That was the last time I ever saw him. He married, of course. And inherited his millions. But the crash of '29 hit his interests hard, and he put a pistol in his mouth that year. Or so I read.
That was what I told Lizzy, Mr. Lovett, and his crew. But it was a lie.
I did end up fleeing from Cal, and everyone I knew, after the Titanic sank, determined to start a new life of my own. But the demons from Titanic would haunt me for 17 years.
Until an unexpected encounter one night with a familiar face brought me salvation.
I had no time to grieve for Jack, and all the others lost, once I arrived in America on the Carpathia that morning in 1912. Though I imagined myself to be finally destined for the life of freedom I had dreamed of, after arriving in New York I realized quickly that I had no means for supporting myself. Fortunately, I found some money in Cal's coat I was still wearing when I left the Carpathia; enough for rent at a boarding house for women, and basic needs for a couple of months. I considered selling the Heart of the Ocean necklace, a garish reminder of the life I had once been destined for. Selling the necklace would have brought me enough money for a lifetime. However, I knew doing so would lead a trail for Cal, and my mother, right to me, so I held onto it instead. I suspected my mother was looking for me, and I felt some guilt for not finding her to let her know I survived. But was determined to remain hidden. Although my heart told me I was Rose Dawson, I worried I could still be discovered by anyone searching for me. So I took the name, Dottie Flynn (my father had often called me his "Little Red Dot"). That is the name I would be known by, until 1929.
Working and being financially independent were foreign concepts to me, but soon I found a position as a shop girl at the new Saks and Co. department store on 5th Avenue. I believed I had obtained the position because I had made a decent impression to the manager as a woman of high class capable of selling expensive perfume and clothes to wealthy wives. But I soon discovered the real reason I was hired so quickly was because of the manager's intentions towards me. On my first day, he asked me to come in very early to his office before anyone else arrived, telling me this was for business purposes, and like the naive fool I was, I believed him. I remember little of that day, except standing in his office like a lifeless doll while his hands were on me, and later weeping in the women's washroom.
He would be the first in a long list of men who would use their power to abuse me. Soon, I decided that if men were to treat me as an object, I may as well get what I wanted from it; I had always considered myself above such behavior, but attempting to survive in New York City has a way of humbling you. I really wanted to be an actress, but I had no connections or experience. What I did have was access to the powerful men in entertainment who came into department stores shopping for their wives, and all I needed to do was wait for the right one. Eventually, my way out of Saks arrived; Barney Deringer, a well-known producer on Broadway, came into the store looking for a new perfume for his (latest) wife. I was more than happy to test perfume on my wrist and my neck for him, and not one week later, I was his mistress.
Barney, a boisterous, self-made man who drank too much and liked to be the center of attention, was neither the best nor the worst man I had ever known. Like many men with power and money, he collected women like trinkets. When I met him he was in his late 40s and had already cycled through several wives and even more mistresses, but he took to me especially, obsessed with my "better breeding" as he would say (he would never admit how insecure he felt about his working class background, but his favored type of woman were those from old money, who made him feel he had truly arrived in society). I could have been one of his wives, had I wanted it, but marriage had always looked like imprisonment to me, and so I was content with being his mistress. He was not terribly attractive, the drinking made him prone to mood swings, and he was frequently more aggressive with me than I liked. But he did spoil me, and though I'm embarrassed to admit it, I missed being comfortable and hated the toils of struggling financially. Besides, I knew from talking to my friends in similar arrangements that I was lucky. "At least he doesn't beat you," Lily Brown, one of my friends from the women's boarding house, who had been in a long-time affair with a banker, remarked one day to me, her latest black eye more pronounced than the previous ones.
By 1915, Barney had helped me get a part in Ziegfeld Follies, the long-running theatrical revue that featured many of the greatest stars of the time, such as Josephine Baker and Fanny Brice. I was a chorus girl, and though I would have liked to have become a star in my own right, I learned quickly that producers considered me "too fat and stiff" to be made into a star, and so I would have to be content in the background. I didn't complain, however; it was steady work (rare for Broadway) and much better than most work available to women. During the off-times, friends and I would travel with our rich benefactors to Paris to experience the best of the Jazz Age (though I'd always drink myself into a stupor during the voyage, since I had a lifelong fear of traveling overseas). I was lucky to have the role as long as I did; the show would run on Broadway until 1931, though I was "retired" in 1925, due to my "old age."
Since Barney was content paying for an apartment for me, which he frequented, along with my other expenses, I was able to save my earnings, originally thinking once I stopped working on Broadway, I'd leave him and move away from New York and finally begin having the other adventures I had always imagined. But the inertia of my current life existence was strong; I had made many friends in the city over the years, was used to being Barney's mistress and the comforts it brought, and had become settled into my life. It wasn't what I wanted, but unfortunately I was no longer the spirited woman I had been on the doomed ship so long ago.
