Chapter Three: Deck Conversations

"Good morning." Rose told Cal and Mother, sitting down at the table they had set up on their private promenade.

Trudy was serving breakfast already, and there were red roses set in vases on the table. The promenade was in the style of an indoor garden. It was long and brightly lit, decorated with trelises and wicker chairs.

"You seem in good spirits." Cal said, looking pleased. Rose nodded as she helped herself to a grapefruit on a plate in the middle of the table. They ate in silence for a few minutes, before Cal said apologetically,

"I'm afraid that I must discuss some business with Mr. Ismay today, Rose. I hope you can amuse yourself."

"Yes." Said Rose, who was happy to have a day without Cal in it.

"Good." Cal replied, smiling, and Rose knew he thought that the present he'd given her was the reason her spirits were lifted somewhat this morning. Cal took out his pocket-watch.

"Look at the time." He said, "I must be going now."

He stood up from his chair, and kissed Rose's cheek. "I'll see you before dinner." He told her, walking out the door.

"Would you like to join me and the other women for tea?" Mother asked her when he had gone.

"No. I'd rather not hear about my wedding plans again- or speak about them for that matter." Said she.

"Well, then I won't speak of them, dear." Mother replied. "And I don't want to hear about the Astors, or Benjamen Gugenheim." Rose said. "Whenever I walk away from such conversation, I wonder what those women have to say about me."

"What do you plan on doing today, then?" Mother asked testily.

"I'm going to thank Mr. Dawson." Rose said.

"Who?" "Mr. Dawson. Remember, the man who saved my life last night?"

"Oh, yes." Mother said, her lips pressing together, as though she didn't want to be reminded of the incident.

"Well, I forgot to thank him, and-"

"You thanked Cal last night, didn't you?" Mother interrupted.

"For what?" "The necklace."

"Oh, that."

"What do you mean, 'oh, that'? You sound as though you didn't like it." Mother told her accusingly.

"I suppose you've seen it then?"

"Of course, I've seen it." Mother snapped.

"Well, then you'll know that it's most impractical."

"Impractical?"

"Yes, if you want me to stand up without slouching, it's so heavy that-"

"Very funny, Rose." Mother said impatiently. "Now honestly, what did you think?"

"It's beautiful and I'm lucky to have such a thoughtful fiance." Rose said.

Mother's face relaxed- Rose's made-up response was exactly what she wanted to hear. "I'm glad you've finally come to your senses." She said.

"Now as for thanking Mr. Lawson-"

"Dawson." Rose corrected.

"He'll be coming to dinner, so I suppose you can thank him then." Mother said. "The less you have to fraternize with the steerage passengers, the better."

"I'd like to thank him, Mother, he saved my life and-"

"That's another thing- why on earth were you leaning over the rail like that? Honestly, Rose, must I watch you for every second? Look at the predicament you've caused. . ."

"What predicament?" Rose asked.

"Having to invite that hoodlum to dinner with us." Mother replied.

"How can you form an opinion of someone you've never even seen?" Rose asked savagely. "And I was almost killed- don't you care?"

"You were not killed." Mother told her.

"Would you rather I was? It'd save you the embarrassment of having me as a daughter."

"Don't be melodramatic, you know I hate it." Mother said. "And you know I'm glad you're all right- I'm just surprised you'd do something so stupid as leaning over the rail to see the propellers."

Rose was furious- but she knew that the lie she told would cause everyone to think she was stupid. After all, it would be quite hard to lean that far over and fall. It was almost unnaturally ridiculous.

After almost an hour of searching the decks for her rescuer, Rose was perplexed. Titanic was huge, but how long could it really take to find one person? She had looked everywhere. . . It was as though he'd disappeared. And then she realized that he was probably in the third-class general room. It would be easy to find, but her courage about talking to him was slipping from her, because going to steerage was an act of courage in itself. Not to mention unheard of. . . what her mother would say to her for even considering it. . .

You're going down there, and you're going to thank him just like you planned. She told herself firmly, squaring her shoulders and making her way towards the third-class entrance.


