Chapter Twenty-Four
November 12th, 1913
New York City, New York
Evening began to set in, but still, New York City was covered in dark clouds and pelted by a steady downpour. Jack and Rose listened to the patter of the rain drops on the open window of his attic room. Rose found the room rather charming and very much so Jack. Slanted ceilings, obtrusive rafters; it seemed like a creative space, perfect for someone such as him. They laid in his bed, tangled beneath the sheets. They each had a cigarette between their lips. They smoked in silence, their nude bodies pressed against each other.
"Does anyone else live here?" Rose asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke upwards towards the rafters. She held his light blue cotton sheets over her bare chest, glancing towards the side of Jack's face. He had been mesmerized by the ceiling during the entirety of their smoke break between love-making sessions.
Jack shook his head, slowly lifting his cigarette from his lips, "Nope. Frenchie and his sister, Iris, only come on weekdays so we can all make art. Otherwise, I'm here by myself," He smirked now, cocking his head to look at her. His eyes fleetingly darted towards the pile of curls splayed out around her on the thin extra pillow he had, "Do you think if someone else lived here, I would have had you on the table down there like that?"
Rose's face heated up, her cheeks growing beet red. She stuck her tongue out at him and took another drag of her cigarette, "Never hurts to ask," She chucked now, a hazy ribbon of smoke wafting between them. Rose looked to the ceiling for a moment and sighed contently before looking back towards Jack, "So, you're Frenchie's assistant? To be honest, when I saw his name in the pamphlet, I was quite perplexed. I've never met someone named Frenchie."
Jack grinned, "Well, his real name is Frederick, but apparently that's what Iris called him when she was beginning to talk, so the entire family just stuck with that."
"Iris and Frenchie sound nice," Rose said, looking back to the rafters again, "I like them because they've done so much for me."
"What do you mean?" Jack knit his eyebrows together. He shifted on the small bed, the springs creaking in protest.
"You told me that night at my apartment," Rose tilted her head towards him, "that you didn't know if you wanted to stay in New York City. If you had left, just imagine..." She shook her head at the thought, "We may have never seen each other again. But Frenchie and Iris... they gave you a reason to stay. In a way, they bridged our meeting once again."
"You know," Jack shifted his cigarette between his lips, "the same could be said about Tim. Isn't he the one who bought you those tickets to the art show?"
Rose felt her heart beat out of time for a moment. Her cigarette hovered in front of her lips as she stared straight above her. She licked her lips slowly and turned her eyes on Jack, "I suppose so."
"Can I ask you something?" Jack reached up, snubbing his cigarette out in a cluttered ash tray on his nighttable. Rose nodded slowly. Jack was silent for a few moments, calculating his words. He adjusted the cotton sheets on his body and thought deeply, "What was it about Tim that attracted you towards him? What made you like him?"
Rose snubbed her cigarette out as well and fidgeted with the sheets covering her body. She was hesitant to even entertain the thought, but she found herself sifting through all the memories she had made in the past year. She felt a surging pulse of blood beneath her skin as she recalled this time last year, Tim was actively pursuing her, trying to see her outside of the diner. She pensively licked her lips and sheepishly shrugged, turning her head on the pillow, "He was... nice," She said, rather faintly, "It seemed like he genuinely cared."
"And did he?" Jack asked, some of his blond hair spilling across his forehead.
Rose nodded stiffly, "He did... or, does, I suppose."
Jack stared at the side of her face for a moment before taking a short curt breath and saying, "Tim has no idea I exist, does he?"
Rose's eyes still remained glued upwards. She pensively shook her head, "No. He doesn't."
"Does he know anything about your past?"
"Some. Only what I wanted him to know," Rose finally cocked her head to the side and looked at Jack, "He knows I used to be Rose DeWitt Bukater. He knows about Cal. He knows about the Titanic. I told I had left Cal... but hadn't told him why."
"Why wouldn't you tell him?" Jack asked, shifting his arm under his pillow.
"I don't know," Rose sighed, turning on her side to face Jack. Their faces were only inches apart now as they shared the small bed. Overhead, thunder rumbled lowly, "I don't know if it's fear of revisiting the past or maybe..." She shrugged, "I was scared of what he would think of me."
"But Cal was horrible to you. He scared you," Jack whispered, his eyebrows furrowing.
"Maybe so, but we live in a society that turns a blind eye to all of that," Rose replied, her face etched in stress, worry, and anxiety, "I thought maybe he would think I was frivilous. What's horrible is that... well, I withheld details and now I think Tim has all the wrong idea about me. I believe he thinks I'm someone I'm not. And I just can't bring myself to tell him," Rose reached out, gently brushing Jack's jaw and allowing her hand to fall across his neck, "That's why I always longed for you. I don't have to hide anything from you. You understand me..."
