Rose woke up early the next day, an anxiously eager feeling fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Her suitcases were all packed and she only had a few more things to get together before she left for the airport. It was a sunny day, as was always the case in California, but Greece was going to be an entirely different world to what Rose knew, and she couldn't wait. She lay awake in bed for a while, thinking about what the soldiers would be like, the men keeping her and the rest of the Allied world safe from Hitler's rule. She didn't have to get out of bed for another half hour, and so she watched the sun rise further and further above the Hollywood Hills, rearing its orange head into the pink sky. She loved California, and for once in her life she was tanning. As a red head she had her Mother's ice cold white skin, but going blonde and living in such heat must have taught her skin to obey the gentle kiss of the sun.
And then her alarm clock went. Once again, she had beaten it at its own game, and once again the bed was empty beside her when she woke. It wasn't the first time. Yet again Richard had slept on the couch downstairs, which he had done for the past few weeks. It wasn't every night, but more often than not. Rose questioned him once and he told her that it was because he wrote scripts into the early hours and didn't want to disturb her by climbing into bed beside her. She didn't question him any further. She had no reason to.
Once she was out of bed, her purple silk robe draped around her white night dress and her blonde locks tied in a bun, Rose descended the sweeping spiral stairs that lead down to the hallway at the main entrance to the Californian mansion. As she approached the middle of the staircase she heard noises in the kitchen. Richard was awake already? How sweet, he must have gotten up early to make her breakfast. She had an early flight to catch, so doing such a thing would be the perfectly domesticated husband type thing to do. She smiled to herself a little.
Leaning over the railing she could just see into the doorway of the kitchen, and she barely make out a voice... no, not a voice...Two voices... Glasses clinking. Was it the kids? No, it sounded too old to be any of the kids... but it was definitely female.
Finally, the stairs were overcome, and she jumped off the last two steps, tying her robe around her waist quickly and pushed a stray strand of hair from her face. The kitchen was in sight, and two long shadows stretched along the floor, reaching a point and then glided up the pale yellow wall with the rays of the rising sun. She walked into the kitchen, curious as to who was in there, her husband's laughter, a female giggle.
"Rose darling, you're awake!" said Richard pleasantly, and with him It was Emmanuelle, Rose's friend of many years now, and co-star in Richard's movie 'When You're Hot Take It Off.' She was travelling to Greece with Rose to perform in their Cabaret Double Act, and Rose now felt ridiculous for even wondering what woman would be in her home other than Emmanuelle.
"Yes, I've been awake for a while. I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. When did you get here?"
"I got here about an hour ago. I knew Richard would be awake since, well, he never sleeps, does he?" She glanced over at Richard who looked away coyly and smiled to himself. Standing up to take her empty plate and half drunk coffee to the sink, she ran a hand through her short black hair, cut into a fashionable mid-neck length, straight fringe style. It framed her perfectly tear drop shaped face, piercing emerald green eyes and glistening red lips perfectly.
"I knew you were sleeping so I didn't want to wake you." Richard piped up innocently, watching Emmanuelle's slender body rise ever so slyly, that tightly fitting dress on her worryingly thin body making Rose feel like the frumpy middle aged housewife that she suddenly felt she was.
"I did miss your company Rose." She said is if reassuring her. "I'm starting to wish I hadn't come so early. I've had to keep rolling your husband's tongue back in, the Dog!" She turned over her shoulder, that shimmering hair covering her face briefly and then subsiding, not daring to hide those snake-like eyes. One wink at Richard, and Rose suddenly felt like she was intruding in her own home. She knew Emmanuelle was a flirtatious woman, it was in her nature, and it was never a problem, and she knew that Richard was a man and that nothing had happened, but for some reason Rose felt like she was a third wheel struggling to keep up with these two.
Emmanuelle giggled to herself, Richard straightened his tie and scratched his head, looking down at the floor. Rose watched as his near balding head blushed.
Rose walked over to the table to join them, pulling out a chair and sitting down. She examined the scene before her in the dim half light of the sun as it began to rise and shift behind the extending section of the house. "I see you two have already eaten."
