FRIDAY APRIL 12, 1912-
Rose Bukater leans out over the aft end of the RMS Titanic, her arms straightening...she looks down, captivated by the swirling, icy black water below. Her dress and hair are blown about by the wind. The sound of the flapping Union flag mixes with the sound of churning water. Behind her, a young, tall, slender man steps up.
"Don't do it," he said. Rose whips her head around at the sound of the voice.
"Stay back! Don't come any closer!" she stated, her voice cracking. The young man sees the tracks of her tears on her face, in the glow from the stern running lights. "Take my hand. I'll pull you back in," he said softly. "No! Stay where you are. I mean it. I'll let go."
"No I don't reckon you will" the young man said very slightly sarcastically. Rose becomes indignant. "What do you mean, no you don't 'reckon' I will'? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me."The young man with the drawl shakes his head a bit. "You would' a done it by now. Now come on, take my hand." His words confuse Rose.
"You're distracting me. Go away," she states firmly, looking out to sea. He shakes his head more. "Nope. Can't do that. I'm involved now. If you let go I have to jump in after you." She looks at him. "Don't be absurd. You'll be killed." The young man starts to take off his leather jacket. "I'm a perty good swimmer." Rose nearly laughed. "The fall alone would kill you."
The young man lays his jacket on the deck. "It would hurt. I ain't saying it wouldn't. Six stories up, I figure. So impact in the water would feel like concrete. But honestly, I'm a lot more concerned about the water being so cold." Rose looks down. What she is doing is starting to sink in. "How cold?" "Freezing. Maybe a couple degrees lower. Saltwater can get colder than fresh water. Ever been to Texas?"
Rose becomes confused. "No." The young man moves slowly forward, ever so slightly. "Well, don't anybody tell you it don't get cold in Texas. Some of the coldest winters around, mind you I grew up in Houston. But once when I was a kid me and my father were fly-fishing out on the Canadian River in January, up in the Panhandle...fly-fishing's where you…" Rose interrupts. "I know what fly-fishing is!"
The tall, lanky young man nods. "Sorry. Just... you look like kind of an indoor gal. Anyway, I was wearing waders, but I fell over...and I'm tellin' ya, it was cold. But water that cold... like that right down there? It hits you hard, like a train crash. You can't breath, you can't think... least not about anything but the pain. Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you? But like I said, I don't see a choice. I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here."
Rose almost quietly. "You're crazy." The young man smiles slightly. "That's what folks in Houston…and elsewhere say a lot. But with all due respect, I ain't the one hanging off the back of a ship." He moves closer to Rose, like moving up on a scared puppy. "Come on. You don't want to do this. Gimme yer hand." Rose stares at this strange man for some time. She looks at his eyes. "All right," she said at last. She unfastens one hand from the rail and reaches it around toward him. He reaches out to take it, firmly.
"I'm Howard…Howard Hughes," he said almost formally. Rose responds, voice quavering, "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hughes." Rose starts to turn. As she twists to climb, her foot slips off the edge of the deck. She falls, letting out a piercing scream. Howard, gripping her hand, is jerked at the rail. Rose grabs a lower rail with her free hand. One of the ship's officers hears the scream and heads for the ladder.
Rose yelped, "Help! Help!" Hughes firms up his grip and says calmly, "I've got you. I won't let go." Slowly, but surely Hughes lifts her over the rail. As he does, he falls on top of her. Quartermaster Rowe slides down the ladder from the docking bridge and races across the fantail. "Here, what's all this?" the Titanic officer demands. He runs up and pulls Howard off of Rose, revealing her disheveled and sobbing on the deck. Her dress and stocking are torn. Rowe sees the young man with his jacket off and a woman in distress and jumps to a conclusion. Two other seamen sprint across the deck to join them.
"Here you, stand back! Don't move an inch!" Rowe said to Howard, and then he turns to the seamen. "Fetch the Master at Arms." A few minutes later, Howard is being detained by the burly Master-at-Arms, basically the ship's police. He has handcuffed Howard. Caledon Hockley is right in front of Howard, and furious. He has just rushed out here with his bodyguard Lovejoy and another man, Colonel Archibald Gracie. Hockley offers his coat to Rose, who is hunched over crying on a bench nearby, but she waves it away. But he is more concerned with Howard. He grabs him by the lapels.
