As she looks up, the sun peeks below the purple rim of her hat. The sky is crystal blue and cloudless, with just enough wind that it doesn't feel cold. Titanic looms before them, tall and magnificent, shining in her new coat of paint. It's a shame we have to leave on such a beautiful day.
"I don't see what all the fuss is about," She says. As a stronger gust of wind brushes past, Rose grasps the edge of her hat to keep it on her head, even though it's already secured with a heavy gold pin. "It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauretania,"
"You can be blasé about some things, Rose, but not Titanic!" Cal exclaims with a shake of his head. He looks half like an excited little boy then-- quite different from the reality she's come to know. How did I ever get engaged to him? "It's over a hundred feet longer than Mauretania. And far more luxurious. Your daughter is far too difficult to impress, Ruth." He grouses behind her. Mother laughs, her voice tinkling like a bell. Oh, if he's so funny, why don't you marry him? Rose thinks bitterly. She does her best not to let that thought show on her face.
"So this is the ship they say is unsinkable," Mother says, her eyes on the ship that will be returning them to America. Rose doesn't feel like it will take her to a home of any kind. Philadelphia, and then Pittsburg, but not home. Home was where you could rest, and laugh, and smile easy. I have never known home.
"It is unsinkable," Cal insists, "God himself could not sink this ship."
"Let me help," Rose says to Trudy as she moves to the other side of the car. Her maid is balancing ten different boxes in her arms while Cal and Lovejoy see to their heavier baggage, nearly comical in appearance. Rose snatches three boxes from the top of the pile to help steady her load just as Mother appears behind her.
She plucks the boxes from Rose's arms, saying, "Those can go with the rest of the luggage," And sets them on the backseat of the car. In the end, what they decide to carry onto the ship with them are only the things that are too delicate to be handled by the porters-- glass trinkets purchased in Italy, the boxes of a few unmentionables that were purchased in Paris. "If only we had more time to pack," Mother says. "Heavens, Rose, I don't know why your fiancé insists on planning everything last minute." I do, She thinks, half hearted. It's because their wedding is in a month, and they've been away in Europe for most of the engagement. He wants time to preen and show her off to all the other stuffy rich men whose opinion he valued, those that couldn't see them in Europe. Even the thought of it makes her sick. Mother knows, too.
"Ladies, we'd better hurry," Cal announces as he comes back into view from around the car. He tucks his gold pocket watch into his waistcoat, the Hockley 'H' on its face gleaming at her in the sun. Together they start towards the first class gangplank, Mother and Cal arm in arm, her behind them, and Trudy behind her.
"My coat?" Rose asks Trudy, looking back over her shoulder. Did I leave it in the hotel? She can't remember. It's a lovely creation of soft pink wool lined in satin, with black embroidery on the collar and cuffs, and it would be an absolute shame to leave it behind. Maybe I'll get lucky, She thinks. Maybe I did leave it, and we won't have to board. Maybe we'll have to go back, and miss the ship, and wait for the next crossing.
"I have it, miss," Trudy says. It must be somewhere in the pile of boxes in her arms. She can't help but be disappointed. Rose knows that any chance they would go back to the hotel for a simple coat is slim, but maybe if she could just slip away for a moment…
Such thoughts are foolish. Even if she could escape, where would she go? They would find her, and lock her in her rooms until the wedding. Drug her into a stupor for being 'hysterical'. She'd never be trusted alone again. Rose isn't willing to risk that.
Cal ushers her mother onto the gangplank first, and then takes her arm. They walk towards the ship together. It's like we're already married, She thinks with a shred of panic. Soon enough we will be. A month. That was all. She had a month left before her life was signed away as Cal's wife, mother to his children.
The steamer gives a low whistle in preparation. It already feels like a part of her has died.
Olaf and Sven are babbling to one another in Swedish-- Jack isn't sure what about. For all his time in Europe, he still doesn't know any Swedish, just enough to start up a game of poker this morning. That was around eight, or nine. It was enough time for them to figure out that the Swedes were set to leave on the Titanic at noon, and for them to lose enough money to him and Fabrizio that they put the tickets into the pot. Just to match the cost of those tickets, they'd put all the money in against it. The cards had been drawn, and now everyone was thinking.
