Chapter Seventeen

November 1st, 1913
New York City, New York

When Rose got home from work that afternoon, she found herself feeling sleepy. She couldn't guess why because she had been sleeping and eating right. She figured she simply had the November blues that plagued her last year. She boiled herself a pot of coffee and lowered herself onto the couch, glancing at the overcast day outside. Rose decided to light so candles. She propped her feet up on a stack of books and slouched into the couch, balancing her coffee on her stomach. She let out a long sigh, blowing a bang out of her face.

Here comes your birthday again and yet... I don't feel any less sad... any less remorseful, Rose thought, watching the steam rise from her mug, I wonder where you and I would be if you were still here, Jack. In the mountains? In the sweltering heat of the south? On the beaches of Santa Monica...? I wish you could talk to me. How dearly I would love to hear that voice of yours again, feel those hands... She closed her eyes longingly, pleading her mind to procure an image of him.

I need a sign, Jack. Desperately. How do I know Tim is the right one for me? How can anybody be after I met you? She furrowed her brow together, her eyes hovering on the low hanging gray clouds, threatening the city with a shower, When do the thoughts of you recede? When will they stop impacting me so negatively? I love you, I truly do, but I'm a world of hurt and I want more than anything for it to stop. Give me a sign, Jack. What's my key to happiness?

A knock on her door startled her. She jolted forward, nearing spilling hot coffee all over her wrinkled waitress uniform. She took a few moments to breath and come back to reality. Rose balanced her mug precariously on top of a stack of books and rushed to the door, throwing it open. It was Tim, to her surprise. She bit her lip for the slightest moment. She was so exhausted, she didn't think she could play pretend for one more moment of the day.

"Hey, Rose, did you just get home?" He asked, his hands in his tan trench coat pockets.

"Yes," She nodded, "it was a very busy day."

"Yeah, you look like you could use a good night's sleep," Tim adjusted his glasses, "Maybe today isn't a good day, then. I was going to take you out shopping. I was going to pick up some more suits for myself, I thought it'd be nice to buy you something you like for the art show."

"Oh, my dresses aren't good enough?" Rose smirked, leaning her head against the door.

"No, of course not..." Tim stuttered for a moment and then caught himself, smiling sheepishly, "When's the last time you got a brand new dress in the past year, Rose? Let's pick something out for you, something you can feel beautiful in. Don't even dare look at a price tag, okay?"

Rose shifted her feet back and forth, lowering her eyes. She couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face. She chuckled and nodded, "Okay, I think I have enough energy to go shopping."

"That's my girl!" Tim took hold of her hand, giving it a good squeeze.

...

The large department store Tim took her to was one she had never been in before. It was just a bit north of downtown on a more luxury scale. The floors were freshly polished marble with grand pillars reaching towards the roof that was nearly twenty feet above, with rafters, and a giant skylight. Rose gawked upwards at the light white pouring down on them from above.

"Here, let's try this store for you," Tim steered her to the right, towards a store with thick red carpeting running through it. Rose strolled along the racks. When Tim was distracted, Rose quickly checked the price tags. They were all much more expensive than she would have liked. She lead Tim all through the store, pretending to really be considering a dress, but the price tags only grew steeper in price by the point she reached the back of the store.

"I don't think there's anything in here for me," Rose finally told Tim.

"Really? I saw a lot of nice options," Tim replied, running his hands along the dresses, "Do you like blue and white stripes? This one with the tulle sleeves would be nice. Has an A-skirt, so it's have just a good amount of volume to it," He pulled the dress off the rack, holding it up for Rose.

"Don't tell me you also helped your mother sew?" Rose laughed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I did, actually," Tim lowered the dress, "I don't know much, but I know this would look good on you."

"Not for forty-five dollars," Rose told him with arched eyebrows.

"I told you not to look at the price tag," Tim put the dress back on the rack, "Rose," He approached her, grabbing hold of her wrists and sliding down to lace his fingers through her's, "You don't have to worry about money. Not in the slightest. I've never told you how much I make, but I'm comfortable and stable. Stable enough I can pass it onto to you, too. I can support us."

"Yeah, but," Rose lowered her eyes, "I want to prove I can take care of myself."

