Friday, April 12, 1912
"Did you speak to Piper?"
Larry Bloom's future father-in-law is waiting for him in his suite's sitting room and doesn't even bother with a proper greeting. Larry recovers quickly from his unexpected presence and nods. "Of course. Just after dinner."
Bill raises an expectant eyebrow, waiting for more. "And are things taken care of?"
"I don't know," Larry tells him, knowing this answer won't going to be well received. "I think it might be better coming from you."
Bill tightens his jaw and stands up from the armchair to approach Larry, giving him the disapproving look he hates; the older man has maybe an inch on him in height, but always somehow gives the impression that he's much taller than he is. "Tell me. How do you expect to be a suitable husband for my daughter if you cannot even curtail her more destructive whims?"
"I don't think, in this instance, it was a matter of her not listening to me," Larry rushes to explain. "She knew right away it was really your objection. And - sorry, sir - she likely assumes I wouldn't disapprove so strongly of my own volition."
"Well, then, I think you've stumbled upon your problem," he retorts, unmoved by the excuses.
Larry forces himself to hold Bill's gaze, face heating up again as he remembers Piper's scorn when she'd called him a puppet. "I still think it's rather harmless."
"Your future wife associating herself with some bohemian commoner is harmless?"
"We both know how Piper is, sir. Drawn to anything that seems novel or unique...this is just like one of her books. It's a temporary indulgence, and in the few days we're on the ship will it really hurt?"
There is a muscle pulsing dangerously in Bill's jaw, but other than that he remains entirely composed. "Son. We are approaching a time - very soon, in fact - when Piper will become your responsibility."
Bill's voice is slow and deliberate; he often gives the impression he'd memorized his remarks in advance, made sure to rehearse the perfect delivery, and it effectively keeps Larry silent. He isn't addressing the question, the why of it being such a disgrace for Piper to collect a few stories from a third class woman, but Larry doesn't dare push it.
"This means," Bill continues. "That her behavior will now reflect on you as much as it does on her mother and I. Perhaps even moreso. So think beyond this moment, when you are married and back among your friends' society. And how it will reflect on you when your future wife so easily dismisses what you say. When she conducts herself in a way that clearly does not reflect your wishes." He lets that sink in, the point irrefutable the way he presents it. "Best to set a precedent, don't you think?'
"It was a tramp steamer that first got me to France," Alex is telling Piper. "It's steady work, and there are regular meals, which is nice...but I got bored fast. I'm not good with routine."
"How did you manage to get hired for something like that?" Piper asks, sitting beside Alex on the bench, asking questions while she draws. Alex keeps looking up to check Piper's face, make sure she isn't bored, and every time finds her eyes still shining with eager wonder. "Isn't it usually all men?"
"Yeah, which was another thing I disliked about it." Alex flashes her a quick grin. "But I kind of...cut my hair off. And got some really loose shirts." Piper lets out a surprised, breathy laugh. "Didn't even have to change my name."
She'd been eighteen at the time, and tired of more than California and the thinning crowd at the Santa Monica pier. A whole country had no longer seemed like enough; Alex needed an ocean between herself and her mother's death.
Piper's tilting her head and studying Alex, pursed lips and squinting eyes.
"What are you looking at?"
"I just can't imagine anyone believing you were a man."
"Why's that?"
Piper flushes instead of answering, and Alex bends over her sketchbook again to hide a smile.
"So what will you do when the ship docks back in America?"
"Haven't thought much about it yet," Alex tells her honestly. "Maybe stay in New York for awhile, since we've got awhile until winter...could probably do some portrait work on Coney Island. Or go back to Massachusetts, just to see my hometown again. I don't know. I'll decide when we get there."
"Three days ago you had no idea you'd be moving to an entirely different continent," Piper marvels. "I envy that. There's not a single thing about the rest of my life that isn't planned out and certain." She sighs, a note of genuine bitterness creeping into the words. "If your life is a free fall, mine is an endless staircase."
Alex's fingers go still and she looks up at Piper with a small smile, wanting to cheer her up. "Hey, that's pretty good. You should be a writer."
Something strange sweeps over Piper's face, as though Alex has just said something momentous.
"What?"
"Nothing," she says fast, like it's her instinct to dismiss her own thoughts. But, barely two seconds later, Piper changes her mind and explains anyway. "It's just funny. When I was a little girl, I wanted to write books when I grew up." She says it with a little laugh, ringing with a lifetime of brash dismissals, to indicate the silliness.
