|
|
Post by Jordan Brody on Oct 31, 2008 16:47:35 GMT -5
Jordan sighed heavily as he watched his hat fly once again off of his head from the heavy wind and rain that was pelting him mercilessly. He was in Manhattan for the day (having needed to speak with Jack Kelly) and found himself on the outskirts of the smaller suburb of Midtown. The shanty town where all the bad asses and screw ups lived, right in the middle of the friendliest Newsies territory. Imagine that.
There was no one out anymore to sell papers to, and the lodging house was now a good couple of miles away. Glancing up at the dark sky, and shielding his eyes to the heavy rain, he watched as the first flashes of lightning streaked through the sky, and a loud clap of thunder followed. He wouldn't make it to the lodging house in this weather and most certainly not to Queens, so he would have to seek shelter else where.
He ran under a doorway, and tried the door, but the baker inside quickly flipped a closed sign, and then scurried away. He looked frightened. Jordan turned slightly and looked behind him. Now that, was why the man had been frightened. He saw three very burly looking men walking up the street, and after having seen him, started his way. Jordan banged on the window, but no answer was given. The men were closer now, and had looks on their faces that showed they wanted to cause some trouble.
Jordan started jogging up the street, and deeper into Midtown. Not the brightest thing to do, but that was Jordan for you. The men sped up and kept following him. He broke into a full out run, desperate to get out of the treacherous thunderstorm and away from the ruffians who outnumbered him. He dodged through alleyways, around corners, and through fire escapes, until he saw out of the corner of his eye, an inviting building.
The windows were illuminated with a soft firelight glow, and the door just slightly ajar. It would do. He dashed across the street and tripped over the doorstep, slamming his body full on into the door and then, when it opened swiftly, groaning profusely, he toppled head on into the middle of the room. He rolled over, groaning slightly, to see very many scantily dressed women bending over him and giggling to see if he was alright.
He gasped in surprise and leaped to his feet, backing away quickly and lowering his eyes to the ground. He had somehow landed into a whorehouse. Now, Jordan had never been comfortable around girls, especially after his love died, but this, this was a whole new ball field. He had never even seen a womans shoulders and ankles exposed, much less all the other things hanging out at that moment. With the exception of...Well, his love.
He turned to leave, but then noticed the three men that had been chasing him. They were right outside the door, and nearly inside. Jordan cursed and half jumped, half rolled behind the tattered couch right as they were walking in. They obviously didn't see him come in, for they immediately started messing with the women, who didn't seem to mind at all. Jordan watched what happened through a hole in the couch.
As each of the men were encircled by about 4 women, one of them broke out and started towards a fair haired girl. She looked to be one of the younger ones there, and also one of the prettier ones. She was sitting with one other girl who looked to be around her age, and they both had a look of shock mixed with fear, and a bit of regret. The man who broke away from the group seemed to notice the two pretty blonde ones alone to the side, and made his way over to them. He grabbed one of them in an undignified place, causing her to cry out, and the other one to push him away, throwing reproachful remarks at him. The man advanced again.
Jordan couldn't help himself. He jumped up from behind his hiding place and walloped the man in the face, sending him sprawling. He grinned triumphantly in the two girls directions, and then remembered the other two men. Damn. He had forgotten about them. He turned around, ready for a fight, and hoping he wouldn't get one.
|
|
|
|
Post by Molly Ingram on Oct 31, 2008 17:56:49 GMT -5
It had been a long day for Molly Ingram. The whorehouse was usually open all day, but few people ventured in looking for a girl before twilight. Those who did were often few and far between: businessmen or working men who wanted their wives to believe they were still at work; or else vagabonds with nothing better to do with their daylight hours. Being one of the youngest girls, Molly was often picked out by a gentleman. Sometimes a lot of the other ladies would entice a man's attention away from someone who had (ahem) worked recently, so they could have a rest. But Molly had willingly taken three men just today, and it had worn her out. But she was in desperate need of money, and her exhaustion and soreness, as well as the breaking of her spirit, meant little compared to the five dollars that she now had to her name.
