Chapter Fourteen

August 14th, 1913
New York City, New York

The studio was quiet that afternoon so Frenchie turned the radio to a jazz station. He and Jack worked separately side-by-side on two different canvases. Their focus was intent as they laid down brush stroke after brush stroke. Frenchie was beginning the base layer for a scene of two girls riding on the back of a hay cart while Jack did fine details on trees for a scene depicting a cozy cabin with chickens free-roaming. Frenchie cast a glance at Jack, however, pausing from his task.

"So, you and Iris have a date tonight, huh?" He asked, the jazz music echoing distantly.

Jack barely glanced at him as he dabbed his brush into dark green paint, smothering it onto the canvas, "Yeah, we do."

Frenchie smirked, absent mindedly twirling the paintbrush in his hand, "You actually listened to what I had to say? You're taking my advice now?"

Jack sighed and lifted his brush from the canvas, "I just thought it'd be good to have a reason to get out is all," He shrugged, wiping his cheek with his forearm, "I only know you and Iris."

"Oh, why didn't you ask me then?" Frenchie chuckled, "I think it's great, Jack. I'm not trying to give you a hard time. I think you made the right choice."

"Don't get your hopes up or anything," Jack shrugged, returning to dabbing the canvas, "She's the one callin' it a date. I'd consider it more of a social outing."

"Well, don't tell her that," Frenchie dipped his brush into his paint and continued, "I just think you're going to have a great time. And I don't think you're expecting anything."

"Like I said, I just wanna go out, drink some cheap beer, and hear some music. That's all."

"Mhm, sure," Frenchie smiled as he continued painting.

...

Jack sat at the top the attic steps, just outside his door. He bobbed his knee as he took a long drag of his cigarette, occasionally dipping his head down to catch a glance of the door. Jack raked his hair back from his face, watching a ribbon of smoke trail from his hands. He was wearing a white button up with tan pants and his suspenders. He wore a plaid overcoat that he rolled at the cuff. He wasn't dressed up in the least and hoped Iris hadn't taken her looks too seriously.

Jack stood, straightening his coat, and wandered into his bedroom. He walked slowly, clunking his boots to the creaky boards and swinging his arm, all the while holding the cigarette between his lips with his front teeth. He looked around his room for a moment and paused when he saw Rose's obituary tacked up on the wall. Jack lowered his cigarette from his mouth as he leaned over, plucking it off the wall and drawing it near to him. He took a drag of his cigarette, his eyes locked on Rose's face.

"I miss you, darlin'..." He croaked, smoke trailing from his chapped lips, "Every time I look at this picture, it's like you get prettier and prettier..." Jack sighed, lowering the picture to his side. He tilted his head back, taking another careless drag, "What am I doin', Rose? I don't even know anymore. I'm used to having no direction, but this is a whole new definition of lost."

He threw himself in the chair by the window, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. Jack lifted the picture to his eyes, resting his head back in the chair, "I wonder what you and I would be doing right now... I wonder where we would be. Do you think we would have actually stayed in New York City?" He tilted his head to the side for a moment, "No... you had anxious feet. We would be somewhere else right now. Maybe sleepin' on the beach, drinking that cheap beer we always talked about," He lowered the picture into his lap and pushed his window open, tossing his cigarette out, "I should go to Santa Monica... for us," Jack muttered, listening to the cicadas chirp outside, "I'll have a drink for you tonight, Rose..."

Just then, he heard the studio door open. He staggered to his feet and tacked the obituary back on his wall above his bed.

"Jack!" Iris' voice resounded through the building.

Jack went to his door, flicking the light off, "Right here! I'm coming down, Iris."

His boots thundered down the step as he ran his hands along the narrow walls during his descent. He came to the bottom of the steps and adjusted his coat as he looked around before spotting Iris at the table, her eyes on the tall canvases begging to be finished. When Jack spotted her, he had all the breath knocked out of him and his stomach constricted tightly. Iris turned towards him and smiled. He did his best to mask any duress he was under.

Iris was wearing a dress Rose had owned. In fact, it was the last one he had seen her in. It was that short sleeve dress with a light white tulle skirt. The torso was a baby blue with that sweet pink sash around the waist. Iris had allowed her hair free and it cascaded down her shoulders. Jack quivered just looking at her.

"Iris... you uh, you look great," He said, casting his eyes down and sheepishly digging his hands into the pockets of his coat.

