The Hotelier
Roger Hancock often bragged he made his fortune the old-fashioned way: he inherited it. This is an old joke, one that has been around long enough to collect social security. Still, in Roger's case, it was true. To give the devil his due, though, Hancock was a shrewd businessman who increased the wealth he inherited by tenfold. What began as a family-owned chain of luxury hotels was parlayed into a multibillion-dollar corporation with holdings in real estate, retail and communications.
With a net worth second only to Bill Gates, the world's most famous hotelier had more than enough money to indulge his whims, which were legendary. For instance, when he wanted to impress a young actress, he purchased a production company and the movie rights to a bestselling novel. When he wanted to seduce a well-known fashion model, he financed the beauty's line of cosmetics. And when he developed an interest in baseball, he bought his own major league team.
By the time Roger Hancock reached his fortieth birthday, he had traveled to every corner of the globe and had known more beautiful women than Hugh Heffner. Ironically, being a playboy brought him little happiness. Despite his lavish spending and jet-setting lifestyle, he lived in a near-constant state of dissatisfaction.
"Something is missing from my life," he once complained to his personal attorney and former college roommate. "But damn me if I know what it is."
The lawyer looked at the framed photograph of his wife and children that adorned his desk.
"Why don't you find yourself a nice woman, get married and have a few kids. My family means the world to me."
"You forget. I've been married three times already, and not one of my wives ever made me happy for very long."
"Forgive me for saying so, but you always go for the empty-headed, blond beauties with silicone implants. Forget about trophy wives, and look for a woman who is marriage material."
Roger laughed.
"You sound like my mother."
"I'm just trying to help you out, buddy."
Naturally, Roger didn't take his friend's well-meant advice. He was not interested in the girl next door who could provide him with a stable home life. Quite the opposite, his next romantic interest was the ex-wife of a famous rock star, a stunning fashionista who regularly appeared in the newspaper tabloids. She was a woman who would not meet with either his mother's or his friend's approval, but Roger didn't care. He had never let anyone influence his decisions. He was a man who knew what he wanted, and he wanted Jada Gibson.
Paradoxically, not long after Jada became the fourth Mrs. Hancock, Roger began to tire of her. Jada, on the other hand, was quite content being married to the second-richest man in the world. Who wouldn't be? Even though she had to sign a prenup, she would still walk away with a sizable fortune should the marriage end in divorce. Meanwhile, she would enjoy her husband's vast wealth to the fullest.
Roger tolerated his wife's extravagant tastes and overspending without complaint. It was only money he reasoned, and he had plenty of it. That was why Jada was taken aback by his unenthusiastic response when she suggested they take a cruise to celebrate their second wedding anniversary.
"Why don't we just fly to Europe instead?" he asked. "I do have my own jet, you know."
"Because I want to go on a cruise. I've never been on one before."
"Ships are so damned slow," Roger complained.
"That's what's so wonderful about them. They're like floating hotels where you can relax and enjoy the food and the shows."
"There are plenty of theaters and restaurants right here in New York. I don't have to sail around in the middle of the Atlantic to find good food and entertainment."
"If you don't want to go, then we'll just stay here," she declared with a pronounced pout.
Jada never argued or raised her voice. Whenever she was angry with her husband or just wanted to get her own way, she shut up like a clam until her frosty disposition penetrated her husband's resistance.
As usual, Roger sighed and relented, knowing there would be no harmony in the Hancock household until he agreed to the cruise.
* * *
Two months later, Roger looked up at the luxury ocean liner, the Cunard's transatlantic ship, the Queen Mary 2. For the next twenty-four days, it would take him and his wife on a Mediterranean cruise that would include stops in England, Spain, Italy, Gibraltar and Portugal. It would also involve a total of twelve days crossing the Atlantic.
Although he enjoyed many outdoor sports, Roger was never fond of the water. The thought of being on the ocean so far from land disturbed him, but he wouldn't let Jada know that. He was a proud man who would never admit to weakness. Still, he would be much happier when the ship docked, and he was on terra firma once again.
"I wonder if anyone ever got cabin fever and went berserk on a cruise ship," he mused. "Some people can't take being confined in such a limited space."
