Chapter Forty-One
February 4th, 1914
New York City, New York
The sun was just beginning to rise as Jack came into the kitchen, flicking the lights on. He gazed towards the bay windows as the sun bled into the room. He liked the mornings here. It was much quieter than Rose's old apartment complex, which was filled with a general population of blue collared workers who were up and about early in the morning. Distantly, a dog barked, further uniting Jack's romanticized idea of living in a normal neighborhood. He looked to the empty space beneath the bay windows, wondering where he could find a nice and decently priced kitchen table. Jack and Rose were condemned to eating at barstools at the island.
He began gathering everything together to make coffee. He marveled at how much counterspace he had as he set everything out. He decided to make some toast and arranged a plate of fresh berries for Rose when she woke up. As he slid the berries towards where they would sit, he paused when, for the first time, he noticed a large parcel sitting on the counter.
Rose Dawson was scribbled across the center. When Jack glanced to the return address, he realized it was a publishing company. He cocked his head to the side, his messy hair rustling. Rose had never mentioned submitting her writing to anyone. When he turned the parcel over, he realized she hadn't even broken the seal. How long had this been here?
Jack turned on the balls of his feet and began back up the stairs. Rose had been stirring when he got out of bed. He tucked the parcel under his arm as he gently pushed the bedroom door open and peaked in. Rose was seated in a recliner they situated beside their large picture window overlooking the street that ran in front of their house. She was rubbing lotion on her hands and arms. She looked to Jack, her eyes slowly lowering towards what was in his hands.
"Hey," Jack said, his voice somewhat husky with sleep as he meandered across the bedroom, holding the parcel out towards Rose, "I wanted to know why you hadn't opened this. It's from a publishing company, Rose! You didn't tell me you were submitting your work."
"I didn't submit anything," Rose replied, continuing to lather the buttercream lotion towards her elbow. Her green eyes looked to Jack, gleaming in the brilliance of the morning light that was streaming across their bedroom, "Tim took something off my writing desk and submitted it for me."
"Oh," Jack lowered his eyes to the large envelope in his hands. He hovered over her name, "well, I still think you should open it," He held it out towards her again, "It might be an acceptance letter. You obviously want to write, Rose. I've seen you on that typewriter."
Rose smirked, looking down to the bottle of lotion on the table beside her, "I sincerely doubt it's an acceptance letter, Jack. He took a rhetorical story about animals off my desk, of all the one's, he chose my experimental piece. It had horrible errors."
"You'll never know if you don't open it," Jack insisted, bringing it even closer to her.
Rose sighed and gingerly took it into her hands. Jack looked over her shoulder rather anxiously as Rose unwound the string holding the parcel shut. Slowly, she untucked a rather large clipped together stack of paper. She dropped the envelope to the ground, her eyes mesmerized by the words on the first page that were there to greet her.
Dear Ms. Rose Dawson,
We here at Iron and Tooth Publishing and Co. are always looking for fresh emerging authors to keep the world of literary arts an everchanging, dynamic, fluent, and diverse culture. Your submission of A PETER PIPER PARTY was, to put it blatantly, an eye-opener. We enjoyed your engaging tone and narration and were heavily invested in the rhetorical nature of the story. The fact you wrote it through the presence of nature only exmplefied your refined skill in writing.
We would like to publish this short-story in our magazine and you shall receive compensation for your contribution. We would also like to invite you to our office in downtown Manhattan to meet with an agent to speak about a possible future career in writing and publishing. Below, you will find our contact information. We eagerly await your response.
Sincerely,
Thomas Williams, Head of Publishing
Rose nearly hit the floor. Jack steadied her in her seat, gripping her shoulders tenderly with a big crooked grin across his face. He massaged her gently, lowering himself beside her ear, "What was that you were saying about errors?"
...
By mid-morning, Jack had left to go paint at the studio. Rose left not long after him, hurriedly pulling her peacoat on. She stuffed the acceptance letter in her pocket and locked the door after her, walking with purpose up the small incline leaving their neighborhood. The city was alive with energy as she found herself crossing through her familiar old neighborhood to get up-town. She glanced down the road as she crossed, catching a glimpse of her old apartment complex peaking above another building on that hill she hated.
It was still rather chilly outside so Rose stuffed her hands into her pockets. She felt the acceptance letter crinkle beneath her clenched fists. She was still astounded her work had been met with success. She had surprised herself. But she also worried that was her one-hit wonder and that perhaps, it had been submitted prematurely. Rose lowered her eyes and huffed, telling herself to be optimistic. That it was the start of something new. She was going to make it be that way, she was determined.
Rose found herself standing outside of a tall building that gleamed in the sun rays. Her eyes slowly wandered to the directory outside, spying his name in the third line. She squared her shoulders and walked through the door, her peacoat waving behind her and revealing her peach colored cotton dress, embroidered with light green thread across the midriff and chest. She nodded politely towards the receptionist and briskly crossed to the elevator, asking for the twelth level. The elevator bucked and creaked in all the familiar parts. She counted down the seconds to the next creak, as if to convince herself she was really there.
"We're here, ma'am," The attendant drew her from her thoughts and she saw he was patiently holding the gate open for her.
"Thank you," She replied rather airly. She stepped into the hallway and took a hard left. Her feet slowed as she approached the door of the office. TIM CALVERT. Rose squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and surged her hand forward, gripping the door knob. She decided she had to do it quick, not think about it at all. And so she pushed and she came through to the office.
