EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Six
"Well, Antoinette!"
Molly Brown’s voice echoed across the dining hall just as she brushed past me
towards her chair. "Looks like you’ve got yourself a date," she
laughed when she saw Harry sitting to my right. She then gestured to him.
"You treat her well, sonny, her father knows people." She chuckled as
she went to find her seat and Harry shot me a look of fright after glancing at
my father, whose too busy writing in that small notebook of his to even notice.
I’m sure he noticed—He never misses a trick.
"She’s kidding," I told
him. I watched, without making eye contact, the others take their places at the
table, including the woman-less William Murdoch, who still looks like a
defeated ten year old. I still feel awful for him, I have to admit. I do care
about him—He seems nice enough, but I couldn’t have just told Harry I changed
my mind. He would’ve saw me with Will. Damn it. I rubbed my forehead. I’m
confusing myself.
When Ismay came to sit down at
the table, he, as usual, gave me the once-over, but then had a look of shock on
his face when he realized Harry was kind of, sort of like…my date. My escort is
more like it, but I don’t have an "escort." He asked me to be his arm
candy for dinner, he seemed sweet enough—end of story.
As the caviar began being served,
Harry touched my wrist to get my attention. I practically jumped, not expecting
it. I took in a deep breath. Antoinette Andrews, calm yourself. My mother would
not be approving of this. "Are you as bored as I am?" he whispered
into my ear as I placed my napkin onto my lap. I managed a nod, as the chatter
at the table got louder and louder as each second passed. Ismay really can
talk! Someone ought to sew his mouth shut and hide the scissors from him.
"I’m ready to spoon my eyes
out," I responded. He laughed.
"Alright, well, maybe we
should play this game."
"A game?" I smiled at
him. "What kind of game?"
"Well, I always play this
with Will and Lightoller, which drives both of them crazy. You pick an object
in the room and tell the other person what letter the object begins with. If
you guess it right, it’s your turn to pick something." He paused.
"Make sense?"
"I suppose. How about an
example?" He gestured to the linen-clothed table we’re sitting at.
"I’d say the object started
with a T, and I picked the table. See, T, table…?"
"You’re awful at explaining
things," I decided. He nervously laughed, moving his hat over on the other
side of his plate, as if this was a barrier keeping us apart. "How about
you go first?" I suggested.
"Alright." He paused,
looking around the large dining hall. "C." C? I began to search the
room and—
"Chair?" I asked.
"No, try again."
"Uh…" I bit down on my
lower lip in thought as I rested my head in my palm. "Candle?"
"Do you see any candles
here?" he asked, with a laugh.
"No, I guess not." I
looked about and my eyes fell on the chandelier. Chandelier.
"Chandelier."
"That’s it. Alright, now
your turn." I began to search the room, unsure of what to choose. Earring!
Earring would work. Granted, he may not guess it, but who knows at this point.
"E."
"E…Hmm…" He looked
around for what felt like minutes and then finally shrugged. "Okay, I have
absolutely no idea." I touched my earrings.
"Earrings."
"Now, why didn’t I think of
that?" he asked, laughing slightly. I smiled. "I guess it’s your turn
again." Hmm—now what will I pick? I glanced around the table and saw a
waiter rolling the cigars and matches into the smoking room for after dinner.
"It starts with an M."
"Mantle?" I shook my
head. "Mirror?" There aren’t even any mirrors in here, my friend.
"No?" I shook my head. "Alright, this should not be this
difficult…" He stifled a laugh. "Money?"
"Although I’m sure there’s
plenty of it in here, no." He smiled.
"Alright—You know, I should
be beating you at this game—"
"But, you’re not."
"I know. Practice does not
make perfect." I raised an eyebrow.
"Apparently." That was
off-topic. "Remember, the letter M. Focus." He searched around the
table. Harry then gestured to a piece of, what is that, lamb, being served to
someone in a table away from us?
"Meat?"
"Oh, you are grasping for
straws, my friend."
"Mask?" I’m sure many
of the guests tonight are wearing masks, but I can’t say that out loud. I
didn’t respond. "I’ll take that as a no."
"Mouse?" I giggled
under my breath.
"Something you see in this
room!"
"Antoinette, I have no
idea."