"Oh you have," Tim assured her, cupping her cheek in his palm, "You have and then some. I'm talking to a girl who risked it all because it wasn't what she wanted."

Rose slowly looked up at him, gazing into his hazel eyes, "I don't want you to spend this kind of money on me. I can buy it myself."

"But I want to," Tim's voice was no more than a husky whisper, "And I won't let you buy it for yourself. Let me do it for you, Rose. Please? I'm the one whose taking you to the art show, afterall."

"Can we settle for a store with better priced dresses?" Rose asked softly.

Tim sighed and grinned, "Okay, I know another one, come on."

...

Iris and Frenchie sat at the communal table in the work space, both enjoying a cold Coca-Cola. Jack had gone to pick up lunch for everyone. The paintings were all just about completed. Iris could tell her brother was tried, exhausted, from all the energy and time put into his work, but she could tell under there, he was very pleased with what he and Jack were able to produce.

Iris thumbed the lip of her glass bottle for a moment, looking to Frenchie, "You know... Jack's birthday is coming up on the eighth."

"Is it really?" Frenchie arched his eyebrows after a sip of his soda, "Heh... funny. We never even asked each other when our birthdays were. It's the little things you forget to talk to people about sometimes. Well, we should do something for him. A night out. It could be a joint celebration for the art show to come."

"I'm gonna bake him a cake," Iris beamed at Frenchie, "We should make a whole day out of it for him. Besides, he's helped you so much, he deserves it."

"I agree," Frenchie nodded, "He's good at making me look great."

Iris rolled her eyes melodramatically, drinking her Coca-Cola with a smile on her face.

...

"What about this one?" Rose pulled a light pink dress off that rack that had two blue stripes towards the end of the skirt. Tim put his hands on his hips and shook his head, "What's wrong with it?"

"You just deserve to wear something much nicer," Tim told her as she put it back on the rack, "You are a queen yourself. I want you to feel that way, too."

"What, are you taking Cinderella to the ball?" Rose laughed openly, shifting through a few more dresses.

"That's how I want you to feel!" Tim said, throwing his hands at his sides, "For one night, I want you to put a special dress on and have a fun time, give in all your thoughts to having a great dinner and seeing some great art."

"Surely one of these dresses are good enough," Rose told him, still looking around.

"Rose, I want to spend more than fifteen dollars on a dress for you. That's how much I pay for a tie for gosh sake's," Tim put his hands on her shoulder, "Let's go somewhere a little bit pricier than this one. I won't go above forty, I promise. I want you have more than just another cotton dress."

The next place Tim took Rose to had dark grey wallpaper with light grey stripes and a black carpet. The dresses seemed just as extravagant as the store they had first visited. Upon sneaking a glance at a price tag, she felt a little bit better choosing a dress from this store.

"What do you think?" Rose glanced over her shoulder, running her hands along the cool fabric, "Long sleeve? Short sleeve? No sleeve? Three-quarter sleeve?"

Tim laughed, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck, "It's whatever you want. Whatever speaks to you the most on any one of these racks. Try some on."

"Which color?" Rose held up a blue velvet three-quarter sleeve dress with a lace sweetheart neckline. The sash was silken blue to match the color of the fabric, the skirt had a bit of floof to it. In her right hand, she had an identical one, but green.

"Try the green," Tim said, "It matches your eyes."

Tim sat outside on a black leather ottoman while Rose went to the dressing him. He set his elbows on his knees and glanced around the store at the few other patrons. He took his glasses off and cleaned them with his handkerchief, sitting up straighter on the ottoman now. He was excited for the growing future. Tim grinned just thinking about Rose. In the next moment, she called for him and he stood, barely peaking his door into the corridor of dressing rooms.

"It's just me, you can come in," Rose said. Tim came full around the corner and saw Rose holding the saggy dress against her chest, "Can you zip me up, please? I can't reach it," She turned away from Tim to show off the zipper. He approached her slowly, looking at her perfect porcelain skin. It dawned on him in that moment that she never wore a corset or brassiere.