Just as Rose said these words, it was as if an invisible hand had smacked the back of Richard's head as he fidgeted with his waistcoat buttons and brought him back to the reality of his husbandly role. "Oh, of course, uhm, I was going to make you something, but-"
"It's alright, I'll make something myself." Rose pushed out her seat, the wood screeching as it scraped along the tiled floor, and stood, gathering the used dishes that lay scattered on the table. "You two had quite the feast."
"You know how it us for us dancers, Rose. We have to keep our energy levels up! Well, I would know. I've been a dancer for long enough. How else would I still have these legs?" Still looking into the sink, she kicked a leg up behind her, hitting her perky little bottom with the heel of her shoe, and Richard nearly choked on his coffee as the toned leg and black heel appeared in the corner of his eye.
Rose bit her tongue as she carried the stack of plates to the sink. Dropping them almost angrily on the counter she stood, silently and still, until Emmanuelle dried her hands and moved out of the way.
"You sure you don't want me to-" She went to pick up another plate, but Rose snatched it away sharply. "No, I think I can manage. Wouldn't want you breaking a nail."
"How thoughtful of you." Emmanuelle joined Richard at the table once more and instantly behind Ross back giggles began. "What you reading, Rich?"
"Oh, just the reviews for my latest endeavours." He replied smugly.
"And?" Emmanuelle responded, leaning over Richard's shoulder, nearly resting her head on his shoulder to read the paper with him. Although Rose had her back turned, she could picture it, and for some reason she wanted to smash the plate she was holding.
"They're still going crazy for it." Only now, in this easily irritated and somewhat jealous state, did Rose realise how smug and pompous he could be. The echoes of Cal when he bragged to Ruth about how much Hockley Steel had been used in the construction of the Titanic were eerie. "I'm guessing it'll be on top for another few weeks at least."
Rose hoped the hype would die down soon, and with it the size of Richard's ego. All good things came to an end eventually. After all, the RMS Titanic only lasted 4 days on the open Ocean.
Jack stood on the scorching hot beach, his trousers rolled up to just below the knee, his shirt unbuttoned and the sleeves carefully rolled up to his elbows. He had been walking through the glimmering turquoise tide and kicking the dazzling white sand for God only knows how long. He had been told to stand on the beach and keep lookout, but today he wasn't keeping lookout for the Germans. Today, Jack was keeping lookout for an expensive yacht to sail on over from the small airport across the water. On board this yacht would be the two women that every man was speaking of, and every man had definitely dreamt of the night before. Jack only wished he could have shared their dreams. Ever since his friend Mitch had been blown up right before his very eyes, his dreams had been somewhat scarred and damaged.
The only time he had ever suffered such stress was after the sinking of the Titanic, but that only lasted a month or so, and he didn't dream so much of the ship as he did losing Rose. Losing Rose was the worst thing that had ever happened to him... up until then at least. She was a lifetime ago. A faint and fleeting shadow in the dusty corner of his aching mind. He had slept with many women since then. He had even married one and fallen in love, something he thought he'd never do.
After the Carpathia reached New York, Jack refused to stay in the hostel with the rest of the survivors. He didn't need their charity, as kind as it was. He tried to get by on the streets, but living this way in the Big Apple was harder than he had anticipated, and after only a few weeks he had been caught for theft and then arrested for assaulting a police officer. He was put in jail and it was thought best he stay there until he showed that he was ready to be a well functioning part of society. That took the best part of 5 years. It wouldn't have taken so long if he didn't become a violent recluse once inside. But it wasn't his fault. If the judge knew what was happening to him behind closed doors, he would understand why Jack Dawson was struggling to function.
Something inside of him snapped when that barred cage door closed on him the first night in prison. His boyishly handsome face, sparkling blue eyes and thin, perfectly toned body in a small cell with 4 large, strong, sex hungry brutes that hadn't touched a woman in years. His stay in jail was unbearable to say the least. One would put a hand over his mouth, the other two would hold him down, and then the fourth would have his way with him, and they took turns. Jack dared not tell anyone. It wasn't only humiliating but it was also useless. The wardens knew it went on. They did nothing to stop it. They'd rather let it happen than try to intervene.
It went on for about a year. Jack soon realized the only way he would get away from this shared cell was if he was put into solitary confinement. He began tying shoe laces together and wrapping them tightly around his throat until his eyes went red and his face went purple. A warden spotted him in the act of doing this one day, alerted the other wardens, and Jack was moved to his own suicide watch cell. He spent four years in that room, being mentally examined by Doctors and watched through a hole in the door. As each day passed in these four padded walls, his clever play act of contemplating suicide became more and more real, and it scared him. What had he become?
