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Description

The sound of the subway swirled with a mix of hiss, grind, pressure, and squeal as the car lurched along the sooty tracks. The passengers were packed tight, arms reached every which way for purchase on slick silver poles. For most, the proximity was part of the day, and still for others, you could see it in their faces. That dread question wanting to be screamed at all the other haggard faces "Is this how it is!?"

The car ground to a halt at the next stop, the locals unaffected with almost preternatural balance, while the visitors danced, shifted, and grasped to keep from tipping over. Ding ding! The doors popped open and the careful ballet of the spilling out and the pouring in began. The teenage girl did her best to fit in, step in the right spot, bend, duck, lean, but eventually she simply let herself get dragged along with the tide. Her polite apologies were lost in the flow. All she could do was clutch her bag tight, and desperately guess where to place her feet as the crowd shifted with unexpected inconsistency.

"Sorry! Sorry! Oops! Oh, I'm so sorry! Don't mind me! Sorry! Excuse me! Sorry, I didn't mean to! Sorry!" She did not realize that she was the only one with such perfect manners here.

She caught the hint of crisp air under her nose, cutting through the overly warm stale air that lingered in the underground. There, ahead, stairs leading up! She cinched her shoulders up, shimmied her hips, and put her hands up slithering through the crowd as though it were a many cracked rock. Being pressed up against strangers was a feeling akin to humiliation, gross, and not one that she was looking forward to repeating in the near future. Her perseverance paid off, and before she knew it, she was rapidly ascending, her cute black flats slapping like rapid machine gun fire on the gritty tiled stairs. The cool air washed her face, and as she crested the surface a great wind teased the hem of her short plaid skirt which she caught with practiced fingers before it became scandalous. "Oh my!" she gasped as the cold made short work of her sheer black pantyhose. She was grateful for their support but found herself wishing she could have worn jeans.

There had been no time. She had caught the train immediately following school. At least she had her green sweater vest. Checking her phone for the time, she felt a new sense of urgency that put an extra spring in her step. Her eyes scanned the signs extra long, looking extra high at the massive concrete buildings, all the telltale signs she was a tourist. Biting her lip, squinting her eyes, she let out a great big "OH!" when she spotted the place she had been searching for. Just in time, she thought with an internal sigh.

Stepping out onto the street she went to make a rapid cross when the terror of an angry honking horn blasted her ears, causing her to shriek and jump back. She was nearly flattened by a VERY rude cab driver. The yellow taxi screeched along, giving the frightened girl not a second thought. Allowing her heart beat to drop below panic levels, she craned her neck checking both ways this time. Taking a tentative step on the pavement, she felt the weakness in her gun-shy legs. As she navigated her internal doubts, a sea of people began surging ahead of her on either side. Noticing the blinking white "walk" sign she let out a little laugh at her "small town girl" self and summoned the courage to cross the street with the rest of the crowd.

Before passing under the archway, she craned her neck far back looking all the way up at the impossibly tall building ahead of her. She was finally here. Riding that same spring, she hopped, skipped, and did her best to keep her girlish squeals inside as she rapidly entered the building. The lobby was massive lavish marble. Many important well dressed people milled about, some talking about industry changing business while others simply made beelines for a row of constantly running elevators. The plucky teenager stopped by the directory, scanning it with her squinted green eyes, unconsciously popping up and down in her flats with excitement. "That's the one!" she exclaimed and pointed at the 42nd floor on the directory. If anyone shared her enthusiasm, they were not forthcoming with it.

The doors to the elevator popped open and she slithered her way in to the cramped quarters. I guess I haven't experienced the last of this she thought dourly, but as she felt the lurch of the box rising, her excitement returned. She clasped her hands politely in front of her lap, not knowing what else to do with them as the ride took much longer than she could have ever expected. With many stops along the way, she discovered just how far up the 42nd floor really was. Her legs began to cramp, and she did her best to shift her weight from one leg to the other, but even that provided little respite after a while. As the numbers called out closer to the 42nd floor, she did the best she could fixing her hair, smoothing her skirt, and adjusting her sweater in the close quarters.