Jack reached forward, wrapping his arms around Rose's slender body and pulling her against him. He ran his hands tenderly through her curls, taking in the aroma of lavendar and popuri. He set his cheek against the side of her face and sighed, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."
"It's not your fault," Rose whispered into his chest. His arms tightened around her.
"I wish I could change the past year," Jack continued, "I wish we didn't have to go through it alone, separately. I wish I could take all your hurt away."
"You have," Rose tilted her head back, "just by being alive. I'm happy knowing you're breathing and still walking this earth," Her hand grazed his cheek, leaving a trail of fire along his skin, "The only thing that matters to me is that you're alive, Jack."
They held each other in silence for the next few moments, only the sound of the storm outside filling the room. Rose sighed, pressing her forehead into Jack's collarbone. She felt so at peace, but at the same time, unsettled, because she was unsure of what would happen next. After an extended silence, she shifted back to look at Jack.
"What time is it?"
Jack fumbled for the gold clock on his nightstand, knocking it over first. He held it above his head, staring at it for a moment, "Nearly seven."
"I should probably get home..." Rose rubbed her face and sat up, the cotton sheet drooping and exposing her breasts. Jack glanced fleetingly before nodding and putting his clock away, "I have work in the morning," She climbed over Jack and reached for her discarded dress on the floor. Jack propped himself up on his elbow and looked at Rose, watching her dress.
"Can I come for breakfast tomorrow?" Jack grinned boyishly.
Rose flipped her hair out from the back of her zipped dress and turned to him, "If you'd like," She grinned and sat down on a chair by the window, pulling her stockings up her legs, "Tim comes every morning for breakfast, though."
"Oh, so I can see him more clearly," Jack laid back down in bed, his arm dangling off the edge and grazing the floorboards, "How will you tell him?"
Rose looked out the window for a moment, watching the rain steadily fall from the sky. She heaved a sigh and sheepishly shrugged, looking towards Jack, whose eyes were trained up at the ceiling, awaiting her to speak, "I don't know. I haven't thought about it."
Rose put her damp heels on and stood up, adjusting her dress. She reached for her peacoat that was laid across Jack's dresser. It was still wet and put a chill over her as she shrugged it on. She turned to Jack who now was sitting up on the edge of his bed, pulling his pants on. After he did his belt, he raked his hair from his face and looked to her, "You do want to be with me, right?"
Rose crossed to Jack, wrapping her arms around his bare torso. He shuddered at the feeling of her cold jacket against his skin, "What an absurd question," She shook her head, "Jack, I've dreamt of being with you ever since the Titanic. I want to be with you more than anything."
After a few moments, he smiled weakly, gently pecking her on the forehead and making her heart flutter, "Don't keep me waiting."
"I won't," She whispered, trying to reassure herself at the same time. They shared one more kiss before Rose left, descending the stairs, and leaving the studio.
...
November 13th, 1913
New York City, New York
The diner was not busy that morning. Rose was only one of two waitresses on the floor. She brought Tim a new coffee, who smiled and lowered his newspaper, "Good morning, Rose," He said after taking a sip. She smiled weakly, her heart pounding as she stared at him, "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Rose nodded, smoothing her apron out, "I'm feeling much better recently, actually."
"Oh, good," Tim grinned, "It's the cold weather, I'm convinced. It rears an ugly head on all of our bodies. Say, where were you yesterday evening? I came by, but you weren't home."
"Oh," Rose's voice nearly faltered for a moment as she pensively licked her lips, "I... forgot to tell you. I, uh, joined a book club. We meet a lot of evenings to discuss chapters, drink wine. You know, unwind," She shrugged sheepishly.
"Good for you, Rose," Tim's face lit up at the idea and guilt plagued her insides, "You're meeting new people, huh? I'm happy to hear that. A book club is perfect for you. I'm sure you've read twice as many books as anyone there."
"Hah, maybe so..." Rose fidgeted with the sash of her apron, her body nearly trembling, "I really enjoy going. Sorry if it cuts into some of our time during the week. It's just important that I go."
"Well, how about we go out for lunch this weekend?" Tim suggested, "You can tell me all about it."
Just then, the bell of the front door rang, signifying a new guest. Rose glanced towards the door and froze in place. It was Jack, wearing a dark gray wool coat over a red button up. He looked to her before brushing past and seating himself in a booth facing Tim. Rose watched Jack for a moment before looking back to Tim, rather anxiously.
"Maybe we can," Rose nodded, "I think the book club was going to go to the Nickelodean to watch some flicks."
"I could always tag along, if that's okay," Tim said, "I've missed you."
Rose inhaled deeply, "I can ask. It's kind of a girl-thing."