"Do it," Alex says simply. "You don't need university for that. Or a penis."
Piper gives a shout of a laugh, scandalized. "Alex!"
"Well, it's true," she says, smirking.
"I could write a character based on you." Piper's eyes are dancing. "Your life's definitely been exciting enough."
"Oh, I see now. You've been probing me for stories as research." Alex tips her head back, mock lamenting, "You'll probably make an additional fortune selling a novel about my poverty fueled adventures, while I stay completely destitute."
"Not completely," Piper counters, her voice sunshine warm, floating on laughter. "I'll commission you to do an illustration for the cover."
"A self-portrait? Interesting. You've got a deal."
"This means you'd better keep talking. I'll need to know everything."
"Hey, you're the writer," Alex says, liking the way Piper's smile brightens a few notches at the statement. "Ask me whatever you want to know."
For some reason, Piper's smile fades slightly, her countenance growing slowly serious. "Is it ever lonely? Living like that?"
It is the first time Piper has expressed anything other than envy or fascination with Alex's life, and it's vaguely unsettling. She indicates her sketching pad, stuffed with other people. "I tend to seek out spaces full of people. I'm rarely alone."
"Right, but I mean...those aren't usually people you care about. Or even know very well." Piper frowns a little, seeming to catch herself prying. "Or perhaps some of them are. I only mean...well, who's the person you love best in the world?"
The answer comes easily. "For fifteen years it was my mother." Alex wonders how much time will have to pass before she ceases to feel as though her heart must be dragged from her chest and up her throat just to say the word. "Since then, it's been less consistent. A month ago, it was the woman who let me stay in her flat in London for two weeks. Last week, it was a little boy I shared food with in the park. Two days ago, the man who invited me into a poker game with his friends." She smiles winningly at Piper. "And right now I guess it's you."
The words come out sounding too honest; Alex can taste the inadvertent truth of them, lingering on her lips. Too fast, too nervous, she adds, "Next week, it will be someone else."
But maybe it won't, Alex finds herself thinking. It's the sort of the thought that suggests this is becoming too dangerous.
"But you're right," Alex says suddenly, almost as if she needs to remind herself. "About it being a very lonely way to live, without attachments. Though...sometimes that's sort of the point."
Obvious confusion sweeps Piper's expression, but she doesn't ask Alex to explain. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. Believe me, you can feel entirely alone even with...very permanent attachments."
Alex looks at her, her voice going soft. "I bet."
Before Piper leaves her for the evening, she touches the long closed sketching pad in Alex's lap and asks, "I was wondering...if I could have that sketch you did? Of me?"
Alex shoots her an amused smile. "I thought you hated that."
"I didn't hate it," she protests, rolling her eyes like a bratty child. "I just found it presumptuous."
Alex quickly finds the page and hands it over. "Fine, fine. You can rip it to shreds or toss it in the ocean, or whatever disposal method you prefer. But you can't stop me from drawing another one." Alex props a cigarette between her teeth and grins around it. "If you're writing a book about me it's only fair."
"True," Piper agrees in a lofty voice. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Sure. Although..." Alex hesitates for only a second. "If you can get away after dinner, there's something I'd like to show you."
To Alex's delight, Piper's eyes light up at the suggestion. "I think I can do that."
"Meet me at our bench?" The our just slips out and, God help her, Alex likes the way it sounds.
She might be imagining it, but it seems like Piper's smile brightens. "Yes. As soon as I can."
Alex retreats to her cubicle room and right away sets to work on a new portrait of Piper. For the first time, she feels like what she has isn't enough: she needs colors, wants to draw the way Piper's eyes remind her of the ocean. Not the bright, crystal blue of too many landscapes, but dark and murky: the sea bottomless and enigmatic.
Daniel Cameron, her father's personal valet and - Piper suspects - quasi-bodyguard due to his more underhanded business dealings and debts, is waiting for her outside the Millionaire Suites. "Master Bloom would like you to join him in his suite for a moment before dinner."
Still heading for her own door, Piper says, "Tell him I'll find him after I dress, if there's time - "
Cameron grabs her arm, calm but firm. "Now, Miss Chapman."
She sighs but obeys, heading inside to find Larry waiting in the sitting room, displeasure already radiating from him. "Where have you been all day?"
Piper groans lightly, cutting through the pretense. "It seems as though you already know. Did you have the manservant follow me or was that Father?"
Larry's face hardens, and he snaps, "I thought I made myself clear last night, Piper."
