THE TRANSITION FROM THE FIRST CLASS DINNER TO THE THIRD CLASS PARTY
Written by Doug Kuhlman
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron.

Jack's heart had slowed down to its normal pace. He'd been very nervous about coming. The tuxedo Molly had lent him both increased and decreased his anxiety. On the one hand, he fit in much better, so people weren't staring. On the other hand, he didn't feel like himself; he felt like an impostor, a spy, and a fake.

His actions, though, were completely his own. Yes, he'd tried to fit in, but he still didn't buy into the upper-class mentality. His answers to Rose's mother's questions were completely from his heart. He didn't care about impressing anyone at the meal. They could all drown in their opulence for all he cared. Well, everybody except Rose could.

The looks he and Rose had exchanged through the meal were one thing. Nobody could guess the amount of communication they had had through glances, surreptitious motions, and winks. It seemed every time he looked in her direction, she was staring at him. No one else seemed to notice, though. The clincher, in Jack's mind, had been the toast she had offered, "To making it count." The look in his direction at that point could not be misinterpreted, could it?

He needed to know if Rose meant those words or if she was as shallow as the strutting martinets around her. He trusted that she did truly mean and believe them. Nevertheless, as he borrowed a pen from Molly (who had been invaluable in helping him not humiliate himself during the meal), his heart started pounding again.

As the meal had progressed, he had become less the center of attention, so it wasn't too difficult to steal a moment to himself to write the note he had composed a few seconds earlier. He slipped the pen back to Molly, who commented, "Boy, I didn't realize you were gonna be a mongoose in this pit. Just don't get too audacious. Even a mongoose can die."

Rose's hushed voice grabbed his attention. "Now it will be cigars and brandy in the smoking room."

True to her prediction, Colonel Gracie arose and announced, "Who wants to join me in the smoking room?"

Rose grimaced as though she'd seen this boring routine so many times she could recite it in her sleep. He didn't know that she had done so in her nightmares for months. She whispered again, "Now they'll retreat into a cloud of smoke and congratulate themselves on being masters of the universe."

As the rest of the men stood to leave, Gracie asked, "Joining us, Dawson? You don't want to stay with the ladies, do you?" Apparently, Rose had not been the only one infected by his good nature. Andrews, too, looked like he would enjoy a little more of Jack's company.

Jack, brash as he was, knew that was not an option. Even he could not get away with that. He had a different plan in mind, though. "No, I should be getting back."

Cal, whose icy demeanor had only gotten harder through the evening, smiled, but only with his mouth. "Probably best. It'll be all business and politics, that sort of thing. Wouldn't interest you. Good of you to come, though." Jack neatly caught both the underlying hatred and his matchbook. Any nagging doubts he had about stealing the love of someone else's fiancé disappeared in that instant. This man had no right to the heart of anyone.

So, with the last pangs of conscience erased, Jack put his plan into action. One of the myriad of ways he had experimented with earning money in the last few years was as a magician. He had learned many tricks of sleight-of-hand and a few other things. Normally, licking his fingers would have been necessary to help the paper stick, but he found his hands were sweaty enough not to need the additional moisture.

The only question was how to get the note into Rose's hand. As his mind surveyed the last two hours, the light dawned. She asked, "Must you go?" as her mother's eyes continued to assassinate him from where she sat. She reminded him of a wounded animal, frightened, but ready to pounce. She suspected danger to her child.

He replied jokingly, "Time for to go row with the other slaves" (which wouldn't have been too bad of an option, he thought. Certainly it would have been better than more of this suffocation.) Then, he kissed her hand again, as he had done on the landing of the great staircase. As he did so, he pressed the note firmly into her hand.

As he left, he allowed himself one glance back. The look on her face was enough to tell him that she had noticed the note, but he couldn't tell more than that. He was certainly intrigued by this gorgeous, upper-class girl who saw past his clothes and past to the person. He just wasn't sure he had seen the person hiding behind her expensive clothes and corsets.

He walked slowly to the clock, vowing he wouldn't wait more than ten minutes for her to come. He had friends in steerage and he knew of a party planned for that evening. He was already late, and he didn't want to miss the whole thing.

Still perched on her seat in the dining room, Rose excitedly opened the note. Her eyes scanned the hastily scrawled message. "Make it count. Meet me at the clock." Jack was so bold, so forceful, so different from anyone else she knew. Rose felt her breath coming in short gulps. He had such an effect on her.

Her first thought was to leap up and catch him before he even got to the clock, but her strict training stopped her. A cold, calculating part of her mind reminded her that he had no money, that he annoyed her, that he could be dangerous. What did she really know about him? She was safe and comfortable and well-provided for by Cal. How could she give that up?

