thing… would they?"

"Well, partly true... there are some rough characters out there, but you'll be surprised.  It's not just ol' hobos who hitch the trains.  A lot of guys do it that way.  There are plenty of fellows my age and younger who need to get around but can't afford the ticket prices.  Railroads charge too much anyway, and 'sides, they're all a bunch of tycoons.  They can afford to let folks sneak into a boxcar, or steal a ride on the catwalk—that's the roof of the train."

Carla propped an elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand, leaning forward with a rapt expression.  "Hmm, well, now that's certainly something else," she commented.  "I never knew...  I mean, I always thought it was a bunch of vagrants..."

"Like I said, sometimes they are.  But, you know, once in a while you'll even find a feller who can afford to buy a ticket but who's hitching a ride anyway.  One time I met this guy whose father owned a surviving business, one that was still flourishing even.  He was a well-off fellow but wanted to ride the rails just for the fun of it, for the experience," Nick laughed at the memory.

It took a while for him to gain her trust.  By the time Nick had gotten Carla comfortable enough to tell him as much about herself as he'd shared with her, the hall had begun to fill with the afternoon crowd.  He found her story interesting.  She was the third of eight children, soon to be nine and her father had passed away a few years ago.  “Your mother must have been devastated when your father passed away, huh?” Nick sympathized.  “Was it hard for her to get over him?  And what it musta been like to have to raise all those kids alone!”

Carla gave him a wry smile, “Well, it wasn’t as hard for mama to get over him as you might think…  Remember my stepfather Paul I mentioned earlier?  She got remarried to him, uh, rather quickly after that.”

Nick could tell that she was only divulging the parts of it that she felt appropriate to tell him, which was fair enough considering they were still practically strangers, but he was driven by curiosity.  He asked questions to fill in the holes in Carla’s story and assumed that she was being more or less honest, except where the truth was uncomfortable, like when he queried, "So, you left home because you wanted to try the 'independence' thing, huh?"

"Um, yeah..." she replied.  "And, also, there are so many kids in my family that I was offering more hindrance than a help."

"I see," he nodded, filing in his memory the fact that Carla was a bad liar.  "And how have you found the city to be so far?  What's it been like for you?"

As she told him about her weekend's experiences, Nick watched her manners intently, noting the little grimaces and sighs and the way Carla held her cap in her hands and rotated it when she said something especially vexing.  But she was always quick to switch back into cheerful mode again, as though she was ever so concerned about spreading her burden onto someone else’s shoulder.

"But I've done too much complaining already," she said finally with a bright smile.  "You know how the job search is.  I'm sure you don't want to hear it all over again from me.  I must be boring you by now with my altogether banal life."

"Not at all.  I told you about myself, and you were nice enough to listen.  In fact, I think you're a very un-boring person.  But tell me something," he leaned in towards her, "are you all right?  Is something the matter?  Just seems like there's a cloud hanging over your head."

Carla's shoulders sank, "Oh.  Do I seem like a bothered kind of person?"

"No, just that something's weighing on you..."  Nick said carefully.  "You could tell me—if you wanted to, that is.  What's wrong?  Has the new setting got you down?"

She gave a small smile, "No, I'll be all right.  It's just that the job search is tough.  If I...  If I don't find some work soon, I'll be out of a place to stay."

"Can't you go back home?"

"No."  For the first time Carla looked at him in the eyes—not at the cap in her hands, the tabletop between them, the piano behind him, but right in Nick's eyes—and said, "No, I can't."

...

Carla didn’t know where to go next.  She stood down the street from De Anza Hotel, tired and disheartened.  After a whole afternoon of walking, trolleys, and job searching she’d found no one to hire her, and she was nearly broke.  A couple of shops and a greengrocer had offered to take her on for a few odd errands, but they would only barter in items and she needed cash.  There was not enough left in her purse to stay another night at the hotel, so where should she go?  Certainly not back to De Anza.  Carla had lied to the clerk who’d asked her earlier to pay up, saying that she would have the money as soon as she returned.

So what next, pack her bags and sleep in an alley?  Of course not.  But what was there to do?  It was getting dark out now and she needed a place to stay.  Again Carla thought of her family, but that was no good.  And, besides, it made her want to do something stupid like cry.  Instead, she took out her frustration on a fence, a ratty old fence covered with paper and whitewash.  The most recent layer was made of posted fliers announcing the latest news—all of it bad, of course.  Carla walked along the fence, tearing down random leaflets and shredding them as she went.

She muttered to herself as she walked, berating her own bad fortune.  The handfuls of torn paper Carla crunched into a large ball, which she chucked over her shoulder.  Then she stuffed her hands in her pockets and headed determinedly back to the hotel.  If she was to be kicked out of her place of residence yet again, Carla figured that she might as well get it over with.

However, when she reached De Anza, a voice from behind stopped her before she got to the front counter. "Hey, Carla."

"Huh?"  She turned to see the young guitar player standing at the doorway to the ballroom where she’d first met him.  He beckoned her over to him.

"What is it Nick?  You look like you’re waiting for someone," Carla referred to the instrument propped at his side and the manner in which he was standing.