Jack looks at the cards in his hand. All his cards are black-- two eights, a nine, a five, and an ace. It was Five Card Draw, with Jokers wild. All the money was in, there was no more betting. Just the exchange of cards or checks until someone decides to call.
If they win, he gets to go home. There would be other ships, sure. With a month or two, him and Fabrizio might be able to scrape together enough for passage across the Atlantic, or get a job on a ship going across-- large boats were almost always in need of strong backs. But when would there be another chance like this?To ride on the Titanic, of all things-- the biggest ship ever built and hailed as unsinkable. It was the chance of a lifetime. He's not willing to let it slip through his fingers. He'll risk everything just for this one chance.
"Jack, you are a pazzo," Fabrizio whispers at him across the table, cards tucked close to his chest. "You bet everything we have."
Jack pulls his cigarette from his mouth and leans towards Fabrizio, blowing out a white steam of smoke. "When you got nothin', you've got nothin' to lose." And boy, do we have nothing. After a year in Paris of trying and failing to be noticed as an artist, he was short on money and antsy to pack up and head for the horizon. For so long before Paris, he'd been drifting from place to place, never staying in one spot for more than a few weeks. He hadn't been home in five years. Even if he didn't stay there, it would be nice to see it again.
Fabrizio and Olaf swap cards over the pot-- something they'd decided on to keep the game friendly at the beginning. Your worst card for my worst card. His hand wasn't bad, but it could be better. "Sven," Jack nods, signaling for the trade. He lays a card face down on the table-- the five. Sven does the same. They switch cards. It's the ace of clubs-- the black clover stares up at him. Leaves me with two pair. That was a good hand. But not a great hand. He could do better. If I want those tickets, I need a better hand. There was a chance he could still swing something really spectacular-- after all, the nine is still useless to him.
If I win, I can go home, Jack tells himself over and over again. I can go home. He puts the nine of hearts down by the deck with the other used cards and takes another. He holds his face still.
A Joker. The wild card of the game. It was good for his full house. The dead man's hand, that's what his dad called this one. Aces over eights, and an unknown fifth card-- supposedly the hand Wild Bill Hickok was holding when he was murdered. Bad luck maybe-- but that was a hand he was willing to risk those tickets on, along with more than twenty dollars.
It's almost noon. There's no more money to bet, and they're running out of time. Jack puts his cigarette out in the ashtray with a heavy breath, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. "Alright." He says, steeling himself. "Moment of truth. Somebody's life is about to change. Fabrizio?"
Fabri lays his cards down. A four, a five, a Jack, and a seven. And none of them in the same suit. "Niente," Jack says.
"Niente," Fabri agrees, looking none too happy. If they lose, Jack knows he'll get an earful later, most of it in Italian and a few choice words in broken English. It still surprised Jack sometimes, because of his sweet disposition, but Fabri had a mouth on him when he was angry, especially if you knew Italian.
"Olaf?"
Olaf shows his hand-- it looks no better than Fabrizio's. "Nothing. Sven?"
Sven sets his cards on the table with a smirk. Two red threes, and two black fives. Holy shit, I won. I won. Holy shit-- "Uh oh," He feigns, "Two pair. I'm sorry, Fabrizio," Jack shakes his head.
"Che sorry? Ma va fa'n culo! You bet all our money!"
"I'm sorry!" Jack insists. "You're not going to see your Mom again for a long time," He says, trying to clue him in, but it only makes Fabri confused. "'Cause we're going to America! Full house, boys! Woo hoo!"
"Dios Mio, grazi!" Fabrizio exclaims, the tickets in his hands and dancing with joy. Jack reaches into the middle of the table to grab the money, sweeping it towards the edge. Before he can get it into his bag, Olaf pulls him forward by the collar, one fist clenched and the other drawn back. He growls something in Swedish, face drawn into a black scowl. Jack squeezes his left eye shut, bracing for the hit. He's been roughed up after gambling before, but even a black eye couldn't sour his mood after what they've won.
Right as Jack thinks Olaf is about to clobber him. Olaf swings his fist right into Sven's face. Sven goes toppling back in his chair right to the floor. Jack bursts into laughter. "Come on!" He exclaims-- they need to get down to the ship, they need, they-- Fuck, I'm going home, Jack can hardly breathe even though he can't stop smiling. I'm really going home. I-- shit.
