Madame of ice

Caution: contains contexts of prostitution and sexual references

23rd of July 1915

" it's the thought that counts." Her Father had tried to teach her this lesson, but it had never sunk in. Growing up in extreme wealth, she had expected the best of everything. So when she was presented with some material item not as spectacular as she had wished for, she would cry and pout like the poor little rich girl she had been. Now the sentence rattled in her brain like a ringing alarm clock. If it was the thought that counts, her thoughts counted for nil. She hadn't the slightest of good intentions three and a bit years ago, on the 14th of April 1912. Her thoughts instead had been pure selfishness.

Isn't that the emotional platform people choose to stand on when faced with the very real threat of death? Shouldn't survival of the fittest be the motto?? Ruth DeWitt Bukater certainly had thought so at the time. Yet now she wondered would her only Daughter, her beloved Rose be alive if only she had shown her some mercy from the taloned grip of a planned marriage her Daughter did not agree to?

Would her girl still be here today if she had not complained about the crowded lifeboats on that god forsaken ship Titanic? now she would never know. That was just a small sample of pain she was to endure for the rest of her life.

She won't ever forget the look on Rose's face as she coldly declared " Goodbye Mother!!." Her beautiful skin so pale from the cold, her red ringlets threatening to form icicles, like pretty crimsom glaciers. It was the look of pity mixed with a undercurrent of disgust possessing her features, that had driven an iced stake through Ruth's heart. Fear had Ruth paralysed as her Daughter turned away from the lifeboat, away from the safe promise of a future and into the cast iron grip of an almost certain death. That fear was colder than any iceberg, it froze her to the bone.

How was she certain Rose was dead? Well in truth, she refused to believe any other concept. If her girl was alive, if she had somehow survived that sinking monstrosity and the below freezing waters that threatened to end her once she went under, if she was out there living and breathing it meant she wanted nothing to do with her Mother.

The threat of this thought was unbearable to even contemplate, so yes, Rose was dead. Gone all too soon at the delicate age of 17, forever young and beautiful. Forever a 1st class citizen on this terrifying ride called life. Yet gone with her wilted Rose was the promise of continued wealth.

Caledon Hockley, had no use of Ruth now without the promise of her beautiful young Daughter. Rose had been her womb investment. Raise a beautiful daughter with a bloodline of wealth that ran back generations, when she came of age she would marry an aristocrat, no matter how horrible his personality. It had always been the plan, yet when her Husband had died and left them penniless with just their good name to hide the cracks of poverty, it had become paramount that this planned marriage be a success.

Those future investments had gone down with the ship.

Ruth was to endure things she had never thought possible. Once the Carparthia had docked at the harbor of American shores, she knew it wasn't going to be smooth sailing. She had almost laughed dryly at the mocking pun. She knew her good name would be poked at and squeezed until the truth of her bankruptcy came leaking out, like an infection from a festering boil.

All her greatest fears had uncoiled like a dangerous anaconda. The metaphorical snake was to curl around her limbs and squeeze every ounce of comfort out of her. Leaving her breathless and paralysed with no promise of a green grassed future.

She had warned Rose of this, way back on the Titanic as she had roughly tightened her Daughters corset, taking her frustrations out on the garment as if it were the one responsible for placing that 3rd class gutter rat what was his name? "Jack " in her Daughters path. She had predicted that she would have to sell all their beautiful things at auction, and she would have to work hard as a seamstress if the wedding to Caledon didn't happen.

The very thought at the time had her icy blue eyes trickling tears, yet now they had no more tears to cry. They were completly spent and so too was the small amount of money she had ended up with, from selling the very few possessions that hadn't sunk with the ship. Most of the money had to pay off all the debts her good for nothing Husband had left them. She had even lost the family estate.

Penniless and alone, she took to the streets hoping for the mercy of strangers, praying for the kindness that she had never bothered to give on the receiving end when she had owned the entire world. Her karma tainted like smudged calligraphy, she soon knew the ravaging desperation of true hunger. The stinging pain of frost bitten toes on a cold winters night, the looks of disgust from rich passer-bys.

