Titanic 2012 Part 16

"So they tell me, sir." He uncorked a bottle of champagne and placed it in an ice bucket. "If you require anything else, please use the buzzer."

He went to the door, and was about to exit, then stopped himself. He turned to us and bowed. "Miss Regehr, it is a pleasure to meet you, even under these somewhat inconvenient circ.u.mstances."

"You, too, Henry," she said, stifling another giggle.

Henry smiled and left us, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"You hungry?" I asked.

"Are you nuts?"

She laughed and bounded from the bed, now completely at ease with me seeing her scar.

We attacked the food, which turned out to be tournedos of beef grilled to perfection and smothered with a bearnaise sauce, accompanied by asparagus and au gratin potatoes.

"Not exactly for the Lipitor set," Maddy said, cutting into the beef. She took a bite, her eyes closing in gastronomic ecstasy.

"G.o.d, this is good."

"It's typical Edwardian fare," I said, pouring us each some of the cold, dry champagne. "Their sole reason for living was to enjoy life to the fullest." I handed her a flute filled with the champagne and she clinked it against mine. "Here's to a wonderful afternoon and the evening to come."

"And to many more just like it," I added.

Maddy's smile dimmed a few degrees when she put the gla.s.s to her lips, but I chose to ignore it at the time.

"How many more interviews are you going to conduct?" she asked, pus.h.i.+ng the conversation into another realm.

"I haven't really given it a lot of thought, to tell you the truth. I sort of take them as they come."

"Have you decided how you're going to work them into the book?"

I shrugged, taking a bite of the sauce-soaked beef, feeling it melt on my tongue. "More or less. I'm thinking the best way to approach it is to seed them throughout the ma.n.u.script as interludes and counterpoint to the main narrative. I'll leave them as they are, letting them speak for themselves."

"That sounds terrific. Have you written anything yet, and can I read it?"

I told her about my dispatches and the first two chapters I'd written. "I usually don't like people reading my unfinished material, though. It would be like going to the movies and seeing a rough cut without the music and the sound effects. It's not the same."

"I know what you mean. I went through the same thing with my first job, until I realized my clients had to see and approve things as we went along. I'd really like to see what you've done, and I promise not to be judgmental," she said, once again holding up her hand, a twinkle in her eyes.

Rather than argue, I went to my dresser and pulled out my MacBook, turning it on as I handed it to her. Standing behind her, I called up my word processor and pulled up the two files. "When you finish, just close out the program," I said, moving back to my seat. I watched her eyes scanning the screen for a moment, then turned my attention back to the meal, though my stomach now tightened with apprehension.

What I'd said to her about people reading unfinished material was only half-true. Unfinished material was exactly that-unfinished, and I often changed many things before I considered a piece "finished." The other reason I didn't do it was because I couldn't stand watching someone read my writing. It was sheer agony. And this time was worse than most, for I truly cared what Maddy thought of it, more so than the potential millions who'd eventually read it.

I was just finis.h.i.+ng the last of my potatoes when she snapped off the power to the computer, closed its lid and laid it gently on the table.

Her expression was unreadable, and that somehow made it worse than if she wore a visible frown. "What did you think?" I asked, trying to appear nonchalant while I examined the dessert. It was a pastry confection I couldn't identify, but which under normal circ.u.mstances would have tempted me.

"You want the truth, or the sugar-coated version?"

I collapsed back in to the chair, exhaling a defeated sigh. I then met her gaze head on. "The truth, and nothing less."

She continued to stare at me with that same flat expression to the point where I was ready to scream, then cracked a wide grin. "It's one of the best things I've ever read."

"Really?" I said, relieved and excited all at once.

"I kept wanting it to go on. When I reached the last page, and it wouldn't scroll any further, I actually got angry with you."

Well, that explained her initial reaction.

"I'm so glad you feel that way, you've really made my day."

She shot me a mock-indignant look. "Oh, and the last couple of hours was just chopped liver, I suppose?"