The third class general room was filled with sunlight. It was not so crowded as it was at night time, but it was still full of people, and someone was playing ragtime on the piano. Most people were sitting on the benches, but a few stood up while conversing, and there were some boys playing on top of a platform. Even though it was a bit noisy, there was a sense of calmness to the place- perhaps because of the weather, or maybe that the only chaos was when a rat scampered underneath the benches and startled a few girls. Fabrizio was sitting next to the blonde girl, whom he had taken a particular liking to, even though she was Norwegian and couldn't understand a word of English or Italian.

"Fabrizio." He said slowly, pointing to himself.

"Fabrizio?" She repeated dubiously. "Yes, Fabrizio!" He exclaimed happily.

"Helga." She said slowly, pointing at herself.

"Helga!" Fabrizio laughed, pleased that he finally knew her name and she knew his. . . it had been a working process.

Tommy was standing next to Jack, and had taken the liberty of going through pages from his notebook, which was filled with sketches of people; he looked amazed at every one of them, and seemed to think he'd discovered the next Leonardo da Vinci. Jack was sitting on a bench next to Cora, and he'd been there for at least an hour and a half, telling her stories and talking to her. He'd even let her draw pictures in his notebook, something that she'd delighted in, and so far she had drawn her mother and father; her dog that she'd left in England, Elizabeth, her doll, and also a picture of Jack.

"These are really good." Tommy said, after looking at yet another one of Jack's drawings.

"Thanks." He replied, not noticing the proud look on his little admirer's face when Tommy had paid him the complement.

"Time to go, Cora." Mr. Cartmel said, walking over to his daughter with his wife. "Say good-bye to Uncle Jack."

"Good-bye, Uncle Jack." She said, jumping off the bench to rejoin her parents.

"Bye, Cora." He answered cheerfully, waving as he watched her leave, and then turning to his drawings. He filed Cora's work in with the rest of them, smiling at it, and thinking how nice it would be to have her as a real niece, and about how much this "uncle" business appealed to him.

"Jack." Fabrizio hissed into his ear, pointing at something behind him.

Jack turned around to see Rose, who was looking beautiful as ever with her perfectly curled hair, and gold-colored day dress. She looked quite uncomfortable though, and Jack didn't blame her. The music and conversation had stopped, and everyone in the room was staring at her. But despite all this, she looked a lot better than she had the previous night, a lot happier anyway.

"Hello, Mr. Dawson." She said.

"Hello, again." Jack replied quietly, standing- he could feel Fabrizio and Tommy watching his every move, and wondering why the girl he'd accidently been staring at yesterday was seeking him out.

"May I have a word?" She asked.

"Yeah." He said, waiting for her to say whatever it was she was going to say- but she didn't.

"In private?" She whispered, tilting her head towards Fabrizio and Helga, who were staring at them, and had the air children get when their parents are about to say something interesting in front of them.

Why? He didn't know. Helga didn't even speak English. But he could see Rose's point.

"Oh, yeah. . . um, after you." He said, following her out the door.

Outside was bright and sunny, and the few clouds in the sky were white rather than gray. They walked up in awkward silence, Rose not quite bringing herself to talk, and Jack not quite knowing what to say. They mounted a small stairwell with a gate on it that said, "NOTICE: No Third-Class Passengers Beyond This Point," in black letters. Rose opened it, and walked through, holding it open for Jack, who decided that he must be allowed to enter on invitation.

"Nice weather we've been having." He commented, in a feeble attempt to break the silence.

"Yes, very nice." Rose agreed. "I thought that it would've been colder."

"Yeah, me too." Said Jack, who hadn't given the temperature much thought until now, and seriously doubted she had either.

"You mentioned that the winters in Wisconsin were very cold?" She asked politely.

"Very cold." He confirmed with equal politeness, hoping desperately that she wasn't thinking about how long he'd stared at her yesterday. . . she knew that she had seen him, they had made eye contact.

"But you get used to it."

"I see. . . and you grew up in Chippewa Falls?" She inquired.

"Near it, yes." He replied.

"I've heard of it." Rose said.

