The door opened out onto a deck bathed in warm sunlight. Jack loved the feel of the gentle breeze and the salty smell of the ocean. He breathed deeply, pondering why the girl he had saved had sought him out that afternoon.
While she led him silently toward a gate separating them from the first-class promenade area, he examined her closely but made no progress towards determining her motives. A steward met them at the gate. He was obviously displeased by Jack's appearance, but Rose told him, "My husband arranged for this gentleman to have dinner with us. I must get him ready." The steward nodded and let them both through. Apparently, the word of a first class lady was enough to allow a steerage passenger access to first class.
Jack inwardly shook his head, anticipating a lecture on proper behavior, manners, dining, etc. He really was very disinterested in that. He had only hoped for a superior meal and to have a longer discussion with Rose. Maybe they would be able to squeeze some actual conversation into his instruction time.
His thoughts changed, though, as Rose, still silent, led him around the deck. Jack couldn't help but feel the eyes of the other passengers. They seemed to see him, weigh him, and dismiss him in a fraction of a second. Most seemed quietly resentful that he was even there. Unconsciously, he pulled his vest straighter and ran his fingers through the unruly mop of hair on his head.
He tried smiling flirtatiously at a couple of the women, which usually got him some return attention. Today, however, he felt only ice in the glares of the women. He shrunk into himself a little. Even his well-acknowledged good looks were of no avail to him here. He felt alone and out of place.
Rose, apparently at least peripherally aware of his discomfort, stopped leading him like an unruly cur and allowed him to catch her, so they were walking side-by-side. As they continued to circle the deck, Jack became aware of the luxury around him. The women all seemed to be wearing expensive jewelry, from the kind of store into which he wasn't even allowed. Everyone's posture was perfect. Jack noticed that he was slouching and quickly pulled himself erect. Silently chiding himself for falling into society's expectations, he slumped back down. He vowed to himself to not let them get to him.
As they passed some loungers for the third time, Jack became aware that they were the object of a significant number of covert gestures and pointed looks. He felt like a prized pet that was being shown off for the amusement of others. Conjecturing as to his purpose there gained him nothing, so he looked at Rose silently, wondering if she was aware of their reception.
As he did so, he saw the subtly tightened mouth, the slightly furrowed brow, the furtive glances, and the many other signs of discomfort on Rose's face. Her deep green eyes, though, seemed merely sad. Jack looked deeper into those eyes, trying to find the source of the pain. Distracted, he slowed his pace and lost himself briefly in marvel of the beauty of her face. Her quiet cough brought him back to reality with the sting of a slap to the face. Easy there, Jack, he cautioned himself. He knew he was in waters deeper than he'd ever swum in before.
They resumed their slow circling of the great ship. As they walked, the silence between them started growing unbearably loud. Rose was struggling with some inner conflict, which Jack could understand. He just wished she would make up her mind and either tell him what was on her mind or send him away. The time it was taking her to decide what to do was making them both increasingly uncomfortable.
Almost as much for his comfort as for hers, Jack spoke first. It was an inane topic, but it would serve to break the ice. "It's a beautiful day."
Rose looked at him gratefully. "Yes. We've had such wonderful weather this trip. I really like the nice sunshine." She opened her mouth as if to say more, but then she continued walking silently.
Jack added, "And it's been so calm. I haven't felt like I was going to blow away every time I came out on deck." He smiled hopefully, but Rose just nodded and trudged onward. Jack sighed inwardly and continued the lifeless march.
Again, the silence and discomfort stretched on as their steps grew beyond count. This time, Rose felt it more keenly, and Jack could see her cast about for a topic, any topic, as long as it was safe. She found what she was looking for and asked, "Did you say you were from Wisconsin? What were you doing in England?"
Jack took the opportunity to speak with relish. "Yeah, I'm from Wisconsin. I grew up near Chippewa Falls. You ever been there?" He hoped that asking a direct question would open her up some.
Rose shook her head. "No, I've not been many places except on the East Coast." She looked at him and apparently felt encouraged to go on. "I'm from Philadelphia."
Jack nodded. "I went through there once. Big city." After a few more steps, Jack remembered the other part of her earlier question. He decided to plunge ahead with some of his life story. She probably wouldn't be interested, but at least it would end the interminable parading around the deck. "My parents moved to Chippewa Falls just before I was born. They left their families scattered throughout Maine to become farmers."
Jack looked to Rose for a reaction. She nodded. "Go on. That's still a long ways from England." She was still struggling with something inside of herself, Jack could see. So he continued his discourse.