It was June 9th, 1929, and Barney was having a large party at the Stork Club, a posh new nightclub in Manhattan. In the 30 or so years it was open, the club would see all kinds of personalities; from the bankers, politicians and royalty, to mobsters and rulers of the underworlds, and some of the greatest stars of the time, like Bogie, Elizabeth Taylor and Hemingway, all of whom walked through its doors. But when we were there, it had just opened, and Barney's party, a celebration of a new contract to bring a series of Broadway musicals to the MGM studios in Hollywood, was one of the largest it had seen; at least a third of the seats in the main room belonged to people in our party, everyone was dressed in their best finery, and a swing band was playing accompanied by the famous Elsie Carlisle.
Despite its grandness, the party was in many ways like many other parties and society events I had seen in my adult years; a false competition between egos to see who could boast the most about fortunes made, which elite members of society one knew, and the like. More than anything, it reminded me of the dinner party I was at the night Jack saved me from jumping overboard. After surviving the Titanic, I had decided to make a clean break from my life to escape this world, only to somehow be pulled back into it. Despite all the time that had passed, I yearned for Jack every day. Over time I would realize this was not about him, but instead about me, and how that time with him had been the first and last time in my life that I had felt both uninhibited and truly loved.
I especially missed him that night, because I knew he would have convinced me to run off with him to a speakeasy for real fun. The pretension was suffocating, so I stepped outside on one of the balconies for air and a smoke. I had developed a dependency on cigarettes and whiskey, because I often couldn't sleep, lest I relieve my nightmares about that night on Titanic. The screams, the floating dead, the vacant eyes of frozen children, all still haunted me. In the years immediately after, I had been so tired from working and too distressed by the traumatic events that were happening in real time, that my dreams of the sinking were rare. But once I retired from Broadway, and my life had become quieter, the nightmares returned, and I had no way to stop them, and no one to talk to who could understand me.
It was an unusually clear night, one that reminded me of the sky over the Atlantic the night the ship sank, watching me as I floated, waiting for death. I felt it again, in 1929, that I was waiting for death. I still had decades of life ahead of me, for which I am so grateful, but that night, I felt the urge to end it just as I had felt when I almost flung myself off the Titanic the night Jack saved me.
He saved me. And all I wanted was to return to him, wondering if death would finally reunite us. I had lived, just as I had promised him in my heart I would, but after all of it, I felt tired and lonely. I believed I was disgracing his memory, thinking this way. I had never married, allegedly because I wanted my freedom, but truthfully because no man had made me feel the way Jack had, and I believed no man ever could. As an older woman, I knew no man would ever compete with a 17-year-old's first love, an untested passion that had only existed as promise and fantasy. I should have let it go, but it shackled me to my pain, which had become a crutch.
Then a voice I never thought I'd hear again brought me back from my thoughts.
"Mrs. Dawson, I presume?"
I had been so lost in thought, I hadn't noticed he was standing beside me. Cal Hockley, much older than when I had seen him last. He was dressed handsomely, of course, adopting the fashion of the time, looking only slightly less formal in his black tie tuxedo and fedora than in the white tie menswear from the previous decade. He also looked very tired, as though he hadn't slept since I had seen him 17 years before.
My hesitation, and the look on my face, one of distress over hearing Jack's last name, must have answered his question. A smug and cruel smile quickly appeared on his face, and I immediately turned to leave.
"Wait, Rose." He quickly grabbed my arm, not as aggressively as he once would have been, but enough to stop me.
"Forgive me. It was improper of me to react like that. I didn't mean it."
I didn't say anything, too stunned by what was happening. I had never expected to see Cal again, but for a long time, I thought if I passed him on the street, I may kill him. Would Jack have survived Titanic if Cal hadn't chased us with the pistol? Perhaps not; most of the men, even in first class, had died. But I had decided to blame Cal regardless, and the resentment had festered uncontrolled for years.
"Let go of me," I spat, yanking my arm away. I was standing there, thinking of what to do. Every option crossed my mind: slapping him, cursing him, spitting in his face, pushing him off the balcony.
But I did nothing except stand there. I was too tired, and no action going through my mind would change what had come to pass.
I turned away from him, but remained on the balcony, still not wanting to go back inside. I didn't want to talk, but a (very) small part of me was intrigued by what Cal wanted to say.
"So, shall I presume Mr. Dawson did not survive?"
"No," I said curtly. It still hurt to admit it.
"I see. Well, what a shame," he said, his dismissive tone indicating he felt otherwise. I suspected Cal harbored feelings of resentment towards me and Jack for a long time over what had happened that night on the ship. I could see it in his eyes, the schadenfreude, and braced myself for the cruel words coming my way.
But surprisingly, his face softened, as though maybe he did feel some pity for me. It was just as well; Jack was dead and I had lived with the pain for 17 years. If fate had determined I had done wrong by abandoning Cal, I had long paid for it.
"I'm sorry for you, Rose. Truly."
"Are you, Cal? I imagine you would feel nothing but bitterness towards me."
"Oh I was, for a long time, you can be certain of it. But after all this time, why dwell in it? We've all suffered for our mistakes. Besides...of course I didn't want you to be with him, but I don't wish you grief."
There was a softness to his voice, a real sincerity, that made me nervous. This was not the Cal I knew, and I was suddenly concerned he may want something, as I was conditioned to expect any man in my life to have an ulterior motive. Perhaps he was trying to lower my resistance so he could attempt to retrieve the Heart of the Ocean necklace and have me arrested, or, remembering what he was capable of, something more sinister.
