You Had One Job, Mr. Lovejoy!
Cal Hockley had sent him on yet another wild goose chase after the girl. Fair enough he was being paid, but Spicer Lovejoy thought there were better things to be doing on this marvellous ship than tracking down a seventeen year old flibbertigibbet and her third class gutter rat for the hundredth time in two days.
A long and somewhat glittering career with the Pinkerton Detective Agency meant that even a six foot two brooding giant of a man such as he was able to sneak around in the shadows like a pro, but tonight he just couldn't be arsed. He went down the stairs into third class, wishing he'd never met Nathan Hockley. Perhaps he'd be living in a nice little retirement cottage by now, except he wasn't old enough for retirement and he still enjoyed the thrill of the chase and being a sneaky bastard. He also liked the feel of money in his hands and his trusty Colt nestling under his armpit. They gave him a kind of swagger, put cold steel in his eyes and added an inch or two to his already impressive height. He had been quite a rake in his younger years, he liked to think he still had it, even though his erstwhile blond hair was rapidly turning grey and he couldn't remember the last time he smiled.
Third class was even more raucous and smelly than he'd expected. He'd been part of that dirty street life many years ago, and he'd been glad to get out of there. But that teeming underworld was never very far away, with its imbecilic inhabitants always shouting, laughing and getting drunk, and here they were, doing just that, with their fiddledy-diddledy music, leaping around like lunatics, they'd dance right to the ends of the earth before falling off and even then they'd still be gyrating madly. It was all so... undignified. The only time Lovejoy approved of dancing was when he put a few bullets under someone's feet.
Either way, he wasn't in the mood for the chase tonight, which is why he didn't bother to conceal himself. And that was to be his undoing- or his salvation, depending on how you looked at it.
Lovejoy was barely at the bottom of the stairs before he was noticed. A gaggle of slovenly women huddled nearby. One of them had the audacity to whistle at him. He fixed her with a stern glare but that only encouraged her, and made her scrofulous friends join in.
"What have we got here, girls?"
"I do believe it's one o' them toffs from upstairs."
"Ain't that the way? They spit on us in public but behind closed doors they're all after a piece of the action."
They laughed dirtily.
Lovejoy tried to get past them but they stood in his way.
"Won't you have a snifter, my love?"
"Move, you miserable wench," Lovejoy snarled.
"Ooh, he's a live one!"
One of them touched his smart jacket. "Very posh," she said. Lovejoy pulled his arm back but there was no avoiding her grubby fingers plucking at his sleeve.
"Look, if you don't get out of my way... "
The women challenged him. "You'll do what?"
Men were beginning to gather behind them. Lovejoy's cool blue eyes assessed the growing situation.
"I... er... "
They began laughing. "Get this man a drink," someone said. "Let's loosen him up a bit."
Lovejoy thought about elbowing his way through the crowd until his eyes fell on Miss Rose DeWitt Bukater with her red curls unpinned and flying, being whirled around by that scruffy little vagabond who was trying to cuckold his master. Looks like he'd tracked her down already. He breathed a sigh of relief. His work was done- all he had to do was turn around and head back to First Class where the people were clean and spoke in elegant whispers and the music didn't blow your eardrums inwards.
A glass of something was thrust into his hand.
"Drink up, sir. This'll put some fire in ya."
Lovejoy peered at the opaque, colourless liquid as though it were acid. "No, thank you."
"Ah, go on. Drink up."
"I said... no."
The women were pressing in on him, with their menfolk close behind.
"Go on, go on go on!"
They were starting to chant, rhythmically and loudly. Lovejoy was afraid he would be rumbled. Miss Rose and her bit of rough were still oblivious to his presence and he wanted to keep it that way. He lifted the glass, held his breath, and knocked it back in one.
The crowd cheered. Another drink swiftly followed. Lovejoy knocked it back. Surely that would appease the baying mob and they'd let him go now.
"Two on the trot!" someone laughed. "The man's tougher than he looks!"
Lovejoy felt mildly insulted but whatever he'd just drunk, it was beginning to seep into every pore, every extremity, even to the follicles of his hair. Heat flowed outwards from his core, disengaging his shoulder joints, making his neck floppy. Before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching for another glass of this amazing magic potion. The crowd swelled around him, jostling him and slapping him on the back. Cheers went up.
"He's one of us now!"
