"Manhattan… I prepared for you." Mumbling, she slid down against the cold brick wall, the grooves rumpling the fabric of her yellow dress. Her skinny legs stuck out from underneath the uneven hemline – she'd cut it herself - showing pale skin unused to sun. A run was visible in her stockings, going down all the way to her shoeless right foot.

People rushed all around her, avoiding her legs as easily as if they were not there all. New Yorkers were certainly a wonder, if Millie Dilmount had ever seen one at all. How she wanted to be one of them – so self assured! Always busy, always moving, and most of all – experienced. New Yorkers lived, really lived, like Millie had never lived. But it didn't look like Millie was going to get her chance. Not ten minutes in the city and she'd lost her luggage, shoe, hat, and purse. She had nowhere to go, her clothing was a mess, and she'd ripped up her ticket home.

Groaning with frustration, Millie shifted her leg. She felt something bump it and suddenly a man she didn't know was sprawled in her lap in a far too … er, familiar way. Blonde hair ruffled, the man picked himself up with a strangely arrogant air for a person who'd just fallen into a stranger's lap.

"So do all of you country girls go around tripping people?"

"I beg your pardon!"

"You're obviously not from around here." The man told her promptly, settling against the wall next to her like an old friend. His eyes skimmed her, and Millie squirmed under his critical gaze. "And it doesn't look like you've got much, so you must be one of those girls from a small town with all the big dreams." He laughed, while Millie scowled, and went on, "Let me guess – Oklahoma? Alabama?"

"I'm not one of those anything." Millie replied indignantly. "I'm all my own. Different, new!"

He laughed at her again; throwing his head back in a way that Millie had to admit was annoyingly handsome.

"Who are you, anyway? I don't need some stranger falling all over me and then laughing like a madman at everything I say!"

"Excuse me, miss? Falling all over you?" He laughed again – it seemed that was all he did. "I'm afraid I didn't need some dreamer girl tripping me today, as I was on my way to meet a date." He leaned his head back, glancing up at the sky. "But you are amusing, so I figure being late can't hurt."

"You didn't answer the question." Millie replied coldly, glaring at him with all her might. He barely seemed to notice.

"Jeez, don't get in a huff. It's not like you've told me your name, you know."

"It's Millie, Millie Dilmount." She told him stiffly. "And yours?"

"Jimmy." He shrugged. "Now, I really should meet my girl. But first –" He grabbed her hand, fishing in his pocket for something while she tried to yank away. "Hold still, will you? I'm not gonna attack you or anything." He produced a pen from somewhere inside his jacket, and wrote an address on her hand.

"What, do you expect me to meet you at your apartment or something, because I am certainly not —"

"Millie, Millie, Millie…" He grinned wolfishly at her, dropping her hand and beginning to stand up. "I do not have to coax that kind of company out of random girls on the street. That's the address for a hotel. I suggest you go there and wire your parents home for money and a ticket home. And don't worry – the hotel gets tons of actresses, it's used to girls who can't pay."

And he walked away, laughing and arrogant, while Millie glared daggers into his back.