Santa Monica
September 12, 1916
The air was warm and humid and the sky was clear. The park bench loomed just a few feet away and she could finally rest her legs and take a small rest. Taking a seat, Rose smiled blissfully. It was quiet and peaceful, the opposite of what her life had been recently. Feeling a small tug on her hand, Rose turned to her three-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, or Lizzy, as Rose called her.
"It’s too warm," she complained, pulling off her lemon hat which shielded her face from the sun.
"I know, Lizzy. I’m hot, too, sweetie," Rose sympathized, feeling the heat, too.
Glancing around the park, she saw that it was almost empty. A few mothers sat a few feet away, chatting while their children played with a ball. The mothers chatted together happily, as if they had been friends for years, and perhaps they had, even though their children seemed to be very young. One woman glanced at Rose several times and Rose assumed the group of women were talking about her.
Suddenly, the ball the children had been playing with went flying past Lizzy, breaking Rose’s train of thought.
"I’ll catch it, Mommy." Lizzy chased the ball, giggling, her hair flowing wildly as she ran. Taking a look back at the woman, she seem to look at Rose almost in disgust. Was it because they had seen her photo in the newspapers and knew who she was? Because she would become a single mother at just twenty? Or simply because her little girl was chasing a ball?
Sighing, Rose picked up her skirts and chased after her adventurous daughter.
"Lizzy!" she called, seeing her daughter in the corner of the park. The ball was forgotten and her daughter was with a tall and lithe man, giggling.
"Mommy, look." Lizzy indicated a drawing of the front of the park. It was a lovely drawing.
"I’m so sorry. Is my daughter bothering you?" Rose shook her head, knowing what Lizzy was like. She was the opposite of her father. She glanced up at the tall blond man, assuming he was the artist. The man’s expression changed to pure shock as Rose’s eyes met his. She frowned, vaguely recognizing him.
"Hello." He smiled, his voice familiar.
Oh, God. Jack Dawson. Rose felt a sense of awkwardness overcome her as she realized where she knew him from. It had been over four years since they had last seen each other. Rose scanned his face.
"Hello, Mr. Dawson."
"Hey. Rose…DeWitt Bukater, right?" Jack struggled to remember her unusual name. Rose smiled, remembering the night they had met. Then, too, he hadn’t quite understood her moniker. Rose felt slight discomfort for a moment.
"Actually, it’s Rose Hockley," Rose corrected him.
Wiping his charcoaled hands down his navy pants, Jack nodded. "Oh. So, you married…Cal, isn’t it?"
"Yes."
Jack’s eyes widened. His eyes wandered to the child with Rose and immediately saw the resemblance to Cal. She was just a toddler, but she had long, jet black curls, obviously from her father. She had inherited Rose’s eyes, nose, and lips, but her skin tone was tanned, like her father’s. She bore a striking resemblance to her mother and was a very beautiful child.
"So, would you like to be drawn?" Jack broke into a smile and saw the child’s face immediately beam. "If that is all right, Rose?" Jack turned to Rose and she smiled.
"Of course. Now, Lizzy, be a good girl for Jack," Rose warned her daughter, who scrambled onto a bench nearby. "I must warn you, Jack, she is a terrible fidget. Nothing holds her attention for long."
"Hey, I’m used to it. I’ve had kids pick their noses in front of me before." They both broke into laughter. "Why don’t you sit with her, Rose?"
Rose burst into laughter once again, thinking Jack was joking. "I am nothing special to draw."
"You are. Come on, Rose. Your daughter will love it. You’re both beautiful," Jack assured her, trying to step lightly knowing she was now a married lady.
Rose could feel her face turning a shade of red. Her face fell deadly serious at Jack’s comment. Jack noticed her expression.
"What’s wrong?"
"Nothing. It’s just it gets past a certain point in your life when beauty doesn’t matter anymore. I haven’t been told I was beautiful since before Lizzy was born." Rose bowed her head. It was true. The last time she had been told she was beautiful had been her wedding day, or perhaps her baby shower when her mother had told her she was glowing.
"Your husband never tells you how beautiful you are?" Jack was surprised. He expected more from Caledon Hockley. He sensed Rose’s discomfort with the question. "Well, you are beautiful, Rose. You may have become a mother since we met last, but you haven’t changed a bit."
Pulling out a blank sheet of paper, Jack motioned for Rose to sit on the bench beside her daughter.
"Mommy, look at the pretty flowers." Lizzy gazed in awe at the poppies in the field beside them. The field seemed endless in the distance and was filled with bright orange poppies.
Leaning over the wall, Jack gently picked one from the field and handed it to the little girl. Lizzy took it and put the flower to her nose to smell the soft scent.
"What’s the magic words, sweetie?" Rose raised her eyebrows at her daughter, knowing she had forgotten her manners.
"Oh. Thank you." She smiled sweetly and Jack felt his heart melt for the child.
Sharpening his charcoal with a small knife, Jack set to work. The lines he created flowed brilliantly. The drawing he created was perfect. A mother smiling proudly as her young daughter clutched a poppy in her left hand and her mother’s fingers in her right.
"Your work really is amazing." Rose gazed at the image he had created. She looked so happy and at ease. She felt worthy for the first time in a long time.
"Can we keep it, Mommy?" Lizzy asked, tugging at her mother’s skirts.
"Of course. How much, Jack? Ten cents?" Rose remembered his price.
"Um…no. I don’t want money. Seeing the little girl smile is enough for me." Jack smiled.
"Thank you."
"Well, I come here most days. I love it here. So peaceful," Jack told Rose, hoping to see her again sometime soon.
