Titanic Page #13

No, no. Norwegian. Only.

Helga's eye is caught by something. Fabrizio looks, does a take... and

Jack, curious, follows their gaze to see...

Rose, coming toward them. The activity in the room stops... a hush falls.

Rose feels suddenly self-conscious as the steerage passengers stare openly

at this princess, some with resentment, others with awe. She spots Jack and

gives a little smile, walking straight to him. He rises to meet her,

smiling.

ROSE:

Hello Jack.

Fabrizio and Tommy are floored. Its like the slipper fitting Cinderella.

JACK:

Hello again.

ROSE:

Could I speak to you in private?

JACK:

Uh, yes. Of course. After you.

He motions her ahead and follows. Jack glances over his shoulder, one

eyebrow raised, as he walks out with her leaving a stunned silence.

CUT TO:

73 EXT. BOAT DECK - DAY

Jack and Rose walk side by side. They pass people reading and talking in

steamer chairs, some of whom glance curiously at the mismatched couple. He

feels out of place in his rough clothes. They are both awkward, for

different reasons.

JACK:

So, you got a name by the way?

ROSE:

Rose. Rose DeWitt Bukater.

JACK:

That's quite a moniker. I may hafta get you to write that down.

There is an awkward pause.

ROSE:

Mr. Dawson, I--

JACK:

Jack.

ROSE:

Jack... I feel like such an idiot. It took me all morning to get up the

nerve to face you.

JACK:

Well, here you are.

ROSE:

Here I am. I... I want to thank you for what you did. Not just for... for

pulling me back. But for your discretion.

JACK:

You're welcome. Rose.

ROSE:

Look, I know what you must be thinking! Poor little rich girl. What does

she know about misery?

JACK:

That's not what I was thinking. What I was thinking was... what could have

happened to hurt this girl so much she though she had no way out.

ROSE:

I don't... it wasn't just one thing. It was everything. It was them, it was

their whole world. And I was trapped in it, like an insect in amber.

(in a rush)

I just had to get away... just run and run and run... and then I was at the

back rail and there was no more ship... even the Titanic wasn't big enough.

Not enough to get away from them. And before I'd really though about it, I

was over the rail. I was so furious. I'll show them. They'll be sorry!

JACK:

Uh huh. They'll be sorry. 'Course you'll be dead.

ROSE:

(she lowers her head)

Oh God, I am such an utter fool.

JACK:

That penguin last night, is he one of them?

ROSE:

Penguin? Oh, Cal! He is them.

JACK:

Is he your boyfriend?

ROSE:

Worse I'm afraid.

She shows him her engagement ring. A sizable diamond.

JACK:

Gawd look at that thing! You would have gone straight to the bottom.

They laugh together. A passing steward scowls at Jack, who is clearly not a

first class passenger, but Rose just glares at him away.

JACK:

So you feel like you're stuck on a train you can't get off 'cause you're

marryin' this fella.

ROSE:

Yes, exactly!

JACK:

So don't marry him.

ROSE:

If only it were that simple.

JACK:

It is that simple.

ROSE:

Oh, Jack... please don't judge me until you've seen my world.

JACK:

Well, I guess I will tonight.

Looking for another topic, any other topic, she indicates his sketchbook.

ROSE:

What's this?

JACK:

Just some sketches.

ROSE:

May I?

The question is rhetorical because she has already grabbed the book. She

sits on a deck chair and opens the sketchbook. ON JACK'S sketches... each

one an expressive little bit of humanity: an old woman's hands, a sleeping

man, a father and daughter at the rail. The faces are luminous and alive.

His book is a celebration of the human condition.

ROSE:

Jack, these are quite good! Really, they are.

JACK:

Well, they didn't think too much of 'em in Paree.

Some loose sketches fall out and are taken by the wind. Jack scrambles

after them... catching two, but the rest are gone, over the rail.

ROSE:

Oh no! Oh, I'm so sorry. Truly!

JACK:

Well, they didn't think too much of 'em in Paree.

He snaps his wrist, shaking his drawing hand in a flourish.

JACK:

I just seem to spew 'em out. Besides, they're not worth a damn anyway.

For emphasis he throws away the two he caught. They sail off.

ROSE:

(laughing)

You're deranged!

She goes back to the book, turning a page.

ROSE:

Well, well...

She has come upon a series of nudes. Rose is transfixed by the languid

beauty he has created. His nudes are soulful, real, with expressive hands

and eyes. They feel more like portraits than studies of the human form...

almost uncomfortably intimate. Rose blushes, raising the book as some

strollers go by.

ROSE:

(trying to be very adult)

And these were drawn from life?

JACK:

Yup. That's one of the great things about Paris. Lots of girls willing take

their clothes off.

She studies one drawing in particular, the girl posed half in sunlight,

half in shadow. Her hands lie at her chin, one furled and one open like a

flower, languid and graceful. The drawing is like an Alfred Steiglitz print

of Georgia O'Keefe.

ROSE:

You liked this woman. You used her several times.

JACK:

She had beautiful hands.

ROSE:

(smiling)

I think you must have had a love affair with her...

JACK:

(laughing)

No, no! Just with her hands.

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