"Constanza Paccioretti"

She stated for a second time. The American still struggled, an immigration card gripped between ignorant American fingers and studied by uncultured American eyes.

"Contsi..."

Slightly tempered, the woman had found her smile fall to an impatient chew of the inside of her cheek. Her intentions for making a good first impression lay dashed at the first gate she encountered.

"If it eases your comprehension, you can simply abbreviate to 'Connie'" Her accent was subtle, though undoubtedly Italian. A polished education and scrupulous upbringing had left a telling mark.

Presently, the immigration officer regrettably accepted his defeat, though not without expressing his disgruntlement. Scribbled down on her new identification papers was the brutalized brand that was now her name. 'Connie', like a farm hand, or a horse. His attention was drawn back to the tag pinned to her clothes, a primitive mind was now trying to decipher the well noted and distinguished surname that the young woman had brought across the apparent endless Atlantic with her. A surname her father had nurtured and cultured into a well known moniker. 

Defeated, again. He moved to the next line and wrote a word in careless haste. Constanza witnessed this and moved to protest.

"No, sir, you are mistaken, that is my place of origin."

He paid no mind.

"I... but..." A wave of motion moved her along, the line advanced to the next weary body waiting to be mistreated. A sensation to her rump came as a sudden shock, she turned in time to see the brute that named her grin at the spoils of his advance.

The urge to mount another protest came too late, Constanza cursed her hesitation at challenging the man, one of many that bedeviled the immigration hall. Though, it was a charade she was most accustomed to; the confidence always came too late, however always before the doubts. Perhaps she should be less forward and suggestive. Perhaps she should dress more appropriately. 

She stepped to the next window, her long trench coat tailing her calves and stood before the next waiting ape.

"Connie Cassaro?"

She sighed, nodded and in the most displeased tone she could muster, responded.

"Yes, I suppose so."  

A port operates as expected. Though there was a considerable paucity of bodies - a welcome paucity - compared to the immigration hall, there continued the same urgency and bustle about the place. Perhaps this was the American way. Just perhaps. She passed campaigners, a shrill devotion in their voice to convince those new to the shores to vote in their favor. Connie found herself smiling again and lifted by the energy they brought.

"Looking to secure the American Dream?! Vote J%*n $**£%!" 

The names were immediately forgotten, Connie found her attention was directed more towards her surroundings and that which might hide there. 

"M**% M*$&^%!, vote M**% M*$%^%!"

Another she passed, turning on her heel to nod a respectful acknowledgement of their plight.

She passed offices and shanties designed to house dock workers. Crates and shipping equipment. It was from here those seeking employment gathered. Representatives from across the country were endeavoring to recruit them into their respective organisations. She pondered for a moment why those presenting themselves as available for work did not accept from those proffering it. There was a reluctance in their eyes. A hesitation in their movements. A knowing, perhaps.

"Could do wit' a fine young desk hand like yourself, miss!"

"Ah, I would, however only moments ago I -"

"Fill out the ranks in Delaware, lass?"

"Certainly grateful sir, though-"

"Rebuilding the west coast! Do your part!"

"I ought explore the situation furt-"

A whirlwind of finely dressed figures, each with keen desire to assign a label to the girl. Within those first few moments she began to break focus on maintaining strict awareness of her environment. An arm took her own. Though, there was no forceful intent behind it. She found her walking pace increased. The degraded, idle sandals that brought her over thousands of miles now scuffed the ground with urgency and purpose.

"Let's get you away from that lot."

The voice was feminine, assuring and confident.

"Excuse my objection, I was simply-" Her protest faded as she found the air around her had settled. The chants from the dock now adrift on the breeze. They stood just short of the streets of New York. Connie looked to the woman who had reached in and plucked her from chaos.

"My name is Ezmerelda, what's yours?"  

"Isabella **--**"

Connie nodded. Though the entirety of her concentration was devoted to the woman sat opposite her, to what extent the information would remain with her was another matter entirely. This of course was the manner of how she excused herself and avoided admitting that the ability to retain the name of a person was totally absent from her otherwise irritatingly perfect disposition.

Truth was, her mind was elsewhere and she had in fact convinced herself that her concentration was devoted entirely to the woman who sat opposite her, in reality, her considerations were that of the hesitant laborers betwixt the docks and the nature of what working for Miss Ezmerelda in the Labor Union actually meant.

She left the Employment Agency in Philadelphia, still utterly convinced that she was comfortable with whatever situation was unfolding before her. 

"I suppose it is not quite as heinous to affix the poster of Mr. -"

A glance at the top sheet of the flier stack she now bore.

"-Swift over those of his competitors."

The thought did not sit well, and she knew it. The young woman crossed the street and paced further through the city. There were a number of campaigners already operating to foil the works of each other. Connie kept her head down. Her pace quickened until the scene was a little calmer.

"Though, it would not be mistaken of me to presuppose a counterpart to myself would then simply need to remove the poster of Mr. Swint and have no need to affix their own, as I allowed it to remain."

Onward she paced, taking time to deliberate over her logic.

"Swfit."

A sudden realization that correction was required. Her wanderings soon brought her to a pathway leading to what was indicated to be a university. It was probably time she got to work.

Interpretation of her role in this life had initially been vague and uncertain. At the very least Connie believed herself to be misplaced, impartial perhaps. America was not all that different to Sicily, the distinction being her placement. Her family had largely remained above the slovenly hives of fear and intimidation that stalked her homeland. Cassaro was reputed for its paltry opportunities advanced on by the bold and ambitious underbelly of the country's population.

