NEW IMPRESSIONS
Chapter One
LATE MAY, 2000
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT BERKELEY
"Ah hem. AH HEM!" With a flourish
of her hand, Rose Dewitt Bukater pulled the slick paper from the printer,
waving it several times to dry the fresh ink. "The master of the
keyboard...whew!" Rose laughed and shook her hair loose from the ponytail
she'd furiously put up only minutes before. She had been worried that this
deadline would come and go. But now she raced across the large office, past the
empty cubicles, the darkened walls, and right to the slumped over form of Seth
Townsend, who was rolling his head from side to side on his desk.
"TOWNSEND! Wake up!" Rose tapped him on the shoulder repeatedly,
until the almost ridiculous grin of her advisor came into view. Seth sighed,
leaned back into his chair, and glanced at the paper in Rose's hand. His dark
hair was mussed on one side, his eyes red from the sleep he had obviously
gotten right on the top of the metal desk.
"Tell me you got it done. Or I may have
some sort of crack up here." Seth laughed once sarcastically, and lifted
his eyebrows. "Rose, tell me you got it done. The printers close in thirty
minutes." He loosened his tie and threw it on the desk, and Rose slammed
the article down in front of him, looking proud. A few Styrofoam cups, filled
with cold coffee, threatened to tip over from the vibration.
"Tell me you are eternally grateful,
Townsend. Tell me, tell me." Rose raised her chin and pushed some of her
fiery red curls behind her ear, finding a pencil she had stuck there earlier.
She pointed the sharp tip toward Seth, her porcelain face on the verge of
giggles. Hysterical ones, because she was so tired. And it was barely seven
o'clock. "Go, don't miss the deadline now, after I went through all that!"
Seth smiled, finally, and grabbed his jacket and the discarded tie. He rolled
the page inside a thick folder. He stood up, switching off a lamp beside him
and motioned for Rose to walk.
"You're my hero Rose, truly." He
threw his head back and laughed heartily, flipping light switches as they
walked to the front of the newspaper office, where Rose had been typing
earlier. The Berkeleyan offices were dead tonight, and unless this layout went
to the printers very soon, the paper racks all over the campus would be too.
"I owe you my life, my soul...But seriously, thank you..." He
appeared suddenly very sincere, a surprise considering the comical tyrade he
had been on all day long.
"You're welcome." Rose grinned and
reached for her backpack, slinging it over her shoulders in one movement. She
quickly and expertly cleaned off her tiny desk, sweeping several unwanted
papers into the trashcan, and with a click of a key, closed down her computer.
Seth held the door open for her, and she breathed deeply as the early evening
air stung her face. It always smelled so wonderful here, this time of year.
Spring was in its last stages, and summer was merely days away. The second to
last issue of the campus paper would be distributed on Saturday. Rose had one
more semester exam, and two papers to write before the following week, and then
she could finally get some of that well-deserved relaxation in. She looked back
at Seth as he locked the door skillfully. He was always so wonderful to be
around, although sometimes neurotic. But only when he was under extreme stress.
And apparently he was one of the best academic advisors this school had seen in
many years, or so she had heard. A great feat considering he was still a year
away from being thirty. And as this was only her first year experimenting with
journalism, and considering she was still only a junior, Rose was grateful that
he was giving her such an opportunity-- he had appointed her assistant to the
features editor immediately. And he seemed satisfied with her work. "One
more issue." Rose whispered under her breath.
"One more issue, yes." Seth made a
sprint to catch up. "Hard to believe this year went by so fast, huh?"
He tossed his keys in the air, caught them, and repeated this several times.
Rose only shook her head back and forth, heading to the nearly bare parking
lot. The sky above them was darkening peacefully, with shades of pink and
orange, mingled with the brilliant blue. And the trees- all green and lush.
She'd never believed California was indeed this beautiful, but it had certainly
lived up to its reputation. "You'll be back next year, right Rose?"
"Oh, yes." Rose nodded confidently,
"This year was amazing, really, and I want to keep going with the
paper."
"Trust, me, you will," Seth turned
as he spotted his car, a black and silver BMW that was his pride and joy.
Carefully unlocking the driver's side door, he slid the folders into the
passenger seat and turned back to her. "Rose, with your writing talent and
your head for journalism, I can gaurantee you an excellent position next year.
Might even have to bump you up to a full-fledged editor....if you think you can
handle that?"
Rose's green eyes widened with surprise, and
she bit her lip to keep herself from smiling so hard. The wind had picked up
slightly, and she folded her arms across her chest. "Can I handle it? You
bet."