Jada brushed her husband's pessimistic comments aside. She had been looking forward to the trip with eager anticipation, and she wasn't going to let him spoil it for her.
Money being no object, she had instructed her travel agent to reserve the Balmoral Grand Duplex Stateroom, which came with all the Cunard amenities including butler service, a fully stocked bar, fresh flowers, a fruit basket and an Xbox in their room. While Jada was marveling at the splendor of their accommodations, Roger was mentally counting down the hours until the cruise came to an end and the ship returned to New York Harbor.
"Look at this," Jada exclaimed, waving a schedule of events beneath her husband's nose. "For Royal Night there's to be an Ascot Ball in the Queen's Room. Won't that be exciting? I hope there's a store onboard where I can get something appropriate to wear."
Roger raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
Not long after the ship departed, the Hancocks sat on the balcony of their stateroom, enjoying the complimentary glass of champagne and the sugar-iced strawberries as they watched the New York skyline slowly shrink and fade from view.
"'Water, water everywhere,'" the wealthy hotelier mumbled as he drained his champagne glass.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing, dear. I was just quoting Coleridge."
Jada, who was not much of a reader, didn't know Coleridge from Chaucer and didn't care.
"Where are you going?" Roger asked as his wife changed into a smart little cocktail dress.
"I thought I'd try my luck at the Empire Casino. Are you coming?"
Although he was not in the mood for gambling, Roger sighed in resignation and followed her out of the cabin.
* * *
Despite Jada's claims that the cruise would be restful, she maintained a steady pace, going from casino to restaurant, to exercise room, to lounge, to swimming pool. For the first three days of the trip, she rose at seven o'clock and rarely stopped until two or three in the morning. On the fourth day, her husband began to lose steam.
After dinner, Jada headed toward the casino.
"Want to come?"
"No, but you go on ahead. Why don't we meet up around eleven at the Chart Room for a late-night drink?"
Roger then wandered around the ship and eventually ended up in Churchill's Cigar Bar. Upon seeing the men smoking cigars and sipping cognac, he felt as though he had taken a step back into the nineteenth century, a time when men ruled the world and women retired to their rooms so their husbands could discuss business and politics.
I like this room, he thought as he puffed on a Cuban cigar in comfortable silence.
There was no pressure to talk to anyone. For the first time since leaving New York, he was able to relax. After he finished his cigar and brandy, Roger walked out onto the boat deck. Standing beside the railing, he began to question man's importance in the universe. It was a dark, overcast night, and he couldn't tell where the ocean ended and the sky began. In the vast blackness, he felt utterly alone, lost and insignificant.
Beneath him was the powerful ship, and beneath its hull an unknown world. Who knew what sea creatures lived in the depths of the Atlantic? Who knew what rested on the ocean floor? There might be a sunken ship or a downed airplane.
Roger remembered the photographs he'd seen of the Titanic rotting away two miles beneath the surface of the water. A chill raced down his spine, a chill not caused by the coolness of the air. For a moment he saw not the deck of the Cunard's Queen Mary 2 but that of the White Star Line's RMS Titanic.
Badly shaken by the eerie experience, the billionaire hotelier quickly backed away from the railing, turned and hurried toward the casino in search of his wife.
"Where have you been?" Jada demanded to know when her husband finally appeared. "I've been waiting for more than an hour."
"I'm sorry, dear. I lost track of time."
"Is something wrong?" she asked, noting her husband's pallor. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Roger had no intention of telling his wife that, for a brief moment, he thought he had been transported to the deck of the Titanic.
"I'm fine," he insisted nervously.
As they sipped cocktails in the Chart Room, Jada kept up a running conversation, but her husband said very little. He was far too preoccupied with his own thoughts.
"Have you been listening to a word I've said?" she whined.
Roger didn't try to deny his inattention.
"Forgive me, darling," he said, throwing himself on his wife's mercy. "I was out on the deck earlier, looking out at the ocean, when I got the idea for a new hotel."
"What is it?"
Jada's question was prompted strictly by courtesy. She had no real interest in her husband's business projects.