He then sighed as he reached inside his jacket. "Rose, I'm afraid to admit you still look as lovely as the last time I saw you."
I knew he was lying. I wasn't a rag, but years of sleeplessness had aged me faster than I wanted. Even Barney was noticing it, and spending more time with new favorites and less with me, though I couldn't say I was bothered by it.
"I don't sleep either," he said, reading my mind. "Need a light?" he asked.
He must have noticed the cigarette I had been holding in my palm and had been reaching for a lighter in his jacket. I was waiting - hoping - for him to walk away, not wanting to prolong the exchange any further. But he clearly wasn't going to leave, and I had no strength to fight.
I took a drag, looking out at Manhattan instead of him. I may not have been ready to fight, but that didn't mean I wanted to be civil.
I have no idea how long the silence lasted before Cal broke it with a chuckle.
"I believe you owe me a diamond, Rose." I glared at him, certain the disgust must have shown on my face, and perhaps fear that he was prepared to come after me legally to retrieve the necklace. But his face was completely at ease.
"Come now, Rose. I only joke. I certainly wasn't happy when I realized the necklace was gone. But why hold a grudge all this time?" He paused to take a drag before continuing.
"I have a confession, Rose. I came out to this balcony because I saw you from across the room. I'm rarely in New York, as most of my business is in Philadelphia. But I have a friend who enjoys traveling to the city, and I promised to go with him this time. When I saw you here, at first it brought me back to a place I had been running from for nearly two decades. But at the same time, I was so happy to see you. I wanted to talk to you…."
He paused, and it was in that moment I could see the frailness in his face. He was suffering in silence, just as I had been all these years.
"I just wanted to say something to you. I don't even know what. You are just one of the few people who could understand what I've been experiencing all these years."
I knew what he meant. Nowadays, people talk about mental health, and I am sure today a doctor would have diagnosed us both with a whole host of issues: Post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, depression, alcoholism, and perhaps other things. But we had no public names for these ailments during this time. We just drank, smoked, and quietly suffered.
"Anyways," he continued, intuiting that this was the last thing I wished to talk about. "I could also see how bored you were at that table of, who, theater types? You had that look in your eyes that I saw so many times when we knew each other, that you were too smart to be around such dull, self-inflating men."
"You mean men like you, Cal?" I had meant it to be an insult, but it came out as a joke, and we both laughed.
"Indeed, like me. Though I'm afraid I must admit the years, and my wife, have humbled me."
Another uncomfortable silence. Of course, I had known he was married. I still kept fresh of the old world elite, the world I had longed to escape and yet often still missed. I didn't miss the oppression, but losing the familiarity, and the people I once knew, would be harder than I understood when I started my new life after Titanic. And somehow, hearing Cal speak about his wife, made me feel weird in a way that didn't make sense. I hadn't wanted to marry him, and this feeling wasn't jealousy, but it was strange, hearing about the woman living the life I had previously been destined for.
"Sadie Livingston, of the Boston Livingstons, the banking empire. She's a fine woman. Doesn't have your eye for art, I daresay."
"Cal, what do you want?"
"To see an old friend. And because I could see that sadness in your eyes I see everyday when I look in my own mirror. We are the only ones who understand each other."
I slowly nodded, blinking back the tears in my eyes. I didn't think of Cal, a man who had yearned to control me and then attempted to kill me, as a friend. But he was right. No one else understood.
"Come join my table, Rose. You'll be at least more entertained."
The music was either more lively when I returned, or I was. Previously, the thought of spending another night with Cal, along with returning to the Titanic, made for some of my worst nightmares. But I had felt so dead inside that walking back inside with Cal had felt perversely thrilling. Everyone knew that the most exciting part of being at Stork Club was being seen, and the gossip columnists would have a field day seeing married Cal Hockley with me, a former actress. I could already feel the glares from across the room, and as we walked past my own table, I could see my guests, including Barney, staring incredulously. But I didn't care. That thrill of scandal was the first time that night I had felt anything close to fun.
As we approached Cal's table, there were two people already seated: a young, gorgeous woman (certainly not Sadie) who favored Clara Bow in appearance, except this woman was far prettier; and a man with blonde hair and a handsome but warm face.
"You didn't bring your wife out, I see," I whispered in Cal's ear, accusingly but also playfully.
"Of course not. My intention was to have fun tonight," he shot back before turning to the two people in the midst of some conversation that appeared to be about motion pictures.
"Rose, allow me to introduce you to Mary Sothern and Landon Calvert. Ms. Sothern is an aspiring actress visiting from California, and Mr. Calvert is an executive at The Quaker Oats Company in Cedar Rapids, Iowa." Cal turned to me, ready to make an introduction but perhaps suddenly realizing he wasn't certain of how to introduce me.
"Charmed," I cut in before he could attempt, while placing myself next to Landon. "I'm Rose Dawson." It was the first time I had introduced myself as Rose, not Dottie, since 1912. Already I was relieved, feeling a little like myself.
"Vanetti!" A young man rushed to our table at the sound of Cal's call. "Bring us another round of sodas, including for the lady who just joined."
