March 28, 1964
Rose sat in front of her cracked vanity mirror, applying her makeup. Tonight was her engagement gala.
Though a month and a half had passed since the night Rose had decided that she would go to Berkeley, regardless of what anyone else thought, she had yet to bring the subject up with Cal again. She had seen him only once in that time, when he had come home from Yale for a weekend in late February, and she hadn’t been able to find the courage to talk to him about her wish to postpone the wedding. She hadn’t mentioned it when talking to him on the phone, either, for fear that he would react in the same way he had before.
Rose wondered if Cal even remembered their conversation about Berkeley. He had been drunk that night, and he hadn’t brought it up since. If he did remember, she thought he might be hoping that the issue had disappeared.
Cal was home for spring break now, and their engagement party was tonight at the Hockley mansion. Rose knew that she had to tell him soon—it wasn’t right to let him make plans for their married life in the near future when she wanted to put off the wedding as long as possible.
Sometimes Rose wondered why Cal wanted to marry her. At not quite twenty years old, he was much too young for a trophy wife, and she would still be only seventeen on their planned wedding day. It couldn’t be to get her in bed, either—he had already done that, and continued to do so whenever he was in town.
In spite of Rose’s embarrassment over her mother’s discovery of her diaphragm, she had continued to sleep with Cal. She wasn’t particularly fond of him, nor did she really want to marry him, but if she could enjoy one part of their relationship, she would, regardless of what her mother thought.
As Rose finished her makeup and began to brush out her hair, she thought back to when she had first met Cal. It had been the first day of her freshman year of high school when she noticed the dark-haired junior whose locker was near hers. She knew who he was, of course—the Hockleys were well-known in her social circle—but she had never met him in person.
Rose hadn’t been able to stop staring at him. The boys she had known in junior high seemed childish and immature next to the older boy. He had glanced at her briefly, without much interest, then left, falling into step with a girl with shoulder-length blonde hair.
It was the first real crush Rose had had, and she had thought about him constantly in the weeks that followed, dawdling at her locker in hopes of seeing him, drawing pictures of him in the margins of her notebook, and talking about him so constantly that her friends had rolled their eyes and told her to just talk to him if she thought he was so wonderful.
Rose had been sure that he would never notice her. She was too young, too skinny, her hair too short, though the style she had insisted upon just before school started was fashionable and her friends admired it.
It was more than halfway through the school year before Cal finally noticed her. Rose was jealous of the girls he talked to, wishing she was one of them, but after she noticed one of them dropping a book in front of Cal so he would pick it up for her, she decided to try the same tactic.
It hadn’t worked quite as she had planned. Instead of dropping one book, the entire pile slipped from her hands, along with her notebook. Papers had scattered all over the hallway, and Cal had nearly tripped over her math book. Horribly embarrassed, Rose had hurried to pick up her belongings, wishing she had never tried to get Cal’s attention. When he had handed her the math book, along with several papers that had been inside it, she had been even more mortified—the top paper had a not-so-elegantly drawn picture of the two of them on it, surrounded by a heart and topped by the words Rose and Cal forever.
Rose had been so humiliated, she hadn’t been able to look at Cal—or anyone else—when he handed her the book and papers. Ducking her head, she had stuffed her belongings back in her locker and run to the girls’ restroom to hide, sure the whole school was laughing at her.
After school, she had slunk to her locker, trying not to look in Cal’s direction as she collected the books she would need for her homework. She had seen him staring at her out of the corner of her eye and turned bright red, wishing she could sink through the floor and never be seen again.
Just as she was about to leave, he had come up to her. “You’re Rose, right?”
More embarrassed than ever, she had nodded, wishing he would go away. His next words, however, surprised her.
“How would you like to see a movie on Friday?”
Rose had given him a startled look. “Really?”
He had given her a smile that made her heart melt. “Yes, really.”
Her embarrassment had vanished in a flash. “Sure. I-I’d like that. Thank you, Cal.”
By May, they had been going steady. He had taken her to his junior prom—a privilege few freshmen enjoyed—and Rose had thought, in spite of her increasing awareness of his flaws, that she was the luckiest girl in the world.
Rose was pulled from her thoughts as her bedroom door flew open and Marla walked in. She sat down heavily on Rose’s bed, the springs squealing in protest.
“Did you tell him yet?” Marla asked, adjusting her skirt.
Rose shook her head. “I haven’t had a chance.”
Marla rolled her eyes. “Rose, come on! Tonight’s your engagement party! You can’t have an engagement party when you don’t want to get married!”
“It’s not that I don’t want to get married. I just want to put the wedding off for a few years.”
“Well, you’d better tell Cal, because he thinks you’re getting married in June.”
“I know, I know. The right time hasn’t come up yet.”
“At the rate you’re going, the right time will never come up. I know you talked to him on the phone that one time, but…maybe he’ll react better in person. Otherwise, what do you plan to do—just not show up at the altar?”
“I’m going to talk to him, Marla,” Rose said, turning back to the mirror and reaching for a can of hairspray. “I’ll talk to him tonight. I just need to find a way to let him down easy. I know he wants to get married in June, but…since he doesn’t want us to live apart while I go to college, we’ll have to put the wedding off.”