On the dancefloor, Rose and Jack finally noticed the commotion. The music went on, but Rose stopped dead, her hand on Jack's arm until he stopped dancing too.
Rose went pale. "It's that undertaker of a manservant," she said quietly, in shock. "Cal must have sent him after me- again!"
Jack swept hair out of his eyes. He was still panting with exertion from all the dancing, still happy and laughing.
"Jack! This is serious!"
"Rose, look at him! He's drunk!"
Rose looked again. Lovejoy was knocking back another drink, his hair hanging over his forehead, tie pulled loose, being shoved around and grabbed by cheering women.
Her mouth fell open. Jack put his finger under her chin to close it.
The crowd pulled Lovejoy towards the dance floor. Frightened, Rose darted behind Jack.
"Relax, Rose, I don't think there's much he can do in that state."
"Really? He carries a gun, Jack. There's no telling what he might do."
Someone signalled the band and they launched into the fastest thing they knew how to play. Women yanked Lovejoy onto the dancefloor, winking at their menfolk. One of them came over and nudged Rose in the ribs.
"Got another of your kind down here now," she cackled.
"He's nothing to do with me," Rose muttered, still clinging to Jack's shoulders. But just at that moment, Lovejoy stared at them both and flung his arms wide.
"Miss Rose! How lovely to see you!"
Everyone laughed but Rose, whose heart sank. "What have they done to him?"
Jack laughed. "Filled him with poitín, I think."
Rose was baffled. "Po-cheen?"
"Irish moonshine," said Jack with a wink. "The best kind!"
From that moment on, there was no keeping Lovejoy off the dancefloor. He grasped Rose's hand and twirled her around and attempted some sort of polka. Then he let go and grabbed someone else. Men, women, children, he danced with them all. And he laughed. Lovejoy laughed for the first time in years, proper, hearty laughter straight from the gut.
The drinks flowed. Lovejoy toasted Rose and Jack, eliciting mad giggles from the crowd. Rose stared at him, her eyes wide. If Cal heard him say that!
The floor filled with dancers and admirers of Spicer Lovejoy who thought he was the funniest thing on two legs. Lovejoy felt it rude to refuse all the drinks that came his way, and all the kisses planted on his cheeks by women of all ages. He didn't care if they were making fun of him. At some point in the evening their mocking gave way to genuine delight as they honestly began enjoying his company. He even surprised himself- he hadn't felt this carefree since he was a teenager.
As Lovejoy began attempting an Irish jig, his jacket flapped open and suddenly Jack saw the shoulder holster and a gleam of cold steel. A few people gasped. Jack went over and put his hand on Lovejoy's arm. Lovejoy thought he was being asked to dance and swept Jack up in some moves that Jack could only describe as 'horse with broken leg tries to run across hot coals'. In the middle of it, Jack managed to grab the gun out of the holster and hand it to one of the larger and more trustworthy steerage passengers.
"He can have it back later," said Jack. "When he's sobered up."
The man guffawed knowingly. "If he sobers up!"
The gun disappeared from sight and now they were all safe from Lovejoy firing any celebratory shots into the ceiling. Not that he was going to do that, but one never knew with these ex-Pinkertons. Lovejoy had helped to stop union riots at Hockley Steel, he was handy with a gun and that was what kept people wary of him.
But now he was completely unarmed, and he didn't even notice.
The party raved on. Jack and Lovejoy made friends, the two of them and Rose danced in a triangle. Rose had never felt happier. She had her Jack, and now she had Cal's bodyguard on her side. She felt invincible, determined to enjoy the feeling while it lasted. Pure love radiated from every corner of steerage from people who didn't judge each other unkindly, people who knew how hard life was and celebrated every minute of fun that came their way in case it never came again. She danced and danced, from one partner to another, buoyed up on a sea of smiles. And Lovejoy... had anyone ever told him he had the most beautiful smile? It was a shame he didn't do it more often. It transformed him. It also made her realise he'd been a person in his own right before he'd become Cal's valet, manservant... dogsbody. It seemed unfair. Lovejoy had done his job faithfully for years without complaint, but Rose wondered just how much of it he'd actually enjoyed.
Alas, all good things eventually come to an end. The band packed away their instruments. Children were put to bed. Loved ones rejoined each other. Men calmed down and breathless women pinned their hair back into place. Lovejoy went around hugging people and saying goodbye and promising to join them again. He told them they'd better be ready because he was really going to cut loose next time. He even managed to acquire some 'invitations' from some of the more forward women, and suggestions that actually made him blush.
