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

Despite Jack's bewilderment about his relationship with Rose, he was excited by the thought of doing more activities with her. Revisiting the pier in Santa Monica would be wonderful. "No, we'll do it," he assured her. He was certainly very willing. He listed the other highlights of his time there, plus some new attractions that had been promised. "We'll drink cheap beer. We'll ride on the roller coaster 'til we throw up. Then we'll ride horses on the beach...right in the surf..." Watching Rose's face aglow with his descriptions, he once again threw caution to the foam trailing behind the ship. "Now, but you'll have to do it like a real cowboy, none of that side-saddle stuff."

This caught her completely off guard. She nearly stammered in her surprise. "You...you mean one leg on each side?" Her expression was a curious mix of longing to get let off the hook and an adventurous spirit daring him to challenge her.

For Jack, there was no decision about which to do. "Yeah."

She, too, seemed to have little deciding to do. Instead of looking for a way out, she simply asked, "Can you show me?" The daring bravado this showed stirred a secret spot in Jack's soul.

He smiled as he acquiesced to her. "Sure. If you like." He would be more than happy to show her how. His mind wandered briefly to the necessary physical contact of demonstrating a new riding technique. His hand on her thigh, gently pushing to illustrate how to push; assisting her onto the horse in the only way possible...he snapped out of it quickly, as he realized what he was fantasizing. Her use of "we" didn't allow those kinds of liberties! She surely would find another way.

Rose grinned at a completely different line of thought. It was obvious from her enthusiasm that riding that way was among the multitude of opportunities that had been denied her. "Teach me to ride like a man." She spoke as though she were trying to imitate a cowgirl. Jack didn't think much of her accent, having heard real wild women speak, but it was a fair imitation of an actress emulating a cowgirl.

He responded in his cowboy accent. "And chew tobacco like a man."

Rose was caught up in the moment. "And," she screwed up her face at the thought, "spit like a man!"

Jack affected surprise. "What? They didn't teach you that at finishing school?" In his mind, he could see a class of fine girls all dudded up in their fancies lined up to spit. The class would fit neatly between dining etiquette lessons and hairdressing. A veteran graduate of both "Spitting 202: Perfecting the Substance" and "Spitting 301: Judging the Wind" would be standing by watching, just shaking her head. In perfect unison, the row of girls would throw their heads back, lean forward while sweeping their elegant skirts back to launch their lavish lugees. It was so absurd that he couldn't laugh.

Rose was apparently sharing a similar vision. The volume of her "No-o-o" sank and soared as bubbles of mirth escaped the cork of refinement she used to keep it confined.

He could not let an opportunity like this pass him by. Rose had been amenable to most of his suggestions, so here was another harmless diversion. "Well, come on," he said brightly, trying to leave no room for a denial. "I'll show you. Let's do it."

Her years of poise and speech training never had a chance. She tried to protest, but the shock was too great. Her mouth opened, but she seemed unable to corral it properly to make it respond to her will. She forcibly dragged it closed again, before she could regain control. She started to demur, but she only got "What..." out before her well-trained verbal skills checked out anew.

Jack didn't miss his opportunity. "I'll show you how," he encouraged again. Grabbing her arm, he half-dragged her only partially resisting body toward the side of the ship--a perfect spot for spitting. As she tried to protest again, he countered with a firm, "Come on!"

A moment later the spell was broken. Rose's smile and expression were imploring Jack to continue his path; her words took an opposite approach "Jack. No! Jack, no! Wait, Jack. I..." The firmness of her words seeped out with each step they took. "No, Jack. I couldn't possibly, Jack." Her body took the middle route--seeming to be torn between the enthusiasm of her countenance and the reticence of her words.

Barely noticing her protests, he continued to gently tug her toward a new experience. He noticed the frequent use of his name--but only peripherally. He also overrode her words with his own call of, "Come on. Come on. Come on."

Then they had reached the side of the boat. Rose looked pleased--as if she had her cake (after all, she was having fun and doing what she really wanted to do) and ate it, too (by protesting, however feebly, she had maintained her decorum). The sun was less brilliant here, but the ocean stretched away for countless miles a great distance below them. It was the perfect location for spitting--high, with no breeze to contend with, and with no chance to hit another passenger.

Before spitting, Jack gave his first attempt at a lesson. "Watch closely," was all he said before rearing back, clearing his throat, and letting fly with a great wad of phlegm.

Rose's voice had only an olive of distaste swimming in a martini of awe. "That's disgusting!" Her face was shining with the adventure of doing something forbidden, with a strange man, but still being entirely safe.

"All right. Your turn." Jack turned to watch his new favorite playmate spit. Having never been around high-class people before, he had seen very little done demurely. Spitting, especially, seemed to call for a brash approach. However, as Rose's head darted from side-to-side, like a caged animal who suddenly noticed its door was open and was afraid someone would discover it, the only word to describe her attempt would be demure.

