THE SKETCH SCENE
Written by Doug Kuhlman
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron.

Jack's mind was spinning uncontrollably. He couldn't believe the things that had happened to him in the last two days--seeing an angel from afar and then getting the chance to meet her. Spending the following day with her was the most exhilarating day of his life. But then he'd thought that Rose was gone forever. Even being on the bow of Titanic hadn't mollified his heart. He barely dared believe that she had actually come down to see him again.

Now, here he was, in her room. "It's completely proper. I assure you," Rose had told him as she led him into her room. "This is the sitting room." Jack's mind had just started recovering from that first indescribable kiss. Now the opulence of the upper class was again getting to him. He wandered the room, amazed at the size, at the lack of dust, at everything. But his mind was barely on the room. He was thinking of Rose.

She spoke again, startling him out of his reverie. "Will this light do?" Seeing the confusion on his face, she added, "Don't artists need good light?" On the way here, she had asked him to draw something for her. He had readily agreed--he would have agreed to anything that meant spending more time with her.

Jack's wit was ever quick. With barely a pause to think, he responded in his best (which was pretty bad he knew, but he didn't care) French accent. "Zat is true, I am not used to working in such 'orreeble conditions." He noticed her quick flash of a smile. Jack could not believe that she really liked him. She even laughed at his bad jokes.

As had been happening with great regularity to him lately, though, something else completely unexpected and amazing happened. He truly was an artist and seeing the painting casually leaning against a couch was more than he could take. "Hey, Monet!" he blurted out. After walking over to inspect the painting, he added, "Isn't he great...the use of color?" For just the briefest of moments, he almost forgot Rose was there. Monet had always fascinated him. Jack had actually seen Monet once, from hiding, in Giverny. He'd very nearly been caught, but it was well worth it.

Rose, who had leaned near to gaze at the painting again (God, he could feel her breath on his shoulder! Why did it make his whole body tingle so?), suddenly stood and walked away. Thoughts of Monet fled and Jack rose to follow her. He wondered what other surprises she had in store for him.

She went to a small wardrobe and started opening a very large safe. Almost apologetically, she said, "Cal insists on lugging this thing everywhere."

At the mention of her fiancé, Jack felt a sudden chill. He had no desire to face the hot uncontrolled wrath of an Edwardian upper class citizen. "Should we be expecting him anytime soon?" Jack meandered away, looking for possible escape routes. But the whole suite was so large, he couldn't really figure any other way out.

Rose sounded disgusted. She knew where Cal would be. "Not as long as the cigars and brandy hold out."

Jack came back to see Rose pulling out a jewelry case from the safe. Also in the safe was more money than he had ever seen in his entire life. He noticed that each stack was of twenty-dollar bills. Only once had he ever had that much money, and he'd felt so rich he'd spent it almost immediately. In the safe were stacks and stacks of them. Cal (and Rose) was unimaginably wealthy. Once again, the enormity of their differences struck to his heart--chilling him. What if she was just toying with him? What if he was just some pawn is some sick game she was playing? But, deep in the deepest recesses of his heart, he knew her; he saw her; he knew she was genuine.

CLUNK! Reverberated through the room as Rose shut the safe. Rose led him back to the main room, opening the jewelry case as she walked. She pulled out the Coeur de la Mer and tentatively handed it to Jack. Jack stared wonderingly at a stone of unthinkable size. "What is it? A sapphire?" Even a sapphire that large would be worth more than...than...Jack's mind balked at the thought. He couldn't even imagine comparing the value

So his mind almost imploded when Rose replied calmly, "A diamond. A very rare diamond called the Heart of the Ocean." It's deep blue was almost hypnotizing. Jack could well understand why the large, deep blue diamond would be called the Heart of the Ocean. It glittered tantalizingly, like the call of the ocean, but it was also dangerous and ultimately cold--a destroyer of men.

Rose snuggled close to him again, sending shocks of electricity coursing up and down every nerve in his body. He would never get used to the feel of her so close. She spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. "Jack, I want you to draw me--like one of your French girls. Wearing this."

Jack nodded. "OK," he said just as quietly--drawing her would be a dream come true. He had already studied her voluptuous form and the opportunity to do so with her full consent was impossible to refuse.

But even his wildest fantasies couldn't compare with her words--"Wearing only this..." Jack swallowed hard and looked into her trusting, smiling eyes. His tongue was too large to speak. He could only nod, his mind racing and, at the same time, barely moving.

The next few minutes passed in a hazy blur. Rose had gone to her room to "get ready." Physically, Jack was doing the things necessary to draw her. He moved a couch into the center of the room, where the light would be good. He'd done enough nude drawings to have an idea of what he wanted, but she was a rich, sophisticated woman! Should he draw her like fine china? He couldn't imagine her in any of the poses the girls in Paris had used. Nevertheless, he provided for her comfort by arranging the pillows on the couch. He knew it wasn't optimal, but his mind was still numbed by the shock of what was happening.

Resisting the strong temptation to peek in on Rose changing (he was going to see her in a little bit anyway, why did he feel so tantalized by the prospect of watching her change?), Jack started to set up the tools of his trade. His hands were shaking and he broke a couple of good-sized chunks off his drawing pencil before the rhythmic motion that he had done so often took over. And as his hands worked, his mind wandered.

