Too Personal
The thing about being a man was that there were certain experiences you could not skip. Not if you wished to uphold the illusion.
On a day he was feeling more solid, more secure in himself and his place in the world, Cornelius wouldn’t have followed the men in their suits.
But now he was among them, a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey soda in the other.
The beautiful thing about cruise liners was that once they were six miles off the coast, Prohibition was nothing but a distant memory.
Men drank their poisons of choice, and no one batted an eye at the affair.
His heart pumped liquid gold throughout his body, and his mind finally felt clear.
Shame prowled in the distant recesses of it, along with disappointment in that he so quickly broke his vow to himself.
Not that he had done so yet, technically.
He could have one drink. One drink, and turn in for the night. He would not lose himself, not tonight.
But damn, he felt better than he had in days. Weeks, even. When he felt desperate like this it was as if he were a vampire, having to leech off the masculine energy of men surrounding him, doing the same as what other men did. Which was the same as the women, to be frank.
They talked.
Cornelius sat in a high back chair, knees spread in a wide, careless posture that signaled he belonged there.
This was his space. He listened to the men talk of what they left behind and what was ahead, watched cards pass hands and alcohol of all kinds fill glasses.
The smoke room was of a Piccadilly style, vaguely familiar in the way all uppercrust bars in Great Britain were.
It was disconcerting to be surrounded by this false veneer of British aesthetic, considering they’d just been in America.
Watt trailed into the room long after the first cigarettes and cigars had been sparked.
He directly approached Cornelius, who gestured for Watt to take the empty seat beside him.
Watt eyed the chair warily, then Cornelius’ glass of what appeared to be ginger soda, likely noting the darkened color to it.
After a hesitant moment he sat down, looking to all the world like a rabbit ready to bolt.
Cornelius offered him a cigarette, not expecting the man to take it, but feeling charitable nonetheless.
Watt did, and quietly said, “Thank you.”
Cornelius watched him light the end with a match, transfixed by the cherry glow. Watt took a long, hard pull off the gasper, eyes shuttering in relief. He exhaled through his nostrils, and opened his eyes.
Cornelius quickly looked away and lit his own cigarette.
They listened to the men talk around them, their shared air tense.
Cornelius longed for it to stay like this forever, this stiff coexistence cushioned between them.
But it only took two glasses for the alcohol to traitorously loosen his tongue. He quietly asked, “Feeling better?”
Watt’s brows pinched in confusion.
Cornelius gestured vaguely to his own face. “You didn’t look so well, earlier.”
“Oh,” Watt said. He took another drag before continuing. “I’m fine, thank you. I—I do not do well on boats.”
Cornelius laughed, startling Watt. “What a trip this is going to be for you.”
“I’ll manage,” Watt said, not quite snapping but without a doubt on the defensive. Cornelius thought, ‘the pup has some bite after all.’
“I know.” Cornelius exhaled into a cloud of smoke. He watched Watt examine his words, searching for the hidden meaning within them, except there was none. “I think it’ll take much more than a sensitive stomach to bring you down, Johnson,” Cornelius added, clarifying that he was sincere.
The corner of Watt’s lip twitched upwards. “Thank you,” he said, but it came out almost like a question.
Cornelius nodded. There. Olive branch extended.
“I was wondering if we could talk,” Watt said, and the branch trembled.
“Hmm?”
“About the route. Perhaps over breakfast tomorrow?”
“Perhaps,” Cornelius echoed, butting his fourth cigarette of the night out. He tossed back his drink, then fixed Watt with a faux solemn stare. “Or perhaps we could talk now.”
“Oh. Alright,” Watt said and shifted in preparation to stand up, but waited for Cornelius to make the final move.
Cornelius stood and exited the saloon without looking back to see if Watt was following him.
Only once he stepped up to the railing on the upper deck did Cornelius allow himself to glance over.
Watt stood close beside him, hands in his pockets and shoulders tense.
When their gazes met, it was Watt who looked away first. Cornelius would be damned if he spoke first, so he listened.
He listened to the ship’s relentless droning as it carved through the ocean.
He listened to water struggling against metal, against the ingenuity of man.
The inevitable. It was late, but not so much that they were the only ones awake.
