Rose’s POV
I sat in the Palm Court, listening as Ismay talked about the Titanic's design. Outwardly, I appeared to be paying attention, but inwardly, I was bored out of my mind.
"Well, I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ismay's. He envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is, willed into solid reality," Mr. Andrews said, slapping the table with his palm.
"Why're ships always being called she?" Molly Brown asked, curious. "Is it because men think half the women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?" We all laughed, and a real grin slid onto my face. "Just another example of the men setting the rules their way," she finished.
A waiter came walking towards us, but I paid him no mind. I pulled out a cigarette, ignoring my mother's whispered reprimand.
"You know I don't like that, Rose."
"She knows," Cal answered for me, pulling the cigarette out of its holder and stubbing it out. "We'll both have the lamb, rare, with very little mint sauce," he told the waiter. "You like lamb, right, Sweetpea?" he asked.
Did I like lamb? No! I hated lamb. But to disagree with him…Mother would be furious.
"So, you gonna cut her meat for her, too, there, Cal?" Molly asked. I was growing to like this new money woman. She was quite the character. Molly didn't wait for an answer, and I didn't have to look to know that Cal was fuming. "Hey, who came up with the name Titanic? Was it you, Bruce?" she asked Ismay.
"Yes, actually," he answered. "I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury…and above all, strength." Really? Was the Titanic really named to convey her size?
"Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you," I said before I could stop myself. Mr. Andrews choked on a breadstick, trying unsuccessfully to hold back laughter. My mother was scarlet in her humiliation and indignation.
"My God, Rose, what's gotten into—" Mother started to say, but I cut across her scandalized voice.
"Excuse me." I stood up, tossing my napkin on the table. I stalked away, confused and angered.
I found myself leaning against the B-Deck railing, gazing into the sun. My anger had evaporated, though I was still quite confused. I sighed and unpinned my hat, gazing at it for a moment before tossing it into the ocean.
I felt eyes on me, and I turned, meeting the eyes of a handsome third class stranger. I looked away for a split second, but the temptation to look again was too strong. I locked eyes with him again and didn't look away.
Cal came up suddenly and took my arm. I jerked it out of his grasp, hating how controlling he was.
"Rose…" he began, a warning in his eyes.
"Don't start, Cal." He started to argue, but I stormed off, not thinking of Cal, but the third class passenger who seemed to look right into my soul.
Christian’s POV
I'd never sailed first class before, and now I was, with the woman I loved sailing with me. We were in the dining room, finishing our early dinner.
"Ready to go, love?" I asked Satine, stroking her red hair.
"Yes," she answered. Together, we left the room, setting out on an evening stroll along the deck.
"I still can't believe I'm alive," Satine whispered. "I was so close to death, and to be suddenly saved…" She trailed off, a haunted look in her eyes. I was frightened by what she said, worried.
"Are you unhappy?" I asked her hesitantly.
"Unhappy? Never think that! You have no idea how grateful I am that I get to be with you, right now, at this moment." She cupped my cheek in her palm and kissed me fiercely.
I wrapped my arms about her, barely noticing that someone had just run into me.
"Hey, watch it!" she said defensively, then was gone.
"Should we follow her?" I asked. Satine nodded shortly, and we set off after her.
Jack’s POV
I was thinking about the beautiful first class lady as I lay on a bench, absently smoking a cigarette. Who was she? Did I have a chance at getting to know her?
I heard the sharp clack of high heels hitting the ground and sat up just as she ran past, a look of desperation on her face. It was instinctual what I did next. I stood up and followed her at a slower pace, not noticing the couple behind me.
The woman hit the railing hard and peered down into the water, as if debating what to do. What she did surprised me. She hitched her red dress up and started to climb over the railing, methodically, as if in a dream. A few minutes later, she was on the other side, facing the black water, leaning forward and getting ready to jump. I had to stop her.
"Don't do it," I said cautiously. She whipped herself around, looking around blindly for the source of my voice. A few seconds later, her eyes focused on me.
"Stay back! Don't come any closer!" she warned. I saw tear tracks on her face and wondered what had happened to make her consider suicide.
"Take my hand. I'll pull you back in."
"No! Stay where you are! I mean it. I'll let go."
"No, you won't," I told her calmly, hoping I was right.
"What do you mean, no, I won't? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me," she retorted.
"You would have done it already," was all I could think of to say. "Now, come on. Take my hand." She stared at me, confused, reaching up absently to wipe away tears and almost slipping in the process.
"You're distracting me. Go away!" she ordered me.
"I can't. I'm involved now. If you let go, I have to jump in after you." I shook my head in disappointment.
"Don't be absurd. You'll be killed." I slid off my jacket in response.
"I'm a good swimmer," I told her, unlacing my shoe.
"The fall alone would kill you." I heard an undercurrent of terror in her voice.
"It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. To be honest, I'm a lot more concerned about the water being so cold." I switched to the other shoe.
"How cold?"
"Freezing. Maybe a couple degrees over." I slid off the left shoe and finished unlacing the right one. "Ever been to Wisconsin?"
"No." She was confused now.
"Well, they have some of the coldest winters around, and I grew up there, near Chippewa Falls. Once, when I was a kid, me and my father were ice-fishing out on Lake Wissota...ice fishing's where you chop a hole in the—"
"I know what ice fishing is!"