Tim was sitting at his desk, facing towards the window. He had many books opened on top of his desk, plus a large stack of papers with one in the typewriter, half of it covered in ink typings. She figured he was writing up a case report. Upon hearing the door, Tim swiveled his chair. When he saw it was Rose, he was on his feet in the next moment, hitting his knees against the desk and causing the books to shudder.
"Rose, what are you doing here?" He asked unsteadily.
"I know, it's quite the surprise seeing as what I told you just a few days before," Rose sighed, closing the door behind her and approaching the front of the desk. She gingerly withdrew the crumpled letter from her pocket and unfolded it, "You said you didn't read it?"
"No, honestly," Tim shook his head, "It's illegal under federal law to open a letter not addressed to you, anyway. It's in the code of ethics of lawyers to not open client's mail, as well."
Rose smiled at him, Always playing by the rules, "So, I'm a client now?"
"I guess it depends on what the letter said," Tim told her, "If you were accepted, it'd be wise to have a lawyer to help handle any things that may come your way. The media loves to slander and interpret authors any way they can turn the words. Someone like me may be able to protect you from that. That is... if you're going to choose to become an author."
Rose held the letter out to him and he pulled it between his fingers, slowly reading it. After a few moments, he grinned and lowered the paper, "Congratulations, Rose. Really. This is a huge feat. I told you that you wrote gold."
Rose grinned and lowered her eyes, "Yeah... thanks for believing in me, Tim."
Tim put his hands on his hips and shifted weight between his feet, "So," He cleared his throat rather unevenly, "if we can't be together," He said slowly, "Can I at least be your lawyer, Rose?"
"If you think I'll need one," Rose replied, nodding almost in slow motion, "No surprise bills in the mail, right?"
Tim chuckled, his shoulders bobbing up and down, "You might need a lawyer, in my opinion. Why don't we plan a day to go to the office together and meet with the agent? My speciality is in contract negotiation. I could get you a good check cut for more work."
"Like an advance?" Rose arched her eyebrows.
"It's a standard practice in the literary world," Tim told her, shrugging, "It's to support you while you dedicate time to writing. Think of it as getting paid hourly, like when you waitress. I can help you get the most, so you feel comfortable enough to write your best work."
"Well," Rose cocked her head to the side, "I guess I do need a lawyer. I had no idea something like that even existed."
Tim reached into a drawer of his desk, withdrawing a leather bound portfolio. He consulted his agenda for a moment, "I can fit you in on the eleventh. We could arrange the meeting for one o'clock. How does that sound?"
"Sure, I'll call-"
"Don't worry about it," Tim said, scribbling the number down in his journal, "I'm your lawyer. I'll arrange it for you."
"Oh, well, thank you," Rose told him with a small nod of the head.
"Of course," Tim looked up from his portfolio, "It's what lawyers do for their clients."
...
When Jack returned home that evening, the entire house smelled wonderful. He could hear something sizzling as he shrugged out of his jacket and went to the kitchen. He found Rose standing over a pan by the stove, using a wooden spoon to push some potatoes around, which were cackling and popping in butter.
"Hey," Jack said, grinning and leaning against the archway. Rose had her hair piled atop her head with a few loose strands falling around her face. She was wearing one of his dark purple button-ups that could nearly swallow her up if she hadn't rolled the sleeves, "what's for dinner?"
"Potatoes and beans," Rose told him, smiling as well. She seemed rather light on her feet as she skipped over to check on the boiling pot of beans, "It just sounded so good."
"How was your day?" Jack asked, as he crossed to a cupboard and began pouring himself a glass of water, "What'd you do?"
Rose took a moment to stir the beans before she set her utensils down and turned towards Jack, whipping a strand of hair from her face, "It's really going to sound crazy, but I was absolutely astounded by the letter I read this morning, Jack. I couldn't believe it. What's even more unbelievable is that I allowed that acceptance letter to sit on our kitchen counter for half a week! It really had me thinking about myself and all the time that has elapsed since the Titanic," She told him, pressing her palms against the cool countertops, "And now with the news of what awaits us by the end of this year, I've decided it's time to make a change. For the better. For you. For me. For the baby," Jack was smiling as Rose continued, "I decided if I was going to start my writing career properly, I was to set everything straight. So I took the letter to Tim to show him. I was never going to submit that story, but that's the one he chose blindly out of the lot of them, so I felt Tim should know," Rose paused, her smile never wavering, "Tim had a lot of knowledge of the workings of the literary world. So he offered to be my lawyer. We'll speak with the publishing company next week in regards to payment and contract negotiation."
"Well, all of that sounds good," Jack crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his back against a counter, "But do you think it's a good idea to work with Tim? Do you think you both can handle that?"
"I've thought about that, too," Rose told him, turning to tossle the pan of sizzling potatoes, "I think we can. I feel like we had an understanding today," Rose placed the pan on a different burner to allow them to cool and turned back to Jack, "He is a wonderful lawyer and person. We just weren't meant to be together. And that's okay, I think. But if he gets to stay in my life, I suppose it's not all completely lost, right?" She shrugged half-heartedly.
"It sounds like you've thought it all through," Jack crossed to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She melted against his touch, "I trust you, Rose," He leaned in to meet her lips softly. He then grinned, "Now sit down and let me serve you dinner. Tell me all about your dreams for the future," Jack dipped in, tenderly meeting her lips again.