AFTER STARTING ANEW
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rose turned her head in wonder, staring in
disbelief at the array of antique furniture that was spread out in the spacious
garret room. Jack was in the process of pulling open the ancient velvet drapes.
Rose could that they see concealed some grimy windows and the less attractive
side of the Paris skyline.
"Jack, where did all this come from?
This is very old furniture, but very expensive." Rose ran a practiced hand
over the carved back of a cherry wood chair. During the times she had visited
Paris with her parents and then in 1912 with her mother, they had stayed in
enough fancy hotels and chateaux to know that what she saw before her were
museum quality pieces. In addition to the miscellaneous sofas, tables and an
exquisite provincial style bed, there were also gilt picture frames, satin
ottomans and lavish china vases and sculptures. "Did someone live
here?"
Walking closer to Jack, she noticed that
there were some faded Persian rugs on the floor. She could see that the two
doorways to her right led to another large room and one contained a rusty old
stove, the remnants of what must have been a makeshift kitchen. Beyond that, a
small room with marble fittings suggested that was the location of a bathroom.
"Well, the story that Claudette told me
was that all this stuff once belonged to some countess, a long lost cousin of
Louis the fourteenth. Apparently the family hid out here during the revolution
and somehow survived the guillotine." He chuckled as he made a chopping
motion against his throat. "This was all left and around the turn of the
century, the old lady, their descendant, who lived here, died. No one ever came
to claim it. Hardly anyone knows it's all here. It is a mystery why none of it
has ever been sold or sent to a museum." He drew her close to him and
wrapped his hands around her waist. "However," he said, as he nuzzled
the side of her neck, "it will make the perfect setting for my
drawing."
Rose could feel his warm breath rustling
through her hair, her knees becoming so weak, she wondered how on earth he
expected her to have the strength to pose for him. All of the sensations she
had first felt twenty-six years ago came rushing back. If she lived to be a
hundred, she would never forget the look on Jack’s face when she asked him to
draw her wearing the Heart of the Ocean or his nervous gulp he had taken when
she removed her robe. Certainly her mind would always remember the intense look
in his eyes as he concentrated on his sketching, certain that his body was
sending him messages other than getting her image onto the paper. Now in this
instant, it all came to mind. She felt seventeen again and she sensed in Jack a
brash playfulness, unlike anything he had demonstrated in years.
"Jack?" she asked tentatively.
"Where do you want me?" She felt his body shake with laughter as she
realized the double meaning of her words. "I mean, where shall I pose for
you?"
He turned her to face him, his smile curving
upwards in response to her humorous question. Jack placed his palm against her
blushing cheek, thinking about the other two drawings he had done of Rose. The
first was, of course, at the bottom of the ocean. The second, one that he had
drawn in New York in the twenties, had been hidden high on a shelf, far out of
reach of their children. A couple of years ago, he had Rose had taken one last
look and then burned it one night when they had been home alone. It was not
something that was to be shared with anyone but themselves.
Jack had another idea of what to do this
time. For this was a picture that would evoke feelings of sensuality, but would
not in anyway compromise the dignity of the subject. He took Rose’s hand and
led her near to the window. The faded tapestry drapes, so elegant from a
distance, were tattered at the bottom. The window glass was smudged and in the
distance, one could see the chimneys and ragged rooftops of working class
Paris. It would be here, against a backdrop of angles and boring symmetry, that
he would pose Rose. A complete contrast to the drabness of everyday life, the
beauty of Rose, with her veil of wild hair and the delicate curves of her body,
would bring allure and a sense of exquisite refinement to an otherwise
nondescript view. "Stay right here," he whispered, as his mouth
brushed her lips. "I know exactly how I want to do this." He turned
and started to walk away, then looked back at Rose with a teasing gleam in his
eyes. "Oh and Rose, take off your clothes."
"Jack, I feel like I am being fitted to play
the part of some sort of Greek goddess. Goodness, all this fussing and twisting
for just a sheet." Rose giggled as Jack tugged gently on the white
material, indicating that she should turn slightly to her right. For several
minutes now, she had stood patiently as Jack artfully draped her body with a
plain white sheet. This was something she had not expected. For when Jack had
told her that he wanted to make a sketch of her, she had naturally assumed that
she would take her place on one of the antique couches in the room. Instead,
she found herself placed near the window with her hand resting on a shoulder
high white column. Standing on top of the column was a hand painted vase filled
with several pink roses. Where Jack had found all these props, she was not
sure, but shortly after they had come up here, there had been a knock at the
door and a short and mysterious conversation with the young waiter from
downstairs. Jack must have smuggled these things in when she had been
undressing in the bathroom.
"There, that is just perfect." Jack
stood back and admired his handiwork. "Rose, this is going to be something
that future generations of our family can see and be proud of. For me, I see
you just as…well, erotic and seductive as you were on that couch. Others,
however, will just see a beautiful woman whose gorgeous figure is only
emphasized under the mystery of this cloth. You know the old saying about less
being more?" He lifted his eyebrows as his eyes bored deeply into her
gaze. While he’d been inspired all these past years with his drawings, he felt
that the one he was about to do of Rose might culminate in the peak of his
talent. Not only did he have the perfect subject, but also he was back in the
city where he had first refined his handiwork. It was a combination that could
not be beat.