"Ding!" the doors opened and she squirmed and shimmied her way out of the tight elevator with tiny apologies to what felt like very rude and unaccommodating people. But then there it was, in bold letters above the receptionist's desk. "The Rose Tribune." I'm really here she thought to herself. Just to make sure, she gave herself a good little pinch through her white button down shirt. Wincing, she smiled. Yep, I'm here! Standing politely with her hands behind her back, she waited patiently for the receptionist to address her. It took longer than she expected and right when she began to wonder if she was invisible, those magic words came.

"Yes, can I help you young lady?" asked the receptionist.

"Oh yes please! My name is Emily Lockwood, and I'm here to see Dawn Meadows!"

"Emily Lockwood... Dawn Meadows..." the receptionist parroted the names in a low tone as she checked her records... the moment lingered... "Ah, yes, I have you here. You are going to take a right, and it will be the glass doors on your left, that's the news floor. Miss Meadows' desk will be on the far side, in the left corner. You got that sweetie?"

Emily furrowed her brow, listening intently. She was nodding her head but not saying anything. "Yes, thank you, I think I've got it!" she exclaimed when the receptionist gave her a strange look with arched eyebrow. "Thank you!" Emily politely repeated and made her way, following the directions provided.

She found the glass doors as described and entered the news floor. The activity was unbelievable. It was a flurry of coming and going, conversations across cubicles, the shaking of papers, people being called into side offices, and phones ringing, so many phones ringing. Television monitors lined the walls, each tuned to a different news outlet. This must be what it's like. Truth and justice on the world's stage. A far cry from the teen girl detective world she hailed from. And outside the windows was all of New York City.

"You looking for Dawn Meadows?" the words reached a rather lost looking girl.

"Hmmm?" Emily replied not quite hearing the question. She was so overwhelmed by all of this. Who was this strange guy talking to her?

Picking up on her quizzical hesitation and apprehension, he realized his mistake. "My apologies. The name is Danny Breslin, I work with Dawn Meadows." he began again, offering a handshake. Emily awkwardly took it, feeling girlish but knowing that's what important people did. Danny looked at her with those same eyebrows the receptionist had.

"Oh! Sorry! I'm Emily Lockwood," she finally blurted feeling her cheeks burn hot.

"Ahhh, so YOU'RE the Emily Lockwood that I have been reading so much about lately," said Danny as he began walking.

"Been reading so much about lately?" Emily parroted the words in a mumble under her breath wondering what that meant, then realized that she was supposed to be following Mr Breslin. She took hurried and clumsy strides until she caught up, then tried to summon a bit of grace that was fleeting her at the moment.

Cutting through the jungle of cubicles, they finally came to a halt in the corner. A young woman with luxurious long blonde hair sat at a computer typing with finely manicured nails. Her skin was fair and impossibly soft looking. She had determined emerald eyes, and an expensive blue skirt suit fitted her slender body with immaculate tailoring. Barely black pantyhose encased million dollar legs, and a pair of designer heels completed the package.

"And this is the star reporter of the Rose Tribune, the one and only Dawn Meadows," Danny said by way of introduction in a blend of playful mockery and due respect. Dawn looked up from her typing and seemed about ready to offer a comment when she noticed they had a guest. Danny smirked realizing that he had narrowly avoided a barbed comeback. "Dawn, I would like to introduce Emily Lockwood. She comes to us all the way from the Greenfield Academy for Girls." Danny made an overly grand gesture with his arms, and with a wink to Emily, he returned to his work.

"Please have a seat" Dawn offered, indicating an open chair next to hers.

"Thank you," replied Emily, obediently circling the cubicle and settling down in the indicated chair. She placed her hands in her lap, wondering what to say. Suddenly she realized that she was sitting on the 42nd floor in the offices of the Rose Tribune, at the desk of the legendary Dawn Meadows, with the magic of New York City behind them. Emily smiled with excitement, and was relieved when Dawn smiled too. She opened her mouth to speak, desperate for something smart to say. Emily was eternally grateful when Dawn spoke first.

"So you fancy yourself a teenage sleuth?" Dawn Meadows appraised Emily Lockwood with those penetrating emerald eyes.

To be continued...