"About Chippewa Falls?" Jack asked her, surprised. "I didn't think that it was on map."

"It isn't." She replied. "But my father was a stock broker, and he invested a lot into one of the lumber mills over there. . ."

"I didn't think there was more than one." Jack answered.

"Well, the one that I know of shut down last year." Rose said.

"I wouldn't know." Jack told her. "I don't keep up with much of the current events in the states."

"They've added a few." Rose told him.

"I did hear about New Mexico." Jack said, smiling. "That puts us at forty-seven now, doesn't it?"

"Forty-eight. We got Arizona almost two months ago." Rose told him. "Well, they don't have many American newspapers in Europe. I generally get the news if I run into anyone who's been in America, which is pretty rare." Jack answered. "You must travel a lot then." "Let's just say that I don't stay in the same place for more than a couple of months."

"That sounds exhilarating." Rose said eagerly. "Have you been to many places?"

He laughed. "Maybe a few."

"Well, how did you like Wisconsin?" She asked.

"I liked it a lot, never a dull moment in my experience." He replied.

"You're very fortunate." Rose muttered.

"Boring childhood?" "Very." She said flatly. "I wish I lived in Wisconsin, if what you said about it not being dull is true."

"Well, it never was at my house, but I suppose I can't speak for the rest of the state."

"Why did you leave?" Rose asked him.

"Well, I've been on my own since I was fifteen, since my folks died. And I had no brothers or sisters, or close kin in that part of the country, so I lit on out of there and haven't been back since. You can just call me a tumbleweed blowing in the wind." He paused. "So Rose, we've walked about a mile around this boat deck, and we've chewed over how great the weather's been, and how I grew up, but I reckon that's not why you came to talk to me, is it?"

"Well, Mr. Dawson, I-"

"Jack." He told her, nodding slightly.

"Jack. . ." She continued. "I wanted to thank you for what you did, not just for pulling me back, but for your discretion."

"You're welcome." Jack said. That was all Rose had intended to say, but she realized then she had to tell him why. She had to do herself that justice. . .

"I know what you must be thinking." She said. "Poor little rich girl, what does she know about misery?"

"No. No, that's not what I was thinking." Jack interrupted, leaning against the side of the boat. "I was thinking what could've happened to this girl to make her think she had no way out?"

"Well, I. . ." Rose began, surprised and thankful for his understanding. "It was everything- my whole world and all the people in it." She burst out. "And the inertia of my life, plunging ahead, and me, powerless to stop it."

She held out her hand to show him her wedding ring.

"Wow, look at that thing." He laughed, examining it. "You would've gone straight to the bottom."

"500 invitations have gone out, and all of Philadelphia Society will be there." She told him helplessly. "And all the while, I feel I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs and no one even looks up."

"Do you love him?" Jack asked.

"Pardon me?" She asked him, thrown off by his accurate prognosis of the problem.

"Do you love him?" He repeated.

"You're being very rude." She told him bluntly. "You shouldn't be asking me this."

"It's a simple question, do you love the guy or not?"

"This is not a suitable conversation."

"Why can't you just answer the question?" Rose laughed nervously, and walked a few paces away from him.

"This is absurd!" She decided. "You don't know me, and I don't know you, and we are not having this conversation at all. You are rude, and uncouth, and presumptuous-"

(There was no apology or denial of him being any from Jack. On the contrary, he seemed to find it hard not to laugh.)

"And I'm leaving now." She said, shaking his hand. "Thank you, Jack- Mr. Dawson- it's been a pleasure, I sought you out to thank you, and now I have thanked you-"

"And you've insulted me." Jack finished.

"Well, you deserved it." Rose told him.

"Right." Jack agreed. "I thought you were leaving."

She realized then that she was still shaking his hand, and quickly released it.

"I am." She assured him, striding away. "You are so annoying!" She said, but Jack only chuckled.

"Wait a minute!" Rose realized, stopping in her tracks and turning towards him. "I don't have to leave, this is my part of the ship- you leave." She told him.

"Ho, ho, ho, well, well, well- now look who's being rude." He pointed out, looking more amused still.