"It's going to be a combination hotel, country club, banquet hall, restaurant and museum—all on water, similar to the original Queen Mary out in Long Beach."
"You want to buy an old ocean liner? Are there many for sale?"
"I want to build a new one, from the hull up: an exact replica of the Titanic."
Jada assumed the cost of such a venture would be astronomical, and she was right. However, her husband was the second-richest man in the world, so the dream was not beyond his means.
* * *
When the QM2 docked at Southampton two weeks later, after returning from the Mediterranean, the Hancocks hurried to London. Roger left his wife to explore Harrods while he met with representatives from Harland and Wolff, the company that built the Titanic, and Cunard, who had since merged with the former White Star Line, the Titanic's owners. He described to them his vision. With little effort on the hotelier's part, Harland and Wolff were persuaded to serve as consultants for the construction of the ship, and Cunard would—for a percentage of the profits—offer whatever assistance it could.
Roger was delighted with the successful conclusion of his meeting. Afterward, he went back to Claridge's and began making phone calls and sending emails from his suite. For the first time in years, he was excited about a business venture, and he couldn't wait to start the ball rolling.
Jada, however, was feeling decidedly neglected.
"I thought we might go to the theater tonight," she nagged, "but you were gone all day."
"Urgent business," he explained with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Maybe we can go tomorrow night," she said hopefully. "We still have a couple of days before we sail back to New York."
Roger sighed.
"Ah, yes. I wanted to talk to you about that. I'm afraid I'm going to have to fly home. I want to meet with a real estate agent as soon as possible to look at some oceanfront property."
Just as the pride of the White Star Line had been doomed to certain destruction when it struck an iceberg in the North Atlantic back in April of 1912, so, too, was Roger Hancock's fourth marriage doomed when he decided to let his wife make the return crossing alone. Shortly after leaving Southampton, Jada fell in love with a British duke who could trace his ancestry back to William the Conqueror.
After the Hancocks divorced, the peer became Jada's third husband.
"Oh, well," the hotelier thought upon later reflection. "I never really loved her anyway."
* * *
For a man of Roger Hancock's wealth, the normally slow-moving bureaucratic process progresses much faster. By the time Jada announced that she'd met a Member of Parliament aboard the QM2, Roger had already acquired the land and necessary permits to build his ship-like hotel just off the coast of New Jersey, not far from the Asbury Park boardwalk. By the time Jada filed for divorce, the builders broke ground, so to speak; and by the time the divorce was finalized, the foundation on which the ship was to rest was in place.
All that remained—and it was a monumental task, to say the least—was to construct an exact duplicate of the Titanic, from the ornamental fourth funnel to the Vinolia Otto Toilet Soap the first-class passengers used to bathe themselves. The only way the replica would differ from the original ship was that it wouldn't be seaworthy. Since it would remain forever docked in New Jersey, there would be no need for coal bunkers, boilers or engines. The lower deck would be reserved for storage, heating and air-conditioning systems and all other modern technology that would otherwise blight the 1912 ambiance of the remaining seven decks.
Where it took three years to build the original Titanic, it would take considerably less time to build its clone. It was the little touches in the interior design that would prove most time-consuming. A century had elapsed since the original ship was fitted out. During that time many of the products used, as well as the companies that manufactured them, had disappeared. Still, Roger was adamant that everything be authentic. For instance, the first-class dining room on D Deck must seat 532 people and use the same white linen tablecloths, crystal and silverware. Even the chairs had to be covered with the same fabric of Scottish thistles, English roses and French fleurs-de-lis.
Given the magnitude of the undertaking, as well as the hotelier's reputation, it was no wonder the media was eager to report on what promised to be a bigger tourist draw than the casinos at Atlantic City. An astute businessman, Roger knew the value of good press coverage, so he fully cooperated with reporters.
"Do you honestly believe you'll make enough money to cover your enormous expenditures, much less make a profit?" a CNN reporter asked during a personal interview.
