You take your number and you stand in line / And they watch to see how high you're gonna climb / Pat on the back and better luck next time / This ain't nothing, no nothing but a heartbreak town
-Dixie Chicks, Heartbreak Town
New York smelled terrible.
It was Bridget's first coherent thought after she'd deported the train, her brand new tramp steamer at her feet. The city smelled like the worst case of morning breath possible. And it was dirty. And dangerous. She hadn't even left the train station, and already she'd had to clock an errant pickpocket in the head with the copy of Ivanhoe she'd purchased before she'd left Conneticut.
And she had no idea where to go. And after her shopping spree, she was left with a grand total of twelve dollars and ninety-four cents. Which she didn't think was enough to get a room at the Waldorf-Astoria for the night. And she had no idea where to find Ben.
Damn. She should have thought this through more carefully. Panic started to slowly set in as Bridget realized that she was alone in a foreign city with a piece of luggage she had no means of transporting, and no idea where her brother was. Where was she, anyway? She peered at the sign on the wall and discovered that she was in 'Manhatten: Upper East Side'. Well. At least that sounded nice.
"Extry, extry!" Bridget turned quickly towards the call and instantly her heart leaped. Thank you, she mouthed silently towards the heavens, greatful for whatever forces watching out for her today, and hurried as fast as the trunk she was lugging would allow her in the direction of the newsboy standing on the street corner, waving his papers enthusiastically in the air.
"Excuse me," Bridget panted, "I was wondering if you could help me with something." The boy lowered his arm and regarded her pleasently. "What can I do for you miss?"
"I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find my brother, Ben Conlon. It's just I know he's a newsie--I have a picture here somewhere--" She rummaged in her purse for a second before emerging with a slightly yellowed newspaper clipping, which she handed to the boy. "That's him." She said, pointing out Ben's position in the photograph. She glanced across the line of faces that she had memorized over the years--inventing names for them, inventing stories. They were so familiar to her she felt she knew them herself.
After the initial shock of seeing her brother on the front page of the New York Sun, she had become a bit obsessed with the newsboys' strike. She had thrived on any news she could glean about it--which wasn't much, unfourtunately. It was, of course, a forbidden topic in the Conlon household; her mother would go into one of her fainting spells, and her father would get that tight expression on his face that Bridget knew masked dissapointment and anger. But she'd saved the picture, kept in hidden inside one of her books, and she'd looked at it every night before she went to bed, familiarizing herself with people she imagined to be Ben's friends. How brave they all looked, rebeling against some of the most powerful man in the country without a fear or a care. Looking at that picture made her feel so proud she thought her heart might burst.
Hang on a minute--Bridget did a double take at the boy standing before her. "Why--that's you!" She cried excitedly, pointing at one of the many grinning faces. The boy smiled grimly. "It's been a while since I've seen this picture." He admitted, and Bridget took a moment to study him more closely. He looked to be roughly Ben's age--eighteen or nineteen maybe, with curly brown hair and intelligent eyes.
Remembering her manners, Bridget extended her hand. "I'm Bridget Conlon---it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr...?" The boy was still looking at the photograph and seemed not to realize that Bridget was speaking to him. "Oh--I'm David, David Jacobs." Bridget beamed at him. "Any friend of Ben's is a friend of mine." She told him warmly.
David looked stuck for words for a moment, before eventually asking; "Is...uh, Ben expecting you?" Bridget bit her lip and looked away. "Well..not exactly." David nodded. "Did you run away?" He asked bluntly.
"No, I did not." She replied, as cooly as she could, and David arched his eyebrows at her sarcastically. "Oh, really? Your parents just decided it would be alright for you to come to New York with no chaperone and stay with your runaway brother for a few days?"
"Ben is not--" Bridget began heatedly, highly affronted at this David person's caustic tone, and David cut her off, looking weary. "Nevermind." He said irritably.
Bridget snatched the photo out of David's hands and stowed it back in her purse. "Can you tell me how to find Ben or not?" She snapped, not caring that she sounded unspeakably rude. David squinted at the sunlight and said nothing for a moment.
"I have a feeling I'm going to live to regret this--but yes, I can help you find your brother. You won't like what you find, just as fair warning, but I will help you find him. Wait here, and I'll find someone else to go with us."
"Why do we need another person?" Bridget asked curiously, trying to keep up with David as he strode across the street, her steamer trunk smacking painfully against her heels. David sighed. "For two reasons. One; there is no way that I can carry that mammoth suitcase all by myself, and I sure don't expect you to be any help, and two; it's always a good idea to take as many people as possible with you when you go to Brooklyn. Safety in numbers, and all that."
Bridget looked dumbfounded and David chuckled. "Let that be your first lesson in big city life, Bridget. Welcome to New York."