The impetuous part of her nature asserted itself then. Prisoners also have food, beds, and warmth. "I'm no better off than I would be in jail," she thought to herself. Jack was handsome, devilish, and seemed to genuinely care about her as a person, not just as a pretty bauble to show off at parties. Yes, it was frightening, but it was more exhilarating than anything else she had ever done.

The fight was almost over before it had begun. A few minutes passed as the idle babble from the other women wafted over her without touching her. Slowly, but inevitably, passion overrode security and she began to try to figure a way to leave the dining room without arousing suspicion.

It was Molly Brown who provided the opportunity. "Honey, are you OK?" Rose noticed the conversation had stopped and everyone was looking at her. Wracking her brain, she thought someone might have asked a question of her, but she hadn't heard it at all. "Maybe you ought to get back to your room."

Rose looked at Molly appraisingly. Outwardly, Molly appeared to be simply concerned with Rose's physical well being. The timing of the question, so soon after her decision, though, showed a sly side to the big woman. Molly nodded so quickly that Rose thought she had only imagined it. "Go to him," was the message.

With all her doubt finally erased, Rose tried not to let her relief show too clearly in her voice. "Yes, I think you're right." As her mother rose to come with her, Rose motioned her back down. "I will be fine. Trudy can take care of me. I'm still just a little spooked from last night is all." How much truth was in those words!

It took every ounce of training Rose had acquired in finishing school to stop her from running or skipping out to meet Jack. It would have ruined her excuse for leaving and brought down the wrath and curiosity of everyone in the room.

When she arrived at the clock almost twenty minutes after Jack had, he turned before she even got there, as if he knew where she was at all times. His eyes gleamed. "So, do you want to go to a real party?"

This was the true test of Rose in Jack's mind. He hoped that getting her away from the strictures and mores of her crowd would let him see the real Rose. He could not and would not change his entire life just for one girl, no matter how much she lingered in his mind.

As they slowly strolled the rest of the way through the opulent quarters of the ship, Jack wondered how Rose would react to the party. He hoped she would find the music and the laughter contagious. He had judged that she was not typical among the girls of first-class, but he wasn't always right in his judgments. And when he missed, he usually was way off the mark.

He also pondered how his friends would react to seeing him arrive with Rose on his arm. The looks on Tommy and Fabrizio's faces when she had come to get him that afternoon had been priceless, worth more than even Rose's engagement ring. Still, that wasn't as important to him as how Rose felt.

Rose's quiet voice broke him out of his reverie. "I was afraid you would already be gone."

Jack had indeed almost left, but he'd not quite been able to drag himself away. "I knew it wouldn't be easy for you to get away." He hesitated a bit before adding more quietly. "I was afraid you weren't coming." He found it very difficult to meet her eyes after that.

They both were lost in their own thoughts again for a few steps. Then the number of people around them grew and discouraged too open a discussion. Jack was quite content to just stroll with Rose, who seemed equally as happy, albeit a little more apprehensive.

As they reached the gate that separated the first-class parts of the ship from third class, a steward met them. "Some ruffian from steerage came through here earlier today. He was all dressed up so he could get through. No doubt he's off stealing something very valuable," he said with disdain in his voice, "so if you go through, you will need your ticket to get back through. White Star Lines apologizes to you for any inconvenience this may cause."

Jack looked to Rose and started to say, "Maybe you should go back to get that," but her hand stopped him short.

"Very well," she said regally to the steward, "we both have the tickets that we need."

She answered Jack's questioning look a few steps later. "I brought my ticket with me to supper," she mouthed conspiratorially. "You never know what hand you're going to get dealt, right?" She grinned mischievously.

Jack looked at her with newfound respect. She planned for the future, took risks, and really listened to what he had to say. From what he knew of rich girls, most of them had the intelligence of a horse and the foresight of a doorknob. Rose was certainly something special.

The change in the ship was dramatic as they passed deeper into the steerage section. Titanic was the grandest ship ever built and even the third-class accommodations were far superior to the best rooms of scant years earlier. But the walls were not painted as well. The hallways were narrower. The gold gilt so prevalent in the upper-class sections was nowhere to be found.

The other changes were less conspicuous, if no less meaningful. The far-off sound of children crying and laughing replaced the harmony of the band. The air acquired the distinctive undertone of unwashed bodies. The click of their shoes echoed back through the labyrinthine corridors.

Rose suddenly turned to Jack and asked, "What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Living here. What's it really like?"

"It's hard to describe, Rose. It's so different from your world, but it's really the same." Jack was struggling to put the words together more than he had the whole dinner. He knew it was because she was really listening to what he had to say, not just taunting him like a half-tamed cur. "We eat, drink, smoke, talk, and have fun. What's it like living back there all the time?" Jack jerked his head back in the direction from which they had come.

