TITANIC: A STORY TOLD
Chapter Fifteen
In stark contrast to steerage, the so-called
"Millionaire Suite" was in the Empire style, and comprised two
bedrooms, a bath, WC, wardrobe room, and a large sitting room. In addition
there was a private 50-foot promenade deck outside.
A room service waiter poured champagne into a
tulip glass of orange juice and handed the Bucks Fizz to Rose. She was looking
through her new paintings. There was a Monet of water lilies, a Degas of
dancers, and a few abstract works. They were all unknown paintings...lost
works.
Cal was out on the covered deck, which had
potted trees and vines on trellises, talking through the doorway to Rose in the
sitting room.
"Those finger paintings were certainly a
waste of money."
Rose looked at a cubist portrait. "The
difference between Cal’s taste in art and mine is that I have some. They’re
fascinating. Like being inside a dream or something...there’s truth but no
logic. What’s his name again?" She read off the canvas.
"Picasso."
Cal came into the sitting room. "He’ll
never amount to a thing, trust me. At least they were cheap."
A porter wheeled Cal’s private safe into the
room on a hand truck.
"Put that in the wardrobe," Cal
instructed him.
In the bedroom Rose entered with the large
Degas of the dancers. She set it on the dresser, near the canopy bed. Trudy was
already in there, hanging up some of Rose’s clothes.
"It smells so brand new. Like they built
it all just for us. I mean...just to think that tonight, when I crawl between
the sheets, I’ll be the first--"
Cal appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.
Looking at Rose, he commented, "And when I crawl between the sheets
tonight, I’ll still be the first."
Trudy blushed at the innuendo. "S’cuse
me, Miss."
She edged around Cal and made a quick exit.
Cal came up behind Rose and put his hands on her shoulders. An act of
possession, not intimacy.
"The first and only. Forever."
Rose’s expression showed how bleak a prospect
this was for her, now.