Thoughts were quickly shaken from her mind and returned to her experiences thus far. Yes, it seemed that a very, though not drastically, different woman now stood in line for the Treble Club in South Philadelphia. The American Dream had presented itself to her as opportunity. Thus far, she had seized it as it introduced itself. An imprudent approach she now admitted and likely avoidable. The notion had her considering fate and destiny when the doorman chirped her attention.

"Good evening sir, my name is Connie Cassaro."

There was the flier distribution, which no doubt held some public nuisance charge. The acquisition of business critical information on the operational occupancy of the Launderette on 5th and Main. Fraud, undoubtedly, she frowned. Events most recently had her further riled - her physical challenge on a young man who dared feel around in her pockets. Admittedly the straw that broke the camels back, she had engaged him with a verbal torrent before exerting significant force to his sternum, causing the thug to tumble into an apple cart.

Not quite a mugging, she supposed, but the charge would in all likelihood stand.

The professional on the door reached the end of his list and began retracing his steps.

"It's not here as far as I can...see see?"

"See-see?"

He stared back at her.

"I appear to have misunderstood you sir, you have not located my name?"

"You see see?"

"Me see see?" She puzzled the situation. She should look herself?

He nodded, affirming her bewilderment.

"If I might see the list, perhaps that will assist?"

"See see is on the list." An impatient brow hooked over one eye. Connie failed to conjure an inventive close to the interaction or produce any form of facial response entirely. She stood, open mouthed and completely devoid of words.

"Lady, are you CC or not?"

"CC?... Connie... oh! Goodness, yes I suppose I am. Sincere apologies!"

She stepped with a quickness past the eye-roll and entered the club. A moment to bury her embarrassment ensured, after which she took time to witness the gathered characters left her with another for the list.

"Unlawful assembly..."

Aircraft engines roared, an urgency and craving in their vociferous drone. If Connie's waking mind did not soon intervene, her subconscious one would allow her to gnaw through her cheek entirely. It was likely the noise, likely the absence of a companion, likely still that the young woman did not know how to anticipate her virgin flight and lacked a familiarity with being thrust thousands of feet into the sky. She presently willed for another way, a boat, a locomotive, anything really. Necessity was that she was required in Detroit sooner, rather than later though.

She neglected to greet the host on embarking, which was unusual for her, then stood in the gangway with her luggage at her heels, considering how Mrs. Byrne would react if she made a hasty change of plans. Plans she expected had been carefully orchestrated fo-

No, she had to persevere. Luggage stowed, Connie was seated in the aisle alongside an older lady, clearly at ease with her impending journey.

Connie fidgeted, her agitation all too clear. 

"Don't you worry, girl. It's not the bein' in the air that kills you, it's if you fall to the ground."

Her face soon drained of color, Connie nodded and averted her gaze to directly down the aisle. 

"What you headin' to Detroit for anyway?" Her accent was thick, New York or the surrounding boroughs. Connie wasn't that familiar with any of them, truly.

"Business, madam."

"Business? For a young lady like yourself?"

The passenger was well presented for her age. Effort had been made to conceal the excess years she carried around and her dress was proper and suitable for the conditions. A beige collar concealed her neck, folded up to supposedly shield against the wind whilst boarding. Her hair was jet black, at least it was jet black. Now creeping vines of white nestled themselves within, spreading among the natural color and all tied up into a tight bun.

Connie nodded. 

"Well I suppose I got business of my own, really."

The plane shuddered. 

"Lost my husband, if I'm honest."

"My condolences." Distracted, Connie found herself momentarily lacking her empathy. She flinched while they taxied to the runway. It was a small, light aircraft. No more than 20 passengers. The seemingly weightlessness of the vehicle made every motion carry and exaggerate. 

It was then that an unseen force obligated she sat back in her seat, the propellers now accelerating. Her face was a picture of concern.

"Oh no, he been messin' around with the ladies at the races, y'see."

Lift off. Fingernails wounded the cheap red faux leather lining the armrests.

"So I switched his blood pressure meds with Doc Shaw's laxatives."

She dared a glance out of the window, only to find herself watching the airport, Philadelphia, the world, fall away. This was... this was extraordinary! Such a marvelous sensation!

"Then that morning he puts my momma's wedding ring on the horses. Son of a bitch lost it. Figured he'd flee to his sister in Detroit."

Fields, coastline, ocean. Her eyes drifted, enchanted by the scene out of the window from across the lap of the old lady. Her amusement gushed, Connie chuckled. They breached the clouds and she bathed in sunlight, closer to it that she'd ever been.

"Well ye'see, her sister thought it was funny too..."

In all her life, she had never felt such a euphoric moment such as this. Adrenaline surged, she stared in utter admiration at the world below them.

"...sent me a letter tellin' me he turned up and couldn't not stop shittin' himself on her porch. Well if it ain't the most deserving thing I ever heard." Her mind cleared, Connie looked to the old lady and offered her interest once more. 

"Such behavior, I suppose the only recourse is to confront him on his misdeeds?"

"Oh no, he died from not havin' the blood pressure meds. I gotta go collect my momma's ring, his sister found it in between her decking. Turned out he musta swallowed it to stop the people at the races gettin' it."

Goodness me.