I have no time left to read my book. As if I could even focus on the words now. I walk across the room to put the finishing touches on my outfit before we have to leave.
I stand in the mirror examining myself as I pull on the matching long evening gloves. I have to admit that I’m impressed by the work of Dr. Conrad and Dr. McCoy’s design team. The dress is exquisite and I actually feel beautiful in it. I swish in the mirror with a slight air of playful confidence. In my reflection, I can see Ben walk through the doorway behind me, fully dressed and dashing as ever. Ben stands in a black tailcoat with satin lapels and a pointed front waist. He has a white formal shirt, waistcoat, and trousers that match his tailcoat. His bowtie is in hand. He has never figured those out. He’s combed his hair back into place after the breeze on deck shifted it slightly.
I turn around to face him and he looks at me, both surprised and impressed. He takes my hand and stands back, playfully fawning over me. “Wow, Al. You look incredible.”
“Thanks. You—”
“Oh, I know!” He interrupts and moves in a small twirl to show me the entire ensemble.
Ben is joking, but I know he is impressed with how well put together he looks. He’s the best-dressed person in any room he walks into, not even for his fashion, but for the self-assurance that oozes from him. I wish I could bottle even an ounce of his confidence.
He looks down at his hand with the undone bowtie and back up at me with a face of childlike helplessness, waiting for me to offer to save him. “You know I’m hopeless with these.”
I smirk and grab the bowtie from him. I slip it around his neck and tie it.
“Hey, what do you think about Harrison?” I’m looking for any kind of acknowledgment that the bad vibes I get from him aren’t just in my head. History remembers him fondly, but something about him doesn’t seem right to me.
“He’s cute, but not my type.” Ben winks at me as I roll my eyes.
Ben sighs and relents. He can tell that I don’t want to have dinner with him, converse with him, or even command his attention at all. “Honestly, Al, he’s pretty arrogant. He seems like a colossal asshole. But we’re supposed to be conversing with the who’s who on the ship, and he’s unfortunately a member of the elite. I’m sure we will have a lot to learn at dinner.”
“You’re right.” I smile, reassured for now, and slip my beaded bag around my left wrist. I’m thankful that at least my poor opinion of Edward isn’t unfounded, and that Ben shares similar concerns. “Ready then?” Ben takes my right arm and leads me out the door.
The hallway is busy with Titanic’s rich and famous all making their way to dinner. Ben and I follow the crowd and he politely bows his head toward the other gentlemen as we walk. We descend from the Grand Staircase to the First Class Dining Room on D-Deck. The room is vast and decorated in white wooden paneling with a blue linoleum tile floor that has a red and yellow pattern. The sheer size of the room is overwhelming; however, I find it sterile and cold. The dining room is beautiful and adorned with the finest decor and furnishings. It is bustling with passengers and conversation, but I feel completely alone.
As we enter the room and make our way toward Edward’s table, many guests have grouped themselves into cliques, no doubt discussing any salacious gossip that may have come aboard. I see the eyes of some of them look at Ben and I with interest, but I keep my gaze forward and try to mimic his confidence. I take a small amount of amusement because it feels like high school all over again. Everyone separates into their social circles, judging those around them while hoping no one sees the skeletons in their own closet. Some things never really change, I suppose. We approach Edward’s table and he stands up, with two empty seats to his right. I stare at the empty seat directly next to him with dread.
Please don’t let that one be mine. Please don’t let that one be mine.Please.
“There you are! I’d like you to meet everyone.” He gestures toward the large crowded table and suddenly I feel like I’m on a stage intended to perform the song I no longer know the words to. “Allow me to introduce my new acquaintances, Mr. Benjamin Turner and his sister, Miss Alice Turner.” He enunciates the word “sister” in a way that makes me internally shudder as if he is not just trying to make it clear that I am single and available, but more so, laying claim that I am his. It’s like I am undiscovered territory and he has just planted his flag of ownership in me. I, however disgusted, smile politely and properly greet each guest that I am introduced to.
“Miss Alice, I saved this seat for you, so we can get to know each other,” Edward says with a sickly sweet smile as he pulls out the chair directly next to him and waits for me to sit down in it. He goes through the motions of chivalry and gentlemanly behavior, but it’s empty and insincere. I look at Ben, who is helpless to save me and sit down. I take great care to mind the appearance of my gown as I attempt to sit in a proper ladylike posture.
There are seven other guests seated with us, and they all seem to be in the same elite social circle as Edward. Arthur Harrison, Edward’s uncle, sits across the table from him. They’re both in the center of the table, no doubt to hear everything and be able to control the conversation. On Edward’s left is his cousin, Francis Holt, his wife Helen, and their daughter Daphne. At the far end of the table is Joseph King, a friend of Edward’s from university. He travels with his wife Cecilia and her sister Martha. I can see the resemblance between the sisters as they both examine me up and down and whisper to each other. I don’t know if they suspect anything or just don’t like me. I assume they are uncertain of Ben and me, likely having never heard of our family or our business before. Perhaps they also see Edward’s attention directed toward me and are intrigued by whatever attachment they think is forming.