"Yes sir," the nervous young man stammered before hurrying away.
"When will this prohibition be over, eh Cal? I much prefer a whiskey," Landon joked.
"Not soon enough, though of course, there's never been prohibition at the Hockley Estate," Cal said.
"Of course not," Landon said. "Has there been even one visit from the authorities to the estate?"
"Not a one. Herb and my connections at the Bureau understand our arrangement quite well. I am surprised this club hasn't started selling liquor like the rest of New York. I must have a word with the owner. This is no way to run an entertainment business," Cal scoffed while putting another cigarette in his mouth.
"How I wish we were at one of your parties now, darling," Mary said.
"Parties? You, Cal?" I asked in disbelief.
"Oh yes!" Mary exclaimed. "Cal hosts the best parties! All of the hard to get specialty liquors from Mexico, and all of the best people. Even Valentino, Mae West, Sessue Hayakawa, and Lillian Gish have been to them! That is how we met, at his New Year's party," Mary explained while giving Cal a doting look.
"How funny, Cal I never knew you to be a free spirit," I said.
"Hedonism is a welcome distraction from my own thoughts," Cal responded.
"And yet Cal, you're always in a corner in the billiards room drinking alone during these affairs." Landon cut in. "You know, you really ought to consider having some fun one of these days."
Landon was attempting to be light-hearted, but I could tell he was seriously concerned about Cal's well-being. I wondered how any man this thoughtful could be a friend of Cal's.
Meanwhile, Mary was looking at me curiously, clearly interested in how Cal and I knew each other. But I spoke before she could.
"So Mary, you wish to be an actress? I myself was an actress, here on Broadway."
"Oh how exciting!" Mary exclaimed, any interest and jealousy she may have had felt quickly dissipated by her own opportunity to talk about herself. "Landon and I were just talking before you came over about the future of entertainment and whether it may be better for me to work in theater. Now that the motion pictures have people talking now!" Her eyes widened, in the exaggerated way so commonly performed by silent film stars. "Of course you have to talk on stage too….but at least you get to dance and be dynamic in other ways, instead of in these new pictures with so much talking. And you can see your adoring fans every time you perform, and all the applause. I bet I could do it, don't you think so darling?" she said, leaning towards Cal.
Mary was so young. She couldn't have been older than 21, and her presence felt misplaced among me, Cal, who was approaching 50, and Landon, who was somewhere between us. But like most people her age, self-awareness was not a virtue.
"So how do you know Cal?" she asked in a voice that was both curious and accusatory. He and I looked at each other, visibly uncomfortable. To anyone observing, it may have looked as though we were trying to cover up a soon-to-be-exposed affair, and I found myself wishing that were the truth.
"Cal and I's families knew each other a long time ago…..we were on the Titanic together."
Landon and Mary both went silent. I was used to it, and imagined Cal was too. I had told very few people over the years where I really came from, but the few I had had reacted similarly.
Vanetti brought our drinks right at that moment, the clanking on the table the only sound to be heard.
"Kills the mood, doesn't it?" I finally joked while lighting another cigarette. "Anyways, that was a long time ago. I haven't seen Cal until tonight. Now we are just catching up, like, old friends I suppose." Old friends, I thought. How ridiculous.
"Indeed we are," he responded, holding up his drink in acknowledgement.
"Well, thank goodness they have air travel now so you don't have to be on a ship!" Mary chimed in. "Although honestly the thought of being in an air crash makes me nervous."
"But at least you'll die faster," I said. Dark humor had become a way for me to cope. Again, the table went quiet.
"I'm so sorry about what you experienced. I can't even imagine living through such an experience," Landon finally said.
"Misery comes for us all one day. It was just our turn that night," said Cal.
"Cal, I never knew you to be so philosophical," Landon joked, a hint of sadness in voice. Mary, mercifully, had stayed silent, but I was drawn to Landon. I could tell he had experienced a tragedy of his own, and perhaps might be a kindred spirit in that sense.
To most of the people I knew, I was an orphan of formerly wealthy parents, a society girl who had spent her time between America and England before her parents had died with debts that had resulted in the confiscation of my inheritance (the best lies contain some element of truth). I had told very few people about Titanic; even Barney didn't know the truth. When I did speak about it, the reaction was always an uncomfortable mix of pity, horror, and sympathy that didn't quite ring true. But there was something genuine underneath Landon's apology, sorrow of his own I could detect and wished to know more about.
"Why Dottie, how rude of you to leave my party in such a fashion!"
Again lost in my thoughts, I hadn't even noticed Barney storm over to our table. Though he had always had a jealous streak, I didn't think Barney would really care that I had abandoned the party; I hadn't been Barney's favorite in years, and there were several young theater actresses present whom I knew had captured his attention. I had assumed his attention would be more than held. But men with easily bruised egos rarely resisted an opportunity to make a fool of themselves.
I wasn't going back to the party, or back to Barney. I had decided that before I had left to go to the balcony. A large part of me wanted to tell him exactly how I felt about him and the pain that he caused me over the years, but I didn't want to make a scene, and decided this would be a better time to let men fight while I stayed on the sidelines.