It was evening, and things were unusually quiet. Justina and Harriet were both upstairs with clientele, but the other ladies were downstairs without much to do. Molly was beginning to get some of her strength back, and was talking with Rosemary when the door suddenly burst open, and a young man quite literally fell inside. The ladies around him giggled and leaned over him, no doubt speculating whether he was hurt and gaging whether or not they would take him in. Molly put a hand over her mouth, surprised and slightly amused, but didn't make a move to help him. If he was looking for a girl, she would keep her distance. She didn't think she'd be able to handle another; it couldn't be healthy...
Molly watched with a passive interest as the young man scrambled to his feet, turned to leave, stopped, and then dove behind the couch. The attention of the ladies was overtaken by three men who had entered. They began their flirting, all of them apparently hoping to take one in for the night, and Molly's interest waned. She didn't forget the young man hiding behind the couch, and glanced over there occasionally, surprised that no one said anything.
A man breaking away from the group of women that surrounded him caught her eye. He was advancing toward her and Rosemary, and Molly tensed immediately. He gave them a leer, and reached out to touched Molly. She flinched and pulled away. Rosemary pushed him away, and threw reproachful remarks at him. He seemed to not care, and with a look in his eye that Molly knew too well, advanced toward her again. Suddenly, the young man jumped from his hiding place and punched the leering man in the face, sending him to the floor. Molly gasped.
The two other men noticed the commotion, and they saw the young man they had been pursuing. They pushed through the groups of women, who still vied for their attention, and came toward the young man, all too clearly looking for trouble, and all too clearly looking for this young man, especially since he'd just decked their friend. Molly's gaze went from the advancing thugs to the young man who had helped her. She knew she should help him, and quickly. Her thoughts raced, and she knew that there was one way she could get him out of the situation. She grasped the young man's hand and said quickly in a voice slightly louder than her usual meek tone, "Come this way, love. I'll get you fixed up..." she gave what she hoped was a seductive smile and pulled him toward one of the bedrooms, all but throwing him in and shutting the door behind her.
After she had closed the door, she leaned against it, hoping the other girls were taking care of the thugs. She looked at the young man and said quietly, "I'm sorry. I mean...thank you. I just--I didn't want you to have to...I...they weren't happy, were they?" It had been a long time since Molly had casual conversation with a man, and now she found herself nervous and awkward, hoping to God she had done the right thing by pulling him in here. She figured the thugs wouldn't follow, and hopefully the girls would have them fixed up soon enough. Her only problem was if this young man was actually looking for her services. She didn't know how much she could offer him...
|
|
|
|
Post by Jordan Brody on Oct 31, 2008 18:27:50 GMT -5
Jordan flinched inwardly as the two men advanced, ready to take a blow, or duck, or whatever would happen next. What he didn't expect and most certainly wasn't ready for though, was the gentle touch of a feminine hand, and the soft, yet slightly fake sounding voice of a girl;
"Come this way, love. I'll get you fixed up..."
He was yanked into a room, stumbling after the blonde girl. He had no idea what had just happened. All he was aware of now, was that he was now in a room, alone, with a pretty blonde girl. No, with a prostitute... Jordan reminded himself. Talking to normal girls was a chore for him, but talking to a prostitute - now that was something he had never actually experienced - and had never really intended to.
He hoped with all his might that she wasn't actually expecting him to do anything. He examined his escape options just in case she did ask him for more then a friendly conversation. There was a window. The window was about 3 inches wide and 2 inches tall. Well that wouldn't work.
"I'm sorry. I mean...thank you. I just--I didn't want you to have to...I...they weren't happy, were they?"
Jordan glanced up at her face as she stuttered out an explanation. He was relieved that she had only pulled him into the room to save him from being beat up. He smiled timidly;
"I...Yeah. Um, thanks for saving me. They were stalking me...Looking for a fight I guess...Ahh...I'm Jordan. Brody. Jordan Brody." he spluttered, feeling absolutely ridiculous, and ashamed of himself that he wasn't even able to talk to a girl. He rubbed his forehead, nervously.
"So, umm...Now what?" he asked. "How long does it normally ta-- Er...I mean, how long do you think they will be here?" Jordan asked, his cheeks reddening from the way he had worded it. He hadn't meant for it to come out that way. What he was really trying to ask was, 'How long am I going to be stuck here in this room with this whore?'. But of course, he was too nice to ask her that.