"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you.  Wait, first—how did your job search go?  Any luck?"

"Um, no..." Carla said sheepishly. She slipped a hand unconsciously behind her neck.  "I was about to check out of the hotel because I couldn’t find any work."

"Oh.  Well, could you come with me a minute before you do that?  I was wondering if you could do me a favor," Nick jabbed a thumb in the direction of the ballroom, "in there."

She followed him into the hall toward the performance stage.  They scooted through small crowds and sidestepped between tables that had been pushed closely together.  The room was nearly full with the gathering evening throng.  Nick climbed onto the stage and then gave Carla a hand up.  There was an excited look in his eyes, like he had an idea and was waiting to spring it on her.  He pulled out the piano bench and sat, patting the seat for Carla to sit with him.

"Look at this crowd!" Nick grinned.  "Not as many as there were last Friday, but it’s still a good number of people.  Listen, I was wondering...  Do you play?  Are you musical at all?" Nick motioned toward the piano beside him.  "’Cause I saw you eyeing it when we were talking at lunch and I thought that it seemed like you wanted to play it."

Carla looked at the worn piano again.  It had indeed caught her notice before, but she hadn't realized that Nick saw her looking at it.  "I play... I guess.  I mean, I used to take lessons before my—before times got rough but I really only just play for fun, not for other people to listen."

"Well why don’t you give it a shot?  Want to accompany me?  'Cause I wanna do something to catch these people's attentions.  They haven't been tipping very well as of late.  I say, give 'em something different to listen to and maybe they'll warm up a bit.  What do you say?"

"Oh.  I.  Well..."  She reached out and touched a piano key.  Though the piano was worn, it was well-tuned and the note struck true.  Carla gave a pleased little sigh.  Why she had hit that key in particular, she wasn’t sure, but the note brought back memories of lingering tunes; shadows danced in the living room of her mind.  Her father waltzed with her mother, while her older sister Barbara giggled as their brother Al mimicked their parents' dance by himself.  Carla blinked and the shadows blew away like smoke in the wind.  She turned to see Nick watching her.

"So, will you help me?" he asked.

"Yeah, I will."

...

When Carla's fingers first struck the piano keys, it was a false start.  The audience's chatter died away as people stopped to listen, but Carla was only warming up and their talking resumed anew.  Nick sat on the edge of the stage and tuned his guitar, listening to her practice with one ear.  He grinned to find that she was being modest earlier, her playing was altogether more than satisfactory.  They played a quick little ditty together just to get used to the feel of each other, then finally, the time came for the evening's entertainment to start.

"Hey, folks," he stood, raising both hands into the air for some silence.  "Are you ready for some music?"  There was enough of a response to make Nick grin happily.  This was going to be an audience that got into the performance; they would tip well.  "Allright then.  Let the show begin!"  A cheer went up from the crowd, and the first bars of the song spilled forth from the piano.

Nick soon found that playing with Carla was a good idea—no, a great—idea.  Her touch added more depth to the music, and the crowd responded better since it wasn't just one guy on a guitar singing for them.  A lot of the songs she knew were a few years old so Nick knew them, too, and the people listening seemed to enjoy being reminded of the songs they'd loved back in the swinging days.  The two played intermittently for hours.  Most of the time Nick sang, but sometimes Carla did with a rich soulful voice that stirred the vocalist in him.  She was good despite of having a largely untrained voice, but Nick made sure not to strain her and took over the lead after she had tried a few numbers.

When their set ended, the audience whistled more than Nick had heard them whistle since he’d come to town.  His tip hat had a happy weight to it, and Nick gave it a good shake just to hear the money jingle.  He ordered food and drinks and sat with Carla at a table as the next act took the stage.  She was practically glowing with energy after the show.

"Wow!  That was great, Nick.  Is it always like that?" she asked in a rush.

"Not always, but when it is, it's a real buzz, huh?"

Carla nodded in agreement and then their food arrived, so they ate and listened to the next performance.  Once their plates were emptied and taken away, Nick poured the contents of his tip hat out onto the table top.

He saw Carla's eyes go big at the amount of money they had made and grinned.  "Yup, this was a good night."  Nick counted the loot out quickly and then pushed more than half of it toward Carla.  He gave her the larger coins and bills, but was careful to make it look like they were getting the same amount.  "Here you go, fifty-fifty.  Thanks for the help, kid."

"No, thank you."  The look on her face was absolutely thrilled.  "This'll be a big help until I find my job.  Thanks, Nick."  She looked at the clock on the wall, "It's late.  I should go pay my bill."

"All right, maybe I'll see you around tomorrow."  They shook hands.  "You got talent, Carla.  Maybe there's someone in town looking for a piano player, or some rich kid who needs lessons, eh?"

She blushed and said goodnight.


Chapter End Notes:

I'm wondering if the historical fiction genre might be a turn off for ACers?  (There wasn't even a "historical" category under genre listings)  >_<  If you guys could leave a comment on how you feel reading about Nick in a different time period, and whether it bothers you, I'd really appreciate it~ ♥