EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Nineteen
"Hit me," I told Moody,
who dealt me another card.
"Bust!" Bride said
angrily, banging his fist onto the table as I laughed.
"I only had eleven," I
said simply, showing him the cards in my hand before handing them to Moody to
place back in the deck.
"Oh, come on!" he said,
looking as if he was ready to bang his head on the table. Sitting at a table
with a bunch of officers, a mirror image of last night, why am I still winning
a game I just learned how to play merely hours ago? Woman-less Will, Harry,
Moody, Bride and Wilde joined us. It was Lightoller’s shift a few hours ago and
he had to leave, switching places with Moody. Harry has tonight off and Bride?
He never works and neither does Will. I’ve decided that in my own mind. How can
they work, if they’re always playing cards? That’s what I want to know! How can
they work?
Of course, everyone at the table
thought I wouldn’t be coming, even though Will had told them I was. Lightoller
had said he thought my father had locked me away in an ivory tower because of
the panic I had caused the night before. They had all heard through the
grapevine about the supposed search party for me and all they can do is laugh
whenever I ask Harry the time.
Anyhow, blackjack is much simpler
than I thought it to be. Harry had been right—it isn’t as difficult as poker.
"As long as you can count up to twenty-one, you’ll be okay," he had
reassured me earlier this afternoon. I had asked him if he was sure and before
there was an answer, there was kissing. I took that as a yes at the time!
But, blackjack basically consists
of getting dealt two cards, usually with someone else as an opponent and
whoever gets twenty-one, without going over, wins the hand. An ace can stand
for eleven or one, it matters what you need it if you ever get dealt it. Now,
the lingo is much easier. "Hit me" means you’ll get dealt a card and
"Bust" means you went over twenty-one. Easy, right? Of course, there
is betting! What great card game would be without betting?
I think I’m lucky again tonight.
I’ve been beating these officers and workers of the White Star Line for the
past twenty minutes. When someone lost, I went onto the next person at the
table. So far, Bride has won a few times, Moody once and Will once. Harry?
Nothing. And he taught me how to play!
"Alright, I surrender,"
Bride laughed, handing the cards back to Moody, who began to shuffle them.
"I think you should become a professional card player." I laughed.
"Sure. Okay, who’s
next?"
"Will," Wilde replied
simply, taking a puff of his cigarette. Who knew Wilde was a smoker? He doesn’t
look like too much of a smoker, does he? I turned to face Will, who was sitting
beside me, as he was last night while Moody continued to shuffle the cards.
"Don’t tell me it’s a
conspiracy!" I laughed at him as he shuffled a few more times. He looks
extremely frustrated.
"It has to be," he said
confidently.
"You’re never going to think
she may just be a good player?" Will asked skeptically. Moody laughed.
"She’s a witch!" he
joked. "Every time she plays with us, she wins."
"Not all the time," I
corrected.
"But most of the time,"
Wilde laughed as Moody handed him the cards.
"You shuffle them," he
told Wilde.
"Why?"
"I think I’m unlucky."
Wilde laughed as he began to shuffle the cards.
"Do you want me to
deal?" he asked Moody, who nodded. "Alright, my turn." He dealt
Will and I both two cards. I got a five and a three. Eight. I need quite a few
more to get to twenty-one! I glanced at Will, who seemed to be doing the math
in his head.
"Hit me," I instructed
Wilde. Literally, I don’t want him to hit me, but—Oh, it’s just a blackjack
term! He dealt me another card. Turning it over, it’s a four. Twelve. Well,
I’ve got an okay shot at—
"Hit me," Will told the
dealer. Where was I? Oh, I’ve got a good shot at maybe getting a smaller card,
but it’s highly doubtful I’ll get an ace. Oh, what the Hell? I’ll take the
chance.
"Hit me." Another
card—this time, it’s another three. Sixteen. Well, I think I’ll stay right here
at sixteen. I really don’t think the odds are with me on this, they’re against
me. I glanced at Will once more, who had this plain look on his face. He’s a
much better poker/blackjack player than me. He really has the poker face.
Whenever I got a good hand last night, I was trying not to smile, but I know I
was. I suppose I’m not a good liar. With cards. With people, it’s another
story.
"Hit me," Will
repeated, getting dealt another card. He smiled.