He ran a hand through his hair, realizing that he was still soaked from head to toe from the torrential downpour. He pulled at the end of his shirt, and wrung it out, creating a small puddle around him. There was a draft coming in from the small window, and he was wet. He didn't want to get sick, so he decided to make himself comfortable. He bit his lip as he looked around. On the bed in the corner there was a few blankets, still there from the last use in the same position the couple had left them in. It was gross, but it would be warm. Jordan walked over to the bed and picked one of the blankets up.
"Excuse me..." he said distractedly, as he began to peel his soaked shirt off of himself. Once it was off, he hung it over the small nightstand to dry, and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. He then proceeded to sit down on the lumpy bed.
|
|
|
|
Post by Molly Ingram on Oct 31, 2008 20:58:50 GMT -5
"I...Yeah. Um, thanks for saving me. They were stalking me...Looking for a fight I guess...Ahh...I'm Jordan. Brody. Jordan Brody."
Molly avoided looking at him. He was nervous, which could mean a good thing for her. Normally the young men who came in were nervous, and some of the time they backed out before anything was done...and some of those some of the times, they paid her anyway. But his kindness, not kindness per se, but agreeable mannerisms, were strange to her and yet welcome. If it had been another man like the three this morning she would certainly have been much further in the process than this. He introduced himself timidly. Jordan Brody. She ran the name through her mind so as not to forget it and risk embarrassment later. A pause fell between them, and she said quietly, "Molly." She gave nothing more. He needed nothing more, did he? "Thank you as well," she said, her voice still low, timid and wavering. "You are very brave."
"So, umm...Now what? How long does it normally ta-- Er...I mean, how long do you think they will be here?"
She shook her head and clasped her hands together in front of her, looking more like a lady-in-waiting than a prostitute. "It depends on who they go with," she answered at length. "Some of the ladies are done with it quickly, but the best of them usually have them for perhaps a half hour or more." She turned to the door and touched it, leaning toward it, listening to what was going on in the hall. She heard voices: high-pitched, flirtations laughter and low, deep mumbles. They weren't yet in a bedroom. She sighed. "It might be a while..."
In truth, she would have been glad to have things done quickly. The young man intimidated her, and she wondered if he was the sort to ask for what she could provide, just considering the circumstances. Could she have dug her own grave, so to speak? He seemed like a decent enough sort, but Molly had seen the sons of ministers; grocers; lawyers; politicians...all men who would otherwise seem the decent sort. And they were always the worst, because for once no one expected them to be decent. Who was Jordan Brody, and did she have reason to fear him...?
"Excuse me..."
He removed his shirt, and she feared the worst. Automatically in response, her hands went to the buttons at the throat of her blouse, ready to detach them if need be. She then felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach: could she trust no one? Did she have to go through this suffering again? But she watched as Jordan picked up one of the blankets that (if she recalled correctly) Millie and the clerk had used the night prior. He threw it around his shoulders to escape the cold and damp. Her heart seemed to resume beating, and she dropped her hands from her throat. She lifted her eyes to the tiny window, where the storm still raged. "Were you out in that...?" she whispered with slight askance. The storm was certainly one of the worst she'd seen...
|
|
|
|
Post by Jordan Brody on Nov 1, 2008 7:42:37 GMT -5
"Molly."
Molly, eh? Jordan thought, looking her over. She certainly looked like a Molly. She was very pretty now that he had a chance to really look at her. He hadn't seen a genuinely pretty girl in a very long time. Come to think of it, it had been about 2 years. His eyes darkened a moment at the memory of two years passed, but he quickly blinked it away. It was time to move on from that.
"Thank you as well," "You are very brave."
Brave? Did she just call him brave? He chuckled, "I wouldn't call it brave...I would call it; Seeing a need and filling it, without giving any thought to the consequences." he said grimacing. He tended to do that quite often.
"It depends on who they go with," "Some of the ladies are done with it quickly, but the best of them usually have them for perhaps a half hour or more."
Oh. Jordan nodded in understanding, as he watched her put her ear to the door.
"It might be a while..."
Jordan swallowed hard, not really to keen on being stuck in this room for too long. "Well, might as well get comfortable then." he said thoughtfully, then realizing how that must have sounded he continued, "I mean--Um...Thats not what I meant...You know - just get comfortable while we wait for them to leave...Not...We dont have to...I mean...You know?" he sputtered quickly, turning a dark shade of crimson.