I stare at the table before me, examining the intricate design on the porcelain plates. There is enough cutlery laid out for a family of six, and yet it is all just for me. I panic for a moment, hoping to recall the order of cutlery from the etiquette lessons we took to prepare for this. I glance at the menu for the evening. It lists ten courses. Everything from oysters, to roast duckling, to French ice cream. It all sounds wonderful, but I’d kill for a cheeseburger right now. Not some gourmet burger with farm-sourced cheeses and bacon jam, but the most unhealthy burger you can imagine from your favorite local hole-in-the-wall. The kind of place that is covered in fifty years’ worth of grease and oil so thick that you don’t know how health and safety inspections have allowed it to stay open. The kind of burger where just from the sight of it, you can feel your arteries blocking up. The image in my head of attempting to eat a greasy burger in my silk gloves in front of this horrified audience is almost enough for me to crack and laugh out loud.
As we work through the courses, the table is robust with conversation. Some of the conversation is quite entertaining and even relatable. I find the banter between Francis and his wife, Helen, quite refreshing and amusing. It is a stark contrast to how rigid and separate Joseph and Cecilia King seem. I can only assume that this is perhaps a difference between a marriage based on affection rather than convenience or gain. I find it interesting that Francis and the Harrisons are related, as Francis is much warmer and friendlier than Edward or Arthur.
Ben is doing his best work filling in the gaps of our life story. He is quite adept at telling somewhat truthful stories about us but sprinkling in enough falsehoods to cover up the modern details. His skill as a raconteur commands attention in any century.
Edward interjects often with stories that are intended to impress me. I suppose on paper, everything he says and the way he acts is entirely normal and proper of the time. This is what he has been taught to do, I remind myself. For a moment, I think perhaps I judged a successful man too harshly, and maybe my prejudice got the better of me. Maybe I wanted to dislike him, and so I found any detail that would make it easy to do so. But then I watch him wordlessly motion to the wait staff when he wants more wine and I realize my first impression was accurate. I thank the server each time they fill my glass or clear a plate. Edward seems impressed by my manners, but doesn’t feel the need to replicate them himself. Something in his manner of speaking is just insufferable, and the more he talks and the larger he makes himself seem, the smaller I feel. I’ve always felt like you can tell a lot about someone by how they treat people in the service industry. Edward clearly sees people as those above and those below.
I don’t know why, but the evening gloves are perhaps the worst part. I feel trapped in them. They are more restrictive than even the corset. It feels as though my skin cannot breathe, like every inch of me is caged. I’m grateful that dinner is drawing to a close soon. Edward continues to talk. I think he enjoys listening to himself. He seems pleased at how well I listen and smile innocently. Little does he realize I’m really thinking of different ways to remove his head from his body. My fork pierced through his neck. The champagne bottle smashed over his head. Anything for a moment of peace without his incessant fabrications of personal and professional heroics. I find it quite convenient that he is the hero of every story he tells.
As the server clears the last dishes from the table, Edward stands and smooths out his tailcoat. I know what this means. I’m about to be free.Thank fucking God.
“Your company has been lovely ladies, but I believe it is time for cigars and brandy. Gentlemen, shall we?” Ben has been preparing for this, but immediately looks over at me with concern. The confidence he has had on parade tonight drains from his face. I know he’s nervous about splitting up for the first time. Will we be able to keep up this charade if we do not have each other to lean on? I admit I am not sure if he worries more about keeping his own appearances up when we’re apart, or my ability to do so without his help.
“Do you mind, Alice?” He asks like he needs my permission. We both know how crucial these sessions of cigars and brandy are. He can learn unknown trade secrets of major business empires, secrets that perhaps went down with the ship. In order to keep up this appearance, he really shouldn’t be asking my permission. He should take charge, and I should be the quiet follower.
I nod at him sweetly. “Not at all, Benjamin. I am quite tired. It has been a long day and I’m sure you could use company more riveting than mine. I shall walk back to the suite. It won’t take long.” It feels weird calling him Benjamin. I only ever use his full name when I’m annoyed, though I know it is proper for the time we find ourselves in. I appreciate his care in making sure I’m okay. I know that underneath the etiquette displayed in his question, he genuinely wants to know if I will be alright. He knows my face and what I try to hide. He could see how uncomfortable I was at dinner. It’s difficult for me to bite my tongue and act only as a spectator rather than an active participant.
Ben leans into my ear and whispers. “You sure you’re okay?” Maybe we should have a code word or something, so that we know when a situation is undesirable. He gently kisses me on the cheek before stepping back to examine my face.
I silently nod, fake a smile, and watch as he leaves with the other gentlemen. The ladies stay at the table to continue discussing mundane topics. Apparently, the French lace tablecloths Cecilia King ordered for her daughter’s cotillion were not the ones she received.Oh, the horror!The dresses are being shipped in from Italy and the designer is taking too long.How will you survive?I consider throwing a curveball at them and getting a rousing conversation about women’s suffrage going, but decide to just retire for the evening.
I excuse myself from the table and make my way out of the dining room. For a moment, I consider going straight back to the suite, but I know Sarah is likely there waiting to discuss the evening. I’d like a moment alone, just to feel like Ali for a second. I step out of the first exit I can find onto an outdoor deck. There’s a chill in the night air. I enjoy feeling the rush of cold air on my skin. The men are preoccupied with cigars and brandy and the women have all but retired for the night. I am alone.Finally.