"Hold," I said, trying
not to sound sad. He then held out his cards to me. It was exactly twenty-one!
"You actually beat me!" I laughed as I got a good look at the cards
that were in his hand. An ace, so that was eleven, a five, a two, and a three.
"That’s the second time you’ve beaten me."
"Last night poker," he
reminded me. I laughed.
"Exactly."
"See, I knew it!" Moody
laughed, banging his fist on the table.
"No need to get
violent," I reassured him and Harry began to laugh.
"I’m unlucky," Moody
decided, nodding his head.
"No, you’re not," I
tried to reassure him.
"Oh, yes I am." I
handed Wilde back the cards and so did Will.
"I think I’m good for
now," I told him. "Let Will beat some other unknowing…" My voice
trailed off as Wilde smiled.
"You got it." That’s
when there was the knock. Uh-oh, not another knock on the door. That always
spells trouble! Wilde grabbed his hat hanging off the corner of an empty chair
and everyone began to shove the useless coins, paperclips, miscellaneous
objects, not to mention the cards into the navy hat before he threw them under
the table at his feet just as the door swung open.
"Well, well, well, what have
we got here?" I actually gulped. I could hear the simultaneous gulps go
across the room. Ismay. I hid my head in my hands. Why did it have to be Ismay?
Out of all the people on this ship, why the grease ball? "Nice to know the
White Star Line is allowing you pay and pleasure at the same time."
"Mr. Ismay, I—" Will’s
voice trailed off as he took a quick glance at the officers at the table until
he fixed his eyes on me.
"Mr. Ismay, it’s too cold to
stay out there all—" Ismay shook his head and Moody immediately shut his
mouth.
"Well, young lady," he
said, gesturing to me, "so this is where you’ve been running off to. Your
father’s looking for you."
"It’s not ten yet!"
What is he, my keeper? He’s not my father.
"Oh, it’s extremely past
ten, Miss Andrews." I grabbed Harry’s wrist, where he wore his wristwatch
and looked at the time. It is not past ten!
"It’s only
nine-thirty!" I argued, pointing to the watch. We began playing around
seven.
"It’s almost
eleven-thirty," Ismay corrected, reading from his pocket watch.
"Actually," Will chimed
in, clearing his throat before looking up from his own watch, "He’s
right."
"I thought you said your
watch was right!" I yelled. Harry looked at me, completely in shock that
his watch wasn’t, in fact, the correct time. "It was set by one of the
best jewelers!"
"It was right."
"There was another search
party out looking for you," Ismay continued as I sighed angrily.
"Now, then I’ve found you, we won’t have to miss our cigars and
brandy…again." Oh, thank goodness, I wouldn’t want to inflict in his
perfect little world. "Now, then, come along, Miss Andrews…" He took
my wrist and lifted me out of my chair.
"Hey, that hurt!"
That’s when Will and Harry both stood up.
"We’ll take her back,"
Will offered. Harry looked as though he was ready to kill someone. Ismay,
perhaps? "No need to hurt her, Mr. Ismay."
"Don’t you touch her that
way," Harry suddenly threatened. Ismay raised an eyebrow skeptically at
him.
"Or you’ll what?" he
tempted, grasping my wrist merely tighter than before. He began to drag me
towards the door and no matter how hard I tried to keep my feet planted to the
ground, it was no use. As much as I hate to admit it, old grease ball was
stronger than I’ll ever be.
"Why you scum—!" Harry
went for his throat, but Moody and Wilde managed to hold him back, along with
Will. Ismay smirked. Now, if I ever get the chance, I am throwing him
overboard.
"I suggest that you don’t do
anything you’ll regret later." Ismay cleared his throat. "If you
don’t remember who I am, I am Bruce Ismay."
"Thanks for clearing that
up!" I snapped. He looked over his shoulder at me and merely squeezed my
wrist harder. Is he trying to break it!? Will suppressed his laughter, along
with the other officers—the only ones who weren’t laughing were Harry and I.
"I am the President of the
White Star Line and I can assure you, if you won’t allow me to take your
precious friend back to where she belongs, I’ll make sure everyone in this room
never has a job with a respectable company like this again." Is that a
threat? That’s the best he could come up with? That was pathetic.