"Matches." I gestured
to the cart where a waiter was trying to fix a pile of cigars that must have
fallen over.
"This game is over," he
decided as our empty caviar dishes, which we had been conveniently trying not
to choke on, were taken away.
"It’s only been what, five
minutes? You’re already giving up?"
"You could say that."
"Miss Andrews, what would
you like?" a strange voice asked me. How did this voice know my name? I
looked up and it’s the waiter who had been serving that awful caviar. Everyone
knows who I am, I suppose, even though I’ve never seen this particular waiter
before. Why not just pass a photograph of me around for all to see?
Oh, what did he ask? What would I
like? What would I like for what? Oh, food! Food. Had everyone been ordering
and we’ve just been talking? I quickly glanced around the table and sure
enough, here I am—the center of attention again. Fantastic.
"What would you
suggest?" I asked, smiling at him.
"Well, the lamb seems to be
a favorite—"
"Then, that’s fine. I trust
your judgment." He smiled widely at me, almost proud of himself for
offering something and me actually telling him I trust his judgment. I think I
just made a waiter’s day. I could never imagine being a waiter, by the way. You
must suggest food after food to so many different people, and maybe if you’re
extremely lucky, someone will agree with your suggestion. What a frustrating
position that must be!
"How about you, Sir?"
he asked Harold as I handed him my, as usual, unread menu.
"What she’s having."
"Of course." He walked
past us and I glanced at him, trying not to laugh. He was acting all serious,
for one mere moment—and it was, for some reason, hysterical in my mind.
"Here, I’ve got a question
for you," I said within only his earshot.
"What?"
"What starts with an M, and
it’s at this table, and this table only?" He looked at me, sort of puzzled
as he looked among the chattering people.
"Molly Brown?" he
asked.
"What?" We both looked
up from the covered table, since we were acting as if we were barely speaking,
to Molly. "You say my name, sonny?"
"No, ma’am," he
blatantly lied.
"Well, then, I must be
hearing things!" she said, laughing. I took a large sip of my champagne.
It could be a long night.
"Would you like some more,
Miss Andrews?" a young waiter asked me, holding the champagne bottle. I
almost started laughing. These people have perfect timing! Whoever trained them
ought to get a freaking medal.
"No, thank you," I
said, trying not to choke on the liquid. Harry glanced at me, bursting into a
smile.
"Alright, I need you to tell
me what starts with an M," he concluded. "Before I lose my job with
the White Star Line." I glanced over at the Captain, who does not look to
be too pleased. I managed a smile.
"Ismay’s moustache." We
both looked to our right at Ismay, who always has this ridiculous handlebar
moustache waxed up to the tenth degree and we busted out laughing!
Everyone in the entire dining
hall turned their attention on us and Ismay looked over his shoulder, wondering
why we were laughing. Harry was laughing so hard that he slammed his elbow onto
the table, exactly where his spoon was to his right. The spoon, for some
strange reason, went flying across the room, almost decapitating a woman before
hitting the wall, beside a window leading to the freezing outdoors.
"Oh my God—" I was
laughing so hard I was crying. I took my napkin from my lap and wiped my eyes,
trying not to smear my make-up. Harry was laughing so hard, he was practically
sobbing. My father, his nose out of his notebook for a change, started laughing
and Molly Brown, having seen the entire escapade for what it was, began to
giggle. The whole table erupted with laughter, from the other officers, Captain
Smith and even woman-less Will began to laugh.
"What’s so funny?"
asked the clueless Ismay, refusing to unlock his eyes from me. Minutes passed
and as the laughter died down and I wiped my eyes again from my salty tears.
I shot a look at Harold, holding
in my fit of giggles. My mother never would’ve approved of that laughter fit, I
know it. She would’ve dragged me out of the dining hall, and resisted the urge
to slap me. "Antoinette Andrews!" she would’ve felt the need to say,
before repeating herself, this time merely including my middle name. "You
are shaming your father!" I always just shame her—my father doesn’t really
care. Speak of the devil, he leaned into my ear, still trying not to laugh as
he closed that notebook.
"Antoinette, it’s so nice to
see you smile. You haven’t smiled like that in months." I realized, at
that moment, how right he was.