"Never mind..." he muttered looking down.
"Were you out in that...?"
Jordan looked up, and turned towards the little window. He nodded grimly. "Since about 6 this morning." he stated, shivering. It had been a long, wet day, and he would probably pay for it with some sort of sickness. "I love the rain, but sometimes all it does for me is ruins my papes, in turn ruining my day." he stated casually. He found it odd to be here talking to this girl in this place, and he thought it was rather ironic that he was sharing little snippets of his thoughts with her when he wouldn't even normally share them with his newsies.
A long silence issued, and he bit his lip, wondering if he should try to make conversation. "So, Molly, tell me about yourself." he said gently, trying to catch her eye. That may have been the wrong thing to ask, but what was said, was said. The funny thing was, he actually wanted to know about her. He had the funny feeling in his stomach that he had experienced only once before. By the look of this girl, she wasn't one of the normal prostitutes.
What are you doing Jordan? You cant be falling for a whore!
|
|
|
|
Post by Molly Ingram on Nov 1, 2008 8:32:06 GMT -5
"I wouldn't call it brave...I would call it; Seeing a need and filling it, without giving any thought to the consequences."
She kept silent. If he didn't want to be called brave, she wouldn't argue with him. She didn't bother arguing with anyone; it was just too much effort on her part. But her thought remained nonetheless. Jordan hadn't needed to do anything. He must have done what he had because for some reason he wanted to, whether to help her--not help her. Just help someone. She had nothing to do with it, she was insignificant. It just happened to be her, and he would have done it had it been anyone else, as well. Well, anyway, he had done it for a reason, not just because he needed to, because no one needed to stop a man from touching a whore.
"Well, might as well get comfortable then."
Her body tensed. It was a line she'd heard before, often said by a man who fancied himself suave, accompanied by a leer and a look in his eye that meant lust of the briefest kind, of the shallowest and harshest kind. She wrung her hands tightly, and tried to bring herself to move a step toward him. If he wanted to have her, she couldn't refuse, as long as he was paying. Not now that she'd led him to think she would, she didn't blame him for thinking it.
"I mean--Um...Thats not what I meant...You know - just get comfortable while we wait for them to leave...Not...We dont have to...I mean...You know? Never mind..."
Her eyes met his, and she was surprised to see none of the lust and greed that was usually in the eyes of the men. She felt herself calm, and found a great deal of comfort in the fact that he was blushing red in the light of the dimly burning gas lamps. Noticing the seductive glow that came around the room from the lamps, she stepped to one side and turned them up, so that more light was shed around them. Then she turned back to Jordan. She could have said anything else, or else nothing, but when she opened her mouth to speak, what came out was a relieved: "Thank you..."
"Since about 6 this morning. I love the rain, but sometimes all it does for me is ruins my papes, in turn ruining my day."
She stared at him, unabashed. She couldn't believe he had been out in this for so long. When it rained more than lightly, Twinkle would have the girls come in from the streets and into the house to do their business. Let the men come to you, in this type of weather, she said. She assumed that Jordan sold newspapers, something that she herself thought she could never do. If she thought she could, she wouldn't be here. "That's terrible," she said. "And you can't escape it, can you?"
"So, Molly, tell me about yourself."
Her question took her by surprise. Tell him about herself? It had been three years since she'd been asked such a casual, civilized question; three years since she'd had conversation with a man, and two and a half years since she'd felt even the least bit comfortable in the presence of one when they were alone. A silence followed, and Molly bit her lip. "There's nothing to tell," she said in a voice scarcely above a whisper. She walked now, away from the door, giving the bed wide berth as she came to the small window.
As she looked out, she noticed two boys edging forward toward it, no doubt hoping to snatch a glance at whatever was going on. Once they were near, Molly gave the window a smack, which sent them running into the rain and darkness. She sighed. A new generation of whorehouse patrons. Turning slowly back to Jordan, another beat of silence passed between them. But suddenly she spoke: "No one wanted me at home. So I came here. Now I'm wanted in the worst way imaginable." Her voice was still characteristically quiet and meek, but edged with ice.
|
|
|
|
Post by Jordan Brody on Nov 1, 2008 9:03:37 GMT -5
"Thank you..."
