Thank you everyone who has read this story. I don't own anyone except the Sullivans, Charlotte Steward, and Eva McCarthy. They were made up by me for the purpose of this story.
Disclaimer: I own none of James Cameron's Titanic characters.
"Caledon, you're finally back from Paris, good boy," his father greeted him when as Nathan walked in the door following Cal return to Pittsburg. He promised Rose that he wouldn't tell anyone she was alive. "How was it?"
Cal smiled at his father. "It was just what I needed."
Nathan Hockley's jaw dropped. "You met someone?"
"Just some actress," Cal said, giving a half lie. She wasn't just some actress. She was the dead woman he had pined after for eight years.
Nathan Hockley was in shock. He didn't know what to do. The last time he had seen Cal in this good of a mood, it was the morning after Rose had said yes to his marriage proposal. It didn't make sense to him though. Rose was dead and his son had been in an awful, fowl mood ever since. Clearly, this actress wasn't just some actress.
"So what's her name?" he asked his son.
"Rose Dawson," Cal answered, having no reason to lie to his father. Nathan Hockley hadn't known about that gutter rat and Rose's affair. Ruth had promised to keep the matter confidential between only the two of them. "She's from Iowa. They were filming in Paris. Interesting girl."
"Wife number three?" Nathan asked, hoping and praying his son would say no. There was no way he wanted the chance of another Rose as a daughter-in-law. Cal snorted.
"That is highly unlikely." He knew there was no way Rose would marry him, not after how long it took to decide that they could be friends.
"Good," Nathan mused, looking out the window of the study in the Hockley mansion. "I never quite liked actresses."
"She would probably be better than the first two," Cal muttered under his breath. Nathan confidently ignored the comment.
"So your divorce went through. That idiot Jameson won't be getting another dime from out pockets. The Sullivans are having a gala tonight. They're son, Samuel, is back in town. He is about your age and is looking to buy steel to build a boat. Some project of his, they said." Cal nodded. "I'm expecting you to get his business. This could be a very profitable sale. Understand?"
Cal nodded, showing he understood.
Meanwhile, on the other side of Pittsburg, Rose was pacing back and forth in a home office, her director sitting behind his desk.
"Of all the absurd, harebrained, rash, ludicrous things you want to do, you want to build a boat? Please tell me there's wax in my ears and I am not hearing you clearly? You want to build a boat?" Samuel Martin Sullivan, the director of the last several films Rose had been in, smiled sheepishly at her.
"You want to build a boat?" Grace Sullivan, formerly Gracje Warszawska, asked incredulously as she entered the room, "What in God's name possessed you to want to do such a thing, Sam?"
"It's this absolutely brilliant movie idea. The studio already gave me a green light on it. It will be set during the war on a hospital ship. There are nurses and then they'll fall in love with their patients, but it won't be so simple. Rose, I'll give you a copy of the script when they're done with it, but basically, it will be a very tiny version of a hospital ship."
Rose scoffed, "Your crazy, Sam."
He grinned. "That's what everybody says, but with all due respect, I'm not the one who auditions for every one of my movies."
"That's what everybody says. But with all due respect, miss, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship here."
Though the words had been spoken long ago under very different circumstances, Rose could hear Jack's voice in her ear as if she were standing beside him. What would he have said if he had known she gave Cal a second chance?
She stood suddenly. "If you will excuse me, I think I will take a nap before such a long social event tonight."
It was already evening when Grace woke Rose. Rozalia, Grace and Samuel's five-year-old daughter from Grace's first husband, jumped on the bed and stared at Rose. The child loved Rose. The older woman guessed it had to do with the fact that Rozalia was named for Rose. The young actress had taken care of Grace while she was pregnant after a fire from faulty electrical wiring left Grace both a widow and homeless.
A young Polish woman was a year older than Rose was and had no family in the States and had met her husband on the same doomed liner Rose had met Jack. He had helped her into a lifeboat by saying she was pregnant and they were married, even though at the time, it wasn't true. The officer had been kind and let the young Polish woman and her 'husband' onto the lifeboat. Her and Rose had bonded over the horror of that night, and they quickly became friends, Rose allowing Grace to live with her.
"Anna Rosie," Rozalia said softly, "Mama says time to wakey."
Rose opened her eyes and blinked. She gave a smile to the five year old. "You want to pick out a dress for me?" Rozalia grinned and ran to Rose's wardrobe to find Rose a party dress. Grace snorted.
"She'll pick out something too fancy. She tried to convince me to let her wear a ball gown to this." Rose smiled, getting up. She had bathed earlier and fixed her hair so she could sleep longer. All she had to do was get dressed and fix her hair up. After all, this was Pittsburg. Cal's father surely would be there. He would recognize her. Cal had.
"Anna Rosie, you look pretty in this."
Róża held out a strapless silvery-white dress and long, white opera length gloves. It was a dress a designer from Ireland who worked in California as a costume designer had begged Rose to let her make a few years earlier. It had a tight-fitting bodice that continued until around the knees, where it flared out to create an almost modern, yet at the same time, old-fashioned silhouette. It was covered in a sheer fabric at the top and the dress was backless. It came to the mid ankle in the front and was slightly longer in the back. It had actually sparked trends though Europe when she had worn it at a European premier almost a year ago. It was scandalous enough to cause talk among the people of high society, tame enough to be worn to events like this, and dramatic enough to cause an impression on all.