"Sorry. Just...you look like kind of an indoor girl. Anyway, I went through some thin ice, and I'm telling ya, water that cold...like right down there...it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing all over your body. You can't breathe, you can't think...at least not about anything but the pain." I took off my right shoe. "Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you. But like I said, I don't see a choice. I guess I'm kind of hoping you'll come back over and get me off the hook here." I paused, waiting for an answer.
"You're crazy."
"That's what everybody says, but with all due respect, miss, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship here." I moved one step closer, cautiously. "Come on. You don't want to do this. Give me your hand." She looked at me, meeting my eyes, and I saw something change. A new resolve filled her.
"All right," she said, placing her hand in my outstretched one.
"I'm Jack Dawson," I told her.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dawson." Her voice quavered. "I'm Rose DeWitt Bukater."
"I'm going to have to ask you to write that one down." She laughed and started to turn. Rose started to climb up to safety, but her dress got in the way. Her foot slipped and she plunged downward. She shrieked and I was pulled toward the rail, grasping her hand tightly. She grabbed hold of a bar and looked at me, terror painted on her face.
"Help! Help!" she shouted, crying again.
"I've got you. I won't let go," I said.
"Neither will we." I turned and saw a pale redhead and a handsome young man beside me. The redhead leaned over the rail and grabbed Rose's other hand. The young man leaned over and helped the redhead. Together, we pulled the screaming Rose over the railing. She collapsed on the ground, shaking.
The young man helped her up, and she looked gratefully at us.
"I'm Rose." She stuck out her hand, and the man accepted it.
"I'm Christian McGregor, and this is my fiancée, Satine Kidman."
"Hello," Satine said.
"I'm Jack," I said, smiling warmly at the pair.
"What's all this?" Quartermaster Rowe came dashing towards us, noticing the disheveled Rose and my jacket and shoes tossed carelessly around. He reached a conclusion, no doubt based around the fact that I was steerage and she was first class. He ignored Satine and Christian, recognizing their first class status. Two crewmen came rushing up, huffing and puffing.
"Here, you. Stand back! Don't move an inch!" he ordered me.
"Why?" Satine stepped forward, meeting eyes with Rowe. "What did he do?"
"It looked like he was attempting to rape her!" Rowe said.
"Really?" Satine asked, raising a delicate eyebrow. "Were you here?"
"Fetch the Master-at-Arms!" Rowe ordered curtly, not answering her question.
"Thanks," I whispered to her, glaring at Rowe.
A few minutes later, I was handcuffed by the Master-at-Arms, being glared at by Cal, Rose's fiancé.
"What made you think you could put your hands on my fiancée? Look at me, you filth! What did you think you were doing?" he spat out, gripping me by the lapels and shaking me.
"Saving Rose," Satine answered smoothly, motioning to said girl. She was hunched on a bench, a blanket wrapped tightly around her. "And I wasn't aware saving someone was a cause for arrest." She looked pointedly at the Master-at-Arms, who hurriedly unlocked my handcuffs. I nodded my thanks and rubbed my wrists.
"So, how were you saving her?" Cal bit off each word.
"She was leaning to far over the edge and Jack here had a feeling that she might slip. So he pulled off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and we pulled her back over just in time."
This Satine must have been an actress to think of something that quickly.
"She was looking at the propellers," Christian added. He snorted, giving Rose an amused look. "Women and machinery don't mix." Rose smiled slightly. Cal glared at me, and I smiled innocently back. He ushered Rose to her feet and led her away. Rose looked back at me, apologizing with her eyes. If Cal was always like this, I could see why she was driven to suicide.
"Perhaps something for Jack?" I heard Rose whisper to Cal. He sighed and turned around.
"Oh, right. A twenty should do it, don't you think, Mr. Lovejoy?"
"Is that the going rate for saving the woman you love?" Rose challenged.
"Rose is displeased…mmm… what to do?" Cal asked sarcastically. He looked at me appraisingly, a condescending look in his eyes. "I know. Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow, to regale us with your heroic tale? And Satine and Christian, feel free to join us."
"Sure. Count me in," I said, looking straight at Rose.
"Good. It’s settled then." Cal put an arm around Rose and led her away, muttering something to Lovejoy softly. The group left, and soon only Christian, Satine, and I were left on the deck.
"That was interesting. So, you're first class?" I asked the couple.
"Yes," Satine answered.
"You seem nicer than the rest of them."
"It helps that Christian was a broke writer when we first met. And I didn't have much. I worked at the Moulin Rouge," she explained. "I was their star, their Sparkling Diamond. I got consumption and almost died in his arms, but the doctor delivered the cure just in time." She shuddered delicately and Christian wrapped an arm around her. So, a whore that fell in love. That didn't happen every day.
"It was difficult, at first. The Duke wanted her to be his, so we had to keep it a secret. He bought her," Christian said. "He was very possessive. You know, he reminded me of that Cal fellow."
"Christian, I don't want to speak of the Duke right now," Satine whispered.
"Sorry." He looked at me, obviously wondering how I was taking all of this.
"So, how did you get first class tickets if you aren't first class?" I asked, curious.
"The Duke." Satine laughed shortly. "He killed himself a few days after the premiere of Spectacular Spectacular, and in his will, he stated that everything was to go to me. So, I inherited a large sum of money from the man I hated most. And Christian sold his first book, Moulin Rouge, the story of how we met."
"I was going to write a happy ending, but Satine told me it would be more popular if we made it a tragedy. So, I had her die in my arms, and it was the hardest thing I've ever written. It was just luck that saved my darling Satine from dying. Just luck. If this ship sinks, who's to say both of us will live?"