I grinned. "Decidedly not. But writers work so d.a.m.ned hard to keep their readers entertained and engrossed in their make-believe worlds, we're starved for any kind of praise. Don't get me wrong, having a best-seller and the money that comes from it is beyond great, but it's not the same as one reader telling you you've made a difference in their lives."

Maddy refilled our champagne gla.s.ses, then raised hers. "To your success."

We drank and then fell silent, both of us unsure what to say next. Maddy finally broke the stalemate. "So...am I going to be in it?" she asked in a quiet voice, staring down at her hands.

"If you'll let me interview you."

She shook her head, suddenly angry.

"I can't, I told you that!"

"Why, Maddy? It's not as if we're strangers anymore."

If I expected her to be reasonable at this point, I was in for a rude awakening. She stood up and began to dress, yanking on her clothes with swift angry moves.

I rose from my chair, went to her, and tried to take her in my arms. She shrugged me off and continued putting on her clothes.

"All right, I'm sorry," I said, backing off. "Just forget I mentioned it, okay?"

She looked at me, her eyes clouded with tears. "I'm sorry, too, Trevor, but you just wouldn't understand how it is."

I threw up my hands. "Why don't you try me? If you trust me enough with your heart, you ought to be able to talk about it. It can't be that bad."

"It's bad," she said, pulling on her blouse.

"Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe I can't ever understand how it is, but being raped is not the end of the world, you know. People get past it."

She stopped moving and stared at me, her jacket half on, a look of astonishment on her face, and then, incredibly, she laughed. It was a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Is that what you think? That I was raped?"

"How else do I explain what happened on the promenade the other night. When I started to touch your breast, you flipped out."

Maddy shook her head, another fat tear rolling down her face. "Oh, Trevor, you really don't understand anything, do you? I'll see you later, okay?"

And without waiting for my answer, she stormed out of the suite, leaving me in utter bewilderment.

Henry entered a couple of minutes later and began clearing away the dishes, leading me to wonder if he'd been hovering outside and how much he'd heard. If he had heard anything, he pretended otherwise.

And I didn't enlighten him. I wasn't in the mood for his advice at the moment, anyway.

I had Henry draw me a bath and I spent the next twenty minutes soaking, trying to sort out what had just happened. Nothing I came up with made any sense, so I decided to try and salvage what I could of the day and do some work. It was time to find another interviewee.

After toweling off, I dressed in simple casual clothes: a pair of khaki trousers and a polo s.h.i.+rt and a sweater, my normal working attire.

I then grabbed my iPod touch and camera gla.s.ses, made my way up to the First Cla.s.s Lounge and scoped out the inhabitants. I spied a young man seated in a comfortable chair reading a book. When I drew closer, I smiled. The book was one of mine, and it gave me the perfect entre.

"Excuse me, but would you mind if I asked you some questions?"

The young man looked up from his book, a preoccupied look on his face and a refusal on his lips. Then he focused on my face, recognition blooming in his widening eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you, at first," he said, standing up. "I really enjoy your work."

He extended his hand, and I shook it, feeling his cool flesh against mine.

"Thank you, I appreciate that." I pointed to the book. "What part are you up to?"

"The part where Conrad is being pressured by the Don to become his daughter's bodyguard."

I nodded, smiling. "There's a good part coming up."

"Oh, don't tell me, don't tell me," he said, smiling.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mister...."

"Kevin, Kevin Subleski." He stuck out his hand again, then remembering that we'd already shaken hands, withdrew it, placing it awkwardly into his pocket. The other one hung onto the book, a finger stuck into the pages to hold his place.

"Would you like me to sign that for you?"

"Would you?"

"My pleasure."

He handed me the volume and, being careful not to lose his place, I took out my pen and wrote him a little note, then signed my name in a sweeping style I developed just for giving autographs.

One thing I could never abide was waiting to get someone's autograph, only to find they'd signed it in an illegible scrawl. I always made it a point of honor that every signature I penned was a work of art. "There you go," I said, handing it to him.

