Chicago
1925
Jack pulled his coat tight around him, blocking out the chill of the spring night in Chicago. He had no idea why he was doing what he was doing, but it made a fast and good buck.
The war was long over, and the Roaring Twenties were in full swing. Al Capone pretty much owned the city. As far as Jack was concerned, that meant Capone owned him. Jack was paid with his money.
Jack had wandered the states after the sinking of the Titanic. He almost didn't make it, but had managed to hang onto life and a door in the icy sea until a lifeboat returned. He'd lost all his drawings, but in this age, it was just as easy to find a woman to take her clothes off as it was back in Paris.
He'd also lost his best friend, Fabrizio, as well as his new friend, Tommy. He thought about them often, and knew they'd probably be living the same kind of life he was now. Working in organized crime was dangerous. At any moment, he could be arrested for bootlegging, or killed by a rival crime lord, and Jack had had close calls of each kind of encounter. But the rush he got when he ditched a cop or bullet was worth it. It was a reminder that he was alive.
Jack often wondered about the beautiful first class lady he had saved one night. He'd seen her name on the survivor list, as well as her fiancé's name. There was another woman named Ruth with the same last name. He presumed her to be Rose's mother or sister, but he didn't know. Jack had never seen her since he pulled her back over the railing. He had almost been arrested for attempted rape, but Rose had claimed that she simply slipped and he pulled her back. Cal had had his valet slip him twenty bucks, and that was that.
Jack strolled into the speakeasy, where he was well known. Women threw themselves at him all the time, and within a couple of minutes, he was swarmed by three flappers. He'd seen all three of them completely naked, but hadn't slept with any of them, though it was sorely tempting. He just wasn't a guy who slept around. He'd had a couple of relationships over the years, but they'd ended on a bad note when he’d caught his girlfriends cheating on him.
One day, Jack knew a woman would come along and make him want to settle down. For now, though, he enjoyed the company of any woman who wanted to dance. He grabbed a gin and tonic at the bar and threw it back. The three girls hadn't left his side, so when the jazz music started up, he led them all out for a dance.
*****
"Two minutes, Rose!"
Rose glanced in the full length mirror and decided she needed a touch more rouge on her knees. Her heart fluttered. She loved the feeling. She'd been performing for years on stage. After the sinking of the Titanic, she'd married that son of a bitch, Caledon Hockley. But he had divorced her not long after, as she never managed to give him a child. Rose herself had prevented that, keeping a very close track of her monthly flow. Her mother threw her to the wolves, and Rose was happy to let them have her.
She sold what she could and packed what she couldn't and bought a train ticket out west. There she found success acting on stage in various plays. She had developed a serious passion for Shakespearean theater, and was soon in many of the famous roles. Rose had been Lady Macbeth in Macbeth, Ophelia in Hamlet, Juliet in Romeo and Juliet, and Portia in Julius Caesar. She had tried her luck at moving pictures, and as much as she had enjoyed the glamour of it, she much preferred the thrill of live stage plays.
After more success than Rose had dreamed of, she had bought a ticket to New York City and found a new home on Broadway. She had been there when America had entered the Great War. It still hurt to recall it, as she had lost friends, fellow actors, overseas. But she had trudged on. Musicals ran for short periods of time, but Rose had had voice lessons while in California and discovered she was a beautiful soprano. Again, Rose had found herself cast in leading roles.
But now she had come to Chicago. She didn't know why, but she had wanted a change of pace. She'd lived here for a year in a decent apartment deep in the bowels of the city. It was a city of crime, booze, and jazz. Al Capone owned many of the speakeasies in this town, including this one. And he paid the ladies who performed on stage very well. He paid the girls in his brothels better, but Rose hadn't gone to that extreme yet.
There was a knock on her door, and she took one last look in the full length mirror. Rose had come a long way. She had survived the sinking of the Titanic, married one of the wealthiest men on the east coast, been divorced by him, and traveled alone. Men chased after her, but she didn't mind the shameless flirting. She'd only had one relationship since Cal, but it had been short-lived and more physical than emotional. Rose had left him when she left New York City.
Dressed in her best costume, embracing the flapper style, Rose opened the door and made her way to the stage. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor. Her fishnet stockings, worn below her knees, cooled her legs as air passed through them. Her dress was shorter than usual, but it brought it big crowds. Smoothing out her short red hair, she took her place behind the curtain. Rose smiled to herself. She'd come a long way, indeed. If that third class passenger, Jack Dawson, hadn't stopped her, she'd have thrown herself from the Titanic's stern. Rose had never seen him after that night, but was forever grateful to him. She had been happy to read his name on the list of survivors, as it wouldn't have been fair for someone who had saved a life to have their own taken.
"Ladies and gentlemen! The Red Room at Clyde's is proud to present the sweetest little rosebud in all of Chicago!" The curtain began to rise and the spotlight hit Rose, who had her back to the audience. One hand was on a hip, which she thrust to one side. The other she raised in the air in a sexy pose.
Jack looked up from his conversation to see the woman walk on stage. He was a regular in this speakeasy and had heard of this performer, but he'd never been able to actually watch her act. She hadn't turned yet, but she had begun to sing. Her voice gave him a chill. He was eager to see her turn. Jack took a sip of his drink as her head whipped around.