"Or I could make everyone’s
life a living Hell," he continued, "by making sure no one here ever
works on the sea again." Everyone tensed up, even more so than before.
"So, as I was saying, don’t even attempt to threaten me, Officer Lowe. You
are clearly in a state of delusion, thinking you can speak to me that
way!" He heartily laughed. "I’m bringing her back to her father,
where she belongs. I hope to never see this charade again, especially with
Titanic’s officers and a first-class passenger. Now, I bid you good-night,
gentlemen. Come along, Miss Andrews."
He dragged me out of the room and
began down the hall for the first-class suite. I glanced over his shoulder at
Harry and Will, who had no idea what to do except to stand there. I think I was
wrong—those two can’t save their own lives, let alone mine!
Ismay’s mumbling to himself as he
quickened his pace down the crew’s hallway. "I can’t believe this! I
shouldn’t be babysitting Andrews’ daughter! Do I look like that much of a sap?
Another search party, he says, it won’t take that much time, he says—I want her
back, he says…Well, I’ve had it up to here with that shipbuilder…" I can’t
believe I’m listening to this man practically insult my father! We quickly
passed the operator’s room and there was Jack Phillips, his back to the door,
tapping away. No one can even help me escape from this sobering maniac.
"We’ll miss brandy again, I
argued. No we won’t, he said. She’s my daughter, he said. Well!" He
glanced over his shoulder at me vindictively, sighing heavily. "She’ll
come back, I said. No she won’t, he said. I thought she knew, he said—"
We took a sharp right and I
quickly looked over my shoulder at the hallway we had just passed through. I
have no idea where we are and I now realize that Ismay is a sincere, tried and
true alcoholic. He’s too worried about his brandy to make coherent decisions!
Who makes this drunkard president of a shipping company? Another drunkard?
Oh, dear God—why am I just
following Ismay around? Have I lost my mind? Who knows where I’ll wind up,
because at this point, he’s a very angry alcoholic—I know I probably won’t end
up back at my suite, where I belong. Why, oh why, did Harry’s watch have to be
wrong? I was fully planning on following my father’s request to be back at ten.
I was keeping time!
"You know, Miss Andrews,
you’ve caused quite a stir on this ship," Ismay said, shooting me yet
another look before eyeing me up and down over his shoulder. "I am glad to
say this voyage is almost over."
"Can you let go of me?"
I asked softly as he took a more firm grasp on my wrist. He always seems to be
strangely gawking at me, why not use it to my advantage? I fluttered my eyes
sweetly.
"I’m bringing you back to
where you belong, so your father can call off that damn search party!"
"I’ll go back, I
promise," I said as he looked again over his shoulder. I smiled as sweetly
as I could muster. His mean glare softened, but he shook his head.
"No, you won’t. You’ll go
back to that lover-boy of yours." Lover-boy? Who is he kidding? "I’m
shocked someone with such high standards, such as your father or your mother,
would tolerate such reckless behavior out of their only child!"
"My mother’s not on
board."
"That explains much!"
he huffed. "You need standards, young lady—"
"What are you, my
father?" I asked angrily.
"I might as well be! All I
do is search for you!" He gripped my wrist tighter than before, so much so
that my fingers are now losing their feeling.
"Let go of me!"
"I will; Once we get to your
room!"
"Let go of me NOW!" I
shrieked at him.
"NO!" he yelled back at
me. He cleared his throat, quickening his pace once more.
"Hey, slime-ball!" I screamed
at him, as loud as I could. He stopped, so much in shock that there was a shout
of name-calling that he accidentally dropped my wrist.
"What did you just
call—" The moment he turned around, I punched him, before pushing up his
nose with my palm. Then, I heard a crack! I punched him square in the nose,
with my best hand!
He staggered away from me,
clutching his nose. He gasped, clutching his nose in his hand as scarlet liquid
flowed from his fingers. "You broke my nose!" he gasped, holding his
nose tenderly. I attempted not to laugh. I didn’t react to that.
"And by the way," I
replied, "His name’s not Lover-Boy. It’s Harold Lowe!" He scowled at
me angrily.
"Why, you little—" He
went for my throat, with his bloody hands, but I ducked under his arm and began
to run. Run as if I had never run before in my entire life.