(This picture was made in Daz Studio 3.1.2.24 and postwork in Adobe Photoshop CS2)

Description

The sound of the subway swirled with a mix of hiss, grind, pressure, and squeal as the car lurched along the sooty tracks. The passengers were packed tight, arms reached every which way for purchase on slick silver poles. For most, the proximity was part of the day, and still for others, you could see it in their faces. That dread question wanting to be screamed at all the other haggard faces "Is this how it is!?"

The car ground to a halt at the next stop, the locals unaffected with almost preternatural balance, while the visitors danced, shifted, and grasped to keep from tipping over. Ding ding! The doors popped open and the careful ballet of the spilling out and the pouring in began. The teenage girl did her best to fit in, step in the right spot, bend, duck, lean, but eventually she simply let herself get dragged along with the tide. Her polite apologies were lost in the flow. All she could do was clutch her bag tight, and desperately guess where to place her feet as the crowd shifted with unexpected inconsistency.

"Sorry! Sorry! Oops! Oh, I'm so sorry! Don't mind me! Sorry! Excuse me! Sorry, I didn't mean to! Sorry!" She did not realize that she was the only one with such perfect manners here.

She caught the hint of crisp air under her nose, cutting through the overly warm stale air that lingered in the underground. There, ahead, stairs leading up! She cinched her shoulders up, shimmied her hips, and put her hands up slithering through the crowd as though it were a many cracked rock. Being pressed up against strangers was a feeling akin to humiliation, gross, and not one that she was looking forward to repeating in the near future. Her perseverance paid off, and before she knew it, she was rapidly ascending, her cute black flats slapping like rapid machine gun fire on the gritty tiled stairs. The cool air washed her face, and as she crested the surface a great wind teased the hem of her short plaid skirt which she caught with practiced fingers before it became scandalous. "Oh my!" she gasped as the cold made short work of her sheer black pantyhose. She was grateful for their support but found herself wishing she could have worn jeans.

There had been no time. She had caught the train immediately following school. At least she had her green sweater vest. Checking her phone for the time, she felt a new sense of urgency that put an extra spring in her step. Her eyes scanned the signs extra long, looking extra high at the massive concrete buildings, all the telltale signs she was a tourist. Biting her lip, squinting her eyes, she let out a great big "OH!" when she spotted the place she had been searching for. Just in time, she thought with an internal sigh.

Stepping out onto the street she went to make a rapid cross when the terror of an angry honking horn blasted her ears, causing her to shriek and jump back. She was nearly flattened by a VERY rude cab driver. The yellow taxi screeched along, giving the frightened girl not a second thought. Allowing her heart beat to drop below panic levels, she craned her neck checking both ways this time. Taking a tentative step on the pavement, she felt the weakness in her gun-shy legs. As she navigated her internal doubts, a sea of people began surging ahead of her on either side. Noticing the blinking white "walk" sign she let out a little laugh at her "small town girl" self and summoned the courage to cross the street with the rest of the crowd.

Before passing under the archway, she craned her neck far back looking all the way up at the impossibly tall building ahead of her. She was finally here. Riding that same spring, she hopped, skipped, and did her best to keep her girlish squeals inside as she rapidly entered the building. The lobby was massive lavish marble. Many important well dressed people milled about, some talking about industry changing business while others simply made beelines for a row of constantly running elevators. The plucky teenager stopped by the directory, scanning it with her squinted green eyes, unconsciously popping up and down in her flats with excitement. "That's the one!" she exclaimed and pointed at the 42nd floor on the directory. If anyone shared her enthusiasm, they were not forthcoming with it.

The doors to the elevator popped open and she slithered her way in to the cramped quarters. I guess I haven't experienced the last of this she thought dourly, but as she felt the lurch of the box rising, her excitement returned. She clasped her hands politely in front of her lap, not knowing what else to do with them as the ride took much longer than she could have ever expected. With many stops along the way, she discovered just how far up the 42nd floor really was. Her legs began to cramp, and she did her best to shift her weight from one leg to the other, but even that provided little respite after a while. As the numbers called out closer to the 42nd floor, she did the best she could fixing her hair, smoothing her skirt, and adjusting her sweater in the close quarters.

