Titanic 2012 Part 2

Harlan chuckled. "You guys look as if someone were about to tell you you'd all gone broke." His expression changed again, turning serious. "Well, I've done it, boys...."

"Done what, for Christ's sake?" Solly cried.

"I've rebuilt the t.i.tanic."

The words hung in the air for a long, awkward moment, and then the three of us burst out laughing.

"Oh, that's rich, Astor, really rich," Solly said, putting down his drink.

Harlan gazed down into his scotch, appearing to study the rainbow reflections dancing off the facets cut into the tumbler. "You guys think I'm kidding," he mumbled.

"h.e.l.l, yes," Ken said. "I lost count of all the pranks you pulled during school, not to mention those joke gifts you send us every Christmas. Besides, how the h.e.l.l could you build that boat without the world knowing it? It's not exactly-"

"Normal?" Harlan said, cutting him off. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?" Anger had turned his face a mottled pink.

"No, Harlan, it wasn't," Ken said, shooting me a troubled look.

I felt things were getting out of hand, joke or not. "Come on, you guys, it's not worth arguing over."

Harlan turned his laser beam gaze toward me. "Not worth it? You forget my great-grandfather died on that s.h.i.+p. As well as fifteen hundred others."

"So, what's your point?" Solly said, all humor gone.

For a moment, Harlan was left without a response, then his characteristic swagger returned. "My point is it's nearly the hundredth anniversary of the sinking. I want to honor them."

"By rebuilding the worst symbol of twentieth century excess?" I said.

"Right down to the last rivet."

"But didn't they pa.s.s a bunch of new laws because of the sinking?" Ken asked, stifling a burp. "You couldn't sell tickets or even legally sail it."

Harlan cracked a wry grin. "Who said I was selling tickets?"

I shook my head.

"Wait a minute. Money aside, I still can't see how you could do all this without someone finding out. You'd have to have a construction crew of at least ten thousand on a project like that."

"Fifteen thousand," Harlan replied, icy calm.

"That's a lot of flapping gums, Astor," Solly added, knocking back another gulp of whiskey.

"I promised each worker a $10,000 bonus if the s.h.i.+p reached completion in utter secrecy. In Poland that's still a b.l.o.o.d.y fortune."

Ken's jaw dropped. "Jesus Christ! That's-"

"About a hundred and fifty million.... Plus another six hundred million for the s.h.i.+p. It's going to be perfect."

"You've lost it, pal." Solly said, shaking his head. "Really lost it."

"Well, then, I guess you won't want a berth on its maiden voyage next April."

"You got that right. It's a G.o.dd.a.m.n waste." He chuckled drily. "You gonna bring your own iceberg, too?"

Solly's laugh grated on me, as did his obvious contempt for our friend. Maybe he was jealous that someone would blow that kind of money on a personal whim-a fantasy. Then again, maybe he had a point. Maybe Harlan was losing it. Still- "How about the rest of you?" Harlan asked, his narrowed eyes darting from one man to the next.

Ken shrugged and stared into his drink. "I can't think that far ahead, Harlan. You know me."

"Trev?"

I hesitated only a moment before speaking.

"I think it's probably the nuttiest thing you've ever done, Harlan, but if you'll have me, I'd like to go. Maybe I'll write an article about it."

Harlan's face split into the widest grin I'd ever seen him make.

"Somehow, I knew I could count on you, Trev."

Solly drained his drink and stood up. "Well, it was grand seeing you guys, but I gotta go. Promised Karen, we'd catch a Broadway show tonight. You coming, Faust?"

Ken shot a nervous glance at Harlan, then stood up. "Yeah, great to see you guys."

A moment later the two of them were gone, and I saw a visible change come over Harlan. He sagged in his chair, suddenly looking far older than his forty-two years.

"Have I lost it, Trev?" he asked, staring at his hands. I noticed they were fists, the knuckles white.

"I loved that film as much as you, maybe more. But you have to admit, it's an awful lot of money to spend on a dream."

Harlan met my eyes then, his own like two smoldering embers. "Is it...? I've often wondered about that, kiddo. Maybe, when all is said and done, all we've really got are our dreams...."

We went our separate ways a few minutes later, and during the drive back to Charlestown I kept running Harlan's last statement through my mind. While I could sense the excitement in him over this incredible project of his, I couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere underneath it all, something was troubling him. I tried to call him, but his cell phone was turned off.

When I got home, there was a message from my agent and one from Julia. Suddenly, I very much wanted to talk to her to get her take on what Harlan had told us. She picked up the phone in her office on the first ring, unusual for her.

"This is Dr. Magnusson, may I help you?"

"Hi, your secretary leave early?"

"I wish," she said, her voice tight with exhaustion. "She called in sick this morning and the phone's been ringing off the hook. Half my patients are down with some kind of bug."

"I'm sorry, I guess the last thing you want to hear is how the reunion went."

"Actually, I could use some distraction. How about dinner? My place."

"How about we order in?"

