Winter 1932
Jack's head ached; his body was heavy, and it hurt to swallow. He felt Rose holding him and was grateful she was there. He breathed slowly, drifting in and out of sleep. He didn't know how long he'd been sick. Sometimes she was there with soup; other times she had medicine. She had to pour things down his throat now. He tried to stay conscious, but he couldn't. He didn't have the energy. Once he opened his eyes and saw Rose peering down at him, worried and frowning. "I'll be fine," he said, but his voice was barely a whisper. He didn't even know if she heard it.
"Oh, Jack." She pressed his hand to her lips, and he felt her tears. Not being able to comfort her made him feel even worse. Live. Live. Live. He chanted silently, as if it might help. He couldn't leave her.
…
"I'm not exactly sure what he has, Mrs. Dawson," the doctor said. "He most certainly has a fever, a rather severe one. It looks like pneumonia, but it isn't. I don't hear any fluid in his lungs. He's breathing just fine."
"Can't you do anything for him?" Rose asked.
"I can prescribe something, but he's not going to get any better until that fever comes down."
"I've been trying to break it," she said, keeping her eyes on Jack. "Nothing I do works. I've brought it down a little, but it never goes away completely."
"Be glad you've kept it from getting too high," he replied. "He would've died already if you hadn't."
Jack heard them through the fog in his head. I won't, he wanted to say. Rose held his hand. It took all his strength to weakly squeeze her fingers. Don't be afraid, he thought, trying to send it to her. I love you.
Summer 1917
Their peach business went better than they expected. They used up most of the slips and cleared over $3,000 by the time they stopped. They drove down to Los Angeles and found a house on the beach. The owner looked at them suspiciously at first, but after they paid for three months in cash, he felt no need to ask questions.
"What are we going to do now?" Rose asked. They sat on the sand, barefoot, not caring if it got in their clothes. The sun was just beginning to sink, and they had the whole beach to themselves.
"I need to fix some things on the car," Jack said. "I thought I'd do that for a few days. Wanna help?"
"By help, do you mean hand you tools again?"
"No. I mean really help this time," he said. "I want to teach you more about cars. I should've already."
"Why the sudden concern?"
Jack shrugged. "It's something you need to know. One day I might not be around to fix things anymore."
"Of course you'll be around," she said. "Unless you're planning to run away."
"Well, that waitress who served us breakfast was cute, and two blondes do look good together," he said.
Rose rolled her eyes. "Try it, and see what happens."
He gasped dramatically. "Was that a threat? I thought I married a lady, not some girl hoodlum."
Rose pushed him down onto the sand. Laughing, he playfully resisted. "I haven't been a lady in a very long time," she said.
"Sure, you have." He pulled her down with him.
Her hair tickled his face. "Why do you always say that?" she asked.
"Because it's true."
"Then what does that make you?" she said.
"Lucky."
Winter 1932
He wasn't heavy anymore; he was light. Jack felt as if he were floating. Sometimes when he opened his eyes he thought he saw himself in bed. He saw Rose. She was so far below him. He couldn't get back down to her. He was barely connected now; only the thinnest string kept him from floating away forever.
His breaths came slower and shallower now. Rose tried to breathe for him, blowing air into his lungs, hoping her life could be his too. "Live," she whispered. "You can't die yet, Jack. I need you here."
He heard her, but he couldn't respond.
Summer 1917
"So, I use this one?" Rose said, holding up a wrench.
"Yeah. I'll show you how," Jack said.
She watched as he tightened parts of the car she didn't know the names of. He moved quickly, confident in his abilities. He explained it all to her, and she stored the information in the back of her mind, sure she would never need it.
They spent a few days like that, drifting between the beach and the garage. There was no need to do business, and it was too warm and sunny to be thinking about such things anyway. Jack preferred to find a place on the sand and draw. He watched the other beachgoers, imagining their lives as he sketched them. He knew the truth was probably more interesting than anything he could ever make up. But it was still fun.
Rose swam. She threw herself into the water and stayed for hours, not coming out until her body hurt and she smelled like salt. Jack drew her as a mermaid. She laughed when he showed it to her. "What if we could live in the ocean?" she said.
"You'd want to?"
"I don't know. I'd like to try it. It might be nice," she answered. "Just think how beautiful it would be. We could swim down to those islands where the water is turquoise, and it never gets cold. There wouldn't be anything to worry about."
"Are you worried about something?" he asked.
"No. Right now I'm perfectly happy," she said. Her hair shone even redder in the sun; golden highlights were beginning to appear. Freckles dotted her shoulders. They were difficult to draw. She was wearing less than she should have on a public beach, but so far, no-one had bothered them about it.
"Come swimming with me?" she said.
"Oh, Rose, I don't know. I was just gonna stay dry," he said, feigning disinterest.
"I thought you were a good swimmer? Unless that was just something you said to impress me."
