Can't Dream Without You

Chapter One

The air was pleasantly warm, a nice contrast to the overwhelming heat that had beat down on them during the day. It was likely cooler because of the rain, which had long since cleared out and made way for that wonderful smell from the grass and dampened dirt. Popping a cigarette into his mouth, he immediately became aware of the soft fragrance of unlit tobacco, a sweetness that in and of itself made him want to light the damn thing, even if the taste was nothing like the smell. He fumbled for the lighter in his pocket, trying at the same time to keep a firm grasp on his walking stick, and finally managed to lift it and open it.

It clicked as he activated it and he puffed liberally as he held the flame to his cigarette until smoke flowed from his nose and the corner of his mouth. He replaced the lighter and used his now free hand to withdraw the little white stick, blowing out a stream of blue-gray matter, and he watched it dance off into the darkness of the night. It collected into the familiar shape of a familiar woman and danced far off into the black of the park that he was walking in, leaving him struck by the vision, standing on the pavement with the hand holding his smoke high in the air, poised to lower to his mouth.

Cal was no stranger to these sudden reminders of his wife, they would sneak up on him in the office, at home and apparently even here, in the park on his walk home from work. And it always struck him oddly, like a blow to his chest. The cigarette seemed like a hindrance now that his breath had become so shallow, but he did not waste it. Instead, he lowered his hand to his side and continued walking, now having forgotten his original cheery disposition. Now he was locked deep within the vaults of his own mind.

After all, this week marked two years of marriage, and Cal already felt like he couldn't call them blissful years. There had of course been moments of bliss, the wedding itself, and those few, brief moments when he had Rose to himself and she was comfortable being his. He had even managed to see her career choice in a positive light, and had given up his rights to inheriting Hockley Steel to his younger brother, Alistair, so he could pursue work producing the films that she was starring in. At first, Rose had seen it as a way for him to control her more closely, but she had become more agreeable to the idea, it seemed.

The house was in view now, the nearest chimney in view smoking. That meant she was awake, still. He smiled at the sight and finally took a few more long drags on the cigarette until it was burnt too far down. He smashed it on the sidewalk on the way up to the little manor on the hill, and approached the door. Mr. Johnson, his butler, opened the door for him, and took his hat and walking stick, and set them over on the hooks near the foyer door. He took his jacket then, and once Cal had managed to worm his way out of it, he turned to the older man. "Johnson, is my wife awake?"

"Mrs. Hockley is in the sitting room, sir."

He had known the answer and had asked to be polite. Nodding, he dismissed the man to bed and walked into the office nearby for a glass of brandy, which he took with him to the sitting room a few doors away. The light was dim, but warm, and Rose was sitting on the couch across the room near a lamp with a book in her lap. She was curled up contentedly, with her head resting against her curled fist, her elbow propped on the arm of the couch. Cal took a sip of his brandy and strolled casually across the room, smiling when Rose looked up at him with interested eyes.

"I didn't expect you back this early," She said softly, setting the book aside to stand. Her dressing robe was silky and black, covering a white nightgown. They had brought it from England after he had purchased it for her in Beijing during their engagement. His eyes flicked to her face when she approached to slip her arms around him and press a kiss to his cheek. "I imagine that means that the meeting went well."

"Well enough," He confirmed softly, kissing her in return before he allowed her to tiptoe back to the couch. "I've negotiated the release, now we're just waiting on marketing to get their acts together," He took a seat near her. "What are you reading?"

"Nothing special," She admitted. "Nothing film worthy, at least."

Cal quirked his head to better see the book cover and he scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't know why you read every book that comes out on the Titanic, Rose. They must all be the exact same thing. It sailed, it sank. The end."

She shrugged. "I just…wonder what would have happened if you hadn't been ill that week, if we had been on that ship, whether we would have survived."

"Of course we would have Rose, all the important people on that ship survived."

"Not JJ Astor. Or Benjamin Guggenheim."

Cal grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck, sighing deeply. "Touché," He responded, scooting so he was pressing against her. He laid his head against her arm and she glanced down at him with a quirked brow, shifting to lay his head in her lap. "Tell me what the doctor said again."

She sighed, having had this conversation several times already. "He said I was perfectly healthy and that these things take time sometimes."

Cal nodded, shifting to sit up so he could set his glass on the coffee table. "Well I'm off to bed. Coming?"

"In a minute," She replied softly. He glanced over at her, noted the way her hair was draped in a thick tied lump on her shoulder. He watched her to make sure she wasn't avoiding bed because something was wrong, then he nodded and leaned to press a kiss to her cheek.