"You did. But I don't recall giving the impression that I agreed with or cared about your objections."
"You will not speak to me that way," Larry yells, standing up as he does, and Piper starts slightly at the sudden volume and movement. Larry isn't usually quick to anger.
"What is wrong with you?"
"What is wrong with you?" He counters, sounding like a petulant little boy, his face red as though sustaining anger is exerting. "How do you have so little respect for me? It won't do, Piper. What are people going to think when we're married, if my wife has so little regard for my opinions or requests."
He sounds so stupid and blustering in that moment that, even looking right at him, Piper can barely believe there was anything fond or affectionate between them, even as children. "Well, I suppose they'll think, oh, how typical for him. You are barely your own man, Larry; you defer to your father, to mine, to our mothers, even...it's only when I dare to disagree with you that you see a problem."
He stares at her, stunned. It takes a moment to recover his anger. "You're no picnic yourself, Piper," he spats. "Do you even realize that? That perhaps you're not the only one thinking you could do better?" His eyes narrow into slits, voice dripping poison. "Better than a cold, ungrateful wife who will always secretly believe she's better than me. Imagine that."
Piper blinks at him, primarily shocked that Larry would say anything so out of turn. So honest. He seems startled himself, already avoiding her eyes.
On a whim, apropos to nothing, Piper extends the drawing in her hand. "What do you think of this?"
His face twisting with understandable confusion, Larry nevertheless takes it. "It's, ah. It's quite good," he pronounces finally, a bit grudging but also seemingly relieved at finding his way back to politeness. "Looks just like you." He says it like a question, uncertain what she's getting at.
"Yes, but...how do I look in it?"
"Normal?" He shakes his head, impatient now. "As you always do? Honestly, Piper, I don't care how good of an artist this friend of yours is, it's rather beside the point - "
"I know it is," Piper interrupts, taking Alex's sketch back. "Your point is clear to me now. Thank you."
She isn't really saying anything, but Larry recognizes the tone of acquiescence, even a false one. He nods, unmistakably relieved, and she leaves him to dress for dinner; later, she tucks her hand into his elbow and smiles as she walks at his side, lets him order for her, notes his subtle nod to her father's approving stare.
All the while, she is plotting escape.
Piper feels strangely awake throughout dinner, turning off her usual instinct to tune out the chatter around her and instead listening with amusement to the shallow, dimwitted comments, already shaping them into humorous anecdotes for later tonight. Piper thinks perhaps the reason she's been bored her whole life is because she didn't have Alex yet to tell things to.
Larry is clearly convinced all is well between them, so he leaves with her father and the other men, and Piper is unapologetic in departing immediately from the women, finding Alex on their bench with a cigarette between her lips. She smiles when she sees Piper. "Hey, glad you made it."
"Me, too," she says fervently. In a rush of reckless comfort, she plucks the cigarette away from Alex and takes her own drag.
Alex's eyes flare with amusement. "Wow, you're in the perfect mood for where we're going."
Feeling cocky, Piper blows a tunnel of smoke right in Alex's face. "And where's that?"
"To do a bit of wild partying."
The third class general room is a smoky haze of raucous activity, steerage passengers of all ages dancing and eating and drinking. A mismatch of musicians are gathered near an upright piano in one corner, honking out lively, loud stomping music on a fiddle, accordion, tambourine, and several different drums. Men yell curses and arm wrestle at a table only a few feet away from a twirling group of children.
It's a lot to take in, loud and tight knit, and Piper freezes up for a second, vividly aware of how out of place she must look, has already caught a few hungry sneers cast in her direction. But then Alex reaches back and wraps her fingers around Piper's hand, giving a gentle tug. "'S okay. I promise." She smiles, confident and convincing, but her eyes are searching Piper's, patiently waiting for her to agree.
After only a moment, Piper nods. "One thing, though." Pulling her hand away from Alex's, Piper pulls off the white gloves she had on for dinner and tosses them carelessly aside. Her fingers find Alex's again warm and, somehow, already, familiar. They smile at each other, and then Alex turns and leads her easily through the crowd.
"Vause!" Her last name comes in a chorus of male voices, packed around a small table with a pack of cards and a smattering of small coins. A young Irish guy with a cigarette in his mouth waggles his eyebrows at her. "Whose livelihood ya stealin' tonight, lass?"
Alex smirks at him without teeth. "Whoever's brave enough." She looks back at Piper, explaining, "I impressed them with the story of how I won my ticket...they seem to like a challenge. Poor things."