"I don't have to do everything I'm good at," he said. "If I get any more impressive you won't be able to handle it," he added, tossing his head arrogantly.
Rose grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. "I think I'll manage."
Winter 1932
Rose was crying. Jack felt the tears on his neck. His eyes opened easily, and he realized he'd forgotten how that felt. He breathed deeply, luxuriating in the way his lungs expanded and filled with air. She didn't seem to notice. She held him, her face pressed into his neck. Jack had a vague impression that he'd gone somewhere. He remembered being on the ceiling, looking down at himself and her, and then, nothing. Something had happened, but he didn't know what. And now Rose was clinging to him and sobbing as if her heart was broken.
Moving his arms was difficult, but he managed to put them around her. His embrace was weak. "It's alright," he said softly. "Don't cry, Rose. Everything's alright."
Rose lifted her head. She stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. "Jack?"
"Yeah, it's me, baby."
"But you're—you—" she stammered. "I thought you were dead."
He grinned. "Sorry. Still here."
Rose hugged him tightly, crying again. "You can't scare me like that again! Do you hear me, Jack? I can't watch you die again, not for a long time, not until we're an old, old couple, and we're both ready for it."
"You think we'll get that old together?"
"Of course we will," she said.
Summer 1917
Eventually they grew restless. The long, sun-drenched days of leisure began losing their charm. They started thinking about business again and looking around for fresh challenges.
"It would be a shame not to use the pictures," Rose said. "We're so close."
"Yeah, but how?" Jack said. "Show business people'd be able to spot us, the good ones, anyway."
"You really think so?"
"Sure. They do the same thing we do. Pretend to be people they aren't. Sell to a public that doesn't even always know it wants to buy anything. Their stories are just like ours," he said. "Illusions for people who know better."
"You sound so cynical."
"I was going for realistic," he replied amiably. "There's nothing wrong with believing in things. It helps you get through the day. Unless you're like us. People like us are the only one who can't have any illusions."
"Does that make us better?" she said.
"If we didn't have each other, I'd say it makes us lonelier," he answered.
They wandered around the city for the next few days, waiting for inspiration to strike. They gathered information the way bees gather pollen; nothing was unimportant. They got as close to the movie studios as possible and watched people going in and out.
"We'll need passes to get in," Jack said.
"We're going in?" Rose said.
"Don't you wanna?" he grinned.
"I am curious," she said.
"We've got to figure out how to get some passes."
"It can't be that difficult," she said. "Not for us."
An opportunity presented itself soon after. They drifted into a nightclub near one of the studious as a wave of workers left for an evening break. They split up, going to opposite ends of the room. They kept the other in sight, but anyone observing would have thought they'd never met. Rose carried their rings in her purse, along with the rest of their valuables.
Rose found a seat in the corner and waited. Men passed by, smiling, clearly interested, but she silently dismissed them all until she found the one she wanted. He was tall, with a head full of thick, dark hair. He was good-looking but didn't seem to realize it. He approached her hesitantly. When she smiled he seemed overwhelmed. "May I sit here?" he asked.
"Sure," she said causally.
"I haven't seen you before. Do you work for the studio?"
"Oh, no, not yet. Maybe soon," she said.
"New in town then?"
"Can you really tell?" Rose said. "Do I look that out of place?"
"No, you don't look out of place. There's just dozens of new girls here every day," he said. "All wanting to be in pictures. But you could really do it."
"Oh, I couldn't. You're just trying to flatter me," she said.
"Sure you could."
"Do you work for a studio?" she asked.
Meanwhile, across the room Jack was making friends with an aspiring actress, a young, blonde, contract player, who so far had only appeared in uncredited roles. She claimed to be 19, but really she was 16, and one glance told him that. He wondered if she was out there alone, and her chatter made him feel protective towards her. She was so child-like. He stole a glance at Rose. She was fine, at least. The man she'd found was too nervous to lay a hand on her. Rose turned her head, ever so slightly, and met his gaze. He leaned toward the girl, and she nodded, ostensibly at her companion.
"Do you want to dance?" Jack asked.
"Sure," she replied eagerly.
The two couples slowly moved toward one another. It wasn't difficult for Rose to slip her hand into her partner's jacket pocket and take out his pass, or for Jack to do the same with his partner's dress pocket. As they got closer, Rose glanced at Jack. He nodded. Without warning, Rose fell, pulling the man down and hitting the girl, who really did fall.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Rose cried. "My feet just got tangled, I suppose. I don't know what happened." She was back on her feet instantly. As her partner reached down to help the girl, Jack took her hand. They slipped away, leaving their partners for each other.
Winter 1932
Jack was weak. He'd lost weight, and he was pale. He couldn't get out of bed without Rose's help. So most of the time he stayed there. He ate ravenously, hot buttery rolls, stacks of pancakes, whole chickens, thick sandwiches. Anything. Everything. No expense was spared. When he objected, Rose ignored him.