"Figlio di putanna!" Fabri laughs, holding the tickets aloft with a wild grin. Son of a bitch, it means. Jack takes the tickets from Fabrizio's hands and kisses them. He left America three years ago, and now he finally gets to go back, and in style no less.
"I'm going home!" He cries, as Fabrizio hugs him. "I'm going home," Jack says again when he lets Fabri go. He still can't believe it.
"I go to America!" Fabrizio exclaims, more excited than Jack has ever seen him.
"No, mate," The barkeep laughs, a wry smirk on his face as he cleans a glass with a towel. "Titanic goes to America. In five minutes,"
"Shit," he gasps. He hadn't realized the time-- how late it was. "Come on, Fabri. Here, come on. Here!" They slide the money into one of their bags, and spring from the bar.
"We're ridin' in high style now," Jack yells back at Fabrizio as they run through the square. All their belongings are slung over their shoulders, their clothes, his drawing supplies, the money. And the tickets are in his hands. "We're a couple of regular swells! Practically goddamn royalty, ragazzo mio!"
"You see? It's my destino, like I told you!" Fabri cries. "I go to America to be a milionario!"
"Woah, woah!" He says, nearly running into a horse drawn carriage. The horses bray and take clumsy steps, frightened, and him and Fabrizio stumble around them, trying to keep their balance.
"Bastardo!" Fabrizio swears, falling farther behind as they near the last gangplank. As the ship gets ready to leave, the entire dock is in chaos, alive with excitement. It looks as though the entirety of Southampton has come here just to see the ship off. "You are a pazzo!" Fabri yells behind him. Crazy. Well, it wasn't the worst thing he's been called, and if crazy got him home, it couldn't be bad.
"Maybe, but I've got the tickets," Jack says. Shit, he still doesn't believe he actually won. And on a full house, no less. He glances back over his shoulder as they near the gangplank. "Come on, I thought you were fast!"
"Aspetta!" Fabri answers. Dozens of people fly by his vision, cars and carriages and cargo, but all Jack can see is the last spot to board, just ahead of them.
"Woah, woah!" Jack stumbles to slow down, nearly running into some men about to move the last gangplank, letting ropes go, as the door on the side of the ship is about to close. "Wait, wait, wait wait wait! Wait!" He hops up onto the gangplank, rushing up to the ship, and the officer at the door. "Hey, wait! We're passengers! We're passengers!" A three foot gap of open air between the ship and the dock is between them. Below it is nothing but water. He holds out the tickets to the officer.
The officer looks at their tickets for little more than a second. "Have you been through the inspection queue?" He asks.
"Of course," Jack lies, without even thinking. They slept under bridges and on the streets, maybe, but they did their best to keep clean. Besides, bridges just meant more access to water. "Anyway, we don't have any lice, we're Americans." Jack doesn't glance at Fabrizio, who most certainly was not an American. But the officer didn't have to know that. "Both of us."
The lie is good enough to convince the officer. Either that or he just doesn't care enough to stop them. "Right. Come aboard!" He decides, holding out a hand to help them across, but they don't need it.
Jack leaps across the gap without even looking down. Fabri lands behind him a second later. We made it, Jack thinks in relief. We're on Titanic. I'm going home. But he doesn't even stop to breathe. They race through the halls, trying to find the nearest stairwell to get up to the deck. It was once in a lifetime that a person gets a sendoff like this, and Jack knows he just has to see it. "We're the luckiest sons of bitches in the world, you know that?!"
"Goodbye!" Jack crows to the farewell crowd below on the docks, cheering and waving as Titanic pulls away on her maiden voyage. He climbs up a rung to get a better view-- even in third class, the railing is packed full with passengers, many of them like Fabri, waving goodbye to their old life in Europe and going west for a fresh start.
"You know somebody?" Fabri asks at his side, leaning over the railing cheerfully.
