I know you're probably wondering why, if Jen and I got along so well back in 2001 - 2002, if we loved each other, how come we didn't take the relationship to a logical conclusion, or at least acknowledge it publicly. The problem was me, naturally. I'm a decisive sort of guy, I really am, but I was so torn between Jennifer and Danielle - love
and passion for Jen, love and loyalty to Dani - that I just could not make up my mind what to do about it all. So I ended up doing nothing. Typical.

Actually, it wasn't exactly nothing. I managed to piss them both off at me enough that Danielle gave up in disgust and eventually married a music producer from Melbourne and moved down there. They've got a little boy now, a real cute kid - I envy her that. I've wanted kids for years and still don't have any. After everything that happened at the beginning of 2002, then both relationships falling apart, I resigned myself to never having any.

After a combination of my big mouth, the tabloid press going wild with the incident after the BAFTA's that year, and all the crap surrounding "A Beautiful Mind", I didn't get an Oscar for the film after being considered the front runner for weeks. Everyone else nominated in acting, screenwriting, directing won - the film was Best Picture. I felt good about that, but in the cold gray light of the morning after, I felt pretty shitty, too. I was lucky I hadn't cost everyone else their wins. Looking at myself in the mirror, I wasn't at all happy with the bloke looking back at me.

The only thing that had made me happy in the past six months had been being with Jennifer, and I'd fucked that up for the most part, except for a few brief times we were together. She was so sweet to me on Oscar night when I was really down. She came after me when I tried to just sneak off to leave the happy winners celebrating, and she took me home with her, took care of me and comforted me. She didn't throw it up to me that I'd done most of it to myself and I deeply appreciated that.

The next day, though, she insisted I make it up with Dani, at least to the point of apologizing for just leaving her at the Governors' Ball. I wasn't too thrilled about that, as you can imagine.

Neither was Danielle. She hauled off and slapped me so hard her ring left a cut on my jaw. No, not a diamond, mate - I never gave her a diamond. It was her birthstone ring. I still have a little scar there where my beard covers it if I'm shaggy. It's a reminder of how badly I can fuck up my life.

She left that day for home. By the time I got there two days later, she had packed her things and moved out of the Elizabeth Bay house. I didn't even hear from her - not a call or an email or a letter, and she didn't return my calls or emails - until I got a wedding invitation almost a year later. Kind of ironic. She couldn't decide if she trusted me enough to marry me after ten years, but she married this other bloke within six months of meeting him. Not that I blame her.

I went home to get ready for the Peter Weir film. I had weight to lose, a lot of physical conditioning to do, and I had to look deep inside myself and make some choices about what I wanted to do with myself. I'd almost rather have dieted off 50 pounds than done that last part. Self-examination is so fuckin' painful. Chewing off your own hand or foot has to be less hurtful, I think.

I freakin' loved making "The Far Side of the World". For one thing, the press pretty much left me alone after two years of dogging my every step. For another, Peter Weir is an actor's director. By that I mean, like Ron Howard, he knows how to make an actor give his all and yet enjoy the process, be part of the process, and not just slaves to a bloke with a megaphone. I stayed in the top floor of a hotel near the studios down in Baja, Mexico, and just had Mark or Ralph with me because I didn't need much in the way of security down there. Oh, there were fans who came to watch the filming, but I love my fans - for the most part, they're extremely well-behaved and wouldn't dream of doing anything untoward - so I enjoyed that.

It was like playing with the biggest toy boats in the world, making that film. I learned how to rig sails, how to swarm up and down the rigging barefooted, how to fire a flintlock pistol and a huge cannon. I learned how to play the violin (badly), and how to wear the knee breeches, waist coats and fancy shirts of the era without being too self conscious. When I found out that blokes didn't wear underpants in those days, but just tucked the long tails of their shirts kind of back and under, I got a kick out of that. Commando style in the Napoleonic Wars, who'd have thought?

After that film wrapped, I went home to the farm and built myself a new house. I spent a year doing that. I lived like a monk - yes, me! I filled up on calm and solitude, house plans, the smell of freshly sawn lumber and freshly spread plaster - and I felt all the tensions and anger that had built up just gradually seep away until all that was left was quiet deep inside of me.

A month of that and I was so bored with myself, my mum suggested I call up some producers and beg for a script - any script! - just to get busy doing something. "It's that, or your dad and I are moving to China," she threatened.

The result of that was a nice 'little' film for Ron Howard and Brian Grazer. It was "The Battle of the Alamo" and I played General Sam Houston. Man, talk about playing cowboys and Indians on a grand scale. I loved it! It felt good to work for Ron again, and the producers took such excellent care of us - it was like coming home. It filmed in Texas for the most part, so I got to spend a lot of time in and around Austin, which I loved.

I was still unattached and uninterested in changing it for the most part, although there were a couple of one night stands just to break the monotony of dating my right hand. They left me pretty unfulfilled, though, and I started to look around again, studying women, seeing who was available and interesting. When I took the "Dancers in Atlantis" project a year later, I wrangled it so Jennifer was auditioned for the lead female role. See, when I was doing my woman prospecting, I didn't find anyone who could approach her for looks, brains or passion. I knew I had to try one more time with her, one time without being torn by a prior commitment, one time for just us.

Imagine my surprise when she felt the same way.

So here I was, 2007, lying in a hospital bed in Honolulu, recuperating from my near-miss with Bruce, Jr., the shark, and it was worldwide news. I can only imagine what the tabloid shows would have made of it if the damned thing had ripped my leg off instead of just shredding my skin, but it could hardly have been more overblown. Jennifer was being credited - as she should have been - with saving me from the dastardly jaws of death. But every time I turned on the television, the story was on some damned entertainment show or other, with some new twist or embellishment.