Jordan paused for a moment, not quite sure how to respond to her. He was afraid that whatever he might say would come out wrong as it had a habit of doing. Whats the worst he could say? His eyes followed her as she turned the lamps up, to create a more cheery affect.
"Your welcome." he stated simply, in a gentle tone, and left it at that. That was always a good thing to reply to thank you with.
"That's terrible," she said. "And you can't escape it, can you?"
Jordan chuckled again, "Unless I want to starve." he said grimacing. "Plus, I have to be a good example for the rest of the Queens Newsies. Being the leader, they look up to me." he concluded. It was true, he had a big responsibility to keep up on his shoulders. They would probably be wondering where he was right now.
"There's nothing to tell,"
Jordan raised an eyebrow. There was always something to tell. No matter who you were or where you came from - whether you were the local prostitute, or the leader of the Queens newsies - there was always a story to tell.
"I'll tell you my story if you'll tell me yours." Jordan ventured hesitantly. He had never actually shared his story with anyone, and wasn't really sure he wanted to do so with this girl - but if he could pull her out of her shell and get her to tell him her story, then he would, indeed, tell her his.
He watched as she walked over to the window, and stayed as far away from him as possible. "I don't bite, you know." he muttered.
"No one wanted me at home. So I came here. Now I'm wanted in the worst way imaginable."
"I know how you feel about not being wanted at home, but I can't honestly say I know what its like to be...Craved for...By animals." he said slowly. "I can't imagine what you have to go through with this job." he added, furrowing his eyebrows together. Maybe he was getting a little bit too personal, but he was making conversation, and he truly did want to know about her now. He was feeling drawn to her.
|
|
|
|
Post by Molly Ingram on Nov 1, 2008 9:38:20 GMT -5
"Unless I want to starve. Plus, I have to be a good example for the rest of the Queens Newsies. Being the leader, they look up to me."
She didn't know the newsies had leaders. She knew little of their life, but still, she thought for sure they were all free agents, not bothering to form a hierarchy or listen to what anyone else said. But she had also wondered why she had seen few fights between them, why they were all such fast friends and everything seemed almost peaceful between them. Someone must have been the leader figure...even if it wasn't by title, it came naturally. Molly had the feeling that Twinkle would have been the maternal figure for all of them, even if it hadn't been her establishment. "It must be nice, having people look up to you..." She wouldn't know. No one looked up to a whore, did they?
"I'll tell you my story if you'll tell me yours. I don't bite, you know."
"I find that a bit hard to believe..." she said quietly. Those who said they didn't bite always were the ones to do everything else but bite. She wanted to trust him, but he had to understand: in her line of work, she had learned to trust no one, and her comfort around men was constantly minimal. She was starting to think that she would have liked it better if Jordan had actually wanted her; at least she wouldn't be turning her head at his warm and kind gaze, and rendered speechless by his innocent questions.
But she wondered for a long moment. She could tell him, and it would be a bit of a relief to her. She had told no one, save for Twinkle and Rosemary, what had happened to her before she came here. It would be wonderful to tell someone. Maybe she wouldn't be the only one hurting anymore if she did. What had she to lose? She could lose nothing, not anymore. She took a few small steps from the window toward where Jordan sat. Fiddling with the edge of her red shawl, she cast her eyes down as she spoke.
"My brother was the one to take care of me. My parents didn't care. My father beat my brother...all the time. And I could do nothing. One day my brother was gone, and everything I had ever known left with him. My other siblings loved each other and ignored me. My mother didn't care...she was always crying, always about herself. My father drank and he would beat me when there was no one else to hit. I was surrounded by four other people, living in the same house, but I was so alone. I left in the middle of the day, and no one even noticed. I was fifteen. And I came here because I had nowhere else to go. I was starving...and I had no other options. I've been here ever since. In two years I've been beaten by clients more times that I can remember. Countless times I've given myself to men I don't love. Three times I've almost fainted from fear of being with child (I never was, thank God). And I'm constantly, constantly worried what social disease I could be dying from and not know it."
Tears had come to her eyes during her narrative, each memory was like a new cross to bear. And it was something she had buried for so long, keeping out the memories with the sex and carefree laughter of the other ladies. She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand and looked up at Jordan, before turning away again, embarrassed and ashamed.
