I finished this in 2007-ish and recently gave it a complete re-write because although I love the original concept, the 16 year old me wrote like 1000 word chapters and thought it was enough! I have lived to write these last few weeks and this re-write is definitely up there with been one of my favs.
I hope you all like it and if you were unfortunate enough to be on here in 2007 and read the original version of this- I am sorry!
The Young and The Reckless.
Chapter one:
Santa Monica, 1954.
She buried her face in a book, as she always did. Her face shielded behind a shiny menu at the Grill; a restaurant which she had discovered just that week whilst trying to accustom herself to the newer neighbourhood. She sat right at the back in a booth; away from prying eyes, nosy customers and the front window. Her eyes flowed over the page as she listed the words in her head which formed into a beautiful story; a love story. An epic tale of something which swept her away into other realms of the absolute beauty of literature. She didn't even know the name of the book but she was so into it that she didn't notice a waiter approach her table once or twice, or that he had been sweeping the floor nearby with a brush that was so hard that it almost penetrated the floor, just to get her attention. He was loud, sweeping it against the red floor tiles with such a force that it was only her reverie which he wasn't disturbing.
Only two others sat in the diner, at the front, where most of the young girls sat as they saw the young men who passed by town, eyeing up their quiffs and soccor club style clothes. Their red lips shone, their nails painted shades of pinks, burgundies and the occasional blue and their hair set into the same permed style as the women of the fashion pages wore. Each one of them was a clone of the other. Each one trying harder than the other to be the most beautiful girl a man had borne witness to whilst batting their heavily darkened eyelashes.
The waiter passed those girls at the front; their giggling had started to annoy him. He was intrigued by the girl with the red hair; the long auburn curls which fell into her face and hid a multitude of sins which he wanted to unlock all of. He knew that her style of mauve dress wasn't in 'fashion', nor was her hair. As he could now see her lips; he did note that they were a dark red, not the pillar-box colour of the models. He smiled as he flipped his hair from his face. He wasn't one to follow the fashions either; James Dean wasn't quite the icon for him as much as the other guys, although he was fond of the car, the cigarettes and the jean style pant.
The brush scraped across the floor, causing a loud noise but that still didn't quite deter the girl from the book. She was enthralled. He stopped sweeping and leant against his brush, hand on hip and felt the smirk cross his face. He coughed, once. Nothing. Then he coughed again, this time it was louder; faker but still she didn't even shift. He raised his eyebrows, furrowing them as he paused for thought.
''You know, I'm starting to wonder what that damn book is about.'' He broke the silence of the Grill. The occasional record was playing in the background, lower than usual so that he could think, but it was still pretty quiet for this time of the day as well.
Slowly, she peeled her eyes away from her book and seconds later they met his. He felt his breathing stop for a quick second. They were the most beautiful green that he had ever seen. Brown and neutral tones of eyeshadow, liner and mascara set them off. Her skin was white, almost translucent. His eyes swept about her face, rudely and intently; drinking every single facet of it whilst he was able to fully see. She didn't smile but he took note of the dark red lip which she wore.
''I beg your pardon?''
He leant against his sweeping brush and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
''You've not looked up from the book for about an hour. In fact, you came in here and you never even ordered anything.''
For a second, she looked in front of her upon the red dining booth and seemed embarrassed as she realised that he was right.
''Oh-I will have a tea. Strong. No sugar.''
''Tea?'' He laughed, surprised at her choice.
She narrowed her eyes at him, peeved came to mind.
''Yes, do you serve tea?''
The waiter nodded just once, allowing the questions which were dying to be asked just fade away and so he replied quickly, ''sure.''
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hesitance clear. Her eyes were back in her book and it was as though he didn't exist. The outside world must have fallen away from her once again. He went out on a whim and leant closer to her, knowing that she could possibly slap his face out of rudeness, but what the hell. Maybe it was worth it to see another expression upon the young girl's face.
''Hey, do you not want a soda, milkshake or an ice cream?''
That was what most of the girls her age drank or ordered. Tea was for the older ladies, those who gossiped over a pot at country lunches. He couldn't help but smirk. She wasn't one of them; not that he could tell any way.
She lifted her head from her book once more. ''No, thank you. I want tea.'' Her response was firm and as her gaze narrowed, he knew she thought very little of him. Why would she?
''All right.''
He placed his brush against the wall and started for the counter to make her tea. He noticed as he passed the girls at the front, one of them giggled. He rolled his eyes. He ensured the water was in the kettle before placing it on the mini stove to boil. Finding a cup, he placed a teabag into it and allowed his eyes to watch her for just a minute. The menu seemed to cover her entire face. He frowned, trying to figure her out. Just what was the deal with this book? It was as though there was a need to hide within it. Was she really so enthralled or was it a ploy to ensure that she was never spoken to? His hair fell into his face every now and again, he cocked his head, narrowing his eyes, grateful for a chance to study her from afar just a little while. The cold way in which she addressed him didn't seem to deter him from speaking to her again, it made him all the more determined to make small talk with her.
