December 11, 1918
New York City
Looking out onto the cheering audience, Rose Bukater took a final bow, a smile lighting up her face. Tonight was the first night she was playing Ophelia in Hamlet. She had become a regular actress at the Hippodrome since August of 1917. There she had met her fiancé, Robert Calvert. Robert was a tall man with dark hair and dark eyes, the opposite of Jack. He was caring, sweet, and very loyal to Rose. He loved every inch of her and had taken on her children as well. He had started out as an admirer of Rose's work, but after six months of dating he had proposed to Rose, who surprisingly had said yes. Robert knew of Rose's marriage to Caledon Hockley and that she was once an upper class lady, but he was never bothered. He loved her for who she was. Agreeing to become Robert's wife is the right decision for me, Rose thought. She would have some sort of a family for her children, some stability. Olivia was just a baby when she had met Robert and he had become a father figure to her. Lizzy, however, had never quite taken a shine to him like she had Jack.
Robert Calvert clapped as hard as he could as he sat in the audience, proud of his fiancée. Her smiling face was enough to light up the entire Hippodrome. There had been a good turnout tonight, and the cheers were loud. His attention had been on Rose the entire way through the play; she was enormously talented and had recited all of her lines perfectly. The only slight distraction had been the slightly scruffy looking man who had perched beside him all the way through the play. He had not said one word, nor taken his eyes away from Rose.
*****
His heart beat faster than ever in his life as he settled himself into the seat at the Hippodrome. It was really her on the stage. Physically, she had changed. Her figure was more curvaceous and her hair was now a light blonde, but nonetheless, it was still her. He would know her a mile away with her beautiful face. The way she spoke her lines was poetic and flowing. He had no idea she had this talent. Jack Dawson's eyes never left Rose Bukater as she was on the stage; she lit the entire room and once again melted his heart. After almost two years in France, fighting in the war, Jack had returned to New York the day before. How he had survived he didn't know. He had thought his life would end out there in the damned trenches. He had no reason to live, he had thought, but now, as he sat, knowing Rose was in the same room, he thanked God for sparing his life so he could live to see Rose once again. He had been suspiciously stared at all the way through the production by the man who sat beside him, and he knew why. His hair hadn't been cut in months and he wore three months’ growth of beard on his chin.
*****
Removing the pins from her hair, Rose Bukater gazed at her reflection in her dressing room mirror. Tonight had been a success. She felt she had performed to the best of her ability, and the Hippodrome had been absolutely packed. A smile appeared on her face. Outwardly, she had changed a little. Her hair was now dyed blonde and had been cut to shoulder length, something which Rose had found a drastic but necessary action as she had become an actress. Removing Ophelia's clothing, Rose dressed herself in a red evening gown. She found her pearl necklace and earrings and applied a layer of dark red lipstick. She was meeting the cast for drinks downtown in a little while to celebrate the success of the production. Glancing at her appearance, Rose felt satisfied.
A small knock on the door of her dressing room startled Rose slightly, and she called to them to enter. Finding her perfume, she squeezed a small amount onto her wrists before turning to see who was at the door. Her heart dropped and mouth fell slightly ajar when she saw who it was.
“Jack,” she stuttered. “Is that you?” If it was, he was almost unrecognizable.
“Yeah, it is.” His voice was familiar and Rose remembered the last words he had spoken to her. I love you. That was over two years ago now.
“Jack, what on earth are you doing here?” Rose appeared startled.
Jack took in the length of Rose, her clothing, her face. Everything he had missed for the last two years was now standing in front of him. All he wanted to do was reach out for her, but he knew he couldn't. “I saw your play, Rose. You were wonderful.”
“Thank you. But, Jack, how did you find me here?”
“Find you? Rose, I have been in France for almost two years, fighting for this damned country. I returned three days ago and decided to see a production while I was in the city, and I find you here, the star.” Jack began to walk towards Rose, and she felt somewhat uncomfortable in his presence. He was almost a different man. He appeared older and tired, his hair overly long, and he had a beard. Jack drank in Rose's appearance now that he was closer to her; she appeared glamorous, almost like a movie star.
“I'm so sorry, Jack. I have heard of the war, how terrible life was fighting out there. I cannot begin to imagine what the conditions were like.” Rose shook her head.
