Jack had been fighting for weeks now, and he was starting to feel like this was the biggest mistake he had ever made. He had survived for the past few months with nothing more serious than a broken finger. Luckily it wasn't his shooting hand, so he was alright to get back out and fight as soon as it was bandaged up. He was tired, hungry, in pain both inside and outside, and he was lost. He knew where he was. France... somewhere in France anyway. It was a field, filled with turned up soil, shards of smouldering metal, and pools of blood and meat. With a gun in his shaking hands, he watched from behind a sandbag as his fellow comrades moved forward. He and a handful of others stayed behind to protect what little land they had gained today.
They arrived here at 1500 hours, and it was now 1900 hours. In Jack's jeep, they had 15 men, and in the truck behind them would have been at least another 100 men. There were already troops here on arrival, so possibly 200 men altogether.
Jack could only count about 30 now. It was hard to see through the red and black mist that had descended over the battlefield. To be fair, it was thought by Jack and his remaining soldiers that the enemy was now well and truly finished with, as attack from their side of the battlefield had stopped. Although, the more he thought about it, the more he thought that this wasn't a battlefield at all. It was more of a slaughterhouse.
They had pushed those German bastards back at least 60 meters and gained at least that amount of land back from them. This sleepy little French village had no idea it was about to be under siege from Hitler's henchman. And even though they had won back about 60 meters of land, they had lost almost 200 men in doing so.
It was only 60 meters. Was it really worth all those lives lost?
It seemed pointless to Jack. His friends, his comrades, they were being blown up and shot down like animals. Jack turned his eyes away from the field, sat against the sandbag, which had sand pouring from it out of bullet holes, and he sobbed. He sobbed like a little girl.
For the first time in Jack Dawson's life, he was terrified. He was really terrified, and he wasn't afraid to admit it.
It was 1942 by now, and Rose was filming a scene for her husband's newest project "When You're Hot, Take It Off." It was completely different from anything that Rose had done before, for she had to play not only a cabaret stripper, she had to be a blonde. Dying her hair was one of the hardest things she had ever done.
Changing who she was, be it DeWitt Bukater to Dawson, Dawson to Calvert, or Calvert to any given role in a play, was easy. She didn't find it greatly difficult... but changing how she looked. That was going to be harder. She had grown up with red hair, her father used to sing about it adoringly, and it was the only link she felt she still had with her Mother... wherever she was.
Was she still alive? The only time Rose ever thought of Ruth was when she looked in the mirror, because she felt she was starting to look like her Mother more and more each day. She was on the wrong side of 40, laughter lines were slowly creeping over her forehead, but her hair burnt as bright as ever.
Right now, as Rose Calvert stood in front her bathroom sink in her glamorous Hollywood mansion, which she lived in with her writer/director husband and two children, she simply stared at the bottle of peroxide in her hand. She told Richard that she had no problem dying her hair, and she didn't. Wearing a wig when you're dancing on a stage and bending over backwards for men just isn't practical. She stared at this little bottle in her hand. A little bottle that was about to change her appearance beyond recognition.
She laughed to herself as she pulled on a pair of thin plastic gloves. "I should be used to little things changing my life." She began to open the lid of the peroxide. "This bottle, it's nothing. I survived the sinking of the infamous Titanic... I can do anything!" She glanced up proudly into the mirror, her hands shaking ever so slightly. "I'm Rose Daw-Calvert." She accidently lost grip of the bottle and dropped it into the sink, some of its contents spilling. "I'm Rose Calvert... I'm Rose Calvert." She picked up the bottle and sat it down on the marble surface of the sink. She looked up into the mirror, picked up a brush, and began brushing her hair thoroughly and continuously.
Why was this so difficult? For the first time in Rose Calvert's life, she was terrified. She was really terrified, and she didn't know why.
Needless to say, "When You're Hot, Take It Off" was a hit, but caused much controversy. It was one of the first films of its time to have stripping shown as a real profession and to have its female cast to actually take off their clothes... covered slightly by fanned out feathers. It was also the first film in which Rose sang, and her song, which went by the same name as the movie title, had instant radio airplay. She was now able to add 'singer' to her résumé.
Rose's good friend Emmanuelle, who had been a cabaret dancer for the majority of her life, taught Rose how to perform on stage and for the camera, and pull off a convincing strip routine without it looking awkward or forced. Richard had heard of Emmanuelle, but when he saw how she was with Rose, friend and teacher, and how talented she was, he offered her a role in his film. She gladly accepted, and the pay packet was gladly accepted also.
Although in her late 40s, Rose Calvert still dazzled and looked excellent for her age. She still had her curves, and even after two children she was still flat stomached and toned. With the introduction of colour vision in movies several years previous, Rose's piercing blue eyes and ravishing blonde locks could finally be brought to life. Richard actually said after viewing the finished product that he almost wished he hadn't asked Rose to die her hair. However, he stood by his reasons for doing it, saying that it was time she reinvented herself... as if she hadn't done that enough in her life. She did suit blonde hair very much. She looked sophisticated and mature, and the colour was starting to grow on her.