Rose was at a loss.

"What's this stupid thing you're carrying around?" She snapped, snatching the small leather folder he'd been carrying from under his arm, and looking through its drawing-filled pages.

"What are you an artist or something?"

But she was intrigued by his work.

"These are rather good. . ." She admitted, sitting down on a deck chair to more closely examine the pencil figures.

"They're uh. . . very good actually. . ."

She looked at a drawing of a mother holding her baby. The shading was life-like, and there was talent etched in every line. Rose had a passion for art, and knew genius when she saw it. . . these were incredible.

"Jack, this is exquisite work!" She complemented, forgetting her quarrel with him in an instant.

"They didn't think much of them in old Paree." Jack replied modestly.

"Paris! You really do get around for a poor. . ." She stopped, embarrassed at what she'd almost said. "Well, uh, uh- for someone of limited means. . ."

"Go on, a poor guy, you can say it." Jack told her, grinning.

Rose continued to look through the pages.

"And these were drawn from life?" She asked him. Jack nodded.

"Oh, and this lady. . ."

He turned to the back of the book and showed her a picture of an old lady wrapped in a shawl sitting at a table with a glass of wine.

"She used to come to this bar every night, wearing every piece of jewelry she owned, just waiting for her long lost love. . . Called her Madam Bijou. See how her clothes are all moth-eaten?"

"You have a gift, Jack." Rose said admiringly. "You do. You see people."

"I see you." He told her.

"And?" Rose asked, drawing herself up and grinning.

"You wouldn't have jumped." Her smile faded.

"If I did, would you have really-"

"Yes." Jack said. "I would've."

Rose felt herself turn red.

"Why?" She asked.

"Because I don't think anyone should throw their life away."

"But if you went in after me, you'd be throwing your life away." Rose said.

"Not how I look at it." Jack replied.

"Well, then, how do you look at it?" Rose inquired.

"If I wasn't going too, and you jumped in when I could've at least tried, then it'd basically be murder." Jack explained.

"Most people would think that is the most ridiculous theory in the world." Rose told him.

"Do you?"

"Yes!" Rose laughed. "But I'm not complaining."

"Well, if it's not a complaint, then from you it's a complement." Jack decided.

Rose chuckled as she continued to search through the art book.

"Oh!" She gasped, looking at a rather obscure drawing that surprised her. It was rather like one of her Picasso paintings, but not quite as good. And after seeing so many of his other amazing sketches, it was rather hideous. It was of someone's face. The eyes were lopsided, and the mouth was overly large. The nose was snout-like, and what she assumed were ears were sticking on the side of its chin and the top of its head, which was brick-shaped.

"That one there's my favorite." Jack said. "How do you like it?"

"Well, it's. . . it's uh. . . well. . ." Rose stammered. "It's not your best, but I admire the. . . creativity."

Jack chuckled. "So do I, but I didn't draw this."

"You didn't?"

"No, there's this little girl that I know- her name's Cora, and she drew it this morning."

Rose laughed. "I thought that you must've done it with your eyes closed."

"Well, I think it's pretty good." Jack said defensively.

"Definitely better than my work." Rose said, handing the book back to him.

"Well, it takes a little practice." Jack told her. "But it's not hard."

"Yes it is, it just comes naturally to you- did you ever have lessons?" Jack shook his head.

"I guess I just picked it up."

Rose was amazed.

"You like art, don't you?" Jack inquired.

"I love it." Rose replied. "I'm the only one in my family who does- well, my father did, but he passed away about a year ago."

"I'm sorry." Jack said sympathetically. "What happened to him?"

"Stress related heart attack." Rose said shortly.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I barely knew him." Rose confessed.

"He was home so little that it doesn't make much of a difference now that he's gone."

There was a long silence, and Jack, realizing that this was a sore topic for her, tried to change the subject.

"I could show you how to draw if you'd like."

"Really?" Rose asked, delighted.

"Sure." He pulled a piece of paper from the back of the book and handed her a charcoal pencil. "Try drawing your hand, it's the easiest."

Rose nodded and held out her left hand in front of her.