"What made you think you could put your hands on my fiancée? Look at me, you scum! What did you think you were doing? " Rose jumps up and grabs his arm. "Cal, stop! It was an accident." "An accident?" Rose continues, "It was... stupid really. I was leaning over and I slipped. I was leaning way over, to see the... ah... propellers. And I slipped and I would have gone overboard... and Mr. Hughes here saved me and he almost went over himself." Hockley is incredulous. "You wanted to see the propellers?"
Colonel Gracie, shakes his head, "Women and machinery do not mix." He laughed slightly. The Master-at-Arms turns to Howard. "Was that the way of it?" Rose, begs with her eyes, for Howard to not to say what really happened. Hughes understanding nods. "Uh huh. That was pretty much it." Colonel Gracie smiles, "Well! The boy's a hero then. Good for you son, well done!" He turns to Cal. "So it's all's well and back to our brandy, eh?"
Howard is uncuffed. Cal gets Rose to her feet and moving. Rubbing her arms, he says "Let's get you in. You're freezing." He begins leaving without a second thought for Howard. Colonel Gracie, in a low voice says to him, "Ah... perhaps a little something for the boy?" Cal nods perfunctorily, "Oh, right. Mr. Lovejoy. A twenty should do it." Rose is mildly shocked, even knowing Hockley as he is. "Is that the going rate for saving the woman you love?"
Cal, seeing the error, smiles and says "Rose is displeased. Mmm... What to do?" He turns back to Howard. He appraises him condescendingly... has the look of a broke cow-hand, unwashed and ill-mannered. "I know." Hockley turns to Hughes. "Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow, to entertain our group with your heroic exploit?" Howard looks straight at Rose, and nods. "Sure. Count me in." Hockley smiles knowingly. "Good. Settled then." He turns to go, putting an arm around Rose. He then leans close to Gracie as they walk away. "This should be amusing."
Spicer Lovejoy, Hockley's man-servant and bodyguard, eyes Hughes suspiciously. "Seems strange," he began, "How did you have time to remove your jacket, before Miss Bukater fell into the water?" Howard looked at him lazily. "Don't keep it on...like the cool, fresh air, ma'self, friend." Lovejoy nods, but in clear disbelief.
SATURDAY APRIL 13, 1912-
Rose unlatches the gate to go down into third class section of the ship. The men of Steerage on the deck stop and stare at her. She walks into the General Area of third class. Stark of decoration compared to first class, but is a loud, boisterous place. Children running about. People playing cards or chess. Women nursing children or doing needlepoint or even darning socks. She spots Howard. He is playing with 5 year old Bobby O'Reilly, drawing balloons and aero-planes together in his sketchbook. Hughes' Italian friend, Fabrizio, is working hard to make time with a pretty Norwegian girl, Helga Dahl, despite clear lack of common language, Italian or English or Norwegian.
"No Italian? Some little English?" he says. The pretty blonde shakes her head. "No, no. Norwegian. Only." Helga's eye is caught by someone approaching. Fabrizio looks, does a take and Howard, curious, follows their gaze to see... Rose, coming toward them. The activity in the room stops... everyone is silent. Rose feels suddenly self-conscious as the steerage group gawk openly at this hoi-polloi young woman, some with resentment, others with awe. She spots Howard and gives a little smile, walking straight to him. He rises to meet her, smiling.
"Hello Mr. Hughes." Fabrizio and Helga are floored. It's like a silk purse talking to a sow's ear. "Hello again," Howard responds. "Could I speak to you in private?" she asks. "Uh, yeah. Of course. After you. " He motions her ahead and follows.
On the Boat Deck, Howard and Rose walk side by side. They pass people reading and talking in steamer chairs, some of whom glance curiously at the obviously mis-cast couple. Howard pays no attention. He smiles, "So, you got a name by the way?" "Rose," she begins then formally, "Rose DeWitt Bukater." Howard whistles. "That's a mouthful... I may hafta get you to write that down." Rose smirks.
Then more serious, "Mr. Hughes, I..." "Howard." She nods and begins again, "Howard... I feel like such an idiot. It took me all morning to get up the nerve to face you. " "Well, here ya are." "Here I am. I... I want to thank you for what you did. Not just for... for pulling me back. But for your discretion." "You're welcome. Rose." The two young people look at each other silently, but just for a moment.