"Of course not, that's not the point," Jack answers. Big ships and voyages were all about the excitement and adventure-- the idea that you could go somewhere for a new life and you'd never come back to the way things were. Especially on the first voyage. Especially on the Ship of Dreams. "Goodbye, I'll miss you!" He'll miss the slums and the bars and the brothels, his little apartment in Paris and the friends he made along the way. He'll miss the canals of Venice and the warm ocean in Sicily, and Michelangelo's paintings on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
But he misses home more-- the sunsets in Santa Monica, and the wild bursting life of New York, and his mother's wildflowers at home. It's time he went back. Time to put old ghosts to rest.
"Goodbye! I'll never forget you!"
"Goodbye! Goodbye!"
"G-sixty. G-sixty, G-sixty," Jack rounds the corner, shouldering past a young woman in a black hat. "Excuse me… G-sixty…" He checks the sign on the wall, and the next room number, G-61. Which means… Jack looks across to his left, on the other side of the hall, to have G-60 staring back at him. "Oh, right here." He realizes. Jack turns the handle and steps inside.
Inside are two men, their things set up on the left side of the room. "Hey, how you doin'?" He asks, introducing himself. "Jack. Nice to meet you." Jack turns to the other man, who looks vaguely like Sven. Which makes sense in a way-- if they were family, they had likely purchased the tickets together, which would explain why they're sharing a room. "Jack Dawson, nice to meet you," He says, shaking his hand.
When Jack turns, he finds Fabrizio already lying on the top bunk, his bag beside him and a thousand watt grin on his face. Jack roughs him a little, teasing, "Who says you get top bunk, huh?"
"This one?" Trudy asks as she lifts yet another painting from the wooden crates delivered to their parlor sweet.
Rose frowns at the painting-- an abstract one of some fruit. "No, It had a lot of faces on it." They were supposed to be women, Rose thinks, But they were all sort of oblong in figure. She pulls another out of the crate and finds five faces staring back at her, belonging to five nude women. "This is the one."
"Would you like all of them out, miss?" Her maid asks, voice soft spoken and lilting.
"Yes." She decides. "We need a little color in this room." It was so drab, and stuffy, and gilded, with the wood paneled walls. Where was the sunlight meant to come in? The air? The cheerful colors of the paintings would do her good. Rose sets the Picasso down against its wooden crate, still packed with a half dozen other paintings.
"God, not those finger paintings again," Cal's voice says from across the room. Rose doesn't bother looking back at him-- that she can't yet feel him hovering behind her like some great big pest is comfort enough. "They certainly were a waste of money."
"The difference between Cal's taste in art and mine is that I have some," Rose says. She remembers how he had protested at the purchases, trying to steer her towards less modern purchases, but Rose insisted. These were by far the most interesting of any other paintings they'd encountered in their travels. Perhaps it would give her some happiness to see them hanging there on the wall once they married. Maybe the color would remind her of who she once was before she became Caledon Hockley's wife. "They're fascinating. Like being inside a dream or something. There's truth, but no logic." None of her dreams ever seemed to make sense anymore. Maybe that was the point.
"What's the artist's name?"
"Something Picasso," Rose thinks. Is he a Spaniard? I'm not sure. Didn't we get the painting in Paris?
"'Something Picasso?!'" Cal scoffs as he crosses the room, a green bottle of champagne in hand. "He won't amount to a thing. He won't, trust me."
Rose doesn't care. She likes the painting anyway. In fact, she thinks she would finance the artist if she could, just to prove Cal wrong. "Let's put the Degas in the bedroom," She tells Trudy, and walks into her bedroom with the painting of the Ballerina in hand.
"At least they were cheap." She hears her fiancé mutter as they go.
"Let's see…" Rose thinks, once they're in her room. The furniture is all lovely, and the electric lights are remarkably good. The bed has a dark wooden frame and is made with fine white sheets and blankets. An oak wardrobe stands on the opposite wall, where her dresses can be kept, and a matching vanity on the far side of the room from the door. They're fine quarters, as fine as any she's stayed in on their travels. It's just a place to sleep, though. She'll only be here a week, and then it's back in Philadelphia for the first time in six months. Their stately mansion there hasn't felt like home since Father died-- anything that she truly would have missed, Rose took with her when they left. And even Philadelphia was temporary. They were only staying there until the wedding, when they would go back to Cal's estate in Pittsburg. She sets the Degas down beside the silver mirror.