Cornelius tried to remember the last time he was somewhere that held none of the noise pollution that humans brought.
Even here, in the middle of the ocean, it was inescapable.
“I need rules, Cornelius.” Watt admitted.
Cornelius’ gaze cut sideways to Watt, who watched him intently. Watt didn’t look away this time when their eyes met, in fact he seemed empowered by Cornelius’ attention.
Cornelius scoffed, but was unsure why. “I told you. Treat me like a colleague.”
“I don’t like my colleagues.”
Cornelius laughed.
Watt didn’t.
“Oh, come on. Everyone likes a fella like you.” He motioned to Watt’s entire being.
“That’s not what I said.” Watt bit out, crossing his arms.
Cornelius withheld another laugh, but just barely.
Everything was soft from the whiskey, and Watt was acting like a petulant child.
It was adorable. “Alright, you don’t like them.
” Cornelius allowed. He turned and leaned back against the railing, crossing his arms as he faced Watt.
“But I’m willing to bet you give every single one of them a smile and your best manners, eh? ”
Watt wrinkled his nose, then winced in response to the pain that must've been lingering there. Watt turned his gaze to the ocean, which was just as well. Cornelius didn’t have room for anything like guilt.
If anything he’d done Watt a favor, adding some character to that statuesque nose.
One thought collided with another, and soon Cornelius was in dangerous territory.
Staring at Watt, cataloging every decades-aged feature of his face.
Quietly, and without looking at him, Watt asked, “Does that mean you want me to smile at you, then?”
Cornelius said nothing. His pride wouldn’t allow him to answer honestly, and he didn’t have the strength to lie.
Methodically, Cornelius pulled out his cigarette case and retrieved one of the sticks inside.
He lit up, and Watt stared at him as he took a full drag.
Cornelius lifted a brow and offered him the cherried cigarette, and was shocked when the man took it again.
Cornelius lit up another, and the men smoked in relative silence.
Watt coughed every now and then, but he didn't put out the cigarette until it was fully burnt out.
Cornelius wanted to assault Watt with every question he’d been withholding for the last seventeen years. He wasn’t angry anymore—no, that was a lie. He was angry, and probably always would be. But he was tired, too.
Tired of wondering. Of wandering.
Of asking himself, what did I do wrong?
Later, long after the men had turned in and darkness had settled in the suite, Cornelius answered Watt.
Cornelius whispered deep into the pillow, where only he could hear the truth. “Please. Please, smile at me.”
March 29th, 1930
Watt roused for the day earlier than he normally did, and found it was impossible to return to sleep. He cleaned up and dressed quietly, then took Maggie for a walk. By the time he returned from taking Maggie below decks to relieve herself, Cornelius was awake.
He sat in one of the easy chairs, wrapped in a dressing gown and hair mussed from sleep. His cane was propped against his chair, and an unlit cigarette was pinched between his lips. There was something different about him this morning, but Watt couldn’t say what.
Cornelius quietly said, “Good morning,” which further marked the encounter as suspicious.
“Good morning,” Watt said. He’d already dressed for the day, but felt wrong-footed all the same. He hesitated for only a moment before taking a seat beside Cornelius. With last night’s conversation in mind, he gave Cornelius a small, practiced smile and asked, “How’re you feeling?”
Cornelius groaned, rubbing his temple. “I’ve certainly been better. I don’t think the sea has ever treated me so unkindly before.”
Watt did not suggest that perhaps it had been the combination of alcohol and the sea. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, thank you,” Cornelius replied absently, watching Maggie circle a few times before settling on the floor beside her master’s feet.
Cornelius rubbed at his eyes, highlighting his lack of glasses.
Hesitantly, he said, “If I remember correctly, you said last night that you wanted to discuss things?”
Watt inclined his head. “I did, but if you don’t mind, after coffee.”
Cornelius’ shoulders loosened. “Oh. Yes, that would be good.”
Watt stood, and in turn Maggie did as well. Watt caught Cornelius watching her and encouragingly said, “She’s friendly, you know.”
Cornelius cleared his throat. “I don’t want to distract her.”
Watt smiled and said, “it’s fine,” which really meant, ‘I’m fine.’