If Tomorrow Never Comes

Ode to Titanic

Miranda wasn't fond of the colors in the so called 'Millionaire Suite'. It comprised of two bedrooms, a bath, wardrobe room, and a large sitting room. In addition there was a private fifty foot promenade deck outside.

Miranda was rich, yes, and she was accustomed to nice things. However, this was too much. It looked like something her rival, Jaqueline Follet would jump at. 

Miranda would like to think that she was modest about her money. But never now should she be cautious about it, now that Irv Ravitz was clawing at her throat to get rid of her. Was the magazine really worth all this to Miranda? Maybe a year ago she would have said yes. Hell, maybe even one month ago. But spending quite a bit of time in London had opened her eyes to the unhappiness of the job. 

She was so heavily criticized, for a woman didn't work. But Miranda couldn't fathom the idea of having anyone else in her position. No one could do what she does, and that was the truth. Her icy personality and ambition had gotten her here. Yet, on this ship, she was consequently being targeted for the same things that got her there.

There were other things in factor too. Her unhappy marriage that lay in waiting for her in New York only stirred the negativity, and Miranda's only concern was for her daughters.

At that moment, Caroline and Cassidy Priestly skipped into the room, observing mockups that lay around tables in the sitting room. Miranda watched them carefully.

"That Greece shoot certainly was a waste of money," Irv muttered from the Promenade deck. Miranda imagined he must think she couldn't hear him out there. Irritation boiled around inside her.

"I'm throwing the autumn jackets out, but I think I'll pull up the Sedona shoot," Miranda said, loud enough to catch his attention. She picked up The Book, the only thing she could control on this ship.

"Must be some lousy jackets," Irv commented. 

Nigel swooped in at that particular time, relieving Miranda.

"It won't amount to a thing, Irv, trust me. At least they were cheap," he smiled attemptingly and raised a glass of champagne before nodding his head subtly to Miranda, because the thing about the autumn jackets, is that they weren't cheap. Perhaps it would teach Irv not to play the rich card all the time.

A porter entered the open door to the suite, rolling in a private safe, belonging to Irv of course.

"Ah, put that in the wardrobe," the chairman instructed.

Miranda turned and clutched The Book close to her chest before entering the bedroom. She set it gracefully on the dresser near the canopy bed. Her maid, Emily, was already in there hanging up some of her evening gowns.

Miranda was glad to have the younger woman there. Well, it meant at least two people were on her side.

...

"In Cherbourg, a woman came aboard named Margaret Brown, but we all called her Molly. History would call her the Unksinkable Molly Brown. Her husband had struck gold someplace out west, and she was what mother called 'new money'. By the next afternoon, we had made our final stop and we were steaming west from the coast of Ireland, with nothing out ahead of us but ocean."

...

In the early afternoon, the ship seemed to glow with a warm creamy light.

Andy and Lily had wandered across the deck and found their way to the curved railing of the bow. Andy leaned over cautiously, watching as the water broke into a hard shaped V that would trail behind the ship. The prow cut the surface like a knife, throwing up sheets of water.