Jack leaned his head to the side studying
Rose once more. "Here, just turn your head a little bit this way and tilt
your head down a tiny bit." He studied his subject once more and nodded to
himself. "Just stay that way Rose. Don’t move. And remember, no
laughing."
Rose sighed patiently, watching Jack as once
again his mind was lost on his work. The sight of him intently focused on a
piece of paper was something she would never tire of. That was Jack in a
nutshell. He had the capacity for intense concentration on whatever he did.
Whether it was making love to her or grading his students’ papers, Jack brought
to every task a single-mindedness of purpose that enabled him to accomplish
things that others only dreamed of. It was the one characteristic of his
personality that set him off from others, and that made him the man he was.
Were it not for that deep devotion to the tasks before him they might never
have made it off Titanic.
"Getting impatient, Mrs. Dawson?"
Jack chuckled as he momentarily lifted his charcoal from the paper.
"Not really, Jack. It’s just a little
hard to stand in one place. I thought you were going to have me on the couch
again," said Rose, feigning innocence.
"Oui Madame, the afternoon is not over
yet. Who knows what will happen? And there are many couches in this room, are
there not?" Jack bit his tongue to prevent himself from laughing and once
again looked down at his work; well satisfied with the progress he was making.
After Rose’s remark about the couches, he forced his attention back to the
drawing. Covered with the gracefully draped sheet only intensified the glory of
her curvaceous body. The delights hidden below would be invisible to the casual
observer, but to Jack who knew how capable Rose was of returning his love, it
only enhanced and tormented his already hungry emotions.
"Jack?" Rose lifted her eyes from
their downcast position, eagerly searching out his own intense expression. He
looked up briefly and flashed her a smile. Without waiting for a response, she
continued her question. "Jack, when you were drawing those women in here a
long time ago, did you ever well…did you ever do it? You know make love to
them?"
He put his pencil down and covered his mouth
thoughtfully. How like Rose after twenty-six years of marriage to be so forward
about some things and so innocent sounding about others? Jack leveled his gaze
at her, delighting at her girlish demeanor. Then he cleared his throat. "I
thought you knew I was strictly professional. Anyone that I drew in this room
was strictly off limits. Taking my models to bed was something I did not do.
Well, I take that back."
Rose lifted her eyebrows wondering what
revelation was coming now. Perhaps she should have left well enough alone. She
had never asked Jack much about his life on the road before they met, because
she sensed that there were things that were better left unsaid. But he had told
her what she thought was everything about his "French girls."
"Do I want to hear this, Jack?"
"Yeah, you want to hear this," he
said seriously. He went back to work and as he spoke, his hand flew across the
top of the paper, shading and refining his work. "There was this one girl,
well woman. She had the most beautiful hair and sultry lips. Her eyes were a luminescent
green. It was those eyes that took me in and held me captive." He stopped
to stare at Rose, who now had realized that he was talking about her. "She
made me take leave of me senses. My life has been a roller coaster ride of
emotions since that one night in 1912." Jack set aside his portfolio and
pencil and slid off the stool where he had been sitting. He closed the distance
between him and Rose in several quick steps. With his gentle hands he grasped
Rose’s arms and turned her to him. The deep emerald green pools that he looked
into mesmerized him, making him forget everything except his good fortune. That
this woman was his, that no one else in the world could share their love and
devotion. Never would he be able to find the words to convey what was in his heart.
He often had to rely on his touch or his kisses to deliver the message.
"Rose, I love you. Do you know that? Do you know how much?" He
cradled her head against his shoulder and listened to her ragged breathing.
"Rose?" Tenderly, he tilted her chin up and found her eyes, flashing
in anticipation. "I’m about to break one of my own rules. This is going to
be one time where my model is not going to get off so easy. I’m throwing my
professionalism out the window with this picture. What do you say, Rose?"
He heard her groan with desire as she pulled
his head down to meet her lips. It seemed as though Rose would be only too
happy to assist him in his decadent mood. As her lips explored his, Jack’s mind
vaguely wandered, wondering just what had made him the luckiest man in the
world.
Rose arched her neck as she let her eyes
flutter open. She shook her head slightly in confusion, not sure for the moment
where she was. Since yesterday afternoon, when they had met Jack’s old friend
Claudette, the hours had flown. Hours that had been filled with the melting
sweetness of languid lovemaking. True, Jack had sketched her in the same place
where he had done his other "French girls," but only with her had he
allowed the flames of passion to ignite into ecstasy as they spent the end of
the day teasing and tormenting each other with one fiery sensation after
another. Jack had whispered in her ear that in all of their married life he had
never reached such heights of arousal before. They’d always been good together,
he said, but this time had been magic. Almost as if their chamber of love had
been enchanted. Now she lifted her head off of his chest, the place where she
had fallen asleep and smiled in contentment. Jack lie spent on the warm sheets,
his quiet breathing belying the tremors of delight he had set off within her.