"Well, they were pretty good farmers, but it was hard to pay off the land. They both used to get up really early and work really late. I still remember the first time I saw either one of them sleeping. My Ma had fallen asleep while trying to mend some fishing nets. Before that, I thought they just made kids sleep!" Jack smiled at the memory.
Rose seemed to be opening up and Jack decided to press the issue a little bit. "It must've been their hard work that eventually was their downfall. When I was fifteen, they both died in a fire."
Rose broke in. "I'm so sorry."
Jack smiled smoothly. Even though his parents' deaths were still fresh in his mind and burned in his heart, he had trained himself to talk about them freely. It was one of his ways of keeping them alive.
"Yeah, well, after my parents died, I lit out of there and I haven't been back. I guess you could just call me a tumbleweed blowing in the wind." As they passed the same part of the ship for the sixth time, Jack saw that Rose was ready to talk. And he was ready to hear what she had to say. He prompted her. "So, Rose, I guess we've walked about a mile around this ship. We've chewed over how nice the weather's been, and all about me...but I guess that's not why you wanted to see me."
Rose still hesitated, but she was coming to the cusp of a decision. He could see her brace herself before she began. "Mr. Dawson, I--"
"Jack," slipped out of his mouth before he realized what he was doing. Here he was trying to put her at ease and he interrupted the first thing she tried to say. Still, after further reflection, being on a first name basis wouldn't be all bad. He thought of her as Rose, not as Miss DeWitt Whatever. So, in retrospect, it didn't seem that dangerous of an action.
Her next word answered that dilemma. "Jack?" It was certainly a question, but it was also an acceptance. She continued with her line of thought. "I want to thank you for what you did. Not just for...for pulling me back. But for your discretion." Jack could see the effort that this took. She really didn't want anyone to know what she had been doing there. He could see her sigh in relief after she had finished this little speech.
Jack was a little embarrassed by the attention. He didn't think what he'd done was all that noble. Pulling her back over the rail, both verbally and physically, had been his primary good deeds. Lying was incidental in his mind. Rose, however, seemed at least as concerned with her reputation as with her life, something Jack couldn't quite understand. Nevertheless, he cared about her and had thought about her a fair bit. He tried to put as much empathy and concern into his voice as possible. "You're welcome."
Apparently, he didn't quite succeed in allaying her concerns. She defended her actions almost as if he had seemed unconcerned. Or maybe she was just looking for a sympathetic ear. "Look, I know what you must be thinking! Poor little rich girl. What does she know about misery?" Her look challenged him to deny it.
In fact, he had thought that, but only briefly. He wasn't foolish enough to voice that, though. He said what was nearer to his heart--and what he thought she wanted to hear. "That's not what I was thinking. What I was thinking was..." Here he panicked momentarily, but his poker training saved him. He quickly recovered his train of thought and continued with only a very brief pause, a pause that could have seemed just for effect. "What could have happened to make this girl think she had no way out?"
Rose looked startled. She started to speak, "I don't..." As she trailed off, Jack wondered how she would have completed that. He thought of several possibilities ranging from "believe you" to "think I care to tell you" (with a sneer marring her ravishing features) to "want to talk about it." Basically no response would have surprised him.
However, when she did continue, it was in a completely different vein. Whatever had concerned her had dissipated like a morning mist. She looked at him and apparently found something she could trust--his looks, his social status, the preposterousness of anyone she associated with listening to him, or something else. She spoke in a rush. "It was them. It was my whole world and everything in it. And the inertia of my life..." Here she paused for breath and effect. She held out her arm and hand and added, "with me powerless to stop it."
Two different thoughts struggled through Jack's consciousness. Why was she telling him of all people? He had some ideas, but it shocked him that she would bare herself to such a near stranger. More than anything else had, this drove home how lonely and painful her life must be. The other thought was pure amazement at the diamond ring she was showing him.
He reacted in a natural way. He grabbed her hand and looked at it. "God! Look at the size of that thing! You'd've gone straight to the bottom." It wasn't the most tactful thing to say, but she chuckled briefly. Jack found her willingness to laugh at herself positively endearing.
However, nothing could stop her inertia now. The words continued flooding out of her mouth. "Five hundred invitations have gone out. All of Philadelphia society will be there--and all the while I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room screaming and no one even looks up!" As she spoke, her voice got progressively louder and more intense. When she finished, she was almost shouting. Jack understood that while he was the person being shouted towards, he wasn't the one being shouted at. Rose glanced around in embarrassment. Her outburst, though, seemed to go unnoticed by the other passengers. The thrum of the ship's passage made communication over any distance nearly impossible.
It took Jack a couple of moments to absorb all that she had said. When he had, he asked the only question that he found important. "Do you love him?"