I gave Cal a quick knowing look, and he received the message.
"Can I help you with something, Mr…..I'm sorry, what was your name?" he asked Barney, with the air of arrogance I recognized. It had its intended effect immediately. Barney was well known in New York City and beyond; Cal knew who he was too, but feigning otherwise had clearly made Barney self-conscious.
"I, well, I'm Barney Deringer, obviously," he stammered. "And who are you?!"
"Caledon Hockley. Hockley Steel," Cal responded, as Barney's face went pale, realizing he was in the company of someone with true wealth.
"Well, I-delighted to make your acquaintance, sir! Perhaps you want to join our party? I'm a successful producer, you know. Perhaps we could talk business-"
"We're all quite content here, Mr. Deringer," Cal interrupted. "As is...Ms. Dottie. She will remain as well."
"I think not. Dottie is mine, and she will be returning with me this minute."
Cal was staring at Barney so intensely that I thought he may stand up and punch him. But instead, he laughed quietly to himself.
"Mr. Deringer, I knew this woman before you, and I can say most assuredly that she belongs to no one, least of all you."
"Mr. Hockley, is there a problem?" A large man, clearly Cal's body man, had approached behind Barney, barely concealing a pistol.
"Oh not at all! This man was just leaving!" Cal exclaimed cheerfully. I knew Barney, and that in any other situation, he would have chosen a fight. But thinking better of it, and clearly unnerved by the pistol, he took one last angry look at me and departed from my life for good.
"Thank you, Cal" I murmured, both appreciative and resentful of his help.
"Of course," Cal responded as Landon and Mary sat in silence, confused and intrigued by what was happening.
"Why was that man calling you Dottie? Wasn't your name Rose?" Mary finally asked, discretion also not a virtue with the young and untrained. I ignored her and returned to my quest to find out more about Landon.
"So Mr. Calvert, you come to the city often?"
"Oh yes, and call me Landon! I'm originally from a small town in Connecticut, called Darien…"
Of course, where the Carnegies used to summer.
"...which is about 40 miles north of the city, and often when I was young, my family would travel to the city to experience all that was happening, and I always loved it. Once I left for Exeter, and then Wharton, my trips became less frequent, and then I ended up in Iowa in the cereal business right after college, so it's not often I can visit."
"Landon and I are both Wharton men, of course," Cal interjected, never able to resist an opportunity to remind everyone of his pedigree. "That is where we met."
Clearly I had been wrong about Landon's age. Either Cal really has aged or Landon has a youthful spirit that makes him look boyish.
"Cereal! That's the new big thing. And what specifically do you do in the cereal business?!" Mary asked, more enthusiastically than the topic deserved. At first her presence had annoyed me, but her zeal was growing on me, perhaps because Cal and I were barely among the living in spirit.
"I'm the vice-president of the 1-minute oats division. It's quite an exciting time!" he beamed.
Why is this man so excited about cereal?
"I know how foolish I must sound, getting so worked up over something as simple as cereal," Landon continued. "But my parents were inventors and very interested in food science, which is how I got into the business. I've been with the Quaker Company for so long, back even when they were still American Cereal, and I was thrilled when we figured out the right recipe for the quick oats. Breakfast in a minute! It's so convenient and saves so much time. It will save a lot of Americans time, especially women, who are often the ones in the kitchen."
"Landon's one of these new men, one whose parents read too many books." Cal laughed. "Supporting women's causes, sending money to the suffragette chapters, and so forth. Even going over to Harlem to salon with these Negro poets and musicians…"
"And why not be such a man, Cal? I mean really, this country was supposed to be for everyone. Besides, the music and dance they have over in Harlem is far more exciting than anything happening in here, quite frankly," Landon said, his voice still warm but with a little more heat than before. I liked it.
He leaned over to me and whispered, "Cal and I have had these conversations before. But I think I've pushed him a bit past his caveman ways." He smiled and winked at me, and years later I'd point to this exact moment when my heart had been stolen again.
"Join me for a dance, Mary?" Cal said, while staring at me and Landon. He clearly had picked up on what was happening and was giving us some privacy. He and Mary departed for the dance area, and I suddenly felt like I didn't know what to say to Landon, a schoolgirl with her first crush. It had been a long time since I had talked to a man because I just wanted to, and I felt rusty.
"So how long have you lived in New York?" Landon asked me.
"Since Titanic. I originally grew up in Philadelphia, and I had thought about returning. But I just needed to start over."
"I understand," he said, and didn't press any further about my past, a habit he would mercifully continue over the years we knew each other. "You mentioned you were on Broadway earlier."
"Oh yes, I was a Ziegfeld girl for 10 years."
"Oh that's great! I have seen the show a few times. I imagine I must have seen you….in fact, oh yes, I remember you now. You were the most beautiful woman on the stage. Really, I don't know what they were thinking, putting Gilda Gray on that stage next to you, she just looked so drab by comparison."
"Mr. Calvert-"
"Call me Landon-"
"Landon, really, you are quite the tease," I laugh. My face felt warm and I realized I must have been blushing like a debutante, which made me laugh even harder. "Thank you for the compliment." We talked for a few minutes about theater life, and I felt more at ease finally.