"Thank you," She giggled and fluffed her skirt out, "Mama bought this for me ages ago. It's very nice. I've never actually had a proper occassion to wear it, so I thought why not tonight."

Jack grinned weakly, his stomach tossing and turning, "Yeah. I'm glad you've gotten the chance. It looks... very cute on you," He gnawed on his lip for a moment before he arched his eyebrows and cleared his throat, "Well, uh, I guess we should get going, huh? The band will be comin' on soon."

Iris smiled, her blue eyes glowing, "Alright, let's go."

...

The bar wasn't a far walk at all. Jack was glad it was short. The walk, for the most part, was silent. They had only spoken briefly when they first set out, just so Iris could thank him for the invite. He grinned weakly and reached for a cigarette from his coat. The bar was appearing at the end of the street they were on, just before it lead to docks reaching out towards the wide body of water. He could distantly hear the waves crashing against the concrete.

"Jack," Iris broke through his thoughts. He tilted his head to look at her, "why do you smoke?"

Jack lowered the cigarette from his mouth, taking his time exhaling and shrugging as the smoke trailed away in the wind, "It calms me down."

"But doesn't it hurt?" Iris asked, furrowing her brow together, "Doesn't it taste bad?"

Jack smirked, "You get used to it."

"After my Papa passed away, I found a pack of cigarettes in one of his coat pockets," Iris said slowly, folding her hands behind her back as they continued down the street, "He had quit smokin' years before, I was surprised to see them there. But, they were unopened. I tried one... and it was horrible."

"First one always is," Jack inspected his cigarette before taking a puff of it, "Like I said, it gets easier."

"How long have you been smoking?" Iris curiously peered at the side of his face, which gleamed in the overhead moonlight.

"I dunno," Jack shrugged, the cigarette dangling between his lips, "Since I was thirteen, I suppose."

"Jesus, Jack, that's nearly a decade," Iris shook her head.

"Hey, it's apart of me," Jack looked at Iris now, "I want some proof I lived somehow," They continued walking a few steps. Jack threw his cigarette into the gutter and sighed, "Does my smoking bother you, Iris?"

"No," Iris finally replied after a moment, pausing at the corner of the bar, "I just wish you didn't feel like you needed it."

"I just like the way it feels," Jack put his hands in his coat pockets, "I smoked before my parents died. Before I ever met Rose. Or sailed on the Titanic. I don't feel like I need it. I just like it," His eyes darted to her dress momentarily and he immediately averted his eye contact, shuffling his feet on the concrete, "Come on, let's get a seat on the balcony," He finally said, nodding his head and leading her towards a short iron wrought fence.

It wasn't very busy, luckily. Jack and Iris claimed a table along the railing facing the river that also had a good view of the stage, where men with a three piece drum-set, a trumpet, and an acoustic guitar were shuffling about. When the waitress came, Jack ordered the cheapest pitcher of beer they had, which was quick to return to them. Jack poured his frothy drink with a grin and took a good swig, passing the pitcher to Iris.

"You know, I could buy as a higher quality beer," Iris told him, smirking, as she poured herself a glass. Jack licked his lips and grinned crookedly.

"No, no. This stuff is just right. For me, at least," Jack laughed, "Feel free to order yourself a pitcher, but I'll still out-drink you on the cheapest I can find."

An acoustic guitar rang out across the bar. Jack glanced over his shoulder towards the elderly man in the stool, gently picking at the strings.

"How many of these are you hoping to pack away tonight?" Iris asked, drawing him back to the table.

"I hope I'll run their tap dry," Jack said, already pouring himself a new drink.

They drank in silence for a few moments, just taking in the music gently lolling on behind them. Jack looked out towards the dark river leisurely rolling by. He watched the waves as he tilted his head back and took a drink, slowly licking his lips.

"Jack, what were your parents like?" Iris asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

Jack looked at her, surprised by the question. He blinked for a moment and cleared his throat, "They were really great people. Treated me well. We were always poor, but that didn't matter. My parents never let me go hungry. Never stopped me from being who I was."

"What were their names?" She grinned, brushing some hair behind her ear.

"Elena and James," Jack took a swig of beer and refilled his glass, signalling to the waitress for another pitcher, "My mom was a seamstress," Jack looked back to Iris. The cheap beer made for discussing himself much easier, "My dad was a farmer."

"You were an only child?"