Rose begins lightly, "Look, I know what you must be thinking! Poor little rich girl. What does she know about hardship?" Hughes shakes his head. "That's not what I was thinking. What I was thinking was... what could have happened to this girl to make her think she had no way out." Rose contemplating her situation again, says "I don't... it wasn't just one thing. It was everything. It was them, it was their whole world. And I was trapped in it, like an insect in amber." She catches her breath and then hurriedly continues, "I just had to get away... just run and run and run... and then I was at the back rail and there was no more ship... even the Titanic wasn't big enough. Not enough to get away from them. And before I'd really though about it, I was over the rail. I was so furious. I'll show them. They'll be sorry!"
Hughes nods. "Uh huh. They'll be sorry." Then raising his eyebrows, 'Course I reckon you'll be dead." Rose lowers her head, "Oh God, I am such an utter fool." Howard digs deeper. "That high collar last night, is he one of them?" "High collar? Oh, Cal! He is them." "Is he your boyfriend?" Howard asks. "Worse I'm afraid." She shows him her engagement ring. A sizable diamond. Howard is impressed. "Good Gawd, look at that hunk a' rock! You would have gone straight to the bottom." They laugh together.
He continues. "So you feel like you're stuck on a train you can't get off 'cause you're marryin' this fella." "Yes, exactly!" Rose answers. "So don't marry him." She shakes her head sadly. "If only it were that simple." "It is that simple," Howard insists. Rose retorts, "Oh, Howard... please don't judge me until you've seen my world." Hughes gets a strange knowing look on his face, but only for a moment. "Well, I guess I will tonight."
Rose tries to change the subject, she indicates his sketchbook. "What's this?" He lifts it nonchalantly. "Just some drawings. Plans, you might say." "May I?"
She grabs the book before Howard answers. Rose sits on a deck chair and opens the sketchbook. At first, she is confused. The drawings are mechanical, electrical, and aeronautical devices. One appears to be some sort of wireless telegraph transmitter, but vastly larger than anything Rose had ever seen, which wasn't much in 1912. Range and frequency notations were beside it. "New York-Dublin?" scribbled on the corner of the page. Then, there was a rotary engine, with a propeller attached. Seven cylinders, with various horsepower, fuel consumption, and other figures listed beside it. There were also detailed images of cross-struts and braces, apparently forming the structure of an aero-plane wing.
"Howard? What is all this? It's fascinating," she asked. He shrugged. "Well, they didn't think too much of 'em in Paree. Not even Monsieur Bleriot." Some loose sketches fall out of the notebook and are swept off the deck and into the sea before Howard can grab them.
Rose is aghast. "Oh no! Oh, I'm so sorry. Truly!" Howard waves her off. "Well, again, not much interest by the French fellers. I just seem to spew 'em out. Besides, they're not worth a damn anyway. Don't have the power yet or the alloys." He throws two of the ones he caught up in the air. The wind carries them some distance, behind the ship and then into the sea. Rose laughs. "You're deranged!" She goes back to the notebook, turning a page.
"Incredible." She has come upon a series of plans. Rose is transfixed by the image. It is an aero-plane, but unlike any she has ever seen. Not the canvas and wooden "flying kites", as she had witnessed once at a demonstration outside of Pittsburgh. Not some ungainly thing, prone to snap in two in a strong wind...but a huge, metallic vehicle, with curving, boat-like lines, a dozen glass windows on the sides, and multiple engines on its wings. The landing wheels were folded up against the body and pontoon floats were on the wingtips, indicating it could land on the sea as well as the land. For all, a "Titanic" done as a flying machine.
Rose, trying to not to be at all derisive, asks, "This aero-plane. It could actually fly?" Howard nods slowly. "Yup. Not that those slack-jaws in France would' a believed. They all called me crazy. Said such a thing was 40, 50 years off in the future...at best. But it can be built...and she would fly. Enough testing, and with stopovers in Newfoundland, the Dane colony in Greenland, Iceland and Dublin...New York to Paris in 30 hours. Maybe less. She'd make it. She will make it…someday."
Rose smiles. "You're a visionary, Howard. You see the future." Howard looks deeply into her eyes. "I saw your future." She looks back. "And...?" He smiles. "You wouldn't a jumped."