"Anyways, I've been retired from the show for a few years, and I keep thinking I should go out and have more adventures that I've never had," I continued. "But something has stopped me…" I trailed off.
"What's something you've always wanted to do but haven't?" Landon asked.
"I want to see the rest of the country, really. There is a lot more to America than the east coast. Go out west, even to California. I've spent a lot of time in Europe, especially Paris, and I've done it all. The parties, the exuberance, all of it. But I think I'm ready for some quieter pastures and a new beginning, more time to read. And maybe even a family."
Landon was staring at me quietly, and I wondered if I had said something wrong. It was more honesty than I had intended, especially with a man I didn't know.
"I'm sorry if I've said too much-"
"Not at all, Rose, not at all," he said. "I think that's wonderful."
Mary and Cal returned right at that moment, and I felt compelled to be alone with Landon again, to actually leave and go somewhere alone with Landon to talk, to explore New York with him, to be spontaneous in a way I hadn't in years.
"Will you dance with me, Rose?" Cal suddenly asked. The band had started playing "What Is This Thing Called Love?" a song I enjoyed that had recently become a staple in underground clubs. Mary looked livid and ready to object, but I nodded and followed Cal to the main dance area. I still felt reservations about being around Cal, and I hadn't yet forgiven him for how he treated me all these years ago. But it was true what he said on the balcony; I needed to be close to him, because he was the only one who understood, and we had unfinished business to resolve.
He wrapped his arm around me and we danced in silence for a few moments.
"So, Dottie...Dottie…" Cal trailed off. "That explains why I never found you."
"You looked for me?" I asked.
"Of course I did!" Cal shouted, just loud enough to catch the attention of a few onlookers.
"I went mad on the Carpathia, and then at the port, looking for you. At first when I didn't find you, and when I didn't see you in the newspapers survivor reports. I had assumed you didn't make it. I even convinced your mother to accept that you had passed after I told her you had left the lifeboat and returned to the Titanic with Jack. But after the CS Mackay-Bennett returned from its expedition to recover the bodies of the first-class dead, and you weren't among them, I wondered if perhaps somehow you had survived. For a year, I published advertisements with your picture and a $100,000 dollar reward in every major paper on the East Coast for anyone who could offer any information on your whereabouts."
How odd that I would have missed that, I thought, before remembering that for two years, I avoided the news almost entirely, desperate to avoid the never endless stream of Titanic stories: death announcements and public memorials, families and corporations at war over estates and inheritances from the rich patricians who had died, endless government inquiries and investigations. It had been too much.
"I'm astonished no one recognized you," Cal said.
"I dyed my hair." A pretty but ordinary brown had been my hair color until I retired from Follies (Barney had nearly fainted the first time he saw my red roots). Although I considered going blonde, quite en vogue at the time, I was concerned about the attention it would bring.
"Ah. But if Jack had died, then why…" It was almost funny, watching the truth finally dawning on Cal, his eyes widening with shock. "So, you really didn't want to be found then."
"Of course I didn't want to be found!" This time it was my turn to shout, again attracting curious looks.
"Cal, it was troublesome enough that I was trapped in this horrible life where I would have been nothing but a consort to a rich man. But had you at least been kind to me, maybe I could have accepted it. Yet you treated me like garbage, worse than a common call girl, who at least would have the freedom to walk away. Being on that ship made me realize, many times over, that I would rather have died than accepted that life. It wasn't about Jack, it was about me!"
Cal nodded, and turned away, looking off into the distance, perhaps, or at least I was hoping, feeling something akin to shame.
"Rose, do you remember the Philadelphia Debutante Ball in 1909 when we danced for the first time?"
"Indeed. You had me convinced that night that you might actually be a gentleman."
"Yes, I thought I was too. But now I am nothing but a coward, it seems." I had never heard him be so self-critical of himself.
"What do you mean, Cal?"
"You know what I mean, Rose. I should have gone down with that ship like a gentleman instead of fleeing like a coward. Instead, I was one of the few men of any class to survive, and Philadelphia society has never let me forget it. Especially your mother."
Now it was my turn to feel shame. My relationship with my mother had been complicated even before my father died, and after his death it had been worse because of her own financial desperation, which I better understood now. Sometimes I thought of reaching out to her and letting her know the truth, so she could be at peace, even though I knew we'd never be close.
But I also knew her well enough to know that she'd be ashamed of how I had lived my life and angry for causing her so much pain and disgrace, so I let it be.
"Don't you mind; I won't tell her about you," he said, again reading my mind. "Anyways, she's been in my care since Titanic. I felt I owed it to your memory, especially because I felt responsible for your death. I wanted to blame you and Jack for your demise, but if I hadn't let my pride and jealousy guide my thoughts, I would have secured Jack's safety, since you weren't leaving without him, and dealt with our misunderstandings later. The guilt tormented me. I loved you Rose, in my own way. I didn't treat you well, I know this now, but I did, and still do, love you."
I felt like I should respond. But words escaped me.
"So, the least thing I could do was protect your mother from destitution," Cal continued. She originally lived on the Hockley Estate, until I married Sadie and the tension between them became too great. She now lives in her own apartment, mostly content." He let out a deep exhale, clearly dreading what he was about to say next.