After his release in late 1917, as WW1 was drawing to an end, he was back on the streets, 5 years older, and a broken man. His stay in jail was one he wished to forget but knew he wouldn't, and so he swore to himself he would never go back there again. He lay low on the streets, stayed out of trouble, and went days without eating. Before, he would do anything to get food. Now, he would rather starve than get caught breaking the law. He slept in an alleyway where a large vent on the wall behind his box expelled warm air from the shower-room a few floors up, and in this shower-room was Polly Maxwell.
She first noticed Jack in early 1917, and seeing that he meant no harm, she would bring him food out every morning. She always left it outside his cardboard box for him to find upon waking up. He didn't know it was her, until one morning when he was awake upon her arrival. He pretended he was asleep, heard the plate of pancakes go down, and then felt her stroking his hair away from his face. Her warm hand, delicate, careful fingers fixing his hair. He felt like a stray cat. And then, the sound of her heels walking out of the alley caught his attention, and he sat up, eyes open, and thanked her. She got a fright, not expecting him to be awake, and as she turned to face him, she noticed his warm smile, his gleaming blue eyes, looking like they were desperately trying to hold onto what life there was left inside him. She couldn't ignore that face. She had been brought up in a good Christian household, and she told him that there was a spare bedroom in her apartment, and that if he found a job and was able to pay his way a little she would be more than happy to give him a roof and a bed. Not to mention that hot shower he heard so often three floors above his box.
Jack accepted the offer, moved in, and one year later they were married. He started selling hotdogs on the same stand he stole from several months back, and eventually the stand got its own store and he worked there. It was part owned by a friendly Old Italian man named Antonio who would sometimes come into the store for a hotdog, ask how business was, and then depart. Polly worked at the picture-house on the other side of town, selling tickets for people to come and watch the latest movies and news reels. Jack never went to the picture house. It was too far away, and he didn't enjoy movies as much as he used to. Jack and Polly were happily married for 5 years. Then one night, as Polly was coming home from work, she was dragged into a dark alley by a group of thugs. There, she was beaten, raped, and robbed.
They found her cold, dead body the next day.
Jack lost it. He took to drinking heavily and began to believe that death clung to him like a bad smell. First his parents, then Rose and Fabrizio, and now Polly. He loved Polly. How could anyone do this to such a sweet, innocent young woman? She had helped him when he was at his lowest point, and he couldn't be there when she needed him most. Life had changed Jack. He was no longer the bright eyed, optimistic, hopeful dreamer he used to be. He once stopped a girl from committing suicide. These days, he would probably jump off the edge with her.
In 1925 he sold his wedding ring for a decent sum went back to Wisconsin to where his parents used to live. There was no point keeping the ring. It was a painful reminder of what he no longer had. He didn't know what good going back to Wisconsin would do, but New York wasn't a home for him anymore. Polly was gone, and selling hotdogs to fat, greasy old men wasn't exactly fulfilling. When he got there, so much had changed since 1910. There was a large row of houses standing where his small farmhouse once stood. That was before it burned to the ground, claiming his parent's lives and sparing his. That seemed to be the way it was for Jack. Life took every good thing away from him, made him suffer, but left him alone on Earth to suffer eternally. Was it lucky to be alive or unlucky? Jack was never sure. He spent several years in Wisconsin, feeling that perhaps going back to the beginning was the fresh start he needed. He stayed with an elderly man named Gordon who had a room to rent. He was a kind old man, and became the father figure Jack so desperately needed. They went fishing together on the same Lake Jack and his father went fishing on, and they both shared a passion for art. For the first time since Polly's death, Jack was happy. He spilled his heart on the floor to Gordon, and Gordon gave him advice and talked to him about everything. In 1932, Gordon passed away in his sleep peacefully, and Jack lost his best friend. Gordon left a Will, and all of his worldly possessions and money went to Jack.
"To my Boy, I leave everything I have. I am gone, but hopefully not forgotten. If you've forgotten me already, I will haunt you terribly for the rest of your days! There's money behind the loose brick in the kitchen wall. I've been putting it away for a rainy day, but it always rains on your head my boy, so it's yours now. Spend the money wisely! One beer is all I will allow! Keep the house, sell it, it doesn't matter to me. Go and do what you have to do. No matter what, I will always be proud, and I will always be looking after you. I love you, son. Goodbye for now."