"Yeah, they couldn't afford two," Jack joked as the waitress delivered a fresh pitcher of beer, frothy with foam at the top, "I started drawing when I was five 'cause I was just so bored during the winters. We'd be buried inside the house. Eventually, I grew into liking it. My parents weren't artists, didn't quite understand where I got the affinity for it, but they supported me."

"Wow, that's so interesting," Iris said after a sip of her drink, "You're lucky you discovered your talent. Can you believe some people go all their lives without trying things, things they maybe masterful of? You're very lucky to have found your 'thing'."

"Well, what about you?" Jack furrowed his brow together, lowering his drink, "You've found your 'thing' with art, too, haven't you?"

Iris shrugged, pursing her lips for a moment, "I can only draw flowers. Nothing else. Coming from a family of artists, I feel amateur compared to them. Frenchie can draw anything, just like you can. My father could sculpt masterpieces from a clunky rock. And my mother can weave the most beautiful and intricate patterns into fabric. And me? Flowers? That's it?"

"Art's all about making what speaks to you," Jack told her, "Maybe you're only good at flowers because you're just naturally drawn to them. Do flowers make you happy?"

"They're pretty..." Iris shrugged sheepishly, "Other than that, they're all the same. They don't move, they don't do anything. Who in their right mind would simply have flowers adorning their walls when they could have one of Frenchie's landscapes?"

"You're lookin' at it all wrong," Jack finished his beer and immediately poured another, "You can't go comparing yourself to everything out on the market. You shouldn't be pandering for anyone. In your art world, you're in charge. If you want to make art, it has to come from the heart, Iris. Go only where you know, do only what you wanna do. First lesson of the art world."

"Flowers, though?" Iris laughed outloud, her pearly teeth glowing in the low lighting of the bar, "Jack, do you hear how crazy that sounds? I'm just starting to think art is not my 'thing'. But that's okay," Iris shrugged, "I think I still have time to figure out what it really is."

"I don't agree," Jack said, surprising Iris, "I think art is your calling. Iris, you're more talented than what you give yourself credit for. And I hate that. I hate when people with a stupid amount of talent think they're nothing. You're doing yourself a great dishonor, the world is honestly missing out, if you're not pursuing art, Iris."

"Why do you care so much?" Iris asked.

"Because the world needs art," Jack replied, leaning forward, his eyebrows arched. Iris caught a whiff of cheap beer and pine trees momentarily, "We need more people making art, Iris. We're caught in a quickly revolutionizing world. There are people crunching numbers, monetizing us. Making the world nothin' but business. Artists have a duty to keep the spirit of art in this world of business. It makes a world gray and it's up to us to keep it colorful."

"And you think my flowers could help?" She grinned.

"Anything can help," Jack insisted, "as long as it comes from your heart."

A trumpet began to croon out over the bar. Many people inside had now migrated out as the band continued at a whimsical soothing beat that made it easy to kick back and relish the drunken feeling many had. Iris glanced to the river for a moment, licking her lips.

"Jack... you're a really great guy," She said, looking directly at him. His grip tightened on his cup, "You're just really kind and sweet. Honestly, you deserve so much more than what you have."

"Oh, come on," Jack laughed, pouring himself more beer, "You can't spend your life getting bent up on the little details."

"So you're fine sleeping in a creaky attic and mixing paint all day?"

"Yeah, actually," Jack replied after a drink, "It was my dream life as a kid."

Iris giggled, "Jack, your name deserves to be on marquees. You should have your own museum. A penthouse full of the best art in the world. The world needs to see your talent. You're more than just Frenchie's assistant."

Jack waved his dismissively from behind his cup, "You saw my portfolio, it's all of the same thing. Like you feel condemned to flowers, I'm condemned to just drawings of Rose."

"She's really the only thing you've been drawing?"

"Since I could hold a pencil again after the Titanic," Jack nodded, "Just her."

"Why?" Iris asked.

Jack shrugged and surprisingly smiled, "I don't know. I just like seeing her again. I like drawing those pictures and reliving those moments of the Titanic. I know it's probably not good for me, but she's everywhere, Iris."

"Is she here right now?" Iris tilted her head to the side.

"Just about," Jack nodded his head towards her, "you're wearing the same dress she had. The last one I saw her in."

Iris opened her mouth but no sound escaped. She lowered her eyes to her dress before looking at Jack, whose almond skin gleamed in the flickering overhead lamp light. Her heart beat violently in her chest as she stared into Jack's soft blue eyes.