"Gee, thanks," he said. "You said you wanted to ask me some questions?"

"Yes. Why don't we sit down, if that's okay?"

"Oh, sure," he said, plopping back down into his reading chair. I pulled one up catty-corner and placed my iPod touch on the small coffee table between us. My camera gla.s.ses were already in place. While I prepped the iPod touch, I took the time to examine him out of the corner of my eye. He was tall and gangly, looking like a young Abe Lincoln, whom he resembled in other superficial ways. His hair was a reddish brown and hung down about his angular face in a boyish cut that looked as if it defied styling of any kind. And though he appeared to be what many would call provincial, his hazel eyes were bright and intelligent.

"You need character quirks for a new book? That why you want to talk to me?"

"Something like that," I said, reaching for the start b.u.t.ton.

13.

Interview with Kevin Subleski Location: First Cla.s.s Lounge "That one of the new 256-gig models?" Kevin asked, his fascination with my device clearly evident.

"That's right," I replied. "I can record about four hours of hi-def 1080p video and audio. Later on, I'll download it to my computer and burn DVDs for backup."

The young man nodded, an easy grin playing across his face.

"Well, I hope I'll give you your money's worth. What did you want to know?"

I told him.

"All right, then. Like I said, my name's Kevin Subleski, I'm thirty years old and I've spent the better part of my life trying to find out what I wanted to be when I grew up. Sounds pretty sixties, huh?

"I was raised in one of those one-horse burgs outside Dallas, the kind of small town everybody wishes they lived in. Well, let me tell you, it's no different than living in a big city. The only difference is you know the person who's s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g you. Actually, my childhood was pretty good, for the most part. My parents were dyed-in-the-wool Baptists. Didn't drink, smoke, play cards, or dance. Real strait-laced. Guess that's why when I hit the teenage years, I got kind of wild, you know?"

I smiled. "I can guess."

"Well, let me save you the effort. I took to alcohol like I was born to it. You know, I read that addiction is genetic, and I've often wondered whether my Mom or Dad were alcoholics and were suppressing it, 'cause of their religion, sort of a latent thing. Anyway, me and my buddies began drinkin' and carryin' on something awful. Got arrested a few times. I tell you my parents were fit to be tied. But the funny thing was, as G.o.d-fearing as they were, they were afraid to hit me or do anything to discipline me, for fear I'd hate 'em or something."

"But it all changed, didn't it?"

Kevin nodded, "Yes, sir, it did. My mom got cancer when I turned eighteen, raced through her like water running downhill. She was dead inside of two months. After that, my father kind of fell apart. He spent the next year and a half moping around until he had a heart attack one day sitting on the john. I was an orphan at twenty."

"How did you feel about that?"

Kevin stared at his big hands, the fingernails bitten to the quick.

"You want the truth? Yes, I suppose that's the point of all this, isn't it? Truth was, I was relieved. I had nothing left to hold me in that dusty little town.

"First thing I did was take the money my parents left me and hit the road. Made it my goal to hitch from Maine to Alaska in a year.

Took me two and a half, and d.a.m.ned near killed me. I ended up in a hospital in Nome with frostbite on both feet, lost half my toes. I spent my twenty-third birthday in the hospital. One good thing, though.... When I told the night nurse, she gave me the best present a kid could have. Snuck back in after my roommate had fallen asleep and screwed my brains out. She was a pretty little thing, though not much in the attic, if you know what I mean. Anyway, after I healed, I headed down the Pacific Coast, working my way with odd jobs. Some of them actually paid pretty well, as I recall. It was another year 'fore I reached Los Angeles."

"You stayed there for a while?"

Kevin nodded, that easy grin coming back.

"I hung around some of the studios and managed to luck into extra work. Maybe you've seen me? I was in a couple of sitcoms, one where I was featured every week. Never had any lines though, director said my accent was too thick. h.e.l.l, I should have tried out for a Western series, or something.

"I see you're still wondering how I came to be on this boat, aren't you?"

"It did cross my mind," I said, smiling.