He left the room in a few scraping steps, and Rose ran a hand over her book cover and then set it aside, leaning to twist the lamp off. When the room was dark except for the moonlight creeping into the windows, she stood and swept off up the stairs to join him.

"C'mon, I just want to spend the night…"

"I'm sorry, but we're all booked up." The old woman had seen too many men like him over the years. Young, broke, starry eyed. She had a house full of them right now. "Mrs. Hatfield might have some room across town."

"I tried there, I just walked here from there." He sighed, whipping off his hat to rub at his scalp. "Thanks anyway." Jack Dawson was used to being shot down. He was used to sleeping on the streets and he was certainly used to the look the woman had given him when he had walked into her boarding house. He would have thought that all of that wouldn't bother him, but alas, it still did.

He was going to stroll out when someone gasped and he and the woman turned to look at a younger woman who had just come down the stairs. "You! You're that man!" Oh, Lord. He had to get out of there before this turned ugly. "Oh Mrs. Millston, this is that man from the newspaper! The one that helped save all of those people on Titanic!"

Realization dawned on Jack and he shoved his hands into his pockets, ducking his gaze. "Look I never made a big deal outta that, those were my guys that would have gotten killed. We certainly had time on our hands so we built some rafts…" He turned to leave and the woman caught up with him, startling him quite a bit.

"Please don't take off. My name is Lewella Johnson, my husband is a motion picture director and he's been trying to cast a film about the sinking…Oh I know it might be sad, but if I bring you home he'll surely want you to play yourself and you'll be paid handsomely Mr…"

"Dawson," Jack was hesitant to make friends with this excitable woman, but she had basically just offered to pay him to be himself. He wasn't much of an actor at all, but it was a subject he wouldn't really need coaching in, and he could use the cash. "What exactly did he have in mind?"

She didn't really give him a straight answer, instead, he offered to take him home to talk to the two men in charge of the project, her husband, Reginald, and his brother, Jeffrey, who was writing the screenplay.

"Lewella, this might save the picture yet. Now listen, Jack. This is what will happen. We'll follow you from boarding and getting around and we'll add some romance. A girl, an upperclass girl who hates her life, and it seems like destiny and then you hit the berg…"

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Jeffrey just kept rambling on.

"The ship is sinking and you're struck with the idea to make the rafts, and we'll end with you being rescued and updating the audience on where you and your lady love are now!"

Jack felt his stomach knotting in a giant lump of sickness and he swallowed hard, lighting a cigarette to help calm the buzzing of his nerves. "I want to help write it, I was there, I know what happened. And what was said. I guess the romance thing is all right…it's fiction after all. But like I said, I help write it or I won't do it."

Reginald perked from his corner. "You know, Jeffrey the Hockley's were supposed to be on the Titanic.."

"Really?"

"Yes, before they were married. Hockley rented out the millionaire suite but canceled because he was sick."

"Jack, do you know who Rose Hockley is?"

Jack knew, he had seen a couple of her pictures. Had drawn her from memory afterwards. He cleared his throat as he answered. "Ahem, yes. She's that actress."

"Her husband is that producer," Reginald mused, walking over to his telephone. "If we get them on board, we'll definitely get this one up off of the ground."

"Let's go get a draft of this ready, Jack. I've got brandy and smokes enough to last us the night and then some."

Rose was on the front porch the next morning when the messenger arrived. She was curled up with her book, enjoying the warmth of the sun, and ignoring the niggling feeling that Cal might want to stay in bed late that morning. The young man ran up the steps and paused when he saw her, prompting her to smile gently at him. "Hello."

"Hi," He was somewhere around her age, blonde, with blue eyes that pierced her very soul. He stared back at her for a moment, making her heart flutter slightly before he offered her the large envelope in his hand. "Uh, this is from Jeffrey Johnson."

She seemed immediately intrigued and stood to meet him, taking it. "I haven't heard from him in quite a while, I thought perhaps he had stopped writing." She paused as she withdrew the script from the envelope and eyed the title page. "Never An Absolution, Jeffrey Johnson and…Jack Dawson?"

"New guy." He said softly, watching her. She flipped a few dozen pages in and skimmed a line before looking at him with wide eyes.

"This is the Titanic film he wanted to make!"

"Yeah that uh, Jack Dawson guy is a real survivor he helped the third class men build rafts to save a few more lives." It was strange talking about himself that way but the true story angle seemed to really sell it to anyone that was interested a little bit. She looked at him with interest and continued to read.

"So this is his story. Have they cast him?"