"Ding!" the doors opened and she squirmed and shimmied her way out of the tight elevator with tiny apologies to what felt like very rude and unaccommodating people. But then there it was, in bold letters above the receptionist's desk. "The Rose Tribune." I'm really here she thought to herself. Just to make sure, she gave herself a good little pinch through her white button down shirt. Wincing, she smiled. Yep, I'm here! Standing politely with her hands behind her back, she waited patiently for the receptionist to address her. It took longer than she expected and right when she began to wonder if she was invisible, those magic words came.

"Yes, can I help you young lady?" asked the receptionist.

"Oh yes please! My name is Emily Lockwood, and I'm here to see Dawn Meadows!"

"Emily Lockwood... Dawn Meadows..." the receptionist parroted the names in a low tone as she checked her records... the moment lingered... "Ah, yes, I have you here. You are going to take a right, and it will be the glass doors on your left, that's the news floor. Miss Meadows' desk will be on the far side, in the left corner. You got that sweetie?"

Emily furrowed her brow, listening intently. She was nodding her head but not saying anything. "Yes, thank you, I think I've got it!" she exclaimed when the receptionist gave her a strange look with arched eyebrow. "Thank you!" Emily politely repeated and made her way, following the directions provided.

She found the glass doors as described and entered the news floor. The activity was unbelievable. It was a flurry of coming and going, conversations across cubicles, the shaking of papers, people being called into side offices, and phones ringing, so many phones ringing. Television monitors lined the walls, each tuned to a different news outlet. This must be what it's like. Truth and justice on the world's stage. A far cry from the teen girl detective world she hailed from. And outside the windows was all of New York City.

"You looking for Dawn Meadows?" the words reached a rather lost looking girl.

"Hmmm?" Emily replied not quite hearing the question. She was so overwhelmed by all of this. Who was this strange guy talking to her?

Picking up on her quizzical hesitation and apprehension, he realized his mistake. "My apologies. The name is Danny Breslin, I work with Dawn Meadows." he began again, offering a handshake. Emily awkwardly took it, feeling girlish but knowing that's what important people did. Danny looked at her with those same eyebrows the receptionist had.

"Oh! Sorry! I'm Emily Lockwood," she finally blurted feeling her cheeks burn hot.

"Ahhh, so YOU'RE the Emily Lockwood that I have been reading so much about lately," said Danny as he began walking.

"Been reading so much about lately?" Emily parroted the words in a mumble under her breath wondering what that meant, then realized that she was supposed to be following Mr Breslin. She took hurried and clumsy strides until she caught up, then tried to summon a bit of grace that was fleeting her at the moment.

Cutting through the jungle of cubicles, they finally came to a halt in the corner. A young woman with luxurious long blonde hair sat at a computer typing with finely manicured nails. Her skin was fair and impossibly soft looking. She had determined emerald eyes, and an expensive blue skirt suit fitted her slender body with immaculate tailoring. Barely black pantyhose encased million dollar legs, and a pair of designer heels completed the package.

"And this is the star reporter of the Rose Tribune, the one and only Dawn Meadows," Danny said by way of introduction in a blend of playful mockery and due respect. Dawn looked up from her typing and seemed about ready to offer a comment when she noticed they had a guest. Danny smirked realizing that he had narrowly avoided a barbed comeback. "Dawn, I would like to introduce Emily Lockwood. She comes to us all the way from the Greenfield Academy for Girls." Danny made an overly grand gesture with his arms, and with a wink to Emily, he returned to his work.

"Please have a seat" Dawn offered, indicating an open chair next to hers.

"Thank you," replied Emily, obediently circling the cubicle and settling down in the indicated chair. She placed her hands in her lap, wondering what to say. Suddenly she realized that she was sitting on the 42nd floor in the offices of the Rose Tribune, at the desk of the legendary Dawn Meadows, with the magic of New York City behind them. Emily smiled with excitement, and was relieved when Dawn smiled too. She opened her mouth to speak, desperate for something smart to say. Emily was eternally grateful when Dawn spoke first.

"So you fancy yourself a teenage sleuth?" Dawn Meadows appraised Emily Lockwood with those penetrating emerald eyes.

To be continued...

(This picture was made in Daz Studio 3.1.2.24 and postwork in Adobe Photoshop CS2)