TITANIC: A STORY TOLD
Chapter Thirty-Five
The third class general room was crowded and
alive with music, laughter, and raucous carrying on. An ad hoc band was
gathered near the upright piano, honking out lively stomping music on fiddle,
accordion, and tambourine. People of all ages were dancing, drinking beer and
wine, smoking, laughing, even brawling.
Tommy handed Rose a pint of stout and she
hoisted it. Jack meanwhile danced with 5-year-old Cora Cartmell, or tried to,
with her standing on his feet. As the tune ended, Rose leaned down to the
little girl.
"May I cut in, miss?"
"You’re still my best girl, Cora."
Cora scampered off. Rose and Jack faced each
other. She was trembling as he took her right hand in his left. His other hand
slid to the small of her back. It was an electrifying moment.
"I don’t know the steps."
"Just move with me. Don’t think."
The music started and they were off. A little
awkward at first, she started to get into it. She grinned at Jack as she
started to get the rhythm of the steps.
"Wait...stop!"
She bent down, pulling off her high heeled
shoes, and flung them to Tommy. Then she grabbed Jack and they plunged back
into the fray, dancing faster as the music sped up.
The scene was rowdy and rollicking. A table
got knocked over as a drunk crashed into it. And in the middle of it...Rose
danced with Jack in her stocking feet. The steps were fast and she shone with
sweat. A space opened around them, and people watched them, clapping as the
band played faster and faster.
For Fabrizio and Helga, dancing had obviated
the need for a common language. He whirled her, then she responded by whirling
him...Fabrizio’s eyes went wide when he realized she was stronger than he was.
The tune ended in a mad rush. Jack stepped
away from Rose with a flourish, allowing her to take a bow. Exhilarated and
slightly tipsy, she did a graceful ballet plie, feet turned out perfectly.
Everyone laughed and applauded. Rose was a hit with the steerage folks, who had
never had a lady party with them.
They moved to a table, flushed and sweaty.
Rose grabbed Fabrizio’s cigarette and took a big drag. She was feeling cocky.
Fabrizio was grinning, holding hands with Helga.
"How you two doin’?"
"I don’t know what she’s say, she don’t
know what I say, so we get along fine."
Tommy walked up with a pint for each of them.
Rose chugged hers, showing off.
"You think a first class girl can’t
drink?"
Everybody else was dancing again, and Bjorn
Gundersen crashed into Tommy, who sloshed his beer over Rose’s dress. She
laughed, not caring. But Tommy lunged, grabbing Bjorn and wheeling him around.
"You stupid bastard!"
Bjorn came around, his fists coming up...and
Jack leapt into the middle of it, pushing them apart.
"Boys, boys! Did I ever tell you the one
about the Swede and the Irishman goin’ to the whorehouse?"
Tommy stood there, all piss and vinegar,
chest puffed up. Then he grinned and clapped Bjorn on the shoulder.
"So, you think you’re big tough men?
Let’s see you do this."
In her stocking feet she assumed a ballet
stance, arms raised, and went up on point, taking her entire weight on the tips
of her toes. The guys gaped at her incredible muscle control. She came back
down, then her face screwed up in pain. She grabbed one foot, hopping around.
"Ow! I haven’t done that in years."
Jack caught her as she lost her balance, and
everyone cracked up.
The door to the well deck was open a few
inches as Lovejoy watched through the gap. He saw Jack holding Rose, both of
them laughing.
Lovejoy closed the door.