"Even better. See you at seven?"

Julia lived on the summit of Beacon Hill, and from her apartment situated atop a two hundred-year-old Federalist town house, nestled in the shadow of the State House, her view was nothing short of breathtaking. At night, the lights twinkling from Cambridge and Back Bay looked like an electric tapestry.

I arrived at 7:05 bearing two large bags filled with several cartons of food from her favorite Chinese restaurant down on Charles Street.

She'd already prepared the table with plates, silverware, an open bottle of Chardonnay, and a pair of flickering candles.

"G.o.d, that smells good," she said, kissing me and grabbing one of the food bags out of my arms.

I followed her to the table and the two of us began dis.h.i.+ng out the egg rolls, Kung Pao Chicken and steamed rice.

"Almost as good as you look," I said.

She laughed. "Flattery will get you everywhere. Especially today."

"That bad?"

"You don't want to know. The one appointment that did show, came only long enough to tell me she was quitting therapy. Said she was getting married and didn't need me anymore." She took a bite of the spicy chicken dish and rolled her eyes in ecstasy. "d.a.m.n this is good. How'd you know I was thinking about this?"

"I know you all-too-well, Ms. Freud."

"You do at that. So how is Harvard faring?"

Without going into excruciating detail, I filled her in on my day.

Even with the "Reader's Digest" version I was giving her, I could tell she was only paying partial attention, her thoughts no doubt consumed with her own problems. But when I got to Harlan's fantastic revelation, her whole demeanor changed.

"He actually said he was rebuilding the t.i.tanic?" she asked, giving me a dubious look.

I nodded, grabbing for the carton of rice. "Wild, huh?"

"I think your friend is in need of serious therapy."

I laughed. "That's what the rest of us thought, too. But when I saw the look in his eyes, I could tell he was serious-more than that, actually. Haunted would be a better word."

Julia frowned.

"Has Harlan ever talked like this before?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Has he ever demonstrated behavior like this in the past."

"Do you mean, has he ever blurted out something grandiose, and not followed through with it?"

She shook her head. "No, you said he was 'haunted,' that's what I mean."

"About what?"

"Did he appear to be reacting to unseen stimuli, like hearing voices?"

I put down my fork.

"Julia, what are you talking about?"

"I think your friend might be borderline delusional."

"Whoa," I said, holding up my hands. "Time out. Just because my friend, as you put it-my obscenely rich friend, I might add-says he's rebuilding the t.i.tanic, you're ready to pack him off to the loony bin?"

"I didn't say that. But you have to admit it's a pretty wacky thing to do."

"Yes, I said that, but-"

"And just to honor his great-grandfather and the others who died?" She shook her head and picked up her gla.s.s of wine. "If he's not having a psychotic break, he's got the most colossal ego I've ever seen, not to mention it's a colossal waste of money, too. My G.o.d, he could do so much more good just giving it to his favorite charity."

"Well, he's not. And that's his business," I said. "The money thing really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does. What the h.e.l.l is he going to do with it, anyway? Charter rides?"

I smiled at the thought. "That wouldn't be a half-bad idea. I can think of a few million people who'd jump at the chance. h.e.l.l, I'd like to. In fact, he's invited me on the maiden voyage."

I saw a look flash across her face, a mixture of shock and anger, and something else I couldn't read. "And what did you tell him?"

"That I'd love to write an article about it."

"Hey, why not a whole d.a.m.n book?" Her voice had taken on an edge. "You can call it, Ego Trip."

"What the h.e.l.l is with you?"

She threw down her napkin and stood up. "I don't know, maybe I'm superst.i.tious. Maybe I don't think anything good can come out of rebuilding that s.h.i.+p! Maybe I don't want you to go, all right?"

She started to cry, large tears, like pearls, welling out of her eyes. I went to her and took her in my arms, feeling her body trembling against mine. If the situation weren't so ludicrous, I would have been aroused.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, it's not the end of the world," I said, caressing her hair. "It's just a stupid boat ride. Besides, I don't even know if I'm going to have the time. I've still got to finish the new book, or it's sayonara, Conrad Holm, h.e.l.lo unemployment."

"But you want to go, you just said you did."

"I said I'd like to. That doesn't mean I will."

She pulled away and looked me in the eye, her manner calmer. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm just a little too much on edge lately. My practice is going to h.e.l.l and this just pushed me over."

"What's really bothering you, Julia? It can't be just about me going on that s.h.i.+p."

"But it is, Trev. You forget, I saw that movie, too. I know the power it has. It makes people want to be a part of that world. And that's not normal."

I shrugged. "Maybe, not. But look at the world we live in. Was that one so bad?"

"In some ways, yes-some ways, no. The point is it's gone, and no amount of money in the world is ever going to bring it back."

Looking into her face at that moment, it dawned on me. "My G.o.d, you think I'm going to meet someone, that I'm going to have some kind of s.h.i.+pboard fling, don't you?"

She remained silent, staring out the bay window.