"Position your fingers a bit." Jack advised. "It'll add some depth to the picture. . . now outline your hand with the pencil- not so hard, you don't want dark lines."

"So how did you like Paris?" Rose asked, as she tried to follow his instructions.

"It was okay." Jack said. "Not my favorite. . . try holding the pencil this way, it's much easier."

"What didn't you like about it?" Rose asked curiously, as he positioned her fingers differently.

"Well, it was a bit crowded." Jack admitted. "And I didn't really like the style of it."

"Really?" She inquired, still trying to outline her hand, and not taking her eye off of it. "I didn't find it to be that crowded. . ."

"Well, you saw it from a different angle."

"How so?" "Well, you were just observing the good parts of the city." Jack explained. "Paris for me was about living on the streets, and just trying to get it all down on paper, you know what I mean?"

"You know, my dream has always been to just run away and become an artist, living in a garret, poor, but free!" She told him emphatically as she set her pencil down on top of the drawing.

"You wouldn't last two days." Jack informed her, laughing at the picture of her living in a garret, having lived in one several times before. "There's no hot water, and hardly ever any caviar."

"I happen to hate caviar." Rose told him, slightly hurt. "And I hate people telling me what dreams I should and shouldn't have."

"I'm sorry." Jack said. "You're right."

"Yes, well. . . people always expect me to be this delicate little flower but I'm not. I'm sturdy, I'm as strong as horse! I'm here to do something, not just be decorative. My hands were made for working. . . There's something inside of me that feels like there's so much more out there. I want to be an artist, or maybe a sculptress, or a dancer, or a motion picture actress!" "I could definitely see that last one." Jack teased. Rose smiled ruefully. "I'm tired of people thinking I'm someone I'm not."

"Tea, madam?" A steward holding a tea-tray asked from behind her.

"No!" Rose moaned, looking exasperatedly at Jack, who chuckled.

"Then why not change things up a little?" He asked her, as she continued with the drawing.

"I can't." Rose said. "I'm expected to act a certain way, and if I don't then it's trouble."

"Don't you think it's trouble anyway? Don't you think that you're robbing yourself by pretending to be someone you aren't?"

"Well, everyone must make some sacrifices." Rose said pointedly.

"Yeah, but not those kind." Jack said. "A sacrifice is doing something you don't want to do, or giving up something important to you. Changing yourself is just dangerous."

"Dangerous?" She scoffed.

"Well, how has it worked out for you so far?" He asked her.

"You're being rude again." Rose haughtily. "Please, don't give advice about matters you know nothing about."

Jack looked very much inclined to continue doing so anyway, but he chose not to, and continued to help her draw.


Ruth sat in the dining saloon, sipping tea in a most lady-like way, while conversing with the Countess of Rothes and Mrs. Arthur Ryerson. The Countess had wondered if Rose planned on going to college, and seemed quite surprised when Ruth said she wouldn't be. She asked if Rose wanted to.

"Rose is filled with all sorts of ridiculous notions." Ruth answered dismissively. "She reads entirely too much as it is."

"I'm starting to see that in a lot of girls." Mrs. Ryerson added.

"But wouldn't you like to cultivate her mind?" The Countess asked.

"But the purpose of a university is to find a suitable husband. Rose has already done that." Ruth said smugly.

"Oh, look." Said Mrs. Ryerson. "Here comes that vulgar Brown woman."

"Quickly, get up before she sits with us." Ruth told the two of them, rising as she set her napkin on the table. But it was too late.

"Hello girls," Molly said brightly. "I was hoping to catch you at tea."

"We're awfully sorry you missed it. The Countess and I were just off to take the air on the boat deck." Ruth told her coldly.

But the awful woman would not be deterred.

"What a lovely idea. I need to catch up on my gossip." She said.

Ruth gave the Countess a resigned look and strode out to the boat deck, followed, to her dismay, by Molly. As the ladies walked out, they passed a table occupied by Bruce Ismay and Captain Smith.

"I see you've not yet had the last four boilers lit." Ismay said, looking at a progress sheet as he smoked a cigarette.