"Understandably, she has always blamed me for your fate. She didn't know the worst from that night, but she knew, as you just confirmed, that I had driven you away with my callousness. She used to not say anything, just giving me those terrible death glares she has always been so adept at. But as the years passed, and her drinking increased, she became more willing to let me know exactly how she felt about me surviving and living my life while you were buried in the Atlantic. Maybe if it were only her whose wrath I had to endure, I could have learned to cope. But it wasn't just her. It was everyone, everywhere Sadie, the children and I went. Everyone constantly letting me know how shameful it was for me to still be breathing while so many women and children perished. The torment has been unbearable, especially because in my heart, I don't disagree with them."
I had often, and still did, feel guilty over being a survivor. I knew how he felt, though I realized how lucky I was that the only person I was ever punished by was myself.
"You know, there is a running wager on whether myself or J. Bruce Ismay will be the first to put a bullet in our heads," he chuckled.
"And who would you wager on?" I asked, regretting it immediately. I couldn't control my cruel response, though I had really been thinking of Mr. Ismay. Even with my attempts at remaining ignorant of what has been said about Titanic, I had heard the rumors that Ismay had encouraged Captain Smith to go faster "to make headlines."
"Let's just say I think I'm getting closer to my eternal rest." We were looking directly at each other while Elise crooned, and I could really in that moment see the despair in his eyes. He looked like a man at death's door.
"I'm sorry Cal, I shouldn't have said it."
"You owe me no apology, Rose. I'm so happy you're alive, so at least I can have that small amount of peace. And forgive me, for the way I behaved towards you when we once knew each other."
I said nothing, in shock from his apology. I was long owed it, but still couldn't believe I was hearing it.
"Only Margaret Brown, of all people, has shown me any kindness. She was angry over my treatment of you as well, but I think since she was on the ship, she sympathized with me, as a survivor, in a way no one else was able."
"How is Molly, by the way?" I asked, now thinking of my old life. I thought of few people from that time, but Molly Brown, and her tenacity, I did miss. In addition to her kindness towards me, she had done a better job of welcoming Jack into our awful world than I had, and for that, I was grateful.
"A force, as always, though since her husband passed in '22, she hasn't been quite herself. I was truly convinced she would outlive us all, but I hear she has been sickly. Even so, she stays about in the world, championing causes and being the essence of a modern woman. I know she has missed you. You were one of the few women she could relate to, and she respected you greatly. "
"Will you...tell her?" I asked, before I could stop myself. She was the only person I'd want to know I was alive.
"I will. Discretion was never her strong suit, but she will understand to not speak of you. She may want to write to you though. May I tell her where to find you?"
"You may."
Over the years, I would not hear from Molly, uncertain if Cal had ever relayed my message. But one day in 1932, a month before her death, I did receive a long letter from her, as well as a Smith & Wesson revolver, which I still have. "A pistol for my pistol," she had said in her letter. Even now as an old woman, I miss her spirit. There was never another like her.
Back in 1929, I was again lost in my thoughts, remembering my old life that felt like a dream.
"Why haven't you left, Rose?" Cal asked.
"I don't understand what you mean."
"Titanic. I could see it on your face from across the room before I followed you to the balcony, and still now. You finally had your freedom, and you've lived, but you still have that look in your eyes, that same trapped look of despair you always had when you were promised to me."
Perhaps the apology had made me more vulnerable than I wished, but I couldn't hold back anymore.
"It's him. Jack. I said to you just now that I wanted my freedom, and my misery wasn't about him... but I miss him everyday. I don't understand why I haven't let go of this...of him. We knew each other for mere days, and I was a child. But still I can't let it go."
"Because he set you free," Cal responded immediately. "That's why. I understand now, even though I didn't, or wouldn't, then. He gave you the courage to run away from a life you hated."
"Yes….you're right. But I wish I could move on."
"Did you ever really allow yourself to grieve?"
"Well….no. No, I didn't. I didn't have time to mourn."
"You should do it, Rose. Have a ceremony for him and let him go. That is what I did for Spicer."
I frowned, thinking of Spicer Lovejoy, Cal's former right hand man who framed and imprisoned Jack on Titanic, and enabled Cal's worst instincts towards surveilling and controlling me when we had been engaged.
"I know you hated him, and rightfully so, but he was more of a father than my own father. I felt guilty for a long time over abandoning him on the ship. One day I finally placed a gravestone and had a memorial for him with his family. It made me feel like I had really said goodbye."
Hearing Cal suggest this made me feel foolish for never doing so, and suddenly I realized why I hadn't. Because in my own demented way, I had been waiting for Jack to return, just as Cal had hoped I would, except my hopes were truly absurd, as I was certain Jack had died. Every time I went to Paris, I would wander around the cafes, the gardens, the areas where bohemians congregated, hoping somehow, miraculously, he'd be there waiting for me. I didn't want to accept the truth, and so I never had.
"And if I may," Cal continued, "I don't what you've experienced in all these years since we've seen each other, but if the way you looked when I saw you tonight, and that brief encounter with that wretched animal is any indication, it looks like you may have had traded one evil for another, and I can imagine why you'd feel miserable."