There are guffaws and calls of protest at that, and Alex just grins, then leans over the men to pick up two full pints of stout. "For us?" Without waiting for an answer she turns to hand one to Piper, affecting a snotty accent. "Your champagne, mademoiselle."
The frantic, pounding music has Piper's blood pumping and, feeling bold, she tips the glass back and chugs nearly half of it without stopping.
She's gratified to find Alex still watching her, wide eyed and taken aback. Piper throws her a haughty smile. "What? Thought a first class girl couldn't handle her drink?"
Alex laughs and clinks her own glass against Piper's. "I stand corrected." She takes a generous pull from the beer and then nods at a crowd of people between the band and makeshift dance floor. "C'mon."
Glancing back at the table of poker players, Piper says, "You aren't going to play?"
Alex raises her voice loud enough for the men to hear her. "I'll let them enjoy their night for a little longer, go back later when they're feeling cocky." They shout more abuse after her, and Piper giggles a little and follows Alex, sticking close enough to hold her hand, though they aren't anymore. In a funny, sudden instinct, Piper almost grabs for it.
Piper leans against one of the poles scattered throughout the room and Alex stands just behind her, and they watch the energetic, ad hoc band, pounding out a mad rush of music, and a cluster of couples locked at the elbow, nearly galloping in tight, coordinated circles. Piper smiles, she can't help it, the air itself is swirling with exhilaration, and she claps her hands in the quick, steady rhythm of the song. Every time she looks back, to see if Alex is smiling, too, she's grinning right at Piper, watching her with utter delight and unmistakable fondness.
"Your balls and cotillions anything like this?" Alex teases at some point, her voice low and warm and right against Piper's ear.
She shakes her head in staunch denial, then twists around to look at Alex. "Do you not dance?"
"Not usually," she says, then smiles. "You go right ahead, though."
"I'm good here," Piper says, pulling on Alex's sleeves with a grin, guiding her arms into place until she, too, is clapping along with the beat.
But then the song changes, to something a little wilder and more urgent, and as if it's a cue a chain begins to form, each person holding hands with someone else on either side of them, jumping and weaving through the room, pulling people in from the outskirts of the dance floor. A man who seems to know Alex catches her eye and in a flash of motion, she grips Piper's hand and allows both of them to be pulled into the weaving line.
It's fast and awkward and Piper slows too much on a weaving turn to kick off her high heeled shoes; Alex keeps a secure hold of her hand and it's worth the stumble, as she bounces giddily in her stocking feet, her other hand claimed by another woman who tugs her dancing partner after her.
Piper can feel her hair coming loose, falling in tendrils around her face, and when she looks beside her Alex's glasses have slipped down the bridge of her nose, she keeps tilting her head back to keep them on. They catch each other's gaze at the same moment and burst out laughing. The music is vibrating in her bones, and Piper feels dizzy with the force of her own happiness; Piper feels so very alive.
Alex and Piper are practically skipping when they emerge on the ship's deck once again, Alex nearly doubled at the waist from laughter as Piper belts out an attempt at an Irish ballad she'd just learned from one of the men Alex trounced in poker. She fumbles the words and breaks into a string of giggles herself.
They pass the First Class Entrance but to Alex's relief, Piper doesn't even glance toward it.
She smiles at Alex, pink cheeked and beaming. Half her hair has come down, falling past her shoulders: golden curls that seem twined with sunshine, even now under moonlight and the star drunk sky. "I like the dance they were doing, this one..." She starts prancing across the deck in a tight circle, arms held aloft on an imaginary partner; her stockings slide on the wood of the deck and Alex has to grab her waist to keep her steady.
"You're drunk," Alex informs her with a grin.
"You're mean," Piper shoots back, but her eyes are sparkling. "You know exactly which one I'm talking about, c'mere..." She pulls Alex to her, clumsily moving them through the basic steps of the dance. "That one."
"I know." They stop dancing, but don't let go. "What about it?"
"I liked it."
Alex laughs. "Good to know."
They look at each other. It's the longest Alex has touched her; it makes her skin feel as though it's burning on the inside.
Slowly, Piper drops her hand but doesn't step back. The mirth drains from her eyes, replaced with a sort of fierce conviction, and without introduction she says, "I'm not going to marry him."
Alex waits, but Piper seems to want a response, so, uselessly, she says, "Really?"