Rose inhaled deeply and the soft, late summer breeze overcame her. "Yes. Lizzy loves the pond, too. She feeds the swans."
Jack laughed as he gazed down at Lizzy, then at Rose. The late afternoon sun beat down and Rose seemed to look more heavenly than he had remembered. She hadn’t changed, not much at all. Her hair was a little longer, almost past her waist, and she had lost a little weight. Other than that, she was still the same Rose.
"Will you be here tomorrow?" Jack inquired. He wondered where Rose’s husband was and what he would think if he knew his wife was with him.
"Maybe." Rose smiled, teasing him a little. Jack smiled. He would like to see her again. It was good to see a friendly face around here.
"I’d better be going. My cook will have dinner almost ready." Rose began to walk away, but Lizzy was hesitant. "Come on, darling."
Jack knew he should probably be leaving, too. "Well, I guess I’ll see you around, or maybe here tomorrow."
Rose nodded. "Yes. Good-bye, Jack, and thank you."
Jack wiped his dirty hands down his pants and held out his hand. Calmly, Rose shook it.
"Good-bye, Rose."
"Bye, Mr. Jack." Lizzy’s voice came and she waved a little herself. Jack waved, too, and watched them until their figures disappeared into the crowds of the park.
Sighing, Jack began to collect together his belongings. Business had been good today. He had made five dollars, but the highlight of his day was meeting Rose again. She was someone he had never expected to see again in his life. After their kiss on the Titanic, Rose had never contacted him again and Cal’s manservant, Lovejoy, had kept them parted. When the ship had hit an iceberg, Jack himself had almost died. He had lost his friends, Tommy and Fabrizio, so he had found himself thinking he had little reason to live, but he had fought on and when the ship had sunk, he had found a piece of debris and clung to that for what had seemed like hours. A lifeboat had collected him and on the Carpathia, he had tried to look for Rose, just for a clue as to whether she had survived or not. He was not allowed in first class to find out such information, so it wasn’t until June of 1912 that Jack had known for certain Rose had lived. He had been in New York working at a fish market when he had picked up the newspaper with the headline which had assured him Rose was alive and well. Steel Tycoon Hockley Marries Rose DeWitt Bukater. The picture which had accompanied the headline had been of Rose in her wedding gown, her face beaming. For some reason, Jack had cut out the image of Rose and kept it in his wallet, but he had never taken it out since the day he had put it in.
*****
It was just after 3:30 when Jack thought of packing up. Business had been booming today, for he had made seven dollars. He beamed happily, knowing that tonight he could eat a proper meal and not have to worry about where tomorrow’s meal would come from, either. His dark blond hair fell into his eyes as he arranged some money in his wallet. Digging, he found the folded up image of Rose from the paper all those years ago. Sighing, he put it back in, not fully knowing why he had kept it. Shaking his head, he ran his dirty fingers through his hair. He couldn’t wait to have a bath. He felt as though he hadn’t washed in years. Folding together his portfolio, Jack cocked his head to the side and was surprised by who was in his line of sight.
"Rose?" he asked, surprised. He thought he wouldn’t see her again, at least not for a long time. She was there, dressed in a navy dress with her hair pinned up. Her daughter wasn’t with her and she had a huge smile on her face.
"Hello, again." She smiled.
"What brings you here?" he asked, sitting on the bench and indicating to her to join him. Hesitantly, she did.
"Lizzy is out with her nanny, so I have some time to kill," Rose admitted. "I have no friends around here, Jack. I don’t really fit in," she confessed. She felt he was someone she could really speak to. She always had.
"Neither do I, Rose. I sit here day after day drawing pictures of people I don’t know. I have very little life, but it’s what I enjoy most."
Rose nodded and smiled. "So, how much have you made today? The weather has been lovely."
"Seven dollars, Rose. Seven dollars. One man gave me a full dollar. I feel rich." He beamed, knowing that seven dollars to Rose was like rabbit food, nothing.
"Really? Seven dollars? You’re getting better, Jack. Maybe one day I’ll be buying a Dawson painting from a huge gallery somewhere." Rose laughed.
"I can dream, Rose. I’m not that good." He lowered his head, knowing he would never be a famous artist, but he had talent. He knew that. He also knew he couldn’t sit here year after year drawing in the same park he had for the last two years. "It’s good to be able to know that dinner is sorted for the next three days. At least I can splash out a little now and buy some good food. Some days I only make fifty cents, but that’s mostly in the winter. I had another job as a waiter down at a café in town, but I gave it up when summer came. I can make my living by drawing alone."
Rose loved how honest he was. There were no cover-ups with Jack. He was a straight talker and she liked it. "So, you don’t know some days where your next meal will come from?"
"No. Some days I’ve been starving, but summer’s good. I hadn’t eaten good food for about a month before I earned around five dollars."
Rose shook her head, glad she would never have to live like that. Jack was poor, but he seemed to survive well. Rose had no lower opinion of him because of his social status. She never had. She believed everyone was equal.
"Would you like to eat with me, Rose? I was just packing away. I’m famished."
Rose thought for a minute. How could she allow him to take her to dinner?
"No, but maybe you’d like to join Lizzy and I for dinner at my house. I have a brilliant cook who will certainly cook anything you wish for."
Jack’s face beamed. He had most certainly not expected her to suggest anything like she had, and Rose herself felt pleased. She would have adult company for a change.
"That would be--strange." Jack thought for a moment. "Isn’t your husband at home?" Jack asked, not wishing to cause trouble.
Rose’s face paled a little. "Oh, no. He isn’t. Please, I beg of you, don’t mention Cal in front of Lizzy," Rose begged, not wishing to give him a reason why.
"Oh, sure. Then, yes, I would love to come."