She had no mass to her spit. It was merely saliva from her mouth. In fact, had she not been so concerned with keeping her face and clothes clean, it would probably have not even cleared her body.

Rarely one to keep his opinions quiet, Jack gave his verdict. "That was pitiful!" He tried to coach her through the actions as he did them. "Come on...you really gotta hawk it back, ya know..." Then he demonstrated. "HHHNNNK!" Rose nodded as he continued his instruction. "Get some leverage to it. Use your arms. Arc your neck..." His actions had mimicked his instruction. He let fly with another tremendous wad of spit--easily clearing the railing and landing several yards from the ship seventy feet below. "There, now. You see the range on that thing?" Again she nodded so he encouraged her to try again. "OK. Go."

She went through the steps he had described, but with significantly less comfort and ease than he had. Each stage was still timid as she gingerly tested her newfound freedom. However, this globule was much improved from her first effort.

Jack commented on it. "Ah...that was better."

Rose's quick reply of "Really?" caught him flat-footed, though. She actually cared what he, a nearly penniless, insignificant, no-name artist, thought. His opinion mattered to her like it never had to anyone else before. It was quite a startling revelation.

While that thought was creeping its way from subconsciousness to consciousness, Jack continued to expound on his topic. "You gotta work on it." Rose nodded happily, pleased to have pleased him but not at all shaken by his gentle rebuke. An incredibly brief moment passed as he decided what to comment on first. Truly, it was the raw substance to be launched. "You really gotta hawk it up. Get some body to it, you know? Gotta HHHNNKKK!"

Rose had started tapping his arm. As he reared back, her gentle prodding became an urgent tug. He spun around to face three women--all obviously first-class. One was smiling good-naturedly. She was the shortest of the three, but heavy-set. The middle woman looked young but had a face that could have been used to carve marble. He quickly moved his gaze to the last of three and promptly wished he hadn't. Her glare was ice-cold and directed firmly at him. The chill reached deep into him, despite the pleasant clime of the day.

Rose was equally affected. Her posture became even more erect, which Jack hadn't realized was possible. Her tone changed instantly to become more sonorous and lilting. "Mother!" She promenaded sedately toward the ice woman. "May I introduce Jack Dawson?"

"Charmed, I'm sure." The gaze got even more frigid, but the tone of her voice was enough to give the sun frostbite. He looked away to the rotund woman who casually, but meaningfully, rubbed a gloved index finger against her chin. Jack instantly recognized her motive and wiped some errant spittle off his chin, causing her grin to widen even further.

Rose hid her astonishment well. "I was just tendering my thanks to him." The others didn't seem to understand, so she explained. "I have a lot to thank him for. He saved my life last night. If it weren't for him, I would have fallen off the back of the ship. He managed to grab me just as I was falling."

The two women directly opposite him seemed to doubt the validity of the story, but the nice one took the story at face value. "Well, Jack, it sounds like you're a good man to have around in a sticky spot--" She didn't get a chance to finish as the sound of a bugle blared mere feet behind them, startling all four of them.

Apparently his newfound ally shared his sense of humor. Seizing the opportunity, she joked, "Why do they insist on always announcing dinner like a damn cavalry charge?"

Rose chuckled politely at her comment. He was struck by the difference between this laugh and the multitude he had heard from her earlier. She seemed quite different under the baleful stare of her mother. Walking away from him, she spoke to the ice-woman, "Shall we go dress, mother?" As they paraded regally away, Rose looked back at him over her shoulder. "See you at dinner, Jack." Her voice held hope and command. Stone-face walked away with them, too, leaving him alone with his newest benefactor.

He waved inanely at Rose's departing figure, well aware that he looked like a foolish schoolboy but not really caring. The tone of the portly woman changed as her peers left. She spoke sharply to him, demanding his attention. "Son. Son! Do you have the slightest comprehension of what you're doing?"

As her words sank in, Jack had to shake his head ruefully. It had been a magical afternoon, but he had no idea what it really meant. He admitted the fact cheerfully. "Not really."

The woman looked at him full in the eye, to make sure of having his attention. She had a certain presence that was difficult to ignore or deny. "Well, you're about to go into the snake pit. I hope you're ready." Her gaze traveled critically up and down his body, taking in every inch of his bedraggled appearance and unwashed body. "What are you planning to wear?"

Jack looked down at his clothes and then back up at her. He shrugged painfully. He had never considered that. He thought he would just wear what he always wore. He really didn't have much choice. However, her strict stare made him realize how naive and foolish that would be.

She shook her head ruefully. "Shh...I figured. Come on." Jack suffered himself to be led away by this woman, obviously wealthy but cut from a different cloth than the others. He really saw no other option.

The End.

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