Rose was quite indignant. "Pardon me?" He could see that she thought the question rather forward and inappropriate. However, there was also a hint of subtle pleasure in her words. He didn't think she got asked about her feelings all that often.
Jack was not about to let her off the hook just because she was indignant. He asked her again. "Do you love him?" He never cared about rules or proper behavior, and the question required an answer.
Rose was completely flabbergasted. She obviously had no clue how to react to Jack's questions. It simply wasn't proper etiquette to ask someone a question like that. So, instead of answering, she again hid behind the manners of her upbringing. "You're being very rude. You shouldn't be asking me this," she said in a haughty manner that never failed to impress her friends or to make servants jump to obey.
But Jack was a very different individual. He pursued her doggedly. "Well, it's a simple question. Do you love the guy or not?" He thought he knew the answer now. If she truly did love him, it would not have been a difficult question to answer. She might love him or she might not, but she wasn't sure enough that she should be marrying the guy, at least not in Jack's mind.
Rose was getting very flustered by this line of questioning. It obviously made her uncomfortable. Nevertheless, Jack thought he could see a part of her that wanted to answer him honestly. It could have been his desire overriding his logic, but it seemed that she was secretly very pleased that someone cared to find out how she was feeling. Her words, though, remained harsh. "You don't know me and I don't know you and we are not having this conversation at all!" She gave an uncomfortable titter at the end of this statement.
Jack was not about to be put off now. Whether it was because of the internal struggle he thought he saw or just plain stubbornness, he wouldn't stop asking his question until she either answered or left. "Why can't you just answer the question?"
Just for added effect, he grinned insolently at her. He was flying in the face of all that she knew and was comfortable with. Normally, he wouldn't be pushing, he decided inwardly, but she was obviously unhappy with the strictures and mores that she now tried to use as defense. Else, why would she have been hanging off the back of Titanic?
Jack could see Rose's mounting frustration with him. He was just not playing by the rules. As much as she might find him entertaining, she still rejected him. "This is not a suitable conversation. You are rude and uncouth and presumptuous and I am leaving now." She moved closer to him to take his hand. Pumping it wildly, she continued, "Jack." Then she thought better of it. Apparently, the whole name thing had really thrown her. "Mr. Dawson," she continued. "I sought you out to thank you and now I have thanked you..."
Jack was not at all insulted by her actions. In fact, he was merely amused. He found the whole situation quite fascinating. He smiled sardonically. "And you've insulted me."
Again, his irreverence for proper behavior seemed to both annoy and interest Rose. He could tell that she was very intrigued by his actions. Whether or not it would make any difference in the long run was something that he was unable to determine. She snorted, a combination of derision and laughter. "Well...you deserved it." Meanwhile, her hand was still firmly clenching his and their arms were pumping up and down.
Jack wasn't one to let that go so quickly. "Really?" he asked good-naturedly. He found the whole conversation to be rather humorous. He paused, waiting for her departure, not with relish, but with curiosity. As the seconds passed, they continued to stay rooted to the spot, shaking hands. Jack couldn't take it any longer. "I thought you were leaving," he said.
This comment galvanized Rose into action. With a curt, pert, "I am!" she spun on her heels and began to stride purposely away from him. However, she only got a few steps away before a thought struck her. Turning again, she spoke with a mixture of anger, resentment, curiosity, and awe. "You are so annoying!"
Once again, she started to turn around to leave, but she stopped mid-pirouette. "Wait a minute! I don't have to leave. This is my part of the ship. You leave!" The look on her face defied him again. She appeared satisfied to have finally gotten the upper hand. Jack wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but he thought he detected a hint of desire for him to stay.
He discovered to his surprise that he wanted to stay, too. He was starting to really enjoy himself. Rose was feisty and energetic and not at all what he had expected--a beautiful sycophant with no real depth. So, once again ignoring the dictums of good taste and proper decorum, Jack challenged even this comment, which was entirely true. He couldn't argue with the logic, so he went through the backdoor, a place with which he was very familiar. "Oh, oh! Well, well, well! Now who's being rude?"
This comment left Rose so completely flabbergasted she was speechless. He was right, but it wasn't the point at all. Now fully at ease, Jack laughed. If Rose weren't such a fine lady, he would expect her to start sputtering in...well, in emotional overload. He half-expected her to, despite her fancy upbringing.
However, Rose surprised him. Instead of continuing a losing line of conversation, she jumped ship to a completely different topic. Her hand rifled out and deftly seized the sketchbook Jack had tucked protectively under one arm. "What is this stupid thing you keep carrying around?"