They’d made love on several of the couches
and then as darkness fell in the shadowy old garret, he’d surprised her with a
bath by candlelight. The old marble tub in the bathroom was big enough for two
and it provided a temptation they could not resist. He had found some old
candles and set them into anything he could find. Small vases, bottles, even a
piece of cork. Then with the scent of sandalwood soap and the sounds of the
city drifting up into the open skylight, they had once again taken their love
to yet another plain. Whether Jack was the master of seduction or she was
totally hypnotized by his touch mattered little. They had surrendered one to
another, drained by a passion they had never known.
Only when the night air grew chilly, did they
quickly dress, hide the traces of their union and sneak down the steep
stairway. On the way back to their hotel, they impulsively stopped to eat a
sandwich made on crispy baguette loaves and drink a glass of hearty red wine.
There was not much conversation between them. But the looks in their eyes spoke
volumes and the touch of their entwined fingertips was more intoxicating than
the ruby colored drink in their glasses.
Like two giddy children, they made their way
back to the hotel. Their hurried steps were the only indication of their final
goal for the night. To lie in each other’s arms, enveloped in a love that even
Paris had rarely seen. Rose squinted in the semi-darkness of their hotel room.
A tiny patch of daylight was peeking through the crack in the heavy damask
curtains, reminding her that today would be their last in Paris. Tonight they
would pack their bags and by this time on Thursday, they would be safely back
on board the Queen Mary for the return trip to America. She sighed, thinking
about all they had done in these several weeks. Of course, there had been one
magnificent meal after another. They had covered Paris from one end to the
other and Jack had found a driver who had taken them to Monet’s famous garden
in Giverny. Rose was puzzled however, because in all of this time, the two
attractions that Rose was sure every tourist saw, had been omitted from their
list, the Louvre and the Tour d’Eiffel. She had questioned Jack about that a
couple of times, but his only answer had been that wicked, knowing smile of
his. At the beginning of their vacation, he had informed her that he was saving
the best for last. Undoubtedly, the smug Mr. Dawson had something up his
sleeve.
The crinkling of the linen sheets told Rose
that Jack was at last stirring. Her eyes caressed his body as she saw him draw
a deep breath and then slowly turn over. From against the soft mattress, she
heard his muffled voice. "Rose, you have no mercy. Do you know that? Here
I take you to Paris, show you the good life and in return you sap my energy and
let me sleep the day away."
She snuggled back down against his chest and
gently turned his face to her. Her usually immaculate Jack looked decidedly and
decadently disheveled. He needed to shave for one thing, his blond hair was
rumpled from hours in the bed and the side of his face bore the impression of
the down pillow. One thing that needed no improvement however, was the deep-sea
blue of his eyes. Those eyes which had been powerful enough to draw her back to
reality on the back of Titanic, still were the magnet that held her soul
captive and with maddening accuracy could predict just what she was thinking.
"It’s not my fault, Jack," she
said, tracing her finger along his well-defined nose. Rose smiled and watched
her expression mirrored in Jack’s face. "You drive me to it. I can’t
resist you and you know it."
They both laughed, shaking the antique
bedstead. Their eyes caught each other’s and for a moment time seemed to stand
still. "I don’t want to go home, Jack. I love it here. Never in my wildest
dreams could I imagine that Paris was really like this. You’ve shown me so
much." Rose felt his hand come up from under the covers and wrap itself
around her shoulder, sending a shiver of delight down her spine.
"Well, Rose, the trip is not quite
over." Jack eased himself up into a sitting position, keeping Rose in his
arms at the same time. "Remember I promised the best for last?" He
reached for his watch on the nightstand and gave it a quick glance. "It’s
ten thirty, my wanton wife." Jack placed a finger on Rose’s lips and
paused for a moment, taking in her breathtaking beauty. "We need to get
ready and get out of here by noon. Then I promise you, the grand finale of this
trip will be something you will talk about for years. And I assure you that you
will never forget tonight. Now come on, Rose. Let’s get going while we are
distracted enough to get out of this bed."
"This has been such a wonderful trip.
Now I’m sorry that we didn’t put our fears behind us and do this sooner,"
said Rose. It was true. Things had gone so well and the trip over on the ship
had been totally uneventful. It seemed as those their fears had grown through
the years. Perhaps it would have been better to get right back on a ship soon
after their experience on Titanic. But time and finances had not allowed for
that.
"Well, it’s just the way it worked out.
We can’t go back and do things over. Nor do I want to. Now that we have done
this once, we can go anywhere. We can get on a ship and travel the world if you
want. But I assure you, Rose, that the journey we take today will by far exceed
your expectations. Trust me." Jack pulled her close to him. He held her
tightly, hoping that his plans for today would truly please her. Rose lifted
her head to meet his piercing gaze.
"I trust you, Jack. I always will."
She nestled her head under Jack’s chin and closed her eyes, daydreaming for a
moment, trying hard to imagine what could be more special than the times they
had already experienced.