Later as the sun sets, Howard and Rose lean on the A-deck rail aft. The ship's lights are on. He has been recounting his life up to his teen years. Some key elements he has casually "stepped over." Rose asks "So then what, Mr. Wanderer? "Well, then I figured after my mom died, I best get out of Texas and see the world a bit." Rose says, "I'm so sorry." Hughes smiled wistfully then continues, "Eventually, I hopped a freighter in Galveston. Worked my way over to Europe. Kicked around there for a while. Talked to a lot of the English, French, and German pilots and engineers. Read as much as I could. Finally got to meet Bleriot two weeks before hitching a ride over to England to board this boat."
Rose recognizes the name. "You mentioned him before. Is that Louis Bleriot? The man who flew across the English Channel?" Howard smiles at her knowledge. "You know of him? Rose nods. He continues his tale, but seems slightly downhearted, "Yeah; though he wasn't too impressed with me. Told me an 'enfant' like me, didn't know enough about flying to take his time. I about punched the stuck-up Frenchie. I'd learn how to fly when I was fourteen, back in ought-9." Rose is incredulous. "On an aero-plane? There couldn't have been too many…"
Howard concedes the obvious point. "Well, no. Obviously the Wright Brothers weren't taking teenagers up for rides or nothing. But I learned the mechanics. Built a wing from scrap wood and canvas, and a control lever, and a seat and used my mind to envision how it would operate in real life. When I finally got to see a plane in person, a year later in Ohio, it looked just like the image in my head. Orville himself let me sit at the controls...seemed confused how a 'kid' knew what stall speed was. So Louis Bleriot can taste my heel for all I care."
Rose is fascinated. "What else?" Howard mentions, "Met Georges Méliès." "The moving picture director? Le Voyage dans la Lune?" Howard is now very impressed. Méliès was not that well known in the States. "You know him and that film?"
Roses nods excitedly. "Yes. I saw it in Philadelphia. They had a showing of several French films. It was amazing. Though I must say a bit farcical from the original Jules Verne version." Howard equally excited, agrees. "Yes. But his imagery and use of mechanical effects and editing was brilliant. I could barely tell where he cut and spliced his film." "You interested in moving pictures, too, Howard? "Sure. It's a fascinatin' means of communication, I think. Novels and such are great, but the impact of the visual image is something...something kinda magical." A moment of satisfied silence between them.
Rose finally speaks. "You think we'll go there some day." Howard is confused. "Where?" "The Moon? You think we'll be able to travel to the Moon, other planets, the stars, "she continues. Howard confidently says, "Yup. No doubt. Not in some artillery shell. You'd vaporize before you left the mouth of the cannon. Rockets, more likely. Feller I met in Paris...Esnault-Pelterie...we talked rockets one night and using them to propel planes. So why not travel in outer space in one? Look how far we've come since Kitty Hawk in just nine years."
Rose catches herself moving closer to Howard as he stares up in the sky. Suddenly she blanches. He sees her expression and turns. Her mother, Ruth Bukater, the Countess of Rothes, and Molly Brown have been watching them, staring at the sky together. Rose becomes instantly composed.
"Mother, may I introduce Howard Hughes." Ruth Bukater in feigned politeness, covering obvious distain, replies, "Charmed, I'm sure." Rose continues the introductions and tells the ladies of how the two met the previous night. At the end of the story, Margaret "Molly" Brown states, "Well, Howard, it sounds like you're a good man to have around in a sticky spot. Hughes? Hughes? Seems I've heard of a Hughes feller from Texas." Howard looks nervous. "It's a common enough name and…" Suddenly, they all jump as a bugler sounds the meal call right behind them.
Molly irritated says, "Why do they insist on always announcing dinner like a damn cavalry charge?" Rose, still trying to cover, turns to her mother and says "Shall we go dress, mother?" She looks back, over her shoulder. "See you at dinner, Howard." Ruth, as they walk away, scolds, "Rose, look at you... out in the sun with no hat. Honestly!" The Countess exits with Ruth and Rose, leaving Howard and Molly alone on deck.
She grins at him. "Son, do you have the slightest comprehension of what you're doing?" Howard grins back. "No, ma'am, not really I reckon." "Well, you're about to go into the snake-pit. I hope you're ready. What are you planning to wear?" His brown shoes were scuffed, his khaki pants threadbare at the knees. His denim shirt faded. Even his brown trilby felt hat, otherwise quite stylish, was covered in lint and dust. He hadn't thought about that. He looks down at his clothes and back up at her, and waves his hand down his shirt. "I figured," Mrs. Brown nods.