"He's playing himself, but there's quite a bit of fiction here. You come in…" He reached to show her the page, fingers brushing across hers, making her shiver inwardly. "Here."

"As…as myself?" Her face shifted into a strange expression, disappointed or perhaps just confused, or both. "I was never on the Titanic…"

"Well that's what they wanted to play on. You were supposed to be, what would have happened if you had been?"

Rose continued to read for several minutes, then abruptly shut the script and stood up. "What you're saying is that you want me to play myself in a situation that might have happened. And you want to imply that I would have committed adultery to be with that…that…"

"Hobo," Jack nearly spat the word and shot her a glare, and she paused, remembering her need to be poised. "Listen, we can get anyone to do it. All we have to do is change last names, but we want you. We think this will be good."

Rose didn't answer at first because it was good. It was based on fact, and scandalous, and some people probably might not get that half of it was made up since it was so good. She picked up the lump of paper to skim through and found various sketches of herself in costume, and of Cal and of the man on her porch. "There are very good," She mentioned briskly, glancing at him. "Who…?"

"Me, I did," Jack offered her his hand. "I believe I forgot to introduce myself, Mrs. Hockley. My name is Jack Dawson."

Stunned, embarrassed, and a whole other handful of emotions, Rose swallowed past a nervous lump in her throat and plucked up the courage to pretend not to be any of those things. She kept her head straight and took his hand, shaking very briefly and very firmly. "Well, that's why you know it so well."

"Yeah, that's why."

"Normally I wouldn't play a role this crass, Mr. Dawson."

"But it's not crass at all," Jack exclaimed. "You're bred this way, you're a lady. You have this perfect fiancée but he doesn't make you happy, not in the long run. What do people expect for you to do? What happens in all modern romances? You leave the prince with the shining castle for the knight with hardly a penny in his pocket, for love. For freedom."

She didn't respond for a moment, watching him pour out his soul in those sentences. A smile quirked perfectly rouged lips and she shook her head. "You're quite the bohemian, aren't you, Mr. Dawson?"

"Call me Jack."

"I wouldn't dream of it." She responded quickly, skimming through pages again, staring at sketches of rooms on board and of people she had known who had died two years previous. "Can I think about it at all?"

"It's now or never, Mrs. Hockley." He leaned to sit on the railing on the porch, watching her chew it over with her bottom lip sucked in under her upper. Delicate hands brushed the pages tenderly and she thought good and hard about it for a long while. Jack noted the way her hair curved against her face and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Glancing up at him, she noted the way blonde strands shone in his eyes, fallen out of place. He didn't oil his hair like most of the gentlemen she knew, and it made him look so rustic. This guy had lived, and secretly, deep inside of her, she envied him. She stepped closed, extending a well manicured little hand to take his rougher one. "Please, call me Rose."

That was all the answer he needed on the matter, and with it in mind, he smiled and stood from his place. "We'll call you when things are underway. They're talking to your husband now. But read it and if you want to change anything to better suit yourself at seventeen, I'd be more than happy to discuss it with you. But seriously, try not to change too too much."

"I'll see." Rose chimed, knowing she would change a good load of the dialogue to make it more natural. If she was going to play herself she wanted everyone that already knew her to be just as fooled into believing it all to be real as the rest of the audience. Jack paused one last time to give her a once over, making her squirm in her skin a bit before he hurried down the stairs to hurry off to work on the script at the Johnson house.

She turned to return to her porch swing with the manuscript and sat down, using her legs to rock herself back and forth, reading through the entire script to know the whole story before she would go back and memorize her own parts. It would take forever but Rose suspected it would be worth it. Titanic had fascinated her ever since Cal had decided that they would not travel that week, despite what he had paid for those suites. Rose, had often wondered if either, or both, or neither of them would have survived if they had indeed gone. This certainly might give her another perspective on the whole thing.

She didn't get up or even look up until she heard footsteps ahead, and she glanced up at Cal as he climbed the stairs, smiling gently down at her. "Hello. I see you've already gotten to work."

"You agreed, then," She said softly, relieved.

He nodded, frowning slightly. "Yes, but they want for me to play a version of myself as well. I'm not much of an actor but I'll just be angry with anyone else's portrayal." He sighed, slipping out of his jacket before he turned to her. "Well, I'm going to have a bath. Care to join me?"

"That sounds lovely," She said. "In a moment." Cal left her to finish her page, and she took one last deep breath of the outdoors before marking her place. She had a feeling things were going to be very strange for a good long while, now. Secretly, she looked forward to it.