“No, I guess you can't. Something else I guess you can't begin to imagine, Rose. Pain.” Jack referred to Rose leaving him without a word. “You left me without a word, and I loved you. Why, Rose? Why did you leave me?” he asked the question he had longed to ask since he had last seen her.
“I...I…” Rose could feel the tears welling in her eyes. There was no way she could explain how sorry she was, or in recent times how much she had regretted it. They had a child together, a beautiful two-year-old daughter who he had never met.
At that moment, the dressing room door burst open and Robert entered with a large bouquet of roses. In his arms he held Olivia, a quiet toddler, simply sucking on her thumb. She gazed at Jack; he was a stranger to her.
“You were wonderful tonight, darling.” Robert kissed Rose's cheek, but her eyes never left Jack's. She accepted the roses and placed them on her dressing table.
“Uncle Jack!” a voice cried. Before Jack could turn around, five-year-old Lizzy was tugging on Jack's trousers. Rose was shocked that she remembered him, especially with his appearance. “Where have you been?” she asked, playing with his beard as he scooped her into his arms. Rose glanced at them tenderly, knowing Jack always held a place within Lizzy’s heart. She asked about him frequently.
“Um…Robert, this is Jack Dawson, an old friend.” Rose smiled, introducing her fiancé to Jack. She knew Jack had noticed Olivia, and wished with all her heart that she could not see the resemblance between himself and the child. Olivia had inherited almost everything from Jack--his eyes, his nose, the way he smiled, and his tanned skin.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dawson. I'm Robert Calvert, Rose's fiancé.” Robert smiled, offering his hand to Jack. They shook.
Fiancé. The words hit Jack like a train. She was engaged to someone else. “Likewise,” Jack managed, feeling anger and sadness inside him. He felt almost like he was dreaming. He saw the child in Robert's arms. Was she his daughter?
“Well, darling, the rest of the cast is waiting.” Robert smiled, placing his arm on the small of Rose's back and leading her out of the dressing room.
“Yes. Jack, I am so sorry, but I must go,” Rose stated.
Nodding, Jack said nothing more. He left the room silently. Rose took a sharp intake of breath. She could feel tears welling in her eyes, but knew she couldn't let them fall. Robert knew nothing of Jack, and she couldn't upset the children. Even though Jack had returned to her life, she had to carry on as normal. There was something weird about Jack, something almost haunting. He seemed a changed man.
December 12, 1918
Hippodrome, NYC
Glancing at the small clock on her dressing table, the time read almost seven o’clock. Rose was due onstage in a few minutes. She added finishing touches to her makeup. She felt such a rush knowing she would be onstage in just a few minutes, doing what she loved best. She felt free when she onstage, and had a sense of belonging.
“It's a good turnout again tonight, Rosie.” Linda, one of Rose's castmates, poked her head around the door of her dressing room. “You almost ready?” she asked.
“Almost.” Rose rushed; she stood and straightened out her dress, preparing to head up through the stage door. Robert was not here tonight. He had stayed at home to put the children to bed. Gently touching the roses he had given her the evening before, Rose's heart sank slightly. The door opened almost silently and scared Rose half to death. Jack stood in the doorway. His hair had obviously been cut and combed and he was clean-shaven. His clothing was more casual than the night before. Rose's heart began to pound.
“Jack...” She appeared startled. Jack clicked the door shut and came towards her. His full face came into view and she saw the same Jack she had known. He appeared older, with a few lines around his eyes, but he was a man now at twenty-six. His hair had darkened over the years and was now light brown rather than a dirty blond. “Jack, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came to talk to you, Rose. I want to know why you left me in Santa Monica,” he spoke, his eyes soft. He felt like crying, knowing he was so close to her.
“Jack...I…” Rose did not know what to say, how to answer his question. Jack touched her hand, and she felt tears pricking her eyes. The clock read dead on seven and Rose knew she had to be onstage.
“Jack, I have to go. They're waiting for me,” she managed, unfastening his hand from her arm.
“Rose, why?” he asked more forcefully.
“Jack, I have to go. I'm due onstage.”
“I'll be here when you return, Rose,” Jack simply said, and Rose nodded. She glanced at her appearance one last time in the mirror. Feeling herself shaking, she left the dressing room and made her way up to the stage door. She could feel herself slowly becoming a nervous wreck. He would be waiting for her when she returned. Hearing the cheers of the audience, Rose felt sick and dizzy. How on earth would she get through the night?