ROMANOV AUTUMN
Chapter Nine

After Jack said good-bye to Sarah and her children, he realized just how hungry he was. It was already ten o’clock, and he hadn’t had anything to eat for breakfast. Rolling his eyes at his growling stomach, he walked across the street to a comfortable-looking diner and pushed open the door. A gentle tinkle of a bell rang in his ears, and everyone who’d been sitting in the booths and at the counter turned to look at him.

He gave them a casual smile and took a seat at an empty counter stool, setting his art supplies beside him. Gazing around, he got a good look at the different customers. On his left was a fat man with hairy arms and a top hat who was in the midst of smoking a cigar. To his right sat a thinner man dressed in a horrible brown suit, his face hidden behind a newspaper. Jack cleared his throat, feeling a little uncomfortable, but no one paid him any mind.

He heard a loud giggle from behind him and glanced over his shoulder. Sitting in the booth opposite the counter was a young couple. The woman, medium-height and strawberry blonde, was laughing as her significant other nuzzled her neck. She was hiding her lips behind a napkin, trying to muffle the laughter, but wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

"Can I help you, sonny?"

Jack jumped and turned towards the counter again. A pudgy waitress with black hair was staring at him with bright green eyes. "Er…" Jack pulled one of the menus from its holder and glanced through it. "I’ll have a…number five with a cup of coffee, please."

She wrote his order down and then looked at him again. "Sugar in your coffee?"

Jack shook his head. "Black," he told her, and she bustled away towards the kitchen. He put the menu away and opened his sketchbook. He thought his portraits earlier that day had gone quite well, though he wasn’t the least bit surprised when the children became fussy about halfway through. Sarah had to scold them several times so Jack could finish his sketch, and Mollie had taken to teasing her brother afterwards. It had ended up with hair-tugging and shoulder-punching, and Sarah apologized profoundly to Jack before pulling her children off of the beach.

"Here’s your coffee," the waitress announced, handing him the steaming cup. Jack thanked her, and realized that a bulk of the drawings in his pad were sketches of his family or scenery around their home. He felt his throat choke up, realizing he’d forgotten to send the letter he’d brought with him.

"Where you from, son?" the large man asked, his gruff voice startling Jack from his thoughts. He blew a puff of cigar smoke that made Jack cough, though he tried to hide the fact that it bothered him.

"Wisconsin, sir," Jack replied.

"Here by yourself?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah."

"Good luck, kid." The man blew another puff of foul-smelling smoke before turning back to his meal. Jack blinked, taking a sip of his coffee. "Want a smoke?" he asked a moment later, producing a new cigar. Jack shook his head.

"No, thank you," he replied.

"Here you go, sonny." The waitress plopped the plate of eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, and toast on the counter. "That it?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah, thanks." He cleared his throat again, trying to concentrate on his breakfast. She went back to the kitchen, and the diner turned fairly quiet again. Jack had never felt more grateful to finish eating and leave, and though he sneezed again after going back out into the broad daylight, he sighed with relief. With his sketchpad under his arm, he made his way down the narrow street, searching for a post office. He took the letter out of his pocket, fingering the rough envelope, and wet his lips.

He found the post office about ten minutes later and entered the fairly crowded building. Standing in a line, he rocked back and forth on his heels, wondering what he was going to do for the rest of the day. He remembered Mr. Atwood’s card and thought about whether or not he should bother contacting him. He wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to do something as big as working in the film business; at least not yet. He eventually reached the main window and handed his letter to the mailman.

"You just missed today’s shipment," the mailman told him. "But we’re accepting mail for tomorrow morning."

Jack groaned, lowering his eyes to the ground. "All right," he muttered, and the mailman tossed the envelope into a stack of mail behind him. Jack walked out of the building and back onto the street, pausing and waiting for another sneeze to erupt. When nothing came, he continued on his way, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

"Jack? Jack Dawson? That can’t be you!"

Jack blinked as someone called his name, and raised his head to find to whom it belonged. He couldn’t believe it…it was a good friend of his from grade school who had left Wisconsin the previous year. "Al?" he cried in disbelief, wrapping his arm around the broad-shouldered, dark-haired man. Alexander Pullings was about two years older than he was, but the two had bonded fast when they first met. The age difference didn’t matter at all to either of them.

"What are you doing here, kid?" he asked, ruffling Jack’s hair and pulling him over to a bench. "I certainly didn’t expect to see you here, of all people!"

"I’m trying to make it on my own," Jack explained. "I left home a few days ago. I haven’t seen you in…forever!"

"At least three years." Al laughed, punching his shoulder playfully. "Looking good, Dawson! So, tell me what you’ve been up to. How are your parents? And your sister?"