Tim nodded and looked to his coffee for a moment, "Is there anything we need to talk about, Rose?"
A chill seeped into her bones and she nervously looked at Tim, "What do you mean?"
"Well, it's just..." Tim took a deep breath and looked back to Rose, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "This time of year always seems to rattle you. I don't know if it's just because it's the holidays and you're reminded of your family, but... November doesn't seem to treat you right. I know this probably isn't the place to talk about it, but I just worry you feel like you have to face this all alone. But you don't," He reached out and gently gripped Rose's wrist. She could hear her blood coursing through her ears, knowing Jack was watching, "I'm here for you. I want you to know you can talk to me about anything. You can stop by my office or come by my house. I don't want you to think you have to bottle everything up inside."
"I-I know," Rose stuttered, "Thank you, Tim. Really, though, I'm okay. I think things are going to start getting better."
Tim smiled, "I think so, too. My mom is really excited to have you for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I think it will really brighten the spirit for you to be there, surrounded by people you love. I'm so happy you're going to be there."
"Yeah," Rose replied breathily, "It will be fun. I... I have to go serve this guest."
"Can I stop by this evening?" Tim asked just before Rose began to move.
"Book club, remember?"
He grinned crookedly and nodded, "Okay. I want a rain check."
She nodded before hurrying three tables down to Jack, who was patiently waiting and simply observing. Rose turned her back to Tim to speak with Jack, pulling her notepad from her apron, "Hi," She said quietly, "What can I get you?"
Jack grinned up at her, folding his hands together and resting them against his chin, "What book are we reading?" Rose gave him a look that sent him into a chuckle, "Can I just have some toast and orange juice?"
"Sure," Rose nodded, "I'll be right back."
Jack glanced over his shoulder and watched Rose disappear around the corner. He then turned his eyes on Tim, who had returned to his newspaper as he drank his coffee. Jack analyzed every detail of this man. He looked well put-together, from what Jack could tell. He remembered Rose saying he was a lawyer. He definitely looked the part. Jack watched the morning sun glint off the lens of his glasses as he read without realizing Jack was watching him. Jack ran his tongue over his teeth, scoffing under his breath. Rose had been invited to his family's holiday. How would she get out of that? Jack was sour to the idea of Rose continuing to see Tim. Part of him was jealous, part of him was sad, part of him angry. All he wanted was Rose. But it never seemed to go off without a hitch.
Rose reappeared at the table, setting his order down in front of him. She glanced towards Tim, then back at Jack, "Stop staring at him," She whispered, making sure her back was towards him, "I'm going to figure this out."
"How?" Jack whispered, looking to his toast, "Rose, you've been invited to his family's holiday. Do you really have the heart to break up with him during this time?"
"I'll think of something," She assured him, "Until then, we should play things safe."
"So, we're really just going to sneak around behind his back?" Jack lifted his blue eyes, "You wanna go down that road again?"
Rose analyzed his face for a few moments and heaved a sigh, "Things are different, Jack. He doesn't have a violent bone in his body. I'll let him down gently. He knows I have problems, you heard him."
"Something tells me he's not going to just let you go," Jack shook his head, his hand gripping his glass of orange juice, "I don't think you realize what kind of affect you have on people, Rose."
"I can take care of this," She insisted.
He pursed his lips for a moment, looking Tim's direction.
"Jack," Rose redirected his eyes towards her, "I don't want you to get involved in this."
"I am involved," Jack knitted his eyebrows together, "Rose, you can't be with both of us."
"I know that-"
"You have choices to make."
"I choose you," Rose whispered, shaking her head, "You know that. I'd choose you again and again."
He drank his orange juice pensively, his eyes returning to Tim, "Then prove it."
...
When Rose got off work, she went home and showered, taking the time to rejuvenate her curls and put her make up on. She opted to wear a dark purple silk dress with long form fitting sleeves. As she sat at her vanity, absorbed in her reflection, she thought about that morning at work. She knew Jack was anxious, so was she. She knew he was frustrated because she was too. But she had to make him understand these things took time and her heart wasn't in it with Tim. She was simply going through the motions until she could find her escape door.
Rose clipped some small pearl earrings on and sighed, lowering her eyes to her cluttered vanity. Jack had a point, though. The timing was awful. Tim had been so kind to her, treated her so well. How could she break his heart right before he had to face his family. She tapped her nail to the table, gnawing on her lip for a moment. She thought about the impending new year of 1914. Rose closed her eyes and tried to imagine a joyful year, one where she made many memories with Jack.
"We could start fresh..." She whispered to herself, looking back to her reflection. The evening sun glared over her shoulder from her bedroom window, "We could leave. Do something new. Be anyone we want to be..."