The sheer fabric at the top eliminated the need for any sort of necklace. The gloves eliminated the need for a bracelet tonight. All she would need is earrings.
Despite the newest tend, Rose hair remained long. Samuel said it was her selling point though. Fiery red hair with a fiery red attitude.
"Miss," a servant of the Sullivan house said, knocking on the door before opening it, "The party has begun."
"Thank you," she told him.
Down stairs, Róża was the life of the party. Nathan Hockley was not amused at how Jeffrey and Sarah Martin Sullivan's granddaughter was the center of attention. A young woman in a scandalous silvery-white gown, if it could be called that, and titian hair that was done up in a way that he hadn't seen used since 1905. It was gather up into an updo. Did she not see how tight the awful garment she wore was?
"Anna Rosie!" the five-year-old broke society's rules, running to the red headed woman. The woman swept the girl up into her arms, letting the little girl settle on her hip. "Everybody, this is my Anna Rosie." The woman, Anna Rosie, Nathan supposed her name was, laughed.
"Miss Dawson," Jeffrey Sullivan said, "I haven't seen you all week!"
"Your son is a handful. Half the time I wonder if I'm his nanny." The crowd roared with laughter. There was qualities of Rose DeWitt Bukater in her, the hair, the attitude, that Nathan would have to make sure didn't affect on Caledon. He didn't like this woman, not the way she dressed or acted.
"Miss Dawson," someone asked, "As in Rose Dawson, the actress?" Charlotte Steward, a society queen, stepped forward to face the woman. Samuel smiled at Charlotte, motioning to Rose.
"Of course. She is one of this best, Mrs. Steward, and at HSR Studios, we accept nothing but the best. I am telling you, this girl is going places."
"To the stars," Nathan could have sworn he heard Grace Sullivan, Samuel's wife mutter, sharing a meaningful look with Rose. Rose slipped a hand up to her mouth, smiling behind it. Charlotte ignored the side-conversation, and turned back to Rose.
"My granddaughter simple loves you. My daughter and her husband live in New York however and she is with them right now, so she was unable to make it. If you wouldn't mind signing something for her…?" Rose smiled at the woman. She wasn't like the other women of society, and yet she still held their respect.
"Of course. If you wouldn't mind waiting a few minutes, I'll have a servant fetch a photograph." Charlotte smiled.
"That will be fine. By the way, if I might add, your gown is stunning. It is simply rebellious and daring enough for only you to be able to pull it off." Rose smiled graciously at the woman. "Do tell, who designed it."
"Eva McCarthy. She was some young Irish immigrant who begged me for weeks to let her make me a gown. She works in Samuel's costume department. Her work is incredible. Her Majesty even asked Eva to design Princess Mary's gown for an upcoming state dinner."
And so the party went on.
Cal was polite. He was getting sick of being polite. If it were up to him, he might never be polite again in his life. All night he smiled politely to the ladies and made polite small talk with them. He made polite conversation with the other men and politely took a drink. As he stood on the balcony off the ballroom, he decided he would throw himself from it if he had to be polite once more tonight.
"You look like I feel," a smug voice said. Cal turned sharply to face Rose, an annoyed expression on her face.
"And that would be?"
"If I have to hear one more time about how wonderful they think my acting is or my dress is, I'm going to lose it and start yelling at them." Cal turned back to the view from the stop he stood.
"Actually I was thinking about throwing myself off this balcony just so I don't have to be polite again. I mean the drop is not enough to actually kill…" Rose laughed and his heart skipped a beat.
"On the Titanic, I yelled at the lift operator. He thought I was a crazy lady. I told him 'I'm through being polite and I may never be polite again in my life' or something along those lines." Cal chuckled.
"I think my father has suddenly began to dislike you."
"Good." He turned to her, surprised. "I never liked him much to begin with. Secretly, he looked at me far too much like I was something to sell to the butchers." Cal's eyes widen. How had he missed his father looking at her like that? They had been engaged for a while before the Titanic disaster. How had he missed so much?
"Trust me, he looks at everyone that way." Rose shook her head.
"I overheard him talking once to an associate or someone how the only reason why he and Mother had set up an engagement between you and I was because of our name. He said if I stepped one toe off a very fine line, he would get rid of me and make sure no one would want me, good name or not."
Cal's lips slip apart in understanding. It explained why Rose had behaved so carefully until that night aboard the ship. If she had decided that her life was so miserable that she wished to die, then it was no wonder why she started acting up. It wouldn't have mattered to her anymore. Nothing was at stake anymore.
"Well, he has no say now. He's not in control anymore, as much as it pains him." Rose smiled.
"Good." She turned to watch the stars that were hardly visible with the city lights. "You know, the stars are lost loved one looking down on us from heaven. A shooting star is a soul going to heaven."
Cal could tell from the wistfulness in her voice that it must have been something Dawson had said to her. She really had loved him, he knew. If Dawson hadn't died that night, Rose would have been married to him. They probably would have had little red and blond headed children. At least one of their children would have to look like Rose or have her hair.
They would have been spirited children, he knew. Maybe he and Dawson would have forgiven each other. Maybe he would have let Rose go happily to the man she truly love.
It made him sick knowing it wasn't him. It made his stomach twist and turn to know, even while they were engaged, she had only tolerated him. She had never looked at him the way she had Dawson. She had never kissed him like he had watched her kiss Dawson, plead to him that she could never lose him. He wasn't the one she wanted. He would never be the one she wanted. He wanted to desperately throw himself from the balcony.