...

Jack walked Iris back to her house after they left the bar. They knew it was late into the night. The full moon was directly overhead as they walked as straight as they could after the amount of beer they had just consumed. Iris' cheeks were rosy as she walked alongside Jack. Jack glanced to her before he slid his jacket off, offering it to her.

"Aren't you cold?" He asked after she had put it on.

"I was a little chilly," She replied, holding the jacket closed, "Thank you."

Jack reached for a cigarette as they passed beneath a streetlight. Iris watched him flick his lighter alive, inhaling deeply and lowering the cigarette.

"Can I have one?" She asked. He paused from walking and she turned towards him.

"Thought you didn't like it?" Jack cocked a bold brow up.

"I wanna try again," Iris looked so small in his jacket. It was enough to make Jack grin, "You've renewed my look on a lot of things. Art and cigarettes."

Jack snorted and pulled his pack out, handing a cigarette to her. He stepped in closer and held his lighter up. Iris looked directly at him as he lit the end of her cigarette. She took a slow draw and lowered the cigarette. She coughed for a slight moment. Jack smiled and rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly.

"Don't make yourself sick," Jack said, patting her on the arm, "Come on, let's keep going. Your mother is probably wondering where you are."

"She knows I'm with you," She smirked, glancing at him as she continued the cigarette, "She trusts you, Jack."

Jack laughed, "I guess she does since I haven't made off into the night with Frenchie's hundreds of dollars worth of equipment."

Iris chuckled at this as they crossed the road, her heels echoing on the asphalt, "Like I said, you're a good guy, Jack Dawson," Playfully, she linked her arms through his, holding his arm close to her. He glanced at her fleetingly, his eyes following the wave in her blonde hair, "I really had a lot of fun tonight," She told him.

"Yeah, me too," He replied, lowering his cigarette from his mouth. He was acutely aware of the way Iris' slender hands felt against the cotton sleeve of his shirt, "Felt good to get out for once and do something other than buy paintbrushes and canvas."

"Can we do this again?" Her big blue eyes peered up at him, "I like spending time with you."

Jack looked forward now as they continued towards the corner of Iris' neighborhood. He licked his lips for a moment and cleared his throat, "Yeah, maybe next time Frenchie can come with us."

"What about just you and me?" Iris asked.

They made it to the corner and parted, looking at each other in the pool of the streelight. Jack sheepishly put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, "I don't want you to get the wrong idea, Iris. I value you as a friend, you know that, right?"

Iris dropped her half-smoked cigarette to the ground and used her pointed heel to crush it. She hugged herself and looked to Jack, "I get it. You're distracted, you're guarded. But you aren't aware of the affect you have on people."

"I look at myself and see a mess, Iris," Jack shook his head.

"I don't," Iris insisted, "I see a man who is trying. Who needs a break. You're all wound up. You need to relax, Jack. Give into something good."

Jack glanced into the darkness surrounding them, pensively licking his lips, "I'm sorry, but you're going to know my answer."

"I'll wait for you, then."

"I don't want you to do that," Jack was nearly exasperated, "There's no deadline on these feelings I still have."

"What is it about me that's not as good as Rose?" Iris tilted her head to the side, casting a shadow across her cheek.

"There's nothing to compare," Jack shook his head, "It'd be like comparing apples and oranges, Iris."

"Was it her curly red hair? Her big green eyes?" Iris continued, "Was it her lips or her pale complexion? Was it her curves you so gracefully draw?"

Jack took a drag of his cigarette, "I'd say her looks had the least amount to do with it. It was all her personality, her mind. She was something special. That's it. I connected with her in a way I have never with anyone before."

"Can we at least try to form that connection?" Iris whispered. She stepped closer to Jack and placed her hands on his chest. He knew exactly where this was going as she lifted herself to the balls of his feet. This time, though, Jack didn't recoil away. Instead, he gave into it. He placed his hands on her hips and dipped his head down, meeting her in the middle. Their lips pressed together. Jack closed his eyes and did everything in his power to shut his mind down. He felt her fingers gently skim over his skin as they flattened to his neck. The kiss drew on for nearly ten seconds before they drew back, "Did that spark anything at all?" She whispered, her face inches from him.

Jack stared into her eyes for a moment before he parted from her, walking towards the edge of the streetlight, "I'll see you tomorrow, Iris."

All she could see was the end of his cigarette bobbing into the night time as he walked away from her.