Not like she needs it, Tim thought fleetingly as he gave the zipper a tug and drew it up the back of Rose. As it came together, it began to fit her like a glove. The skirt had just the right amount of volume to give her hips a nicer curve. The sash accenutated her figure nicely, and the top part clung to her in all the right places. Rose stared at herself in the hallway mirror for the dressing room. She lowered her hands to the sash, admiring the way the floor length skirt made her seemingly float. In the mirror, Tim lowered his chin to her shoulder and smiled, nudging himself against her.

"Let me buy this for you," Tim broughts his hands up, gently rubbing his hands along the velvet sleeves, "It's the one, Rose."

She smiled, her cheeks growing red, "It does feel nice..."

"No one will be able to pay attention to the art when you're there," He whispered, gently pecking at her neck. She watched in the reflection, "They'll all be too busy with their eyes on you."

...

November 2nd, 1913
New York City, New York

"Jack, do you think Dalmatian has the right amount of spots?" Frenchie asked. He had been analyzing his paintings every day since they finished them. It's the only thing he came into the studio for. Jack knew he was anxious about the art show. Having finished ahead of schedule was probably only more maddening for Frenchie.

Jack was sitting at the table, a mug of warm coffee beside him, as he sketched a picture of Rose. She had a cigarette between her lips, a stein of frothy beer in her slender hands as she enjoyed the steerage party. He had been grinning the entire time he was drawing it, hearing the beat of the drum. Frenchie's voice drew him away, though, and he looked up, blinking and rapidly returning to the silent studio.

"Uh, yeah, I think it's fine," Jack nodded, taking a sip of his coffee and licking his lips, "Frenchie, bud, they're done. You can quit worryin' about them. I talked to the Museum that's housing you. We can bring the paintings in the day before and they'll mount them how we'll like for us."

"Good, I have more time just in case," Frenchie rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

Jack knew that look and his blue eyes pierced him. Jack lowered his pencil and rose from his stool, "Frenchie, whatever you're thinking, you gotta stop. We have no time to paint an entirely new painting. I don't even have anymore paint."

"But imagine an underwater scene," Frenchie looked to Jack, "Lots of blue, great use of shadows. God rays, the works. Coral, too. It would be beautiful."

"I don't have time to mix all those paints," Jack told him, nearly exasperated.

"We can do it, I know we can," Frenchie turned to Jack, "I wish it had been in our intial brainstorm! The ocean is so misunderstood," Frenchie seemed to be talking himself into it and raced to the table, scribbling a list out, "This is all the paint we would need. You can get it first thing in the morning," Frenchie held it out towards Jack who made no move to accept it. Frenchie paused, furrowing his brow and looking at Jack.

"No," Jack said again, crossing his arms over his chest, "Frenchie, it would be rushed. We have spent the last seven months making all of these paintings. We've poured ourselves into them. How can you cast one out for a last minute idea?"

"Jack, I'm really trying to make a statement here," Frenchie said, clutching his smock in his hands, "I want to go on roads far less travelled in art. This is my chance to do that."

"There will be other residencies," Jack told him.

"Not like this-"

"I'm not painting another painting," Jack turned fully towards Frenchie now, "Okay? I'm not doing it. The art show is in eight goddamn days. I don't have time to make a variety of blue shades, not to mention purples and greens and yellows for all the other things in the ocean. No, I won't do it."

"But Jack... I can't do it alone," Frenchie said, seemingly hurt.

"I won't paint it for this show," Jack replied, rubbing his forehead for a moment, "But we can paint it and sell it at auction."

"I want it for the show."

"Well, you better get started, then," Jack shrugged, "I'm not partaking in a last minute scramble."

"Jack, please, do you know much is on the line and-"

"Don't," Jack clenched his teeth, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair, "There is nothing wrong with the paintings we made, Frenchie. This is a major pitfall about you. You doubt yourself. And it's so severe, you start to self-destruct. Our paintings are perfect. Don't start getting overly ambitious and wrecking us. Do you want to look like an idiot at that museum? I sure as hell don't. I'm not painting anything else and that is final," He began towards the door.

"Where are you going?!" Frenchie was bewildered by Jack's spiked temper.

"To get a drink," Jack said from the door, "I dunno, more of that fresh air you were tellin' me about," And with that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving a perplexed and stunned Frenchie behind.