Jack knew he wasn't ugly or a bore. In fact, he'd had more than a few offers to do more than draw some of the girls in Paris, but something had always held him back. He had often marveled at his reticence--it was not a common trait of artists, or of him, for that matter. He usually just went with the flow of things and saw where they led. Now he knew why he had always restrained himself. Some force--instinct, fate, God, whatever--had known about this moment and had prevented him from dallying with anyone else.

The door to Rose's room opened softly and Jack turned to gaze at her. She was wearing a beautiful silk kimono (how many clothes did she have?) and he could see the perfect form of her body underneath. So many women hid obesity or gauntness beneath their corsets, but Rose was perfectly shaped. His eyes drank in every inch of her. She moved slowly and oh-so-sensuously to where he sat. Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a china doll. As a paying customer, I expect to get what I want." She flipped him a dime--the payment he got for portraits in Santa Monica. He was amazed that she remembered so much of what he had told her about his life. Why did she care about him so much? Why had fate dealt him another great hand? But he didn't want to jinx his fantastic luck by questioning it too much.

Rose slowly untied the kimono and let it slide to the floor. Jack felt his eyes were going to leave his head for a closer view. She was amazing, fantastic, perfect...again, his mind simply could not come up with enough adjectives. He realized his mouth was hanging open and there was a hint of drool forming on the corner. He quickly chastised himself. "Jack, you've seen lots of naked women before. Get a hold of yourself and draw her. It's not that different, is it?" Quickly on the heels of that thought came another one, "Yes, it is. Because I've never been in love before."

Jack tried to speak and couldn't. He was just overawed. He wet his lips and tried again. "O-o-over there on the bed...couch," he managed to stammer. Rose slipped over to the elegant divan and lowered herself. She naturally arranged herself in a rather demure position, but her eyes were screaming "I want to be SEXY!" Her lips parted. "Tell me when it looks right to you."

The artist part of Jack's mind, the only part still even semi-functioning, asserted itself. "Put your arm back there where it was. And bring your other arm here, by your face." He indicated its position with his own arm. "Eyes to me, only on me. And try not to move." He took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and started to draw.

He began by sketching her position. The first lines are some of the most important--they give the whole drawing depth and proportion. This time, despite his nervousness and her beauty, the lines flowed easily and flawlessly into shape. His eyes drank up every line and curve of her body. She was flawlessly built--with just a hint of muscle showing through her abundant, smooth flesh. He had to concentrate very hard to get the drawing going well. Rose, who had been gazing admiringly at him suddenly said, "So serious," and chuckled a bit.

Jack realized his expression must have been awfully intent, although less than half of his attention was being devoted to the drawing. However, her soft laughter threatened to ruin the beginnings of the image he was crafting. "Keep your face relaxed," he cautioned her.

"Sorry," she said and sighed, trying hard not to move.

The initial outline done, Jack started in on the details. He began with her hands, always his favorite part of any drawing. She had such expressive hands. Jack noted and detailed every intricate feature of those young, soft hands. Those hands had never done a hard day's work, never been in soapy water, and never swung an ax. They were the hands of gentility.

As he worked his way down her body, Jack was enthralled by the combination of seamless beauty and wanton sultriness of Rose. Her eyes were filled with love, passion, excitement, a hint of fear, and blazon desire. Her full pouty lips were so eminently kissable and he fondly recalled the ecstasy and fire they had shared on the bow. As he moved to her throat, he fancied he could see the artery in her neck beating--he allowed himself a glance at her breasts and noticed the left one vibrating unnaturally. Could her heart be beating that strongly?

The fabulously expensive diamond got barely a cursory glance from Jack as he continued to survey Rose's body. Her milky white breasts danced perkily as she breathed and his pencil could not capture it all. But his eyes could. "I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing." Rose always knew his every thought. At that very moment, he had been imaging running his hands and his mouth over what only his pencil could touch now.

But he rallied gamely to the point. "He does landscapes." It even came out a touch wryly. She stifled another giggle, trying to stay still for Jack. He continued to fill in the other details of her body. Miraculously, considering his split attention and pounding heart, the drawing was going excellently. It was one of his best pieces ever, if not the best.

Each time he tried to really focus on the drawing, though, he found it didn't last. His hands were almost drawing of their own accord. His mind was nearly completely enthralled by what he was doing. He couldn't believe it. He could stare at her forever. But, it was not to be. In a far-too-short eternity, he was done. Stifling an urge to just look at her longer, he announced that it was complete.

He wanted nothing more than to take off his clothes and join her, but he forced himself back to calmness. Even though he felt her love for him, one too-adventurous move could cost him the best thing that he'd ever known. If patience was required to keep Rose, he was willing to wait an eternity.

Jack hoped Rose felt similarly. As she slowly rose and unkinked her delicate joints, Jack felt a sudden panic. What if she didn't like the picture? What if he'd already given away his overwhelming lust? What had he been thinking, getting so tied up with a woman worlds above him? He didn't belong in a first class suite with this heavenly creature.

But as she redonned the kimono and came to stand behind him to admire (whew, she did like it!) the picture, his mind fractured into pieces yet again. Part of him was disappointed she was clothed again, part was still dwelling on the memory of her, and part was completely dazzled by her touch and her warm breath.

"Date it, Jack. I want to always remember this night." Jack knew that he would remember this moment for the rest of his life. He had a feeling Rose would too.

The End.

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