Rose laughed. "Pretty much the same, except we're not supposed to have fun. It would be unseemly."

All too soon, they were at the door leading to the party. Jack turned to Rose and spoke over the music. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Rose looked at him with trust brimming in her eyes. "I want to see your world, Jack. I want to feel the strength of emotions you feel. I want to witness a different life." Her look added, "I want to spend more time with you."

"OK. Just don't let go of my hand." They took a deep breath, opened the door, and descended the stairs.

Well, they tried to descend the stairs, but the stares from the people at the bottom stopped them in their tracks. Some of the dancers caught sight of them and stopped, too. Like a ripple spreading across a millpond, the quiet grew deafening until only the spoons of one musician were still playing. Then he stopped, too. All eyes were on the gentleman intruder and his lady friend.

Someone in the crowd growled quietly, "What's your kind doing here?" The question was a mix of distrust, resentment, and curiosity. A few heads nodded assent.

Jack was completely flabbergasted. He'd only been on board a few days, but he knew a lot of people. He even recognized some of the bobbing heads. Why didn't they recognize him? What was "their kind?" A quick glance down at his outfit revealed the perfectly pressed tuxedo, highly polished shoes, and realization dawned in Jack's mind.

It was Cora Cartmell, though, who first broke the ice. "Jack, you promised me a dance." Most people are born with the ability to look past clothes, past appearances, past all the superficial things to see the true person. As we age, we lose that ability, but Cora was young enough that she still could recognize anyone by who they were, not what they wore.

"Jack?"

"Yes, it's me," he said, a little amazed that just his clothing could bias people so. As he saw recognition blooming on the faces around the room he added, "Can't I bring a date?"

Hundreds of eyes now focused on Rose to see how a fine lady would react to such a comment, but she barely even noticed. She was staring at Jack hopefully and grinning. That freed everyone else to laugh and the party quickly resumed.

Under the cover of the laughter, Rose leaned near enough to Jack to ask, "Is this really a date?"

Jack looked back at her. "I don't know. Is it?"

Jack guided Rose down the stairs and across the dance floor to a pair of open seats. Tommy had been banging away at the piano, but he stopped and made his away over to where Jack sat. Fabri hoped he'd communicated to Helga that he would be right back and also made a beeline for the newly arrived couple.

They all arrived at the spot at the same time and Tommy grabbed Jack roughly and spun him around. He then knelt behind Jack and started punching his rear-end. "Where the heck are those dang angels?" Fabrizio, Jack, and Tommy all had a good laugh while Rose looked on with curiosity.

"It's a long story. I'll tell you later," Jack promised Rose. He then turned to his friends. "Fabri, Tommy, may I present Miss Rose DeWitt...what was that moniker again?"

"Rose DeWitt Bukater."

"Right. Rose DeWitt Bukater. Rose, this is my best friend Fabrizio di Rossi and my fellow slave Tommy Ryan."

"Pleased to meet you, gentlemen."

Fabrizio shook his head. "We ain't gentlemen, just men."

Tommy nodded his agreement as he shook her hand. "But it's a pleasure to meet a lady such as yourself, Miss DeWitt Bukater." You could hear the struggle in his voice as he tried to sound a little bit sophisticated.

"Oh, please, just call me Rose. I'm not interested in being a lady tonight."

Fabri shook her hand, too. "Excuse me, miss, but I've got someone else waiting for me, too, I hope. Very nice to meet you, though. And watch out for Jack, he's got more lucks than a fox with a private entrance to la hen house." He then sped away to try to find Helga again.

Jack and Rose took advantage of a pair of open seats. Jack removed his jacket, his tie, and loosened his collar. Rose tried to slouch, but the corset she wore made it impossible. She perched as comfortably as she could in the hard wooden chair.

Cora made her way in front of them and, with her hands firmly on her hips, demanded petulantly, "Aren't we going to dance?"

Jack glanced at Rose and caught her quick glimmer of assent. He rose, bowed deeply to her, and said, "Of course, my darling. It would be an honor." He even took her hand and kissed the back gently, (hey, why mess with a good thing?) getting his desired reaction--a quick blush and a giggle.

As he danced with her, though, he found his eyes often traveling to Rose. She was clapping and enjoying herself, seemingly at ease despite the unfamiliar surroundings. In fact, she looked more relaxed here than she had at dinner. Perhaps she really wasn't a spoiled brat. She certainly seemed to have more heart and emotion than he had expected.

Jack knew better than to judge on looks. Rose certainly was beautiful, but seeing her alone, like a solitary pillar still standing in a Roman ruin, and then seeing her fire while talking her off the back of the ship told Jack that she was more than what she seemed. He would test her again once this song was done. He just knew she would be more than up to the challenge.

The End.

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