“Or cancel it altogether.” When Rose looked at her, Marla elaborated, “You don’t seem very excited about marrying him. Most of the girls who are engaged look at their rings with goofy grins and can’t stop talking about wedding plans. You act like you want to forget the whole thing.”
Rose turned her back on Marla, scowling. Did everyone know how unhappy she was?
“You know, there’s really no use in talking about wedding plans when the wedding is several years off.”
“But you haven’t told Cal yet.”
“I’m working on it, okay?”
“What are you working on?”
Both girls looked up as Cal walked in, a velvet box in his hands. He set it on Rose’s vanity table, then looked dismissively at Marla. “I’d like to talk to Rose for a moment.”
Marla didn’t move.
“Alone.”
Marla rolled her eyes, getting up and leaving the room. As she walked out the door, she mouthed to Rose, “Tell him.”
Cal stared after her in annoyance. “She looks like a whale.”
“Maybe you should say that louder, in case she didn’t hear you.” Marla was a hundred pounds overweight and wearing a too-tight blue satin dress, but Rose didn’t think there was any need to say something so rude. Taking a deep breath, Rose pasted a pleasant smile on her face and turned to her fiancé. “Cal, there’s something—“
“Wait, Sweetpea. I have something for you.”
“Cal—“
“I hope you’ll wear it tonight.” Cal opened the velvet box, revealing a necklace with a large blue diamond cut in the shape of a heart. It was surrounded by small diamonds, and the chain was also studded with diamonds. “This is a Hockley family heirloom, passed down since the French Revolution, when a young noblewoman escaped across the English Channel with the diamond in her possession and married an Englishman named Hockley. Since then, it’s been passed down to the eldest son to give to his bride. It’s called Le Coeur de la Mer, the—“
“The Heart of the Ocean.” Rose looked at the necklace. “It—it’s overwhelming.”
“Well, it was made for royalty…and we are royalty, Rose.” He took the necklace from the box and fastened it around her neck. “Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
Rose looked at him. He had a pleased smile on his face, his eyes shining with obvious pride at the gift he had just given her. She needed to tell him that she wanted to postpone the wedding—but she couldn’t do it. Not right now.
“Nothing. Nothing important.”
“Get your coat, then. We wouldn’t want to be late for our own engagement party.”
Rose nodded, getting to her feet. She looked in the mirror one more time, touching the diamond.
It felt like it was strangling her.
*****
Rose and Cal were the last to arrive at their party. It was held in the ballroom of the Hockley home, an enormous space that easily held the forty guests that had been invited. Five hundred invitations to the wedding itself had gone out, but the engagement party was smaller, with only closer friends and family members of the engaged couple present.
Ruth beamed with pride when Nathan Hockley presented Cal and his bride-to-be. She had worried so much over the family’s finances and social standing after her husband had died, but Rose’s marriage would solve their problems.
Rose looked at the assembled guests, a smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Marla looked at her with a disgusted expression, then turned away, mouthing “Candyass” at Rose as she did so.
After the engaged couple was presented, a live band started playing—not the rock and roll music that both Rose and Cal liked, but the big band music preferred by Cal’s father and stepmother.
Cal shook his head at the music, but turned to Rose anyway. “Would you like to dance?”
“Sure.” As Rose whirled around the room with Cal, she looked at the people around them. Cal’s father and stepmother were both watching them, keeping their distance from each other. Ruth was talking to several of her acquaintances, while Lucy and Julie were trying to get the attention of several of Cal’s friends, pretending to be older than they were and fooling no one. Marla had pulled a young man Rose knew vaguely onto the dance floor and was dancing circles around him, displaying a talent that surprised most people who didn’t know her.
Rose craned her neck, wondering if Jack was there. They had spoken only a few times since the night he had talked her out of jumping off the bridge. Rose had wanted to talk to him, but hadn’t known what to say, so their few conversations had been stilted and ill at ease.
She finally caught sight of him on the edge of the dance floor. He appeared to be charming a couple of Rose’s friends, but his frequent glances in her direction showed where his real interest lay.
After several songs, Rose told Cal she needed some fresh air and stepped out onto the balcony, looking out over the lights of Philadelphia. The night was chilly, so few other people were about.
She looked up in surprise when Nathan Hockley stepped outside, closing the French doors behind him. She didn’t know him well, except by reputation—he was known for his ruthless efficiency in business, making him admired by men of his own class and hated by those he employed, and for his almost equal ruthlessness in his private relationships—if a person failed to meet his exacting standards, he cut them out of his life if he could, or made their lives miserable if he couldn’t. Cal had often been on the receiving end of his father’s disapproval, and as a result he both sought the man’s approval and defied him at every turn.
Rose stiffened as Nathan approached her, wondering what he wanted. He had largely ignored her the few times she had met him, except for the time she had spoken out against the draft at one of his dinner parties—and then she hadn’t been sure if he was angry or amused.