Jack frowned, realizing that Al wouldn’t have known about the fire. When he told the story of the fire that destroyed his family’s barn and killed his parents, Al’s expression changed to a very solemn one. "Wow, Jack, I’m really sorry to hear that. So, did you run off as soon as it happened? Where’s your sister?"

Jack was about to respond when the sneeze he’d been waiting for earlier came on suddenly. "Excuse me," he apologized. "It’s the sun," he explained, sniffing. "Well, Olivia and I ran off from the house, hoping to make it to the closest neighbor. But I got sick and passed out, and I guess she did, too, because this woman came by early in the morning and found the two of us lying on the road. She took us in and took care of me…I had bronchitis pretty bad…and when I got better, she adopted us."

Al raised an eyebrow. "So you ran off, huh? They couldn’t keep you prisoner." He gave Jack another punch on the shoulder. "Good to see you, Jack. Do you have a place to stay?"

Jack shrugged. "Well, I’m staying at a hotel right now, but I only have enough money to last me for a few nights."

Al nodded in understanding. "I see," he replied. "I have a place on Chokecherry Street if you wanna come and stay with me until you find your feet here. It’s not the best joint in the world, but hey, whatever works to keep a roof over your head."

Jack shook his head. "I couldn’t accept that," he said.

"I’m your friend, Jack. Think of it as several Christmas presents rolled into one, or several Christmas and birthday presents and Christmas presents combined."

Jack couldn’t believe his luck. "Must have been destiny that we met up." He laughed. "I was wondering what happened to you! What have you been doing here in California?" He stood up and began following Al down the street.

"Well, I’ve been doing all sorts of odd jobs," Al explained. "Working at a lumber mill, catching crabs for restaurants—you name it, I’ve probably done it." He shrugged. "Whatever it takes. Right, Dawson?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah." He smiled.

"So, what are your plans?" Al asked as they eventually turned, making their way towards Jack’s hotel so he could gather his things. "Anything you came out here to do in particular?"

Jack shrugged. "Well, I came out here hoping to focus on my art, but I just got here the other day, so I haven’t had a chance to really explore my options. I did meet an agent from Hollywood on the train, and he gave me his card."

Al raised his eyes again. "Wow," he breathed. "A real agent, huh? You gonna take his offer?"

Jack gave another shrug. "I don’t know," he admitted. "I’m not sure if I’m ready for that yet. I was going to try selling my artwork in town for about ten cents apiece."

Al nodded. "Yeah, the crowds get pretty good around here this time of the year. But I’d maybe give the agent a call, seeing as it’s already August, so the crowds are gonna start dwindling. Especially with the kids going back to school."

Jack nodded, feeling the urge to sneeze again. When he did, Al patted him on the back. "Gesundheit." He laughed.

"Thanks," Jack muttered. "Third time I’ve sneezed today." He gave his nose a rub, and Al shrugged.

"Well, it is pretty bright out here," he admitted. "And you’re pretty pale."

Jack smirked. "Either that, or I’m allergic to something." He cleared his throat. "Which probably isn’t surprising. I really make a lousy farm kid," he added with a laugh. "Allergic to animal fur."

Al snorted. "That figures," he teased. "Not horses, right?"

Jack shook his head. "That’s pretty much all we could have, though Olivia was allowed to have one cat, which she was ordered to keep in the barn." He frowned sadly, wondering what happened to the cat during the fire. Probably went up in smoke, he thought.

They reached the hotel, stepping through the doorway. "New recruit, eh?" Mrs. Donnelly asked, noticing Al. "Staying overnight?"

Al shook his head, and so did Jack. "He’s actually offered me a place to stay," he told her. "So I’m just going to get my things." Mrs. Donnelly shook her head as she watched the boys troop up the stairs and snickered when Jack told Al to mind the broken step.

"Whoa," Al smirked, just barely missing it with the toe of his shoe. "Good timing."

They made their way to the room, which Al pointed out wasn’t too shabby. Jack snorted, collecting his duffle bag of clothing and making the room look as it had when he’d first arrived the night before. "Yeah, well…" He shrugged. "For eleven dollars, what do you expect?"

Al snorted. "For eleven dollars, Jack, I’d have a mansion." He winked, taking Jack’s portfolio for him and his bag of art supplies.

"Thanks," Jack told his friend, and the two of them trooped back down the steps. Jack set that night’s rent on the counter, and Mrs. Donnelly raised an eyebrow.

"You don’t have to pay me unless you’re staying," she told him, pushing the money back. "It’d be robbery if I took that now."

Jack shook his head. "Go on," he insisted, and she smiled at him.