"No." Smith replied. "I don't see the need. We are making excellent time."

"The press knows the size of Titanic, now I want them to marvel at her speed." Ismay told him.

In truth, he really was as arrogant as Rose thought him out to be, and he was most arrogant in his ships. They meant more to him than anything else in the world, and it was rumored he enjoyed them over his family, who he'd left in England.

"We must give them something new to print."

"Mr. Ismay, I would prefer not to push the engines till they've been properly run in." Captain Smith answered.

"Of course, I'm just a passenger." Ismay sighed. "I leave it to your good offices to decide what best. . . But what if we surprised them all by arriving on Tuesday night? What a glorious end to your final crossing. Make the morning papers? Retire with a bang, eh, E.J.?"

Smith sighed in defeat, wondering what harm it could possibly do. It did sound like a glorious end to his final crossing. . .

"Good man." Ismay told him, satisfied.

And so it was agreed that the last four boilers would be lit.


"Well, after that I worked on a squid boat in Monterey. Then I went down to Los Angeles to the pier in Santa Monica, and started doing portraits there for ten cents apiece." Jack continued, as they watched the sun begin to sink into the horizon.

Rose didn't know what was stranger, that she'd been talking to him all day, or that she'd only talked to him all day. She could've known him forever, and in a way, she felt she had. It had been the nicest day she'd had in a long time. The conversation hadn't been dull at all, and it hadn't been one-sided. They had talked about all sorts of things, and there was no gossip, or talk of politics, or her wedding, or of high-society. And it was refreshing.

"Why can't I be like you, Jack?" She asked. "And just head out to the horizon whenever I feel like it? Let's say we go there someday- to that pier, even if we only ever just talk about it-"

"No, we'll do it." Jack said, and he said it with such certainty that Rose couldn't help but believe him.

"We'll drink cheap beer. We'll ride on the rollercoaster till we throw up, and ride horses on the beach- right in the surf. And you'll have to do it like a real cowboy, none of that side-saddle stuff."

"You mean, with one leg on each side?" Rose asked, thinking of the look on her mother's face if she ever pulled such a stunt, and smiling. "Will you show me?"

"Sure. . . if you'd like."

"Teach me to ride like a man?"

"And chew tobacco like a man." Jack added in his best Southern accent.

"And spit like a man!" Rose said, also using a Southern accent.

"What, they didn't teach you that at finishing school?" He joked.

"No!"

"Well, come on, I'll show you. Let's do it." He said, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a shaded walkway.

"Jack, no! Jack, no! Wait, Jack. No, Jack. I couldn't possibly, Jack." Rose protested, dragging her feet. But the horrible, mischievous smile on his face told her he had made up his mind.

"Watch closely." He spit over the ledge.

"That's disgusting!' Rose moaned.

"All right." He told her. "Your turn."

Rose glared at him, checked if anyone was watching, and quickly spit a little over the ledge.

"That's pitiful!" Jack said. "Come on, you really got to hawk it back, you know? Get some leverage to it, use your arms."

He hawked loudly, and spit impressively over the side.

"See the range on that thing?"

"Mm-hmm." Rose said, and then she tried again according to Jack's instructions, which were disgusting, but surprisingly helpful.

"That was better." Jack told her. "You got to work on it. Really try to hawk it up, and get some body to it, you know? You got to. . ."

His words were cut off by another demonstration of snorting.

Rose did not know how she knew, but she got the terrible feeling that people were standing behind her, and her stomach tied itself in a it was not just any people. Her mother, Molly Brown, and the Countess of Rothes were standing behind them, and were all looking quite disgusted, except Molly, who seemed to think that hawking up spit was a fine thing to be doing. Rose elbowed Jack, who hadn't noticed they were there; he turned around, and to her dismay, there was spit all over his chin.

"Mother." Rose faltered, remembering her manners. "May I introduce Jack Dawson?"

"Charmed I'm sure." Mother said coldly, and it was very obvious she meant quite the opposite, and for a brief moment Jack seemed rather awkward.

It helped some when Molly gestured to him that he had spit all over his chin, and he wiped it off quickly.

