TITANIC ROSE
Chapter Thirty-Six
"Mrs. Calvert. Mrs. Calvert?"
The director stood over her, fidgeting uncomfortably as she sobbed. "Mrs.
Calvert, what’s wrong? What did the letter say?"
Rose didn’t answer him, but
instead put her head down on the table she had been using to write her letter.
The ink from her letter ran as her tears fell on it, mixing with her heavy
makeup and staining her cheek an odd shade of blue. Finally, she choked out,
"I want my mother…"
"Mrs. Calvert…" The
director sighed. "What did the letter say?"
Rose kicked the telegram towards
him. "Please find my mother."
The director picked the crumpled
telegram up, reading the message, then turned and spoke quietly to an
assistant. A moment later, the assistant hurried off, heading for the costuming
department to find Ruth.
The woman who did Rose’s makeup
came over, gently coaxing her to lift her head. "Now, Mrs. Calvert, look
what a mess your face is…but I have just the thing to remove this ink. We’ll
have this fixed in no time…"
"Go away," Rose
mumbled, her shoulders shaking. "Go away!"
"Mrs. Calvert…" The
director spoke quietly. "We’re on a tight shooting schedule here, as you
know…"
"Leave me alone!" Rose
snapped, turning her tear-streaked face to look at him. "I’m not working
today. Now, go get my mother like I told you!"
The director looked a little
taken aback. He was used to actors who showed up late, delayed shooting, and
complained that things weren’t right, but Rose wasn’t usually one of them.
"Mrs. Calvert, I’m aware that you’ve just suffered a tragedy…"
"Then why don’t you act like
it? Where’s your heart?"
"Mrs. Calvert…" The
director stopped, not sure what to do. It was true that he was over budget and
that the filming had run far longer than expected, but he’d had actors called
away to the war, and actresses who had dropped out for reasons similar to
Rose’s. This time, though, Rose was his star, and he couldn’t simply scream at
her, threaten her, or force the issue. She obviously wasn’t going to work at
the moment, and if he tried to force her to do so, she might go so far as to
walk away from the whole picture, and if she did, he could kiss it good-bye.
There had been too many problems already. His reputation for being both
brilliant and difficult was well-deserved, but his star was just as stubborn as
he was, as he was now finding out.
He was distracted for a moment by
the return of his assistant, Myrtle Sinclair following after him. He turned on
the man, his eyes boring into the young woman behind him.
"Jimmy, I told you to bring
Mrs. DeWitt Bukater, not…whoever this is."
"Her name’s Myrtle Sinclair,
and she’s a friend of Mrs. Calvert’s. Mrs. DeWitt Bukater is working on a set
in another part of the city. She’ll be here as soon as she can."
Rose was hunched over the table.
No longer crying, she just stared blankly at the rough wood, not looking up
until Myrtle placed a hand on her shoulder. "Rose? Rose, what
happened?"
Rose jumped, startled, and looked
up at Myrtle, her eyes red and her face pinched with misery. "It’s
Thomas," she told her dully, her voice quivering. "I got a
telegram…"
"Oh, Rose…" Myrtle sat
down next to her, putting a comforting arm around her. "Rose, I’m so
sorry…"
Rose nodded, leaning her head
wearily on Myrtle’s shoulder, her tears flowing anew. "I knew something
was going to happen, but I never thought it would be this…"
Myrtle just hugged her and rocked
her as a mother would a child.
*****
Ruth arrived about half an hour
later. She hurried onto the set, her eyes searching for her daughter. When she
saw her, she was at her side in an instant.
"Rose…Rose, what happened?
Mr. Brockman called the set I was working at twenty minutes ago and said that
something had happened to you, and that I needed to come right away, but he
didn’t say what. Rose, what is it? What happened?"
Rose lifted her tear-streaked
face to look at her mother. "I got a telegram."
Ruth’s hand flew to her mouth.
"Thomas?"
Rose nodded miserably.
"Yes."
"What did it say?"
"It said…it said…" Rose
choked, picking up the crumpled paper and handing it to her mother.
Ruth read it, her eyes widening.
"He’s missing in action and presumed dead? Oh, Rose…I’m so sorry…"
Rose clung to her. "I…I knew
that something was going to happen, but I never expected it to be this.
I’d hoped…hoped that it wouldn’t be something very bad…a broken arm, or…or trenchfoot,
or something…but I prayed I wouldn’t lose him…"
"Rose, you don’t know for
sure that you’ve lost him. They didn’t find a body, so he could be alive
somewhere."
"I knew that something was
going to happen, Mother. I’ve known it for a long time." Rose’s voice was
dull and quiet now.
"You couldn’t have known,
Rose."
"Yes, I did. I knew, and…I
let him go to war anyway. I should have forced him to stay home…done something
that would have made it impossible for him to fight, or…or something. He would
have been better off in jail than…than this."
"Rose, you can’t blame
yourself. This is wartime. These things…these things happen. You had no way of
knowing how things would turn out."
Rose looked up at her, her mouth
trembling. "Yes, I did. I knew that something bad was going to
happen."
"How did you know?"
Rose turned away, knowing that
neither Ruth nor Myrtle, nor any of the cast and crew who were pretending not
to listen, would understand about Jack’s visits to her after his death.
"I just did. It was…intuition,
I suppose."
Inwardly, she cried out. Jack!
Jack, why did you leave me alone to face this? You were wrong. I’m not strong
enough. I don’t know what I’ll do…now that I’ve lost both of you.