"Didn't someone ask the same thing of James Cameron?" he laughed. "Seriously, though, I see something aboard this ship for everyone, the wealthy and the not-so-wealthy alike. Sure, it will be very expensive to eat in the first-class dining room (which, by the way, is already reserved for the president's daughter's wedding), but we'll also serve less pricy meals in the other dining rooms. For lighter fare, people can dine in the Palm Room or the Veranda Café."
"Will all the ship's amenities be available to the general public?"
"Naturally, the staterooms will be off-limits, as they will serve as hotel suites and rooms. But at scheduled hours during the day, the public can enjoy the heated saltwater swimming pool on F Deck, the Turkish baths, the squash courts and the gym."
"So if someone who was neither an overnight guest nor a club member wanted to work out in the gym for an hour, he could come during the designated time and pay a fee to use the facilities?"
"Yes, but don't expect to find any Nautilus equipment there. The only machines are those that were used aboard the Titanic, mainly the electric horse and the rowing machine."
"Speaking of rowing," the reporter chuckled, "what about lifeboats?"
"Hopefully, we won't need them," the hotelier laughed. "But, yes, we will have them: fourteen standard thirty-foot lifeboats and four Englehardt collapsible boats, just like those on the Titanic. In fact, for a fee, a person can have his picture taken in a lifeboat we'll have tied up to the pier."
"What other novelties will there be on the Titanic 2?"
"There will be photographers roaming the ship and others stationed at the foot of the grand staircase on A Deck as well as at the stern and the bow—in case someone feels the urge to pretend he's king of the world like Leonardo DiCaprio. There will also be a working Marconi in the telegraph room where people can receive messages printed with the White Star logo."
"Are photographs and telegraph messages the only souvenirs that will be available?"
"There'll be no shortage of Titanic memorabilia here," Roger boasted. "I'm going to open a gift shop on the dock next to the ticket booth. There will be literally thousands of items to choose from: DVDs, books, models, postcards, stationery and clothing. We're even going to offer a T-shirt that says I SURVIVED THE TITANIC."
"Forgive me for asking, but isn't this a rather crass way to make money, exploiting a disaster that killed nearly fifteen hundred people?"
"I prefer not to dwell on the casualties. It's the ship and all that it symbolized that I'm showcasing here. The Titanic was a marvel of human endeavor back in her day."
Roger and the reporter both glanced out the office window at the mighty ship that was taking shape off the Jersey shore.
"It's certainly a beauty," the reporter exclaimed.
Roger was silent. For a moment he saw not his nearly completed reconstruction but the ghost of the ill-fated Titanic itself.
* * *
With the opening of the hotel just two weeks away, Roger was working around the clock, taking precious time from his schedule only to nap, eat and shower.
On the eve of April 10, all the lights of the Titanic 2 were to be turned on, signaling the start of the week-long grand opening festivities that were to culminate with a costume ball hosted by James Cameron. Many of the cast and crew of his blockbuster movie, including Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet, Billy Zane, Kathy Bates and Bill Paxton, were invited, along with the first two hundred and fifty people who signed up for membership in the exclusive club.
For all intents and purposes, the ship was complete. Only a few decorative touches needed to be added: the illuminated glass map showing the routes of all White Star liners in April 1912 had to be installed in the gym; the leaded glass and etched patterned mirrors had to be delivered and hung on the mahogany walls of the first-class smoking room; the Marconi equipment had to be hooked up in the radio room; and, most importantly, the ornate white enameled, wrought iron skylight had to be built above the grand staircase, which descended four decks down to the entrance of the first-class dining room.
* * *
The day before Titanic 2 was to open for business, all employees reported to work for final training and a dress rehearsal for opening night. Everything went smoothly, and by nine o'clock, all the staff members left. The guards secured the ship and retired to the security center next to the ticket booth and gift shop. Roger was left alone on the massive pseudo-ship.
A perfectionist, the hotelier made one final inspection, deck by deck, making sure everything was just right. Eventually, he made his way to the smoking room where he enjoyed a cigar and a glass of brandy. He had no intention of going home that night, for he knew he would be unable to sleep.