Ron finally closed the set to keep the reporters away from everyone - yes, they flew to fucking Toranga atoll, where we had thought we were too far out in the middle of nowhere for anyone to bug us, and they camped outside the hospital in Hawaii as well.

When I got out, I needed a couple of weeks to finish growing my skin back to where I could go in the water, so I flew home. I took Jen with me. We just disappeared one day - although Ron knew where we had gone - and magically popped up in Oz, on the farm. I finally got to show Jen a bit of Australia, even if it was just my thousand acres of cow pasture and horse paddock. She did like the wallabies, though.

We spent ten days just vegging out. She helped me unpack books and stuff that I'd never found the time to mess with, and we took long walks, a couple of long, slow horseback rides, and just basically enjoyed the peace. When it was time to go back to Toranga, we were re-energized, I was healed up, and we were ready to finish the film.

We finished in record time and I shortly found myself back home on the farm wondering what I was gonna do with myself for the next few months. I had a film scheduled to start at the end of the year and there would be publicity to do for "Atlantis" but until then, nothing. I knew from past experience that I would get bored silly within two weeks of being back home with nothing to do. I decided to go down to Sydney and look at houses.

I had once owned a gorgeous Art Deco house there, Berthong it was called. But after breaking up with Danielle and all, I lost my taste for that property and sold it. I think some rocker owns it now - probably has ruined all the original tile work and carved woodwork, too, but that's not my business anymore. Anyway, I talked to a real estate agent and he started showing me condos and houses. Of course, the press got hold of it and they started rumor-milling that I was hunting for a "love nest" for fill-in-the-blank, my latest supposed sweetie. I say fill in the blank because my only sweetie was back in the States getting reacquainted with her son. In the love department, I was a loner.

I was also very lonely. In the past, this has gotten me into more hot water and difficulty than you can possibly imagine even in the worst case scenario. I can only point at my past life with some regret and a big shrug because what's done is done and I can't go back now and change it, even if I wanted to. Some I do; some I don't. I'm sure I'm a hopeless case in that way - just stubborn. How any woman can stand to be around me is something I've never understood.

I was on the phone to Jen at least twice a day if not oftener. Plus we e-mailed a lot. She said she missed me and was lonely also, but she had Kai to keep her company, and a lot of friends in the LA area, so I knew she wasn't nearly as alone as I was. I tried not to be pathetic, but sometimes I just couldn't help it. "Please," I'd hear myself begging her, "Please come over sooner than next month - I'm fuckin' dyin' here, Jen."

"Oh, you will not die, believe me, Russell - you just think you will."

"Dyin', fuckin' dyin'!" I tried, this time having trouble not giggling. She had deflated me with her first answer. "I've got balls the color of your eyes."

She laughed loud and long. "Now there is one of the more unusual compliments I've ever gotten - that was a compliment, wasn't it?"

"Well, no, actually - I was complaining about the state of my testicles, woman - not praising your beautiful orbs. Jeeze, a bloke can't even whine without bein' misunderstood here." I lit a cigarette, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

"Was that a lighter I just heard?"

Guiltily, I switched the burning ciggie behind my back, as though she could see it in the first place. "Er - yeah."

"I thought you were quitting." It was a major bone of contention between us. I actually had cut back - made serious inroads into my nicotine addiction. It was just - talking to her on the phone and all, I had lit up without even thinking about it.

"I am - really - this is the first one today." True.

"Hmmf," she scoffed. "You know, Russell, you could just as easily come over here - I can't leave here for another three weeks, but you aren't tied to the cows, are you?"

"No," I agreed. But how would we handle her kid? I mean, Kai is a great kid; I love him dearly; but I certainly didn't want his father to be able to throw anything at Jen about me staying at her place with the kid there. I voiced those concerns to her.

"Well, you can stay at the Bel Air - I didn't invite you anyway."

Gulp. Then I realized she was having me on again. I fall for it with her time after time - I think it's that haughty air she can put on when she's playing with me. "God, you slay me, Jen - okay - I'll come over. I'll even stay at the Bel Air because I don't want any problems over Kai with his dad - okay?"

"Okay. And Russell?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Those balls really blue, honey?" There was that little hoarse note in her voice that told me she was as horny as I was.

Instantly, my dick stood straight up, or tried to. Jeans have a way of stopping that upward thrust. Anyway, I shifted position, yanking at the fabric to make a bit of room. "Er, yeah," I rasped. She caught it, knew exactly what was going on, and gave me this low, throaty laugh. "You are a bad girl, Jen," I told her. "I really like that in a woman."

Louder laughter. Then, "Okay, stud - picture this when you hang up and go wherever you're going to go to take care of that big cock I know you've got for me. . .I'm waiting for you inside my apartment. I'm only wearing a white camellia in my hair and a smile - nothing else. When you open the door, I'll do whatever you ask - whatever the first words out of your mouth are - got the picture?" When I whimpered, she just added, "Good - think about it hard. Of course, I know you already are - aren't you? Really, really hard? Aching for me?" I whimpered again. "Good boy. I'll see you when you get here." And she hung up.

I got the cell phone back into my jacket pocket and walked stiff-legged back to my bedroom. It took three sessions to get my dick to stay down. But two days later when I rang her doorbell and true to her word, there she was wearing only that white flower in her hair, it came right back up.

It took almost a week of her kind attentions to fix that for me. Thank God!