"Oh, it smells so brand new," Trudy sighs, her smile near wistful. She rushes to Rose's side when she holds out her wrists, and undoes the amethyst cufflinks of her walking suit. "Like they built it all just for us," Trudy blushes in her excitement, as if thinking something particularly scandalous. "I mean, just to think that tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll be the first,"
"Oh, Trudy," she laughs. I suppose that would be rather exciting for a maid, Rose smiles. They'd first hired Trudy when they got to England six months ago, and Rose likes having her around, if she's honest. It's nice for there to be another girl her age so close, who she can talk to and share secrets with. She never had any sisters, but Rose likes to think of her as one, sometimes.
"Tonight when I crawl between the sheets, I'll still be the first." Rose feels her own blood run cold at the voice. Her fiancé appears in the doorway with a crystal flute of champagne in his hand. He nods behind him, looking at Trudy. He wants to be alone with me, Rose nearly panics, nearly comes up with a reason to go with Trudy.
Trudy averts her eyes. "Excuse me, miss." She says. Trudy dips into a short curtsey and hurries past Cal, who closes the door behind her. They're alone.
Her fiancé walks up behind her and snakes his arms around her waist. "The first and only," he mutters in her ear. Rose can smell the champagne on his breath, and does her best not to squirm. Does her best not to scream. "Forever," His nose presses behind her ear, lips trailing over her neck. Rose demurs, pulls back and kisses him on the cheek. It's not until after he leaves that she realizes how long she was holding her breath for.
Cal has already been trying to force his way into her bed for months, sneaking into her rooms when she wasn't there, having lingerie made for her, thinly veiled propositions. Rose loathes the way his eyes crawl over his skin when he lets his gaze linger for long enough. For months, she has denied him, content to play the part of the blushing virgin bride. For months he has accepted that answer, content to believe that it has everything to do with modesty and nothing to do with him. In reality, it's the opposite, but Rose has never given him reason to let on to that. But as the wedding nears, she's beginning to fear what he will do, if he's left alone with her for long enough.
She's beginning to fear what she will do, if left alone for long enough.
Here are the notes. Sorry, I know there was no Jack and Rose meeting in this chapter (that's coming next)
I refer to the hand Jack wins the tickets with as the 'dead man's hand'. This is a real thing. It isn't just made up. My father is a fan of Westerns, and I've picked up that trivia bit over the years. Wild Bill Hickok, a lawman in the era of the Wild West (who was also involved in several gunfights) was shot while playing poker, and he was holding two black aces, two black eights, and one unknown card. This hand has henceforth been known as the Dead Man's hand. Seeing as Jack's parents would have grown up during the Old west, it seemed like something his father was liable to know. Based on the cards you do momentarily see Jack holding in the film (a black five and at least one eight, but I'm not certain) before he changes cards, I thought this hand would be particularly fitting as an ill omen, considering the fate he has in the film, even though we're never told what hand he really has. I also don't remember a lot of Poker's rules, so forgive any inaccuracies on my part.
Another thing I don't know? Italian. I did my best on google translate based on what it sounded like Fabrizio was saying (phonetically) and what I thought that meant in the context. There's most of the smaller words you should be able to figure out, but 'Ma va fa'n culo' means essentially 'Go fuck yourself', and 'Figlio di Putanna' does mean 'son of a bitch'. 'Aspetta' means 'wait up' to the best of my knowledge, which is not much. If anyone is more familiar with Italian than I am, feel free to correct me.
I will remind people here that in time, more serious themes will be dealt with. There's no strict plot I'm following, but that doesn't mean there's never any problems to be dealt with. There will be some mature content, I can promise that, but not explicit, because at the moment that's just not my style. I am struggling with what to rate this as because of that-- while any sexual content isn't filthy, it's still there, and as said before... serious themes. But I don't want my work to be hidden from view unless 'All ratings' is specified. I think that at the moment, this will be rated T, but that may change at some point if I feel the content deserves an M rating. Also, I do warn that updates likely won't be as regular as they were on my other fics. I have a life, and unlike with those fics, this is not entirely pre-written. Some chapters are complete and ready to post, others haven't been written at all, some need editing. It just depends.
So, with all that being said, I hope you guys enjoyed this, and I will hopefully see you soon with another chapter.
