THE
SKETCH SCENE
Written by Doug
Kuhlman
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron.
Jack's mind was spinning uncontrollably. He
couldn't believe the things that had happened to him in the last two
days--seeing an angel from afar and then getting the chance to meet her.
Spending the following day with her was the most exhilarating day of his life.
But then he'd thought that Rose was gone forever. Even being on the bow of
Titanic hadn't mollified his heart. He barely dared believe that she had
actually come down to see him again.
Now, here he was, in her room. "It's
completely proper. I assure you," Rose had told him as she led him into
her room. "This is the sitting room." Jack's mind had just started
recovering from that first indescribable kiss. Now the opulence of the upper
class was again getting to him. He wandered the room, amazed at the size, at
the lack of dust, at everything. But his mind was barely on the room. He was
thinking of Rose.
She spoke again, startling him out of his
reverie. "Will this light do?" Seeing the confusion on his face, she
added, "Don't artists need good light?" On the way here, she had
asked him to draw something for her. He had readily agreed--he would have
agreed to anything that meant spending more time with her.
Jack's wit was ever quick. With barely a pause
to think, he responded in his best (which was pretty bad he knew, but he didn't
care) French accent. "Zat is true, I am not used to working in such
'orreeble conditions." He noticed her quick flash of a smile. Jack could
not believe that she really liked him. She even laughed at his bad jokes.
As had been happening with great regularity
to him lately, though, something else completely unexpected and amazing
happened. He truly was an artist and seeing the painting casually leaning
against a couch was more than he could take. "Hey, Monet!" he blurted
out. After walking over to inspect the painting, he added, "Isn't he
great...the use of color?" For just the briefest of moments, he almost
forgot Rose was there. Monet had always fascinated him. Jack had actually seen
Monet once, from hiding, in Giverny. He'd very nearly been caught, but it was
well worth it.
Rose, who had leaned near to gaze at the
painting again (God, he could feel her breath on his shoulder! Why did it make
his whole body tingle so?), suddenly stood and walked away. Thoughts of Monet
fled and Jack rose to follow her. He wondered what other surprises she had in
store for him.
She went to a small wardrobe and started
opening a very large safe. Almost apologetically, she said, "Cal insists
on lugging this thing everywhere."
At the mention of her fiancé, Jack felt a
sudden chill. He had no desire to face the hot uncontrolled wrath of an
Edwardian upper class citizen. "Should we be expecting him anytime
soon?" Jack meandered away, looking for possible escape routes. But the
whole suite was so large, he couldn't really figure any other way out.
Rose sounded disgusted. She knew where Cal
would be. "Not as long as the cigars and brandy hold out."
Jack came back to see Rose pulling out a
jewelry case from the safe. Also in the safe was more money than he had ever
seen in his entire life. He noticed that each stack was of twenty-dollar bills.
Only once had he ever had that much money, and he'd felt so rich he'd spent it
almost immediately. In the safe were stacks and stacks of them. Cal (and Rose)
was unimaginably wealthy. Once again, the enormity of their differences struck
to his heart--chilling him. What if she was just toying with him? What if he
was just some pawn is some sick game she was playing? But, deep in the deepest
recesses of his heart, he knew her; he saw her; he knew she was genuine.
CLUNK! Reverberated through the room as Rose
shut the safe. Rose led him back to the main room, opening the jewelry case as
she walked. She pulled out the Coeur de la Mer and tentatively handed it to
Jack. Jack stared wonderingly at a stone of unthinkable size. "What is it?
A sapphire?" Even a sapphire that large would be worth more
than...than...Jack's mind balked at the thought. He couldn't even imagine comparing
the value
So his mind almost imploded when Rose replied
calmly, "A diamond. A very rare diamond called the Heart of the
Ocean." It's deep blue was almost hypnotizing. Jack could well understand
why the large, deep blue diamond would be called the Heart of the Ocean. It
glittered tantalizingly, like the call of the ocean, but it was also dangerous
and ultimately cold--a destroyer of men.
Rose snuggled close to him again, sending
shocks of electricity coursing up and down every nerve in his body. He would
never get used to the feel of her so close. She spoke quietly, almost in a
whisper. "Jack, I want you to draw me--like one of your French girls.
Wearing this."
Jack nodded. "OK," he said just as
quietly--drawing her would be a dream come true. He had already studied her
voluptuous form and the opportunity to do so with her full consent was
impossible to refuse.
But even his wildest fantasies couldn't
compare with her words--"Wearing only this..." Jack swallowed hard
and looked into her trusting, smiling eyes. His tongue was too large to speak.
He could only nod, his mind racing and, at the same time, barely moving.
The next few minutes passed in a hazy blur.
Rose had gone to her room to "get ready." Physically, Jack was doing
the things necessary to draw her. He moved a couch into the center of the room,
where the light would be good. He'd done enough nude drawings to have an idea
of what he wanted, but she was a rich, sophisticated woman! Should he draw her
like fine china? He couldn't imagine her in any of the poses the girls in Paris
had used. Nevertheless, he provided for her comfort by arranging the pillows on
the couch. He knew it wasn't optimal, but his mind was still numbed by the
shock of what was happening.
Resisting the strong temptation to peek in on
Rose changing (he was going to see her in a little bit anyway, why did he feel
so tantalized by the prospect of watching her change?), Jack started to set up
the tools of his trade. His hands were shaking and he broke a couple of
good-sized chunks off his drawing pencil before the rhythmic motion that he had
done so often took over. And as his hands worked, his mind wandered.