The others were gracious, and curious about Jack, but her mother looked at him like an insect- a dangerous insect, which must be squashed quickly.

"Well, Jack, it sounds like you're a good man to have around in a sticky spot." Molly said, after the two of them had recounted his rescuing her last night. Jack had added to the story some this time, and he had a way of making it sound as though leaning over to see the propellers and slipping was an honest mistake, and that it could really happen to anyone. Rose had been quite grateful for this, because she really had been dreading the retelling of the lie, and in her opinion, the less people who knew about the incident the better.

Suddenly a loud trumpet sound interrupted the conversation, and Molly said, "Why do they always insist on announcing dinner like a darn cavalry charge?"

Rose laughed, "Shall we go dress, Mother?" She said, hoping that she wouldn't have time to say anything snotty, and dragging her off.

"See you at dinner, Jack."

"Jack?" Mother asked, as soon as they were out of earshot.

"He asked me to call him that." Rose explained.

"Oh. And did he ask you to behave in such a manner?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Spitting! Of all the things, I could see you from a mile off, and I've never been so appalled-"

"We were just having a bit of fun." Rose answered. "It really wasn't anything."

"The Countess of Rothes saw you hawking up spit- that really wasn't anything? Honestly, I nearly fainted. What a horrible boy."

]


Jack smiled as he watched Rose leave.

"Uh, son?" Molly asked him, but he didn't hear.

"Son!"

Jack looked at her, realizing she was talking.

"Do you have the slightest comprehension what you're doing?" She asked him.

"Not really." Jack replied, grinning.

"Well, you're about to go into the snake pit." Molly explained, referring to the first class dinner. "What're you planning to wear?"

Jack shrugged. He didn't have anything better than what he was wearing.

"I figured." Molly said. "Come on."

She grabbed him by the arm and started walking towards the door. He was a bit surprised, but didn't protest to whatever it was she was doing.\

"How are you liking this voyage so far?" Molly asked.

"It's been really good." Jack said.

"I like the ship, but the people up in first class are some of the biggest snobs I ever did see." Molly told him. "Tread carefully at dinner- I call it the snake pit for a reason. And trust me, our table is one of the snakiest tables out there. . . I'm sure you've already felt the hostility from Ruth."

Jack nodded- Rose's mother had looked like she wished he'd fall off a cliff or something.

"Nothing you say or do is going to make her like you- don't take it personally. She doesn't like me either." Molly continued.

"Duly noted." Jack said cheerfully.

"I only feel it's fair to warn you she might be. . . uh. . ."

"Demeaning?"

"That's the word I was looking for. I don't think you'll have any problems. . . now tell me, what really happened on the boat deck last night?"

"Exactly what we were telling you earlier, she was leaning over to see the propellers and slipped." Jack lied convincingly.

"I think she's a bit smart for that, and she was really upset when she left dinner. Besides, it looked like you were lying."

"Huh?"

"Look here, Jack, I have a husband and a son, and they, along with just about every other man on the face of the earth, have this certain face they put on when they lie. And it's taken me a long time to get it down right, cause everyone does it differently, but you were fibbing big time." Molly said. "Now tell me, did she really slip, or are you not at liberty to say?"

Jack thought a moment, trying to decide what the best answer would be, when Molly chuckled and said, "I'm going to take that as not at liberty to say."

There was a short pause, as the two of them walked into the main hallway on the boat's interior.

"You like her, don't you?" Molly asked.

"Yes." Jack replied, hoping it sounded as though he liked her more as a friend, even though he liked her more than that. . . more than he was willing to tell himself.

"Well, I'm glad she has you as a friend- she's cheered up a lot today."

When they got to Molly's stateroom, she pulled a suit out of her closet, and told him to try it on while she got ready. Jack couldn't remember the last time he had put a suit on, and when he looked in the mirror, he barely recognized himself.

"I was right!" Molly said excitedly. "You and my son are about the same size!"

"Pretty close." Jack answered, trying to comb his hair back with his fingers.

"You shine up like a new penny!" She laughed. "Now go on to dinner- I'll meet you there."