Page 61 - Titanic: The Untold Tale of Gay Passengers and Crew

Titanic 47

himself.”
“This is a charade,” I said. “None of us knows how to
take care of ourselves.”
Molly tossed me a look. “I oughta slap you,” she said. She
dragged me up the slanting A Deck to her suite, rip ping open
her closet, throwing gown upon gown on the bed.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’ve never worn women’s clothes in my
life and I certainly won’t now.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“I can’t.”
“Join the charade,” she said.
It was 1:48 AM by the clock on Molly’s escritoire. She
threw a red ballgown over me. “Why red?” I said.
“Because men always want to save a scarlet woman!” She
plopped a heavy fur coat across my shoul ders, turned up the
collar, but toned it at my throat, so recently occupied by Brice
and Max, and plopped the broadest brimmed hat she could
find on my head.
“This is cowardly, you know,” I said.
“This,” she corrected me, “is survival. You and your kind
should understand that.”
Me and my kind. How often had I heard that. But my kind
had narrowed down to Edward, God knew where, locked
down in the hold of the ship. “I don’t care about my kind.”
“I care about your kind,” Molly said. She kissed me
almost tenderly. “Come on, Queen Michael! Follow me! As
far as I can tell, it’s every man for himself, and hell will take
the hindmost!”
Truly, I didn’t want to die by drowning or freezing in
the dark cold waters of the North At lantic. I understood the
code of old-style manners followed gamely by the rich gentle-
men standing serenely on the decks, waving to their wives,