"No, take it back, Mr. Dawson. Good luck to both of you," she insisted, waving as the two boys left the hotel. When they were gone, she sat back down at her desk, scratching Jack’s name from the guestbook with a shake of her head and a chuckle.

When they got back outside, Al turned to Jack. "Don’t sneeze," he teased, noticing how Jack’s eyes squinted. His request ended in vain, and Al snickered.

"Four," Jack croaked. "I can’t believe I sneeze every time I go outside. This is getting ridiculous." He swung his duffle bag over his shoulder, grunting as the heavy weight hit his back. "So, how far is your place?" he asked, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and giving his nose a quick blow.

"About five miles from here," Al replied. "Not far." He kicked a pebble, watching as it skipped ahead a few feet. For a good part of the walk, the boys were silent, enjoying the beautiful weather and the sound of the seagulls as they cried overhead. Jack lifted his face towards the sky, taking in a breath of the ocean air. He hadn’t been to the beach in a long time; maybe once or twice in his childhood had his parents actually taken him there.

They turned a corner, passed another series of miniature shops and restaurants, and listened to the sound of kids as they begged their parents to stop here or there. Jack noticed a little girl, about four years old, tugging on her father’s hand and pointing to a toy shop. He smiled, wondering if that would ever be him one day. "Don’t think I’d like to have kids," Al muttered, almost as though he could read Jack’s mind. "Always pestering and whining about something."

Jack shrugged. "I don’t know," he admitted. "Might be nice. I met these really sweet kids at the hotel yesterday…I drew their pictures this morning on the beach. A little girl and a boy, probably about six or seven. Here on vacation with their mom," he explained, and Al nodded.

"I guess some tykes can be all right," he replied. The little girl turned and looked at him, her thumb in her mouth and eyes twinkling. Jack smiled back, feeling his heart swelling. I would like to have kids of my own one day, he thought.

"Here we are," Al announced, and the boys reached a slightly broken-down apartment. "It only has one room, so you may have to sleep on the floor. But I have plenty of spare blankets, so it shouldn’t be a problem."

Jack shrugged. "I guess I’ll have to get used to sleeping anywhere," he replied. "Chokecherry Street." He raised an eyebrow. "Interesting name."

"Yeah. Welcome to 504 Chokecherry Street," he said, motioning with his arm towards the apartment. "We’re on the fifth floor. Pretty clean, for what you make it." He opened the door, and Jack sneezed as soon as a few clouds of dust protruded from inside.

"Gesundheit." Al winked and Jack rolled his eyes.

"Thanks." He smirked, and the two of them made their way into the dark building. They walked down a very narrow hallway with horrible olive green wallpaper. They came to a lobby, greeted the old man at the front desk, and began making their way up the steps. Al took his keys from his trouser pocket, dangling them around one finger. Jack held onto the railing as they prepared to climb up the stairs, but Al warned him against it.

"Railing’s real rickety," he explained. "Safer just to lean against the wall, if anything. Don’t think you’d want to go crashing down five floors."

Jack stared at the rail, removing his hand from it, and continued the walk up the creaky stairs. "Smells like sardines in here," he whispered. "Does the guy have anyone clean this place?"

Al shrugged. "Don’t think it’s been cleaned for a month, at least. Landlord’s pretty deaf in his right ear, by the way, so you have to shout if you want his attention. Most of us don’t even bother, because it ends up with more huhs than success."

Jack snorted. "Great," he muttered. "How old is he? Like, one hundred?"

Al laughed. "Nah. I’d say about eighty-five. His name’s Herbert Branson. He’s a pretty decent fellow, even if he can get crabby. Now, another warning," he added, once they reached the fifth floor. "There’s an actor down the hallway who sings at the top of his lungs every night about the same time. I’ve learned to ignore it, though sometimes you have to yell at him to shut up. And there’s a woman who cries for at least an hour. Last night, there was a party in one of the rooms, and I was almost molested by a…well, never mind."

Jack gulped, not sure if he was quite ready for this. But before he could point that out, Al had opened the door to his flat, urging Jack inside. It was even tinier than Mrs. Donnelly’s hotel room, if that was possible. There were no curtains at all on the walls, only covered with large sheets of brown paper. The walls were made of cinderblock, and Jack noticed a hunk of cobwebs in the upper left-hand corner. A spider was crawling up the wall, making him shiver, and he quickly turned away.

There was a small bed with a dark green comforter and white sheets bundled up at the end. "Pardon the mess," Al apologized. "But you know, I wasn’t expecting to come across an old buddy today." He grinned and Jack returned it. He set his bag on the floor, wrinkling his nose as another cloud of dust floated up from it. Sleeping on the floor would probably be an adventure in itself, he decided.