We were silent for a few moments before Cal began speaking again. "Landon fancies you."
"Is that so?" I remarked, being coy, and foolishly so, as I was long removed from my debutante years. "And why would such a handsome, successful, and lovely man be available in the first place?"
"He's a widower. He married a Vassar girl right after finishing Wharton, and they were together until she passed a couple of years ago. They were a peculiar couple; she was like you in many ways, never had children, always reading and thinking and doing other rather strange behaviors for a woman. But they were very happy, and he's been quite despondent since her death. Tonight is the happiest I've seen him in a long time, which I have no doubt is because of you, Rose."
I looked over back to the table towards Landon, who was not even attempting to be discreet while staring at me. A smile that would have been lecherous on any other man, just looked sweet on him. There was something so warm and inviting about him. I had sensed it immediately, and I felt comfortable with him in a way that I hadn't with any man - or even most people - I had met in a long time. Usually when I met someone, they wanted something from me But Landon seemed like he just wanted to know me. Perhaps this was a man I could be with, who might treat me like a person, with the dignity Jack had shown me so many years ago.
"He's a man of good character," Cal said, reading my thoughts as he had all evening. "I should know, as I have none," he laughed, and I couldn't resist laughing myself.
Just a moment, I wondered how happy I would have been to be married to this version of Cal.
"Perhaps you've found a bit of character in all these years, Cal" I said. I returned to thinking of Landon, wondering what it would be like to actually spend time with a man because I wanted to, and not because he was forcing me or because I wanted something from him.
"You should leave with him. Go be happy."
"I want to, Cal, I do, but…" I trailed off again, imagining the prospect of drastically changing my life. "I'm just not sure I'm ready for this."
"Is that so?" Cal asked. "You know, I once knew a young woman, who, even at 17-years-old, had the courage to run from a life she knew she didn't want. She even spat in my face."
"I haven't been that person in a long time," I said, shaking my head.
Cal leaned in close to me, staring into my eyes, our faces a mere inches apart. It was not seduction, but instead, persuasion.
"And yet, did you not gather the will to leave Barney tonight?"
Indeed I had. Maybe that woman who wanted to direct her own life was still inside of me.
"Jack would wish it for you," Cal whispered in my ear. "He would want you to keep going, to let him go and fall in love again, with another man, and with life."
Cal was right. If Jack had lived, he would have moved on with his life, I had no doubt. It was time I did the same.
"Go, Rose. I know you can find somewhere more fun to be than here. Go to Landon and take him out of here. He'll enjoy being on the town with you."
"Will you join us?" I couldn't believe I had asked it. Getting away from Cal had once been my mission, but I found myself feeling something kindred towards him.
"No. I'm going to stay here with Mary, trapped in purgatory where I belong." The song finally ended, and he released me.
"Why did you decide to help me?"
"A last attempt at atonement for a man whose days are numbered," Cal said. We stood for just a moment, both of us recognizing that this, truly, would be the last time we saw each other.
"I hope you find the happiness you deserve, Rose."
"Thank you, Cal." We took one last look at each other before I hurried back to Landon, whose stare was still fixed on me. I leaned over to him and whispered:
"So, do you want to go to a real party?"
I never saw Cal again after that night. I can't say exactly what happened when I took Landon to a nearby speakeasy that night - it wouldn't befit a lady to speak so honestly. But the next day he asked me to marry him, and as though I were a young fool (while also remembering Cal's recommendation), I said yes, and went with him to Cedar Rapids the next week.
I wish I had the courage to tell Lizzy and Mr. Lovett the entire story and give Cal the redemption he had earned. But it had been difficult enough reliving the trauma of Titanic, and I preferred not to speak about that time in between before I saw Cal again, years of pain I myself had been desperate to forget. And who would want to hear it? I had learned long ago that even the most sincere prefer fantasy and fairy tales to reality.
It is true that Cal died by his own hand after the stock market crash later that year. Landon and I returned to Philadelphia for his funeral to pay our respects, though at my request, we stayed mostly out of sight for the ceremony and participated in no other services. I caught a fleeting glimpse of my mother, my last connection to the past that almost drowned me, figuratively and literally. After the funeral, I never saw her, or anyone else from my life before Titanic, again.
I married Landon and unexpectedly became a mother, and even more unexpectedly, found happiness. I was lucky that Landon had money, and I never wanted for anything. But more than that, Landon was genuinely sweet and full of life. We traveled across the country, and the world, and I felt truly free.
Over time, my sleeplessness faded. But one night, many years later when my hair had begun to gray, and after the first nightmare I had in years and Landon found me crying, I finally told Landon the truth, about Jack, and how I hadn't let go of what happened, even after all the years that had passed. Expecting disgust, Landon instead comforted me, echoing Cal's suggestion to have our own burial for him, to finally give me closure.
Three months later, we traveled to Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin and placed a simple gravestone in a cemetery, not too far from a lake where the locals often ice fish.
Jack Dawson
1890(?) to April 15, 1912
Laid to Rest in the Atlantic Ocean
Always Remembered