Jack was almost beside himself with contained laughter. He was happy to spend more time with Rose and she seemed to be looking for ways to not have them separate, too. The whole earlier exchange was just too much. Still stifling chuckles, he traipsed after Rose, who had moved away to view his sketches. Apparently, her curiosity and fascination with him was winning after all.
As she glanced through the book, she started with a disdainful, "What are you, an artist or something?" Jack had always thought of himself as an artist, but most 'experts' put him firmly in the 'something' category. Apparently, though, Rose had a different set of criteria. "Well, these are rather good." As she thumbed through more, Jack could see the facade she wore so well start to melt away. His work apparently pleased her quite a bit as she added, "Actually, they're very good."
Fascinated, she sat down on one of the deck chairs to get a better look. Jack sat next to her to review his work and to maintain close physical proximity. As she flipped through them, he recalled the actual drawing of each--the hands of an old woman who had stopped to feed ducks in New York, a man sleeping on a park bench in Mississippi, a young couple about ready to kiss gazing at a sunset off Italy's coast, Bert and Cora Cartmell by the rail of Titanic. With the last one, Jack mentally kicked himself. He was supposed to have given that to Cora in exchange for her drawing.
Jack was flattered but a little embarrassed by the praises and the close examination Rose gave each drawing. He felt obligated to downplay them a little bit. "Well, they didn't think too much of 'em in old Paree." They hadn't, either. He'd tried to get shows and failed miserably. Even the people on the streets barely spared them a second glance. It had not been an enheartening experience, but Jack mainly drew for himself anyway, so it wasn't too disparaging.
Rose seemed surprised. "Well, well...Paris. You do get around for a poor..." Here she stopped suddenly out of embarrassment. Her eyes shot from side-to-side as she tried to find a way to get her foot out of her mouth. Eventually, though, she was forced to continue lamely, "Well, a person of limited means."
Jack laughed easily at the mild affront. He'd been called a lot worse. Plus, the expression on her face was priceless. After a brief mental debate about playing up how hurt he was, just for the effect, Jack decided he'd rather keep her at ease and not offend her. "It's Okay. You can say it. I'm a poor guy." He shrugged nonchalantly. Facts were facts as far as he was concerned.
Rose returned to her perusal of the sketches and came across a series of nudes. Jack was justifiably proud of his nudes. He thought the person came across clearly, without being clouded behind biological demonstrations or the illusion of clothes. Still, though, he wondered how a cultivated girl would react to such a frank depiction of the human body. He watched her reactions carefully.
Jack got a better reaction than he had anticipated. Her face colored slightly and she set her face carefully in neutral. But she also quickly licked her lips and didn't look away. When a stroller came near, Rose startled and quickly pulled the sketchbook close to herself--like a child caught in her mother's makeup case.
She began with a dry, "Well, well, well!" Jack could see that she was becoming more interested as time went by, but she couldn't decide whether to pursue the topic further. She was still so young and naive. He found it quite a refreshing change from most of the girls he'd known.
As was becoming a trend that fine afternoon, her inquisitive nature again overruled the bounds of completely proper etiquette. She just had to know more. She asked Jack carefully, "And these were drawn from life?"
Jack was happy to answer. "Yup. That's one of the great things about Paris. Lots of girls willing take their clothes off." He'd found that to be true. Lots were willing to do more than that, truth be told, but Jack was content with stealing the occasional kiss or backrub. More would involve a commitment he wasn't ready to give yet. He liked being free and unencumbered. Other activities suggested to him would have jeopardized that.
Rose fixated on one particular drawing; the girl posed half in sunlight, half in shadow. Her hands lay at her chin, one furled and one open like a flower, languid and graceful. The drawing was like an Alfred Steiglitz print of Georgia O'Keefe. It was the epitome of female beauty, marred only by an overgrown patch of armpit hair.
Flipping through a few more pages, Rose commented on the person being illustrated. "You liked this woman. You used her several times." She was becoming more comfortable with the subject matter, Jack noticed.
"She had beautiful hands."
Rose, smiling, seemed to think that more had certainly occurred. "I think you must have had a love affair with her..." She had a brief twinkle in her eye, indicating that this was a titillating, forbidden topic. It was so flirtatious that Jack was surprised. He'd been flirted with frequently, but never had anyone of Rose's class shown more than a passing interest in him. Plus, it was more than his looks--which he sometimes thought to be a curse--that held her fascination. It was him she found interesting, which in turn piqued his interest in her.
Still, he laughed at the possibility. Here was one woman who had held very little interest for him in that regard. "No, no! Just with her hands." Jack had always been fascinated by hands and loved to draw them more than anything else. Catching Rose's skepticism, he turned to another sketch and added. "She was a one legged prostitute. See?" He pointed at the picture.