The kettle boiled quickly and he poured water into the cup, filling it to the brim. Putting the cup on a saucer, he brought it over to her table. As he passed the girls on the front tables, they giggled as they always did, falling about like gaggling geese.
He placed the tea carefully upon the table before her.
''Thank you,'' she said, quietly, not looking up from the page but had obviously sensed him approach carrying her tea as she had spoken to him. Sighing heavily, he wanted to laugh but decided against it.
''It's all right.'' He lingered for about five seconds before she glanced at him sharply, annoyed by his presence, sensing that there was more to be said on his behalf.
''Yes?''
He crossed his arms over his chest. He was going out on a whim here; offering anything to just speak with her for one minute. That was it. Nothing more. ''I'm Jack Dawson. I haven't seen you around here before, that's all.''
With narrowed, beautiful eyes, she finally spoke back. ''I don't have a spoon for my tea, Mr. Dawson.''
''Oh, shit,'' Jack turned back to the counter to get her a spoon, almost tripping himself over the brush which he had leant against the counter just minutes before. Biting his lip, the clumsy moment went unnoticed before he returned with her tea spoon which he placed before her on the table.
''Thank you.''
''You're welcome.'' He crossed his arms once more, leaning against the opposite side of the booth.
Sighing loudly, with a forced annoyance, she heaved her chest. ''Thank you for the tea, now may I be left to drink, alone.''
Jack nodded, ''sure,'' he went to walk away but something stopped him, right there. What was it about this girl? He had to know something, anything.
''Hey, you got a name?''
''No.''
He sighed, frustrated with himself for wanting to know something about the lady who he had no intentions of been able to leave alone, but also frustrated with her rude demeanour towards him. He couldn't help but feel there had to be more to it, hadn't there?
''All right, I get that you don't want to be disturbed but the thing is, those girls there at the front, they sit in here all days, giggling like something is tickling their panties, and I get like I could just talk to a new face. I'd like to just get to you know.''
The girl raised her eyebrows, repulsed. ''I assure you, Mr. Dawson. I am not one of those girls, I do not wish to be like those girls and therefore you will not be ''getting to know me'', as I am sure you have those girls.''
Jack laughed aloud; her tongue was razor sharp. She was like a tack.
''You think- you think I've dated them? That I want to get to know you for that reason?''
''Well, why else would you stand around here for fifteen minutes when I have clearly said I wish to be left alone?''
Her eyes were cold, almost icy. Jack curiously wondered what her story was. He felt like he needed to get past that exterior; the one which was plainly a guard to cease others bestowing their intentions beneath it. Taking a wild stab in the absolute pitch black, he continued on...
''So, who are you hiding from?''
The words just slipped out; it was more of something which he was thinking at that moment. His rudeness seemed to know no bounds, but he refused to retract the question for it was actually plausible to ask.
She widened her eyes, directing that stare right at him and he felt absolutely pinned beneath those exquisite emerald eyes. Her body was stiff, upright and rigid.
''Excuse me? Just what are you-''
At that moment a loud car door slamming could be heard. Music followed and it wasn't from inside the Grill. Outside, four guys stood dressed head to toe in black suits. One carried a guitar, the others all wore black shades. They emerged from the black car one by one, as the girls passing by town stopped to see them, to steal a glance or two in hopes of becoming the centre of their attention even just for one night. It was as though James Dean himself had arrived, perhaps followed by Elvis Presley. Jack knew the type, the ones who caused women to fall at their feet all doe eyed and pretty, roughen them up in the sack once or twice and them toss them out with a broken heart and probably a black eye.
''They look like they've just played at a damn funeral.'' Jack shook his head, furrowing his brow at the false affections. The music was some sort of new rock and roll band, from what he could hear. Turning back to the girl, as he leant his hands upon the dinner table, she was almost laying her head upon the bench as though she was not wishing for her presence there to be known to anyone. Perhaps that was her reasoning for the quiet display.
''Ahh,'' Jack smiled, cocking his head from one side to the other, ''so that's who you're hiding from? Which one is your boyfriend?''
Her eyes met his and they seemed less icy, almost normal, with a hint of fright within them or perhaps that was just him, reading far too much into the girl before him.
Jack sensed her worry, as he felt the tightening in his jaw, extend down his rigid spine, he straightened his back.
''Are you all right?''
She nodded, timidly. ''I just need to get out of here, before they come in.'' She was glancing about for another exit as she gathered up her things as quickly as she could whilst keeping one eye firmly on the door. Her body had the slight sway of a tremble as she went, tender hands fumbled about the table.
Jack glanced up at the Coca Cola clock above the door. It was five to five. His shift was due to end in five minutes. He quickly removed the apron from around his waist and he grasped a bunch of keys.