She wanted to grab them and scream into their smug faces, " We're not so different, I was once wealthy too!!!. This could easily be you in my place instead of me!!!." Yet she didn't do that, she had lost her voice, she had lost her heart, she felt she had even lost her soul.

Getting work was harder than she had ever thought. It was the early 20th century, times were indescribably hard for everyone, let alone a former elitist whom had lost all her connections and her very home.Just walking into a store in her tattered exposed to the elements clothing, had them shooing her out the door like some filthy mangy hound that had come in for shelter from the cold streets.

As the hunger gnawed at her stomach like a ravenous bear after it wakes up from the deep slumber of hibernation, the only thing she had to swallow, was her pride. She had seen women come and go from the dingy local tavern in the heart of Cortlandt alley. It was quite obvious to her in their fishnet garters and their "ravish me red" lipstick, thick black eye-liner and recently invented false lashes that these women were prostitutes.

Yet, they didn't look starved like she did with her concave stomach and each rib so visible it looked as if they were threatening to burst out her skin. They had smiles on their faces, smoking fancy cigarettes with a chap on their arm that would be soon to warm their beds.

So, in her astute and desperate survival mode she tidied her long red hair with her fingers. The fiery mane had a life of it's own, she was sure she resembled a lunatic that had escaped from an asylum after rounds of electric shock therapy. She pulled up some courage, from her slightly still lingering past self. She knew she would need it when things came to a critical new low. She walked with convincing confidence into the tavern, and straight up to the manager of the place. For perhaps being a brothel, they wouldn't be as judgemental as the clothing stores and offices had been.

" Look I know this might seem strange, but I was once a very wealthy women, and I've fallen into the hardest times of my life, i wish to become a lady of the evening!!" she declared with her false bravado. The rugged man with a bushy beard, and a name tag wording "Jackson" pinned onto his long sleeved shirt started to chuckle. " Look love we get at least five of you a day, all with the same sob story. Tell me what makes you stand out? What makes you special??" An ashtray rested on the wooden counter of the bar. A half lit cigarette blowing it's tendrils of smoke in Ruth's direction, creating a ghostly mirage around her. Ruth with her unflinching demeanour, looked him straight in the eyes and whispered "I survived the Titanic."

Intrigued yet unconvinced, Jackson insisted to her that she must prove it. Of all the things she had kept which was basically nothing at all, she pulled the scrunched up half of her water damaged 1st class ticket on the Titanic out of the pocket of her ragged dirty coat and showed it to him. She had kept it with her, in case it came in handy one day. His dark brown eyes almost popped out of his head. Suddenly seeing her in a new light, pity softening his sharp manly features.

" Well love, this does make you unique. you can't survive the Titanic to then die on these cold unforgiving streets!!" he soothed as he put his big calloused hand on her bony shoulder. "You're a very pretty lady so I'm sure the gents will enjoy your company, I'll give you a trial". Ruth felt the relief caress her tired aching body, it was overwhelmingly delicious. "Thank you for the opportunity, I will not let you down" she assured him.

Smiling kindly, he squeezed her cold hand and looked straight into her big blue eyes. They were beautiful yet haunting, deep oceans of heartbreak. He could tell just by looking that she was in her own internal hell. He felt it was his duty to give this poor women a chance, to rekindle some small chance at a life. Her sadness almost had him in tears.

"Come with me darling" he soothed, his deep voice slightly breaking with emotion. " I'll take you to the kitchens and we'll get you a big bowl of chicken soup, you must be starving!!." Ruth nodded her head in agreement, as tears of gratitude stung her eyes. It had been so long since she had cried, and now the build up was at breaking point like a dam threatening to overflow. Blinking the tears away, She clutched her growling stomach with one arm as she timidly followed Jackson's bulky form.

After eating her fill of hot soup, she was led up a creaking set of stairs that led to the brothel and the ladies living quarters.

She was introduced to the hookers, as the once 1st class lady who had survived the Titanic. They were all so beautiful and welcomed her into the family. Taking her coat and handing her clean comfortable clothes, with the promise of a hot lavender bath and a good night's sleep. A young girl, showed her to the sleeping quarters. Giving her some privacy to make herself comfortable. Ruth could hear moaning, and gasps of pleasure that come from the result of an extremely good time. Obviously it was a girl with a client.