Once again, Rose seemed to be caught off-guard. She choked on whatever she was going to say and glanced quickly away from the picture. However, a little later, her eyes seemed pulled back into the depiction. He could almost hear the rationalization echoing through her thoughts. "Well, if he can draw it, why can't I at least look at it?" It was pretty interesting, Jack had to admit.
He told Rose a little more about the subject in question. "It's okay, though. She had a good sense of humor." He remembered walking and talking with her, but he couldn't quite remember her name. She was one of the few individuals who looked past the trappings of Jack's life to the person within. She had been one of his truest friends. Plus, there hadn't been any sexual tension, which often complicated his relationships with the opposite gender.
Jack started to wax nostalgic. "Oh, and this woman," he said pointing to the next charcoal image. "I call her Madame Bijou. She would come to this bar every night, wearing every piece of jewelry she owned, just waiting for her long lost love. See how her clothes are all moth-eaten?" He often named people he'd drawn from books he'd read or stories he'd heard. It helped make them more real to him.
Rose looked up from the drawing into Jack's eyes. Suddenly, her expression was no longer humorous. "You have a gift, Jack. You do. You see people." She studied him intently to see how he would reply.
Like most people, Jack struggled with genuine, honest praise. It warmed his heart, of course, but it was uncomfortable. However, her gaze wasn't at all uncomfortable. Returning the latter full-force, Jack uttered, "I see you."
For a few moments, Rose completely relaxed her guard. Jack could read the emotions boiling through her like a well-written novel. Pulling herself even more upright--she never did slouch as much as he did--she asked with a smile on her face "And?" Jack could see the expectation, a compliment on her physical appearance.
Now, she was beautiful, heartrendingly so, but that wasn't what Jack really saw. He looked beyond the perfect complexion, the fancy hair-do, and the statuesque body to the person beneath. In a small part of his brain, Jack mentally noted that Rose also broke the stereotypical female, who never thought she looked good, no matter how often she was told otherwise. He found this trait of Rose endearing.
Still, Jack never took the obvious route, especially when something more appealing offered. He answered her with a firm statement. "You wouldn't have jumped." He adamantly believed that it was true. It was also a more important statement about her than anything he could have said about her physical appearance, which defied description in mere words.
The smile on Rose's face disappeared in shock. Still defenseless against Jack's eyes, Rose underwent a rapid series of transformations as she adjusted to this unexpected declaration.
First, the only thing she registered was complete, unadulterated surprise. This was not at all what she had anticipated. Obviously, she was used to getting frequent compliments on her appearance and took more than a little pride in them. Expecting something similar from Jack, it took her a moment to adjust to what he'd said.
When she had, her anger flared briefly. This time, Jack saw, he was the target. She was asking herself, Who is he to tell me what I would or would not have done? I am my own person and I make my own decisions! She started getting worked up. She had been ready to jump, regardless of what he might have thought.
Jack saw realization flash through her eyes as reality hit Rose. No, she wouldn't have jumped. He was right. She might have fallen, but she hadn't quite been despondent or desperate enough to consciously end her own life. Jack felt a little pride in the awareness that he could still read people pretty well.
But Rose's reactions weren't done. Instead of warming to him with this realization, she chilled again. Still, though, her defenses were down and Jack could see why she was again irritated with him. She saw his words as a way of seeking more praise, reminding her what he had done for her and how she remained in his debt. That hadn't been his purpose at all, of course, but Rose was really starting to heat up.
Suddenly, though, without him needing to utter a word on his own behalf, she calmed back down, even seeming affectionate towards him. He was bit curious, but soon the reason became apparent on her face. She was pleased that someone cared enough to look past the superficiality of her wealth, her looks, and strike at who she was. He could tell that true friends were rare in her life. Most people probably either wanted something from her or treated her like a bauble--pretty to display but hollow on the inside.
As she continued to ponder, her amazement grew as she realized that Jack had answered a deeper need than vanity. She needed someone who was interested in her feelings and who knew her. Jack indeed had "seen" very deeply into her innermost self. Instead of being appalled or not talking about it, he had chosen to pursue it. Rose was shocked. She had been searching for someone like that for years without even realizing it. Now, she had found it, albeit in a most unlikely location.
Jack saw the seed of something else starting to blossom in Rose, but she had become aware of how openly she was showing her emotions and how perceptive he was. The walls hiding her emotions sprang back into being. But they were the walls of privacy that every human being needs, even around close friends, not the deep, foreboding fortress she had erected before. Jack smiled.
The End.
