Titanic

{Chapter Eight}

.  .  .  .  .

The mooring lines, about as big as a man's arm, were dropped into the water. A cheer went up the pier as seven tugs pulled Titanic away from the quay.

Jack and Fabrizio burst through a door onto the aft well deck. They ran across it and up the steel stairs to the poop deck. They got to the rail, and Jack started to yell and wave to the crowd on the pier.

"You know somebody?" asked Fabrizio.

"Of course not. That's not the point." Jack continued to shout to the crowd. "Good-bye! Good-bye! I'll miss you!"

Grinning, Fabrizio joined in, adding his voice to the swell of others, feeling the exhilaration of the moment. "Good-bye! I will never forget you!"

The crowd of cheering well-wishers waved heartily as a black wall moved past them. Impossibly tiny figures waved back from the ship's rails.

Titanic gathered speed.

The prow of Titanic dwarfed the lead tug. The bow wave spread before the mighty prow of the liner's hull as it moved down the River Test toward the English Channel.

. . . . .

 Jack and Fabrizio walked down a narrow corridor with doors lining both sides like a college dorm. There was total confusion as people argued over luggage in several languages, or wandered in bewilderment through the labyrinth. They passed emigrants studying the signs over the doors, and looking up the words in phrase books.

They found their berth. It was a modest cubical, painted enamel white, with four bunks. There were exposed pipes overhead. The other two men were already there: Olaus and Bjorn Gundersen.

Jack threw his kit on one open bunk, while Fabrizio took the other.

Jack turned and greeted the other men. "Hi." He slapped their backs. "Jack Dawson. Nice to meet ya'." He went back to talking to Fabrizio.

Bjorn spoke to his cousin in Swedish. "Var är Sven?" ("Where's Sven?")

. . . . .

In stark contrast to steerage, the so-called "Millionaire Suite" was in the Empire style, and comprised two bedrooms, a bath, a water closet, a wardrobe room, and a large sitting room. In addition, there was a private, fifty-foot promenade deck outside.

A room service waiter poured champagne into a tulip glass of orange juice and handed the Bucks Fizz to Rose. She was looking through her new paintings. There was a Monet of Water Lilies, a Degas of Dancers, and a few abstract works. They were all unknown paintings...lost art.

Cal was out on the covered deck - which had potted trees and vines on trellises - and was talking through the doorway to Rose in the sitting room. "Those finger paintings were certainly a waste of money."

Rose looked at a cubist portrait. "The difference between Cal's taste in art and mine is that I have some. They're fascinating. Like being inside a dream or something...there's truth but no logic. What's his name again?" She read off of the canvas. "Picasso."

Cal came into the sitting room. "He'll never amount to a thing. He won't. Trust me. At least they were cheap."

A porter wheeled Cal's private safe into the room on a hand truck.

"Put that in the wardrobe," Lovejoy instructed him.

In the bedroom, Rose entered with the large Degas of Dancers. She set it on the dresser, near the canopy bed. Trudy was already in there, hanging up some of Rose's clothes.

"It smells so brand new," she exclaimed. "Like they built it all just for us. I mean...just think tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll be the first--"

Cal appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. Looking at Rose, he commented, "And tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll still be the first."

Trudy blushed at the innuendo. "Excuse me, Miss." She edged around Cal and made a quick exit.

Cal came up behind Rose and placed his hands on her shoulders. An act of possession. Not intimacy. "The first and only. Forever."

Rose's expression showed how bleak a prospect this was for her now.

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Use of a deleted scene in this one!  I'll make sure to always credit the deleted scenes.  Remember to vote, comment, and share!