Jack wept like a baby as he read the Will. He rest his head on Gordon's lifeless chest and thanked him. He would never forget his new Father. He went to the local pub, bought one beer with his money, and raised his glass to Gordon. The rest of the pub joined in, celebrating the life of a truly special man in their community, a community Jack had become a fixed part of. He said his goodbyes to the locals, and gave Gordon's house keys to Maria, the owner of the pub. She would sort all of that out for Gordon's beloved boy.
He spent the next few years travelling, doing what he always did best. He drew portraits to make extra money, slept with prostitutes, made friends along the way, got drunk, and lived the lifestyle that his 16 year old self would have adored. Now, he felt he was trying to keep something burning within him that had long been extinguished.
In 1939, with the possibility of War being so probable, he went back to New York, and with the clothes on his back and a bag of belongings, he signed up to fight for his country. Within weeks, he had been sent out to train in armed and unarmed combat.
It wasn't the best of lives, but it was the life Jack Dawson had lived. With the prison bar code tattoo on his arm, and a pale band around his finger where a wedding ring once was, Jack sat on the sand and watched the tide gently lull back and forth, splashing against smooth white rocks, drawing in closer and closer with the passing of each minute. He thought about his life, and for some reason, the quiet, still scene around him made him feel very contemplative and at ease. Perhaps because it was a polar opposite to the war torn battlefield of exploding bombs and screaming men he was so used to. Although the soldiers were only based in Greece to protect the island and pick up supplies for their further travels, it was almost like a brief holiday. A chance to escape the Germans for a week. Today's Cabaret show was going to be the icing on the cake, and as much as Jack tried, he just couldn't bring himself to be excited. It wasn't that he didn't love seeing women get naked before his very eyes. He enjoyed that very much. It wasn't even the show that was making him feel so down. It was everything. It was his whole world and all the people that had left, and the uncertainty of his life, plunging ahead into battle, and powerless to stop it.
Just then, as he drew lines in the sand with a dry piece of drift wood, he glanced up to the shining horizon, and there, on the clear green sea beneath the flawless blue sky he saw it. A small white dot at first, but as it drew closer he saw a sail, and the gleam of a window, and before long, there was the yacht that every soldier and native to the island had been waiting for. He blew his whistle that he had been given to alert the others of the arrival, and as the sound echoed over the island, every man sprung into action, getting all last minute preparations ready for the girls to take to the stage, and the men to take their seats.
Rose sat in the yacht, looking over at the island from behind her black sunglasses, a large straw hat shading her face, and her blonde hair blowing in the warm breeze. She smiled and sighed with relief as the jagged, tree covered mountains and little white housed towns came into the view. The beach looked spectacular, and from this far distance she could make out a man on the beach, blowing a whistle and sprinting up the hill to join the others. He vanished into the trees, and the sound of whistles and cheers danced across the tranquil sea.
Rose laughed, "They must know we're here."
Emmanuelle, who was sitting under the sail with a glass of champagne put a hand over her head to block the sun and looked over to the island. "It's beautiful. A floating paradise in the middle of the Ocean."
Rose thought on what she said. It was startling how much this simple comment made her reminisce back to the Titanic. "I never have liked sailing much." She admitted quietly.
"Well it's worth it when we get to enjoy this Oasis! Who knows, I might even hook up with a hot Greek guy." She winked at Rose, and Rose giggled.
"If these men know what's good for them, they'll stay away from you." Emmanuelle laughed, and Rose smiled jokingly. Truth be told she meant what she said.
She had bit her tongue on the plane and all the way here, but an annoying little feeling in the back of her mind was telling her that something had happened between Emmanuelle and Richard. She tried to ignore it, but it was there, biting at her brain like a worm in an apple. As soon as Emmanuelle stepped onto this island, there would be a snake in this perfect garden of Eden, and Rose was not going to be pulled into it or embarrassed by her sexual exploits and drunken blunders. They were going to dance together, but that was it. Rose planned to spend a few days on the beach whilst Emmanuelle partied with the soldiers. Nothing was going to ruin this for Rose. Nothing.