Jack knew he wasn't ugly or a bore. In fact,
he'd had more than a few offers to do more than draw some of the girls in
Paris, but something had always held him back. He had often marveled at his
reticence--it was not a common trait of artists, or of him, for that matter. He
usually just went with the flow of things and saw where they led. Now he knew
why he had always restrained himself. Some force--instinct, fate, God,
whatever--had known about this moment and had prevented him from dallying with
anyone else.
The door to Rose's room opened softly and
Jack turned to gaze at her. She was wearing a beautiful silk kimono (how many
clothes did she have?) and he could see the perfect form of her body
underneath. So many women hid obesity or gauntness beneath their corsets, but
Rose was perfectly shaped. His eyes drank in every inch of her. She moved
slowly and oh-so-sensuously to where he sat. Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
"The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a china doll.
As a paying customer, I expect to get what I want." She flipped him a
dime--the payment he got for portraits in Santa Monica. He was amazed that she
remembered so much of what he had told her about his life. Why did she care
about him so much? Why had fate dealt him another great hand? But he didn't
want to jinx his fantastic luck by questioning it too much.
Rose slowly untied the kimono and let it
slide to the floor. Jack felt his eyes were going to leave his head for a
closer view. She was amazing, fantastic, perfect...again, his mind simply could
not come up with enough adjectives. He realized his mouth was hanging open and
there was a hint of drool forming on the corner. He quickly chastised himself.
"Jack, you've seen lots of naked women before. Get a hold of yourself and
draw her. It's not that different, is it?" Quickly on the heels of that
thought came another one, "Yes, it is. Because I've never been in love
before."
Jack tried to speak and couldn't. He was just
overawed. He wet his lips and tried again. "O-o-over there on the
bed...couch," he managed to stammer. Rose slipped over to the elegant
divan and lowered herself. She naturally arranged herself in a rather demure
position, but her eyes were screaming "I want to be SEXY!" Her lips
parted. "Tell me when it looks right to you."
The artist part of Jack's mind, the only part
still even semi-functioning, asserted itself. "Put your arm back there
where it was. And bring your other arm here, by your face." He indicated
its position with his own arm. "Eyes to me, only on me. And try not to
move." He took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and started to draw.
He began by sketching her position. The first
lines are some of the most important--they give the whole drawing depth and
proportion. This time, despite his nervousness and her beauty, the lines flowed
easily and flawlessly into shape. His eyes drank up every line and curve of her
body. She was flawlessly built--with just a hint of muscle showing through her
abundant, smooth flesh. He had to concentrate very hard to get the drawing
going well. Rose, who had been gazing admiringly at him suddenly said, "So
serious," and chuckled a bit.
Jack realized his expression must have been
awfully intent, although less than half of his attention was being devoted to
the drawing. However, her soft laughter threatened to ruin the beginnings of
the image he was crafting. "Keep your face relaxed," he cautioned
her.
"Sorry," she said and sighed,
trying hard not to move.
The initial outline done, Jack started in on
the details. He began with her hands, always his favorite part of any drawing.
She had such expressive hands. Jack noted and detailed every intricate feature
of those young, soft hands. Those hands had never done a hard day's work, never
been in soapy water, and never swung an ax. They were the hands of gentility.
As he worked his way down her body, Jack was
enthralled by the combination of seamless beauty and wanton sultriness of Rose.
Her eyes were filled with love, passion, excitement, a hint of fear, and blazon
desire. Her full pouty lips were so eminently kissable and he fondly recalled
the ecstasy and fire they had shared on the bow. As he moved to her throat, he
fancied he could see the artery in her neck beating--he allowed himself a
glance at her breasts and noticed the left one vibrating unnaturally. Could her
heart be beating that strongly?
The fabulously expensive diamond got barely a
cursory glance from Jack as he continued to survey Rose's body. Her milky white
breasts danced perkily as she breathed and his pencil could not capture it all.
But his eyes could. "I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. I can't
imagine Monsieur Monet blushing." Rose always knew his every thought. At
that very moment, he had been imaging running his hands and his mouth over what
only his pencil could touch now.
But he rallied gamely to the point. "He
does landscapes." It even came out a touch wryly. She stifled another
giggle, trying to stay still for Jack. He continued to fill in the other
details of her body. Miraculously, considering his split attention and pounding
heart, the drawing was going excellently. It was one of his best pieces ever,
if not the best.
Each time he tried to really focus on the
drawing, though, he found it didn't last. His hands were almost drawing of
their own accord. His mind was nearly completely enthralled by what he was
doing. He couldn't believe it. He could stare at her forever. But, it was not
to be. In a far-too-short eternity, he was done. Stifling an urge to just look
at her longer, he announced that it was complete.
He wanted nothing more than to take off his
clothes and join her, but he forced himself back to calmness. Even though he
felt her love for him, one too-adventurous move could cost him the best thing
that he'd ever known. If patience was required to keep Rose, he was willing to
wait an eternity.
Jack hoped Rose felt similarly. As she slowly
rose and unkinked her delicate joints, Jack felt a sudden panic. What if she
didn't like the picture? What if he'd already given away his overwhelming lust?
What had he been thinking, getting so tied up with a woman worlds above him? He
didn't belong in a first class suite with this heavenly creature.
But as she redonned the kimono and came to
stand behind him to admire (whew, she did like it!) the picture, his mind
fractured into pieces yet again. Part of him was disappointed she was clothed
again, part was still dwelling on the memory of her, and part was completely
dazzled by her touch and her warm breath.
"Date it, Jack. I want to always
remember this night." Jack knew that he would remember this moment for the
rest of his life. He had a feeling Rose would too.
The End.