Nathan looked at the diamond ring on Rose’s left hand and the heirloom necklace around her throat. After a moment, he spoke.
“My son seems quite taken with you.”
Rose didn’t know quite what to say. After a moment, she replied, “Well…ah…I am his fiancée.”
“Yes, that you are. But Rose—may I call you Rose?”
“Of course.”
“Are you sure about this marriage?”
Rose stared at him, her eyes wide. Was her unhappiness that obvious to everyone?
Nathan misunderstood the meaning of her expression. “It’s nothing against you, of course. You seem to be a well-bred young woman, odd opinions notwithstanding. My son, however…he’s a bright young man with a good future, but at this point…I don’t know that he’s ready for marriage. He’s not terribly mature, and I don’t think he’s ready for the commitment and responsibilities of marriage.”
Rose had, more than once, thought the same thing herself, but she was surprised that Cal’s father shared her opinion. She knew that Cal loved partying, drinking, and staying out until the wee hours of the morning—things that weren’t terribly compatible with a settled married life, especially if they had children. He seldom thought before he spoke, resulting in more than one quarrel between them, and his desire to buckle down and work was minimal at best.
Rose didn’t say any of these things to her future father-in-law, however. She didn’t know how he would react if she agreed with him—whether he would use her words against his son, or against her. Instead, she told him, “He’s good to me…very good to me.”
Nathan shook his head. “Young love,” he commented, “often causes more pain than it’s worth.”
With that, he turned on his heel and went inside. After a moment, Rose followed him, thinking about what he had said.
It was true that Cal’s maturity level wasn’t great, but she didn’t think that Nathan Hockley was really one to give advice. The man was on his third marriage, and from the way he and his wife avoided each other, it seemed to be on the way out.
Nathan was five years older than Tom Bukater, and unlike the younger man, had never gone to war. He had used his connections in business and politics to stay out of World War II, and it was entirely possible that he wouldn’t have been trusted if he had joined the military—he had done a great deal of business with Germany prior to the war, taking advantage of the rapidly militarizing country’s need for steel.
Whatever the real reason for his sitting out the war, Nathan had not been idle—Hockley Steel had grown by leaps and bounds during the war, and in 1943 he had married his second wife.
At thirty-three, Nathan had already been a widower—his first wife had died of cancer only two years after they were married, and there had been no children. Wanting an heir, he had married a wealthy young heiress, and Cal had been born in 1944.
The marriage had ended badly in 1952, when Cal’s mother had left her husband for an Argentinean ambassador, taking her son with her. Using his considerable power, Nathan had taken his son back and had wasted no time in poisoning the eight-year-old boy’s mind against his mother. He had never considered that his own actions might have had anything to do with his wife leaving him. He had quickly divorced her, making sure that she received minimal alimony, and within a year had married again. His third wife had soon gained a reputation for making a public fool of herself—she drank too much, and often got into trouble because of it. That the marriage had lasted eleven years was a surprise to many members of high society.
Rose knew little of this, except what Cal had told her, but she still didn’t think that a man who had been married three times was in any position to give advice on whether his son was ready to marry or not. She agreed with him that Cal was immature, but she had her own reasons for marrying him, reasons she had no intention of sharing with her ruthless, powerful soon-to-be father-in-law.
Cal found her soon after she came back inside. A large buffet had been set up in the dining room, laden with finely prepared delicacies as well as more substantial fare. Cal looked at her in exasperation when she refused the caviar he offered her—she liked it only slightly more than she liked her mother’s escargot, and had no intention of eating it if she could avoid it. She did accept his offer of champagne, though—the fact that she was only seventeen meant nothing to her. If she was old enough to get married, she decided, she was old enough to drink champagne at her engagement party.
After dinner, Rose wandered amongst the guests, a second glass of champagne in her hand. She avoided Marla, who she knew would pull her aside and lecture her about her failure to tell Cal she wanted to put off the wedding. She also avoided her mother and her future in-laws—she didn’t know how long she could keep up the façade of a happy bride-to-be. Her mother’s insistence on the marriage, combined with Nathan Hockley’s comments on his son, made that façade ever harder to keep up.
Before long, Cal joined her, escorting her around the room as though he were showing her off. Rose’s face was beginning to ache from the effort to smile by the time they encountered Jack.
Cal gulped down his champagne and gripped her arm tighter when Jack approached them. Rose tried to pull away from him, but he had no intention of letting her go.
“Congratulations,” he told them, observing Rose’s fake smile and Cal’s tight grip on her arm. “I think.”
“I—uh—thank you, Jack,” Rose stammered, not sure what else to say.
Cal looked at his perceived rival. He smirked unpleasantly, the meaning of his look obvious. She’s mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
“Yes, congratulations are in order,” he told Jack. “After all, less than three months from now, Rose and I will be married.”
Rose looked down at the floor. She had no intention of marrying Cal in three months—three years, maybe, but not three months. But if she didn’t find a good time to tell him what she wanted, she would be taking her vows in three months—whether she liked it or not.
She had to talk to Cal, convince him to put off the wedding. The right moment never seemed to come, though, and time was running out.