Make Each Day Count

Jack Dawson

Rose and I were in the sitting room of our suite. She was just looking around while Trudy and I were organizing the paintings that I brought with me. I was looking for one specific.

"This one?" Trudy asked and held up a painting. I shook my head.

"No... It had a lot of faces on it." I continued rummaging until I found it. "This is the one."

"Would you like them all out, miss?" Trudy asked. I nodded.

"Yes, we need a lot of color in this room." I replied when Lovejoy came in and ordered one of the stewards who had just came in with a big trunk.

"Put it in the wardrobe." He said. Cal came in from the promenade deck and leaned against the doorway.

"God, not those finger paintings again." He complained. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing my anger so I ignored him. "They're absolutely horrible. Don't you agree Rose?" He then asked.

"Yes, quite the waste of money." Rose answered, with no emotion. I sighed and turned to Trudy.

"The difference between Rose and Cal's taste in art and mine is that I have some. They're fascinating... Like being in a dream or something. There's truth but no logic." I trailed of.

"Who's the artist?" Trudy asked.

"Uh... Something Picasso." I said as I couldn't remember the full name.

"Something Picasso." Cal mocked and took a sip of his champagne. "He won't amount a thing. He won't, trust me!" He called after me when I walked away.

***

We were sitting down for lunch with the managing director of the White Star Line, Bruce Ismay, the ships' designer, Thomas Andrews of Harland and Wolf Shipbuilder, and Molly Brown, much to my mother's dismay. I was sitting on Cal's right side while Rose was on the left. And to be honest I was bored to death. I hadn't paid any attention what so ever to the conversation. I placed a cigarette in a holder and lit it. It was the best entertainment I could get in a while. Mother leaned closer to me.

"You know I don't like that, Daisy." She said sternly. I turned to her and gave her a look that said 'and what do you intend to do about it?' and blew the smoke in her face. Cal sighed, took the cigarette from the holder and stubbed it out.

"Of course she knows." He said. I glared at him. Then he turned to the waiter. "The three of us will have lamb, rare, with very little mint sauce. You like lamb, don't you, ladies?" Rose nodded while I just gave him a big, fat sarcastic smile.

"You gonna cut their meat for them too, Cal?" Molly joked. The she turned to Mr Ismay. "Who came up with the name Titanic anyway? Was it you, Bruce?"

"Yes, actually," he replied. "I wanted to convey sheer size, and size means stability, luxury, and above all, strength." He boasted.

"Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay?" I snapped. "His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be particular interest to you."

Mr. Andrews choked a bit on his breadsticks as he suppressed his laughter. Molly grinned and Rose giggled but tried to cover it with a cough when mother glared at her. She was mortified.

"What's gotten into to you?" She hissed but I ignored her as I stood up.

"Excuse me." I muttered and rushed out.

***

Jack's POV

I was sketching this little girl named Cora and her father, as they were looking at the sea. Fabrizio glanced down at the drawing and nodded in approval.