The sounds undulated down the corridor from one of the rooms. Engulfing her auditory senses and almost threatening to send her body into a wave of overwhelming unwanted arousal. She had been celibate for years, her body was ravenous for touch and intimacy. She took a deep breath, and pushed her biological urges down. Choosing instead to block out the sounds and focus on her new "home".

It seemed cozy enough with it's cheap floral carpet, the heavily scented smells of lavender, minty mouthwash and strawberries, It was certainly a far cry from the streets. She made the most of her evening and once washed and in comfortable clean clothes, for the first time in ages she fell asleep in a warm bed. Her new life just beginning.

Ruth made the brothel her home. The clients thoroughly enjoyed her services. She built up her wardrobe, and played dress ups of first class wealth with cheap imitations of her former finery.

Some of the more adventurous chaps, loved to play out the fantasy of being a 3rd class passenger getting a taste of a 1st class delicacy. Pretending that they were the specially chosen ones the lady had picked to sexually devour excited them immensly. Ruth secretly hated to relive the Titanic experience, yet the requested theme promised her triple the money of a regular good time.

" We're women, our choices are never easy." She had once quoted to her Daughter, and indeed she had been right.

The moment she had arrived here, she had folded up her past identity as Ruth and tucked her away. Nobody in this world would ever hear her real name. Ruth was a proper lady dressed in a fine silk gown, her slender neck draped lightly with delicate pearls. Sipping champagne, as the violinist serenaded her and her wealthy friends. Ruth had died out at sea. From here on out she was to be known as Ruby, yet her clients liked to call her the Mistress of ice.

After a few years, she ended up the head mistress of the brothel. It was her task to choose the new girls and train them in the erotic arts. Ruby, formally known as Ruth, turned the brothel into a respectful business. Catering to all the requested needs of the men. Jackson had fallen head over heels in love with her yet although being extremly attracted to him, she was frightened to love again. She knew by now that love equalled heartbreak. She first agreed to share his bed when he wished as friends with benefits. Jackson was just grateful to have the intimacy with her. They would make love every single night and then cuddle. She must admit she felt very safe with his strong arms around her. Eventually she couldn't deny her romantic feelings any longer. Her and Jackson became a couple.

Jackson put a stop to the Titanic fantasy that some men requested. He felt it cruel for her to constantly be reminded of her painful past. He also insisted clients just call her Ruby, feeling the Madame of ice name added to her trauma.

Eventually he didn't want her selling her body at all. He wasn't trying to be controlling, he just loved her so much and wanted her to feel like she wasn't obligated to sell herself. Plus he wanted her only sexual relations to be with him, they were in love after all. She was extremely grateful and just focused on looking after all the girls, even though she had been one of the highest earners.

She never again would experience the overpowering wealth of the world leaders. Yet she now had a forever home, warm food in her belly, a new family that cared about her, a man that loved her deeply and a job that kept her busy from having to sit and dwell on the unforgiving past.

It was the times when she lay awake on her own, when Jackson was working late at the bar, that the dull ache of her memories resurfaced. Causing her entire body to tremble with grief. Pains etheric razorblade cutting into her already bleeding heart, carving all different shapes of hurt.

Her Daughters lingering essence that she hid deep in her tormented soul, tortured her. She was so sorry how she had treated Rose, as even back then she had always loved her so very much. " My girl, my beautiful darling baby!!." She would sob as she buried her grief stricken face into her tear soaked pillow. Rose had been her little girl, a big piece of her heart and nothing could fill the void of losing her.

She thought about what she had become and thanked whatever god was out there that she had learnt humility and kindness. Wishing with all her being her child could have experienced this side of her.

If only her thoughts had been less selfish in the past. Things might have been different. Yet she made her own bed and now she had to lie in it too. Out of respect for her Daughter and to protect herself from added pain, she never talked about Rose with anyone. not even Jackson, " A women's heart is an ocean of secrets".