"I know how you feel about not being wanted at home, but I can't honestly say I know what its like to be...Craved for...By animals. I can't imagine what you have to go through with this job."
"No." Her reply was simple and frank. "You can't."
|
|
|
|
Post by Jordan Brody on Nov 1, 2008 10:07:13 GMT -5
"It must be nice, having people look up to you..."
Jordan snorted, "Until you do something embarrassing, or wrong - or when something happens in your life, then everyone knows about it." he replied clenching his jaw. He had done stupid things quite often, but was always able to redeem himself. That was one of the reasons he was leader - he did stupid stuff, but he was able to make up for it.
"I find that a bit hard to believe..."
"You find it hard to believe that I'll tell you my story, or that I wont bite?" Jordan joked playfully. He smiled at her, hoping to quench her uneasiness. He wasn't about to make any moves on her, and he wanted her to be aware of that. When she refused to tell her his story, he looked down at the ground, feeling a bit defeated, but then slowly lifted his head in astonishment as she began;
"My brother was the one...what social disease I could be dying from and not know it."
His mouth was open slightly, and he shut it. She had been through so much more than him. What could he say to make her feel better? Jordan grimaced as the dark truth pelted him in the stomach like icy cold bricks. He could always tell her about Mae. He had pushed Mae out of his head for two years, determined never to talk or think about her. He would tell her though. She looked ready to sob, and he debated in his head on whether he should comfort her or not.
He cleared his throat, "I guess its my turn, then." he began sullenly.
"My mom got pregnant and didn't want me, so when she had me she gave me to her mom (my grandma). My grandma died when I was seven, leaving me with nothing. So, I wandered the streets and nearly starved. I would have died, but a girl--" his voice broke for a moment, and he paused, but then continued, "--Named Mae, found me and brought me to be a newsie. We grew up together, and...Eventually fell in love. I loved her so much." Jordan stopped briefly, the painful memories washing over him.
"I was only sixteen - she was seventeen...When I, ah, got her pregnant. It was a mistake, but I was ready and she was willing to take care of the child. But then she started getting really sick. I had to bring her to the hospital, where she stayed for 7 or eight months - I cant really remember. One day, I came to visit her, and she was gone." he paused, blinking away the stinging in his eyes that threatened tears.
"They told me she died. I guess the baby did too." he said softly. "I--I feel like its my fault in a way that she died." he whispered, more to himself than to her.
|
|
|
|
Post by Molly Ingram on Nov 8, 2008 22:16:04 GMT -5
"Until you do something embarrassing, or wrong - or when something happens in your life, then everyone knows about it."
She understood, but found she couldn't sympathize. "At least you have someone looking after you." The ladies at the brothel were her friends, to a point, and if she was ever in trouble she knew they would help her. But she knew that they were only so sympathetic because they knew that whatever happened to Molly could very well happen to them at some point, and their sympathy was partially out of fear. "Sometimes I would rather someone know when I did something embarrassing. It would be so much better than some alternatives."
"You find it hard to believe that I'll tell you my story, or that I wont bite?"
She sighed. "I'm a whore, Jordan," she said frankly. "The people I cater to grab; they grope; they touch; they hit; and not occasionally, they bite." She walked toward him nonetheless, and took a seat on the bed next to him. "But I trust you to restrain yourself." She gave him a small smile, but suddenly was tense again. She didn't know what she would do if he couldn't restrain himself. Well, she knew what she would do, as long as he was paying. She would be surprised, though. He didn't seem like the type, not at all. She knew the type, like the back of her hand.
"I guess its my turn, then. My mom got pregnant ... I feel like its my fault in a way that she died."
Molly was speechless. Was it better to have loved and lost, or to never have known love at all? She cast her eyes down to her lap, and her fingers twisted into the fabric of her skirt at her knees, a nervous habit. "I'm sorry," she said, as unused to giving compassion as she was to receiving it. "It sounds terrible. I can only...imagine..." She shook her head, lost for words. Suddenly, a peal of laughter came from the foyer, and Molly rose to her feet and pressed her ear to the door. It sounded like the men had chosen their girls, but now they were being fought over playfully. Molly sighed. They were hopelessly silly sometimes. She turned back to Jordan. "There's no telling how long they'll be at this point. Would you like to leave as soon as it's clear in the foyer?"
|
|