"We'll talk." Seth seemed contented
with this discussion and placed himself inside the car. He twirled his keys
once more in his hand for amusement, clinking them against his palm. The
glimmer of his gold wedding band in the last rays of daylight seemed almost
mystical, and Rose sighed to herself. She had learned, from some fellow
staffers, that Seth had married quite young. Rose knew that his wife, who she
had met only once, was certainly lucky. To experience that kind of relationship
at such a young age seemed so exotic to Rose, and often she found herself
wondering how long it would take. To find someone special- someone with the
tenderness and honesty that Seth always expressed. But with her recent track
record, she guessed that it would be awhile before Mr. Right surfaced.
Seth started the engine, but promptly lowered
the window, breaking into Rose's reverie. His face contorted, as if he had just
remembered something important. "Rose don't forget about that interview on
Saturday." If she wasn't mistaken, Seth looked a bit worried as well. Her
heart seemed to fall inside her chest as it began thumping loudly against her
ears.
"Oh, oh...," Rose nodded and gave
the thumbs up signal, trying to control her anxiety at the mention of this,
"I'm completely ready. My questions, everything. You'll be blown away, I
promise..." Rose smiled nervously, knowing full well that any ideas for
this interview had eluded her since she had learned of her assignment.
"Okay. Just wanted to remind you.
Professor Dawson is a good friend of mine, and it took a lot of coaxing to get
him to agree to this...please, just be careful." Seth eyed the street and
looked at his watch. He could make the printer's in time, if he left now.
"He's a great guy, but kind of guarded. Know what I mean?"
Rose only nodded, watching as Seth's tinted
window swallowed him. She turned to see him drive away and waved once. When he
was out of view, she whipped her fist in the air, a million thoughts running
crazily inside her head. The only sounds around her were the dull calls of the
sparrows in the nearby branches. She eventually made her way to her own car, a
bright red Jeep that at the moment needed a good washing. She realized suddenly
that she was late once again, for the Wenesday showing at the Student Center,
which she tried to never miss. But now that Seth had the infamous face of
Professor Dawson inside her head, it was hard to get rid of. And if this
interview was something she indeed couldn't handle, then why had the job even
been given to her? Sure, she had conducted many interviews, with faculty and
students alike- even the protestors who periodically chanted outside Sather
Gate. But this one was special, whether anyone else acknowledged the fact or
not. Professor Dawson certainly was a well guarded member of the Berkeley
community. A little bit too secluded if Rose had anything to say about it.
Although every female undergrad student she knew swooned silently after the
handsome young art teacher, probably none of them had ever even uttered a word
to the man. It seemed his stately and diligent students were the only ones he
interacted with, besides the other, very few, young faculty. Rose herself had
caught sight of him several times from afar, either carrying his massive
canvases across the quad, or reading a book under the huge cypress near the
union, a seriously undisturbed expression on his noble face. His golden hair
always seemed to fly around his eyes almost mysteriously, and unmistakably,
there was an air of secrecy about this guy. Never had she spoken to him, or
even tried for that matter. Now she had to interview him. Sit down and ask him
questions, ones she was already sure would seem infinitely stupid.
She took a deep breath and tried to appear
confident in her rearview mirror. She repeated the same phrases to herself,
over and over. Everything would be fine. Saturday would be fine.
******
Pulling up to the Chavez Student Center- a
rather bland looking brick building in the center of the campus- Rose quickly
unfastened her seatbelt, reaching across the seat for her purse. The silence in
the courtyard could only mean that the show had already started. The
crystalline white lights that adorned the pathway swam before her eyes. She
closed them for a moment, collecting herself. She started walking, her
footsteps making the only noise on such a quiet night. The sky was a grayish
color now, the sun finally asleep. It was these times that the university
looked its most peaceful and inviting. The reasons Rose had chosen to attend
Berkeley in the first place. Never would she forget the day the acceptance
letter had come. Rose was sure that her screaming, in the instant that she tore
open the envelope, could have rivaled a herd of wild horses. And the smiling
face of her mother Ruth, who failed to smile much at all, was enough to please
her for an eternity.
Rose's feet swept across the soft grass and
unto the pavement of the front entrance, where a rather tired-looking attendant
sold her a ticket. Rose attempted a smile, knowing all too well how it felt to
be immensely exhausted. She continued into the lobby, where the air
conditioning had made the marble hallway extremely cool. Several potted green
plants swayed under the vents, but otherwise, there was not a sound.
Another woman was opening the door to the
theater as Rose approached. She was tall and lithe, her long blond hair swept
into a french twist. She wore a silk suit and creme-colored pumps. And although
Rose knew that viewing a black and white movie on a Wednesday night was not an
affair to dress well for, she felt suddenly uneasy in her slightly rumpled
cotton shirt and jeans. She watched this woman disappear into the room, where
the sounds of the film could be heard, along with muffled voices. Rose shrugged
her shoulders, reaching for the handle herself. She was determined to have a
nice, calming experience tonight.