"Here’s a pile of blankets for you to make a bed if you like." Al tossed them to Jack, and he began to make his bed as best he could.

"Are you working today or anything?" Jack asked. "I didn’t mean to stop you from what you were doing earlier."

Al shrugged. "Don’t know. As I said, I don’t really work in any set place. Get a new job almost every day, depending."

Jack wet his lips. "Well, my nose is going to have a time of it in here," he grumbled, giving it another rub. He set the blankets on the floor, arranging them in a sleeping bag-like fashion.

"Geez, Jack." Al snorted. "We may have to get you a breathing mask if you’re gonna survive in here," he added, as Jack sneezed several times. He groaned, wetting his lips and brushing his blonde hair out of his eyes.

"Well, you won’t be able to lose me easily," Jack teased, taking a seat on the desk chair. "Whoa!" He grabbed hold of the table top as the chair swayed, and Al glanced at him.

"Yeah, not in the best of shape, the stuff in here. Might want to sit on the bed, but it sinks in a little." He sat down, making a potbelly of the mattress. Jack joined his friend, picking up his portfolio. "So, where do you want to start with selling your art? Any ideas? You’ll probably need to advertise."

Jack nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "That would be a good idea. Make a sign or something. The main street of town might be good, or the beach."

Al nodded. "Well, the beach can be iffy. It’s usually crowded until about four, and then everyone decides at once to go back for dinner. That’s usually when I go, because I can actually enjoy myself and not worry about being trampled by all the families. But, yeah, for you, you might want to start there around eleven or so."

With Al’s help, Jack made a large colorful sign that advertised his drawings. They dragged a small fold-up table, the old desk chair, and pins to the beach when they were ready to leave.

When they reached the beach, Jack took a deep breath of awe as he stepped onto the sand. Already the place was packed with families. Jack’s eyes caught sight of a little girl waddling towards the surf, her pudgy hands outstretched. "Da!" she shrieked, pointing at a shell.

"Darling, come away from there," a middle-aged woman ordered, though her voice was soft.

"Jack?" Al waved a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Jack. You still here, buddy?"

Jack blinked, looking at him. "Huh? Oh, sorry. Got distracted." The little girl eventually came towards her mother, but stopped short when she saw Jack. She waved her tiny hand, saying, "Hi," in a quiet voice. Jack chuckled, waving back.

"Hey, sweetie," he replied, and the mother came to scoop her daughter up. "I’m so sorry," she apologized, and glanced at Jack’s supplies. "Oh! Are you an artist?"

Jack shrugged. "Well, I’m just starting out, Ma’am."

"How wonderful. There aren’t enough young artists these days that are worthy of the title. Good luck to you," she added, and Jack wasn’t sure whether or not to take the woman’s phrase as a compliment or an insult. He glanced at Al, who was muffling laughter, and rolled his eyes.

"Shut up," he snapped, and tossed his art supplies to his friend. "Take these," he said, and unfolded the poster, holding it in front of the table. "What do you think?" he asked, and Al set the supplies on the sand.

"Looks fine," he admitted. "I could draw customers in, Jack, if you’d be willing to split the earnings." He winked, and Jack smiled.

"You know I’d give you part of it anyway. I can’t thank you enough, Al."

Al shrugged. "My pleasure. Here, let’s tack this thing up, and I’ll start shouting."

Jack snorted. "Shouting what?" he asked, brushing his hair away from his eyes. The sea breeze was particularly strong, and he hoped the rickety table wouldn’t collapse.

"Leave it to me," Al insisted. "Have a seat, sir." Jack smirked, sitting down on the chair. He set his supplies in front of him and took a deep breath. Al was just about to do his first shout when he saw another mother chasing her six-year-old boy towards the table.

"You’re a kid magnet, Jack!" Al scoffed.

Before they knew it, Jack had a line of children nearly a mile long. Parents stood a few feet away while he worked, and Al made faces to keep the fussy ones interested.

At the end of the day, Jack had made a total of three dollars. He was filthy rich, according to Al, who suggested they grab a beer to celebrate.

"What?" Jack asked. "You’re drinking already?"

Al snorted, as though the answer was obvious. "Where have you been, kid? Come on, I’ll get you your first. I know this great joint where the bar tender’ll give you one on the house. Friend of mine."

Jack hesitated…he remembered Esther telling him the danger of the drink, but she never gave up her tradition of wine with dinner.

"One’ll be okay, I guess," he replied, and Al slapped him on the back with approval. After packing up their supplies, they headed off the beach and in the direction of the bar.

Chapter Ten
Stories