"Yes. I realized tonight...Larry doesn't love me, either. He says I'm cold, and I always thought that was true...that I'm incapable of feeling the way other people do, but I can." She smiles, just for Alex, as though she's proving it. "The only difference between Larry and I is that he's satisfied. I'm not."
"Good for you," Alex tells her softly, meaning it.
"Thank you," Piper says, rough with emotion. She lets it dangle between them for a moment, lets it be all encompassing, before she adds, "Tonight was amazing. I've never had such fun. I'm..." She pauses, swaying forward just the slightest bit, so close Alex's eyes almost hurt trying to look at her. So close that she feels like one breath will pull Piper's lips into hers. "I'm really glad I met you."
"Me, too," Alex exhales, weightless.
The moment hovers between them, long enough that Alex almost forgets not to hope, and finally Piper tips her face away, flushing. "I should get back." She takes a deliberate step back, then looks at Alex again. "I'm going to talk to my father tomorrow."
Nodding, managing a smile, Alex says, "Good luck."
"I'll see you after?"
"Sure. Come find me."
"I will. Goodnight, Alex."
"Goodnight, Piper. Night."
Saturday, April 13, 1912
She has breakfast with her parents on the private promenade, relieved Larry doesn't join them.
Her parents are largely silent, but that's nothing out of the ordinary, until her father says, without looking at her, "How was your night, Piper?"
Anxiety flutters in her chest, and she was already nervous about this talk. Piper looks at her father, trying to read him, but Bill's face gives away nothing. "It was fine," she says at last.
"Your excursions below deck warrant nothing but fine?"
"I - " Piper stops speaking as soon as she starts, unsure of what to do. Her father's voice is still entirely mild, but there's a quiet danger crackling in the air. "It was just a bit of silliness. A lark, really."
"I thought Larry had spoken to you about this particular lark."
At that, Piper lifts her chin and forces herself to meet his eyes, seeing an opening. "I was actually hoping to speak to you about Larry."
The temperature of Bill's voice drops a few barely perceptible degrees. "What about him?"
Already, Piper feels her bravery cowering, and it's with flustered weakness that she finally manages to ask, "It's...the business deal you've made with his father. The two of you have known each other for so long, it's surely not entirely dependent on the wedding, is it?"
Beside Piper, her mother jerks around to stare at her daughter, stricken, but Bill's expression doesn't waver. In a terse but calm voice he says, "Leave us please."
The few servants standing nearby quickly turn and leave the promenade. Bill then tips his head toward his wife, eyes still on Piper. "Carol, dear, you, too."
Her mother seems horrified, but she doesn't protest, just levels a cold stare at Piper before she stands and leaves as well.
When they're alone, Bill steeples his fingers together and stares at Piper over his hands. "Tell me," he says in a conversational tone. "When is the wedding Piper?
She feels tightly wound, and the words come out strained. "In just over a week. I know. But, Father - "
"And you realize this means invitations have gone out. An announcement has been run. Food has been ordered."
"Yes, and - "
He raises his voice just enough to effectively smother her answer. "So if you cancel the wedding - if you humiliate that boy - you think Lawrence will feel favorable toward our family? That he will not question my honor if you so easily discard yours? Are you comfortable giving up the guaranteed safety net of his fortune, of our connection to it?"
For just a second, Piper hates him.
"How can you do this?" she demands, voice wild. "You are putting your mistakes on my shoulders, Father, and it's not fair - "
"Fair?!" The word seems to break some string of calm inside him, and Bill stands up and sweeps the breakfast china onto the floor, towering over his daughter in explosive rage. "You stupid, ungrateful girl. Your entire life, you have wanted for nothing, it has all been handed to you. Nothing has been required of you, until now, when there is finally a call for your contribution...a contribution that is simply marry a well bred man as has been your desire your entire life."
His face twists in disgust, and he finally turns away from her, pacing in angry strides. Piper presses a hand over her mouth, doing everything she can not to cry. She's trembling, shocked by the very real fear pulsing through her.
"Amazing," Bill scoffs. "Three days spending time with this girl, this gutter rat, and you have it in your head you would prefer to starve on the streets in men's clothing like the common filth - yes, Piper, I know exactly how that mind of yours works. And it stops now. I forbid you to see her. You will not set foot in steerage again, are we clear?"
He looks at her again, waiting, and Piper digs her teeth into her lip to suppress a whimper, feeling small and cornered. Petrified, she nods.
Alex had tricked her into believing the things she says matters, and she'd almost forgotten how easily her father bats them away. How easily he always wins.