The night was on the wane, and dawn was near. The hotelier walked to the kitchen of the first-class dining room and made himself a cup of instant coffee. Then, on the spur of the moment, he decided to go to the boat deck and watch the sunrise. He stopped on the landing of the grand staircase, the spot where Rose was reunited with Jack Dawson at the end of the Academy Award-winning movie.
Roger was surprised to see a young woman in early 1900s costume walking down the stairs toward him. Naturally, he assumed she was an employee.
"You're here early," he called. "I didn't think the staff was due to start work until seven."
When the woman lifted her head to face him, Roger caught his breath.
"Liam," she said, with a voice that echoed eerily through the vast ship. "I've been waiting for you for so long."
"You must have me confused with someone else. My name isn't Liam; it's Roger."
But even as he spoke the words, he began to remember a time before he was born. His former life collided with his current one with all the force of two speeding locomotives crashing head-on. With sudden clarity, Roger Hancock remembered his existence as Liam McGuiness.
"Bridget," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat.
"Aye, Liam. It's me."
The floor beneath Roger seemed to shift. The deck rocked as though the Titanic 2 were riding the waves of the North Atlantic.
"What are you doing in this part of the ship?" he asked, his faint Boston accent becoming a thick Irish brogue. "This area is for first-class passengers only. We'd best get back below deck."
Roger reached for the young woman's arm. It was wet and cold as ice.
"I can't stay here, but I've come to take you back with me."
The memories of his previous existence continued to flood his brain. He and Bridget had been married in Ireland in March 1912, just weeks before the Titanic set out for New York, where the newlyweds hoped to build a life for themselves. The honeymoon was tragically cut short, however, when the Titanic sank.
"I pushed through the crowds of people to get you up to the boat deck," he said as the memories of the early morning hours of April 15, 1912, played out in his mind like an old 8mm home movie.
"Aye, that you did, Liam. But the lifeboats had already been lowered."
"I remember being thrown overboard when the stern upended. It was dark, and there were so many people in the sea. I couldn't find you. I was treading water, trying to stay afloat. It was so cold that I soon lost all feeling in my arms and legs. I would have gone under, but someone pulled me on top of one of the lifeboats that had turned upside down. That was all I remember until I was taken aboard the Carpathia several hours later."
There was a look of sheer horror on his face.
"You weren't there."
"No, my love. You survived, but I didn't," Bridget said matter-of-factly.
Roger broke into tearful sobs.
"I vowed before God that I would love and protect you, and I let you die in the icy water."
"It wasn't your fault—although you've blamed yourself for years. It has been your misdirected sense of guilt that has kept us apart for so long."
Bridget raised her hand and wiped the tears from her husband's eyes.
"It's time to forgive yourself for living, Liam," she said.
She then stood on her tiptoes and gently kissed him on the lips.
* * *
"What the hell was that?" Emilio Rodriguez asked the other two guards who were drinking coffee with him in the security center.
The sound painfully reminded him of that made when the Twin Towers came down on September 11.
All three guards turned toward the video screens. What they saw left them speechless. The Titanic 2, like its namesake, appeared to be sinking.
The men ran outside to the dock and gawked at the ship-hotel.
"That's not possible!" Emilio cried. "The boat can't be sinking. It's firmly resting on a concrete foundation. And even if it weren't, the water is too shallow this close to land."
Yet as the sun's first rays appeared on the eastern horizon, he and his fellow guards saw the ship slip beneath the surface of the water, leaving no trace behind.
* * *
The unexplained disappearance of the Titanic 2 drew worldwide interest. The media flocked to Asbury Park to cover the story, and tourists made the pilgrimage in hopes of finding a souvenir wash up on shore. Inexplicably, no debris was ever found. Even more mysterious, Scuba divers at the site found only an empty concrete foundation. It was as though the ship had never existed.
While the world puzzled over the bizarre occurrence and mourned the loss of Roger Hancock, the second-richest man in the world and the only casualty of the disaster, the immortal soul of Liam McGuiness was finally free of the terrible guilt that had kept it bound to earth and was able at long last to join the woman he loved in the hereafter.
Salem was aboard the Titanic. He was the first one in the lifeboat because he hates getting his paws wet.