Inside the cramped theater, which was really
only the old union store with a huge screen draped across one wall, Rose
scanned the aisles for a place to sit. There were not many people tonight, and
she chose an area in the center, where her view would not be obstructed by
anything. Casablanca had just started, and Rose sighed with relief at the
familiar images. She had seen this movie so many times, but it never failed to
mesmerize her. She was just becoming caught up in a world where only Humphrey
Bogart and a wistful Ingrid Bergman existed, when a noise from behind startled
her.
The sound was followed by a cascade of
whispers, and Rose stretched her neck to search for their source. Whoever it
was, she already felt a strong annoyance toward them. The form of a man came
into view, at the very back. His hands were working as he talked quietly,
moving fluidly. He was leaning down to the person he was speaking with, who
immediately stood. Rose recognized the other as the woman she'd seen enter a
minute before, but the man was still indistiguishable. They were coming closer
now, headed for another set of seats she guessed. The woman's silk ensemble
passed her, and she looked up as the man's profile finally came into view.
A small gasp escaped Rose, and she covered
her mouth instinctively, watching wordlessly as the couple took two seats
directly in front of her. Even in the darkness, she recognized the form of
Professor Jack Dawson, but still the identity of the woman was a mystery. Rose
shrunk down in her seat, her hand fidgeting with the thoughts of leaving. But
she convinced herself that staying would do no harm. Only the uneasiness,
knowing that such an infamous person was viewing this film so near to her. That
in just four days, this same person would be answering her questions. She'd
never been this close to him, and the sound as he adjusted himself in the chair,
seemed like a very loud jolt to only her. He cleared his throat and titlted his
head to side, whispering again to the woman. It appeared as if he were
explaining something, but Rose wasn't sure. He pushed some hair from his face
and smiled, finally settling down to watch the movie.
But to Rose, for once, one of her favorite
films did not even begin to capture her interests, or her attention. Her
entertainment lie only a few feet away, in intricately studying the habits of
Professor Dawson, who seemed so animated. Every few seconds, throughout the
entire show, he would nudge the woman, say something, or chuckle to himself,
and turn right back around. In the darkness, with the shadows playing tricks on
her, his features drew her in like a grand opera, captivating and impulsively
addictive. The only interruption to her observations were some very loud
giggles from the corner of the theater, where Rose had noticed several female
students. It took her awhile before she grasped the fact that they were interested
in the very same thing she was. Rose squinted, examining Professor Dawson as he
flinched each time this sound was produced.
She felt guilty, eavesdropping on what was
obviously some sort of date. Her thoughts ran to the interview that she would
be responsible for. How could she possibly formulate questions for this man?
Who, without words, had single-handedly intrigued her for over an hour? And
could she even make it through the sitting without revealing what she had done
this night?
When the movie was over, Rose bolted from her
seat, heading for the lobby. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the
light. Conversations filtered in her ears, as the crowd passed through the
glass doors. She ambled toward them herself, rubbing her eyes, which seemed to
be in desperate need of sleep. Sitting inside that theater now seemed like
something that had happened ages ago, not only minutes. She guessed that the
Professor and his sophisticated mystery-lady were still right where she had
left them- totally engrossed in the credits. And it wasn't until she felt a
surge of heat behind her that she realized that she was dead wrong.
"Excuse me." Rose's eyes widened at
the voice, and she moved aside, making way for the woman to pass. She nodded,
her heart fluttering as a mop of sandy blond hair pressed against the door.
Rose found no other use of her left hand than to help him hold it, and in an
instant he had turned around.
His eyes, a shattering shade of blue Rose had
never before been witness to, blinked once, twice. In a faded polo shirt and
wrinkled khackis, this man seemed anything but the studious art expert she knew
he was. His face was strong, but so youthful.
He studied her, locking gazes for the
slightest instant. The other woman had made her way to the patio and waited
patiently for Professor Dawson to follow. He seemed to hesitate before opening
his mouth to speak. "Thank you." His smooth voice echoed in Rose's
ears until he was gone, no longer in sight.
Rose sighed, fully disgusted with her
actions.
"Thank you? Rose, that's all you can
get?" She hissed to herself, throwing her hands in the air. She grabbed
the door handle again, this time letting herself out. She began a slight jog
toward her car, her curls billowing behind her. When she reached it, Rose
practically threw herself inside, searching frantically for her keys. The
soothing hum of the engine relaxed her, and she laid her head against the seat.
Now that she had made a complete and utter fool of herself, there was nothing
to do but wonder. Wonder just how the unapproachable Professor had earned that
title. He didn't seem to be the loner everyone described him as. But of course,
he had talked to no one but the strange woman he had sat by. Could that be one
of her questions Saturday? Or was wondering why a man kept to himself so much
too personal a topic? She would find out.