Whilst shooting her film, she was also rehearsing a play, "We'll Meet Again" which was basically a play about a wife waiting for her love to return from war. The film was targeted for troops overseas, and the play was to be shown for free to a theatre of Californian soldiers wives on its opening night. It's safe to say the play was also a hit, with not a dry eye in the house. Richard was a gifted writer, there was no denying it, and Rose was certainly a star in her own right.
But being a star came at a cost, and for Rose, it was not seeing her children as much as she would have liked. She felt that their Nanny Patricia was starting to spend more time with them than she was. And Rose was tired. She was so tired. She hardly got time away from filming or rehearsing. The only time she got to herself was in the shower and in bed, both of which she spent crying. She didn't know why, but as soon as the expensive gowns were off and the lights went out, and her head hit the goose feather filled pillow, she did nothing but sob silently to herself. Richard never heard her. He was a deep sleeper, and she didn't want to worry him like she was worrying herself.
In 1943, Jack was laying in his bunk-bed in the barracks, and all his friends were out having a drink in the bar on site which was for soldiers specifically. He often went with his friends for a drink, who was left of them anyway, but tonight he felt like doing some drawings. He would often sketch the battlefield from that days duty from his memory. It wasn't a hard task to do. Such grim sights imprinted their bloody image on any ones fragile mind. His friends knew when to let him has his alone time. Jack was always a very talkative, always up for a laugh, and always pulling a prank on one of the soldiers in the lower ranks. He was the source of light and humour in this barrack... but recently, his light had been extinguished, and the smiles just didn't appear as often as they used to. They all knew what was wrong with him. It was this war that they had gotten themselves stuck in. There was only one way out, and it was in a body bag, and as far as Jack saw it, that was how he was going to get out of here.
He used to play fight the guy he shared a room with for the top bunk every night. Now, he had a huge selection of top bunks to pick from. Every single empty bunk stone cold, like the plane wooden cross that stood in the ground above the lifeless body of whoever used to sleep in that particular bunk. Stan was his name. He was a nice young guy. Quite cocky, vain beyond belief, but hilarious all the same. He hated the Germans with a passion, and once got Jack to sketch a portrait of Hitler for the boys to throw darts at for fun. Jack got on with him very well. Stan once said that after the war was over, he and Jack were going to find a place together, fill it with trendy German Bauhaus furniture, and then burn the place to the ground and laugh.
The next day Stan was burned alive in the cockpit of his plane as it crashed to the ground, shot down by the enemy.
Jack cried for two whole days. He hadn't cried like this since he lost Fabrizio and Rose back in 1912. That seemed a lifetime ago, and he had more or less gotten over it. He would never forget that night, or the ones he loved and lost, but this War had taught him first hand that the only way to get by in life was to keep moving forward and don't look back. This new world that they were entering was frightening, and it was dangerous and it was daunting, but it was a new world. That past was the past, and it had been left there. The future was something to look forward to... and Jack was going to make sure he got there.
As he lay in bed scribbling, his friend Mitch came running into the room, clearly drunk, and almost collapsed to the floor when he went to grab the bed post and failed.
"Can I help you, Mitch?" Jack asked, laughing slightly.
"No, you cannot, but I think Billy out there is about to have a heart attack?" Mitch slurred, pointing out into the hall as the sounds of rowdy soldiers echoed towards Jack's ears.
"Oh, and why's that? Did his wife finally send him a pair of her undies in the mail, or is she still 'too proper' for that?"
"No, not that! He's still begging her. You know that actress, the hot one?" Mitch leaned against the bunk, and belched.
Jack cringed at the smell of the brewery emanating from his friends mouth, and replied "What one would that be exactly?"
"The one that's in that new film! It's in colour and everything! We're gonna go see it in the picture house on Saturday, you should come with us!"
"Yeah, you'll go IF we're not being bombarded by a hail of German bullets that is." Jack jumped down from his bunk and walked over to the chest of drawers in the corner of the room to put his drawings away. "I don't really watch movies anyway, you know that. I got banned from the picture house back in New York after I got caught sneaking in. Kinda went off them since. Waste of money AND time!"
"So what was the last movie you seen?" Mitch attempted to walk over to him, but decided against it as the room began spinning.
"I dunno, some horror film back in 1920 or something. I've never really been into movies. All the movies these days don't look the same. They don't have that classic charm to them. First one I saw was awesome! A Nickelodeon back when I was 7, I'll never forget it."
"Well you're never gonna forget this movie! It's about stripper ladies, and the real stripper lady from the actual movie is coming here in two weeks to see us!" Mitch spoke with so much enthusiasm, and Jack returned it with a blank 'I couldn't care less' kind of look. "She's like, 40 something, blonde, and HOT! You might not know her, but you'll love her, I know it!"
"I don't doubt it. What's her name?" He tried to sound interested as he climbed back into his bed.
Mitch followed suit and climbed into his bed opposite Jack. "Rose Calvert... c'mon, you MUST have heard of her!"
"Rose, huh?..." Jack thought on this for a moment, before saying. "Pretty name... Doesn't ring any bells."