INT. ROSE'S SUITE
... 1912. Like in a dream the beautiful woodwork and satin upholstery emerge from the rusted ruin. Jack is overwhelmed by the opulence of the room. He sets his sketchbook and drawing materials on the marble table.
Will this light do? Don't artists need good light?
(bad French accent)
Zat is true, I am not used to working in such 'orreeble conditions.
(seeing the paintings)
He crouches next to the paintings stacked against the wall.
Isn't he great... the use of color? I saw him once... through a hole in this garden fence in Giverny.
She goes into the adjoining walk-in wardrobe closet. He sees her go to the safe and start working the combination. He's fascinated.
Cal insists on luggin this thing everywhere.
Should I be expecting him anytime soon?
Not as long as the cigars and brandy hold out.
CLUNK! She unlocks the safe. Glancing up, she meets his eyes in the mirror behind the safe. She opens it and removes the necklace, then holds it out to Jack who takes it nervously.
What is it? A sapphire?
A diamond. A very rare diamond, called the Heart of the Ocean.
Jack gazes at wealth beyond his comprehension.
I want you to draw me like your French girl. Wearing this.
(she smiles at him)
Wearing only this.
He looks up at her, surprised, and we CUT TO:
ROSE'S BEDROOM. ON THE BUTTERFLY COMB as Rose draws it out of her hair. She shakes her head and her hair falls free around her shoulders.
IN THE SITTING ROOM Jack is laying out his pencils like surgical tools. His sketchbook is open and ready. He looks up as she comes into the room, wearing a silk kimono.
The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a china doll. As a paying customer, I expect to get what I want.
She hands him a dime and steps back, parting the kimono. The blue stone lies on her creamy breast. Her heart is pounding as she slowly lowers the robe.
Jack looks so stricken, it is almost comical. The kimono drops to the floor.
(this is all in cuts, lyrical).
Tell me when it looks right to you.
She poses on the divan, settling like a cat into the position we remember from the drawing... almost.
Uh... just bend your left leg a little and... and lower your head. Eyes to me. That's it.
Jack starts to sketch. He drops his pencil and she stifles a laugh.
I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing.
He does landscapes.
TIGHT ON JACK as his eyes come up to look at her over the top edge of his sketchpad. We have seen this image of him before, in her memory. It is an image she will carry the rest of her life.
Despite his nervousness, he draws with sure strokes, and what emerges is the best thing he has ever done. Her pose is languid, her hands beautiful, and her eyes radiate her energy.
PUSH SLOWLY IN ON ROSE'S FACE...