"You want to get out of bed soon, don't you?" she said. "Then eat and get your strength back." She pushed his hair out of his eyes. He was so pale. It didn't look natural. Jack wasn't supposed to be pale. He was of the sun. He was life and summer and fresh blooms on trees.
Jack kissed her hand. "Have I thanked you for keeping me alive?"
"I didn't keep you alive. I let you die," she said.
"If I died, you brought me back, Rose."
Jack hadn't told her about everything he experienced during his illness. Now that it was over, he wasn't sure how much of it had actually happened. He was inclined to believe it had all just been the fever. It was all dreams or hallucinations. But Rose was certain he died, and that last time hadn't felt like anything else he'd ever done. Maybe she was right; maybe he had died. It was a terrifying possibility.
Jack realized he'd been planning for them to die together all along. The day would come when they were too old for business and the constant travel, and when it did, they would find a quiet place to spend the rest of their lives. Their money would more than keep then. It would be like one of their vacation times stretched out over years. Now he found himself looking forward to those days, though he feared they wouldn't come.
Rose could survive without him. She would be fine on her own, even if she didn't think so at first. But what about him? What would he do without her?
Summer 1917
Changing the names on the passes was easy. The printer's logo was on the back, so they called in an order for a dozen, for various, made-up people. No fuss was made; the bill was charged to the studio account, and the printer's assistant gave them all to Rose without asking questions. They threw away the stolen passes.
Rose became Gladys Jane, and Jack became Patrick. The only problem was they still weren't sure how to do business with the studio. The actors at the bottom of the heap were too poor, and the promise of instant stardom that brought them to Hollywood in droves was a better scheme than any they could have thought up. It was best to leave those people in peace; they'd been taken enough already.
"Do you think we can handle something this big?" Rose asked, during dinner that night.
"We can handle anything."
Jack's confidence was reassuring, but part of Rose still felt overwhelmed by what they were trying to do. The executives were the mark; they were the money men. They didn't know about acting; all they knew were profits. Many of them were sharp businessmen, but they were counting on arrogance and greed to be their undoing. "But what do they need?" Rose said.
"Whatever we do, it shouldn't be something that'll ruin the city for us," he said.
"This should be where we go when we stop," she said.
"You mean it?"
"Why not? It'll be perfect," she said. "The sun, the beach. We can plant our own fruit trees."
"Do you think about that?" he asked.
"Sure, sometimes. Don't you?"
"Not really." He paused. "Rose, do you ever want any of it now? That life?"
"You mean, settle down somewhere? No more traveling or business?"
"Exactly," he said.
"No." She spoke without hesitation. "You once told me you have everything you needed to be happy with you. Well, so do I. I know it's dangerous at times, but I love the way we live. I don't want anything to change, not for a long time."
It was the answer he'd been hoping for. "You don't ever want kids?" he asked.
The question took her by surprise. It was something they didn't really discuss. Children weren't an option, or so she'd always thought. How could they have them and still live the way they did? What if they were caught for something? Who would take care of their children? It was simply too much risk, especially when they were lucky enough to have each other.
"I don't think about it often," Rose said. "I guess, no, I don't really want them. Or maybe, I don't want them more than I want the life we have already." His expression was hard to read. "Do you think I'm terrible?" she asked.
Jack shook his head. "No, I think you're honest, and I'm glad you are. It's not something we can do if we're not sure."
"Do you want them?"
"Not more than I want what we already have," he said.
Winter 1932
Jack leaned on Rose as they walked around the hotel. They paced the hallway, and when he felt up to it, they went up and down the stairs. At first his legs ached after only a few rounds. Rose massaged the sore muscles. She rubbed his back and put him to bed. Jack wasn't ashamed to need her help. If he couldn't turn to her, who could he turn to?
No-one knew anything about them, except that Jack was an invalid. Their daily walks attracted a few looks and some stories were told about them, all speculation, of course.
Little by little Jack's strength returned. The day came when he could do everything on his own, and they made plans to leave.
"Let's go dancing first," he said, putting his arms around her. "We need a celebration."
"Are you sure you're up to it?" Rose asked. His color had come back, but she worried anyway.
Jack responded by pulling her closer and leaping into a jig. "I'm up for anything," he said, twirling her. He held her against him. "Everything." He kissed her eagerly. Rose sighed softly. 'Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For keeping me alive," he said. "Not just taking care of me but giving me something to live for. You're right. I—I died." It was the first time he let himself say it. "I was gone. Or going. But you brought me back."
"Jack—"
"You kept me here, Rose," he said. "I looked down and saw you, and I felt you. I felt your pain and your love, and I didn't want to go. I remember now. I fought it." He kissed her again, slowly this time.
"Let's go dance then," Rose said.
They didn't know what would happen next, but Jack knew their lives were about to change.