As Rose was on her way out, she grabbed a romance novel off her bookshelf, tucking it under her arm. She was worried Tim was poking around and she knew now she had to live in her lies. Rose flicked her lamp off and exited her apartment, locking the door behind her. When she entered the front foyer, Cat and Liliana were at their mailbox, sorting through their mail.
"Hi, Rose!" Liliana grinned. Cat glanced to Rose but remained silence, focusing on her task, "Are you going to see Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?"
Rose grinned weakly, "No. I'm going to my book club."
"A book club!" Liliana echoed, "That sounds right up my alley."
Rose crossed to the front foyer doors, barely glancing Liliana's direction, "I'll tell them about you," She said, brushing out the door without another thought.
It was rather chilly that evening as she walked along the sidewalk by herself. Many of the trees were barren, their sharp naked limbs reaching over the sidewalk. There were few clouds in the orange sky as the sun began to set. The stars were beginning to break through. Rose tucked a curl behind her ear and glanced around herself as she walked, worried Tim could pop out from no where. Rose slightly hated what she became, but her entire world had been flipped upside down in a matter of three days. It resonated deeply in her, as this had occured in April of 1912 as well. Jack had an affect on her, and some moments she wondered what it was about him that evoked this from her.
She saw the studio approaching and her heart began to flutter. As she thought about Jack, the events of the day seemed to slide off her shoulders like a heavy coat. Rose knew they'd think of something. They always did. And she knew Jack always had a trick up his sleeve. Rose took a deep breath and pushed through the door. It slammed heavily behind her, echoing through the large space. She glanced around for a moment until she noticed Jack at the top of a ladder, sketching lightly on a canvas with a charcoal pencil.
When Jack looked towards the door, he had to do a double-take. Deftly, Jack grabbed the sides of the ladder and slid down, clunking onto his boots and approaching Rose, "Hey," He glanced towards the back room, "Frenchie and Iris are still here. Go up to my bedroom, I'll be there soon."
"They don't know about me?" Rose slightly smirked at the idea.
"Well, they think you're dead," Jack whispered, still looking around the room, "I don't have the words to explain anything to them right now."
"Jack!" Came a thick voice from the backroom.
Jack gripped Rose's arm, directing her towards a large canvas propped up against he wall, "Just stand behind this, please," He told her, helping her tuck herself against the wall, "I don't have time for their nosy nature."
Just as Rose had disappeared from sight, Frenchie appeared at the door of the backroom, looking rather flustered, "Where are the chisels? These buckets are atrociously dirty."
"Back wall," Jack turned towards Frenchie, his heart rate off the charts, "By the furnace."
"Thanks," Frenchie began to turn around and paused, "Did someone come in? I heard the door."
"No," Jack licked his lips, placing his hands on his hips, "I went outside to get some fresh air."
Frenchie nodded and disappeared from the door again. Jack leaned behind the canvas and gestured for Rose to come out from hiding. He then directed her towards the stairwell for his room. He gripped her elbow firmly as he guided her, then leaned down, pecking her on the forehead, "We're in the same boat," Jack told her as they came to stand at the base of the stairs, "The last boat where all the secrets have to come out."
"Hey, Jack!" Came a woman's voice now. Rose felt Jack tense at the sound.
"Go, go," Jack told her, "Watch your heels, the stairs are loud."
Rose kicked her heels off without a second thought, grabbing them, and darting up the stairwell. Iris appeared from the back room moments later, carrying pieces of wood. Rose made it to the top of the steep stairwell, her shoulders rising and falling. She paused, kneeling in the darkness, peering down towards the studio. She saw a girl wearing a green dress with black flats and long blonde hair approach Jack. She looked to be similar size and age to Rose.
"Do you think we could use these to make a small canvas for myself?" Iris asked, holding the wood up for Jack to inspect.
"You wanna paint?" Jack's voice distantly made it Rose's ears.
"I want to try," Iris' voice sounded as if she was grinning.
Jack took the wood into his arms. The noise of it clattering rang up the stairwell. Rose pressed her back flat to the wall and crouched lower, watching Jack set the wood on the communal table. Iris strolled up beside him, looking to the side of his face.
"Yeah, I can you one tomorrow. I still have some canvas left in the storage room."
"Oh, thank you, Jack!" Iris flung her arms around him. He gave her a friendly squeeze around the shoulders. Rose smirked, lowering her eyes to the stairs.
In a way, Jack was like her. He had people in his life that didn't know the whole truth. She felt comforted by the fact they were in this together. Rose liked the exhilerating feeling of knowing that it was her and Jack versus the world. She grinned, seating herself completely on the stairs now, confident the darkness was hiding her from the unsuspecting Iris and Frenchie. She pressed her head to the cool wood of the wall and listened to the three friends chat in the open space as they wound down from a long day of working.