Finally Lovejoy staggered up the stairs sandwiched between Rose and Jack. Tommy and Fabrizio stood behind them, waving goodbye and laughing their heads off.
"Come again soon, Mr. Lovejoy!"
"You make the party, sir! Sei affascinante!" Fabrizio kissed his fingertips.
"Arriverderci," said Lovejoy. "Ciao bella!"
They exited steerage and started down a hallway lined with firmly shut doors.
"Why is the floor moving?" Lovejoy asked.
"Because we're on the Titanic," said Jack. "And you're drunk as a skunk."
"Oh. Titanic. That's a ship, is it not?"
"Only the biggest ship in the world."
"Oh." Lovejoy didn't look convinced, even though all evidence pointed to them indeed being on a ship. He must have forgotten that part.
Jack pushed him down the hallway towards another upward leading flight of stairs. "Come on, Lovejoy. Let's get you some fresh air."
"Please- call me... ah... what's that name again... ?"
Jack roared. "He's forgotten his name! That poitín must have been better than I thought!"
"Spicer!" Lovejoy announced. "Spicer. That's it."
"His name is Spicer Lovejoy," said Rose, stifling a smile.
"Well, Spicer, let's find you a deck chair."
They finally made it up to the first class deck but were immediately confronted by an officer who glared at them sternly.
"We are first class passengers," declared Lovejoy. He tried to fish for a twenty but his hand missed his pocket completely.
"Not in that condition you aren't."
"I can have you fired," said Lovejoy, puffing out his chest.
"No you can't. I work for the White Star Line and I don't believe you do. Now please remove yourselves to the lower decks, where you belong."
"Let's not argue," said Jack, steering the protesting Lovejoy away from the officer before a fight started.
They went down a deck and found somewhere quiet and out of the way to sit and take in the bracing sea air. Lovejoy fell into a deck chair and his hand went to his holster.
"Where's Emily," he slurred.
"Who's Emily?" Jack mouthed to Rose with a puzzled eyebrow.
Lovejoy patted his empty holster. "Emily, where are you?"
"Is Emily his gun?" Rose mouthed back.
"Don't worry about Emily," said Jack, patting Lovejoy's shoulder. "She's safe. She says she'll join you again soon."
Lovejoy smiled blissfully and sat back. "Dear Emily," he murmured.
Rose and Jack exchanged another amused look. This man was unintentionally providing them with hours of entertainment.
"So, Mr. Lovejoy. What excuse did Cal have for sending you after me this time?"
Lovejoy made a puffing sound with his lips. "Oh, just the usual demand. Find her, Lovejoy."
"Yes, find her and lock her away like a precious gem. A possession, like the Heart of the Ocean," said Rose, quietly.
"Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows," sang Lovejoy, waving his arm as though conducting an invisible orchestra.
"We can't take you back in that state, Lovejoy. We'll have to stay here until you sober up."
Lovejoy smiled at her. "I am sober, my dear. More sober than I've been in a long while."
Rose glanced at Jack. "If Cal sees him like this... "
"Don't worry," said Jack. "He won't."
Lovejoy was still singing softly. "Somewhere beneath the starry skies, we'll build a sweet little nest, somewhere out in the west... "
Rose smiled wistfully. "I wonder how much of this he'll remember in the morning? It'll be a shame if he goes back to following me around on Cal's orders after all the fun he had tonight."
"Somehow I don't think he will," said Jack. "I think our friend Spicer is rediscovering his soul."
"With the help of Irish moonshine," said Rose, teasingly.
"The best kind of help there is," said Jack, as a shooting star went by.
As for Spicer Lovejoy, who ever thought that a third class hooley would end up being the best night of his life? He felt seventeen again, younger even than Miss Rose. He'd relived a part of his youth on this magnificent, unsinkable ship. He was determined to look forward, beyond the bows of Titanic and into the future, perhaps a future where he wouldn't be quite so tied to the whims of a spoilt, selfish man called Caledon Hockley.
But looking past the bows would have to wait for another day, because right now Spicer Lovejoy couldn't walk a straight line if he tried.
Next chapter- the deleted scene where Lovejoy for some unknown reason goes chasing after Rose and Jack through the flooded dining room. *eyebrow raising intensifies*