''Wait here,'' he told her quietly, he felt her watch as he removed the white apron from around his neck, throwing it at the girls who sat at the front, their attentions on the guys outside the door who looked to be gathering more, as though they were some sort of cardboard cut-out cult of the other. The girls were startled.
''Carlo will be here to start in five minutes. Give him these and tell them you need a couple of sodas on me, all right?''
One of the girls, known as Cara grabbed the apron, pulling the strings between her fingers and curling them about, seductively. ''If I tell him, do I get more than a soda?''
''Sure, whatever's on the menu.'' Jack nodded, oblivious as he walked away. He kept one eye on the guys outside the Grill. They were slowly approaching the door, goofing about with the other as they did. The tallest though, one assumed was the ringleader, simply stood with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
The girl was sat in the same spot, her book now folded away inside her bag. He was surprised that she had stayed where she was, trusting him somehow, surely, or wouldn't she have darted for the ladies' room or something at least? Jack knew he would have to work quick but first he needed facts. That would be his way to bargain her out of the situation.
''All right, so who's the guy?''
''What?'' Her eyes narrowed at him in disbelief.
''Look, I can get you out of here within seconds and they'll never know you were ever sat there, so talk, quickly.''
Closing her eyes tight, she exhaled harshly as though she was toying with what to divulge to the stranger.
''He is an ex-boyfriend.''
''All right.'' Jack sensed that the main leader of them would be the culprit of her misery. He was the tallest, the most handsome if you were looking at him the right way...
''Is it him who you were hiding from?''
Without hesitation, she raised her eyes to his and nodded, just once. Perhaps there had been an element of trust about him. That was the moment that Jack decided to be of some assistance to her. Without thought, he grabbed the menu, holding it to her face so that it wasn't visible to anyone in front of them and then, he took her hand in his as though it was the most natural thing in the world. She pulled back at first but he grabbed her tighter, like a parent clutching a child as they were about to cross a road and the second time, she didn't recoil. Their hands were one; not like lovers but like those who were in the early days of a fleeting courtship, perhaps before a kiss or two was stolen. Jack's hand was rough within her and hers was beautifully tender within his. The grip was enough to cause her to trust and to follow him; clutching her bag to her chest.
The group of guys were just about to enter the Grill when Jack pulled her through a back door and into a dark and cold room, he threaded her through fridges and freezers as they went. It was so dark that she could do nothing but step and hold onto this strange man's hand; trusting him and hoping that he wasn't going to lead her to her death. They went down two long, narrow corridors until he led her outside; the lightness of the early evening sky still apparent and it was there they found the sun was still shining; a welcoming beam of warmth which was the blessing of living on the West Coast.
Two large wrought iron gates sat in front of them and one beat up dark green Dodge sat there, alone. Approaching the vehicle, Jack let go of her hand, a little more reluctantly than he initially thought.
''Jump in.''
She went to the passenger side and slid into the low seat, arranging her knee length dress as she settled herself. The car smelt of tobacco and cologne, a wonderful but new combination.
Jack got into the driver's seat, he shifted about, raising his pelvis as he rummaged in his pocket for something and then he pulled out his keys. Her eyes travelled to his trousers; they were a dark denim, his navy shirt tucked into them at his narrow hips. He moved his hair from his eyes as he put the keys into the ignition and started the car. He was handsome; she hadn't noticed that about him before; in fact, he was almost beautiful. Beautiful in an angelic way, even feminine in his looks if you looked once too much, but with an heir of masculinity and his eyes were heavenly.
''Rose,'' her voice came, ever so quietly, with a little air of reluctance.
Turning to her, Jack furrowed his brow in confusion.
''My name, it is Rose.''
Jack's serious face broke out into a smile. It was brilliantly contagious. Studying his features outside in the light for the first time, Rose decided that he was absolutely beautiful.
''Rose.''
It rolled off his tongue so easily; the way he imagined her name actually would.
''Yes; like the flower, the only one which can draw blood.''
If there was meant to be an ounce of threat about her, he discarded it, intent on only learning everything which there was to know about her.
Jack drove around the back of the Grill and through a narrow side street onto the main road. Rose pulled a patterned headscarf from her bag and pulled it over her head and tied it beneath her chin, a pair of dark sunglasses followed. Jack watched her. She was like a movie star; taking his breath away from that very moment.
''Are you always hiding away from trouble?''
Without wanting to even smile, she did. ''I am afraid so.''
As they passed the front of the Grill, there was not one glance up at the beat-up old car in which she had escaped, with the stranger who accompanied her.
Rose watched as her ex-boyfriend stood outside the Grill, smoking a cigarette in the cocky way in which he always did. His dark features hid behind the most fashionable sunglasses, his hair styled within an inch of its life.
Rose failed to notice how even though he was driving, Jack's eyes couldn't help but steal a glance or two, unable to fully focus himself on the road ahead. The twitching of his hands upon the steering wheel was new but he forced himself to look ahead, to the road and to the time which he would be spending with her; however long that would be.