©2002 by WILDBEARIES
"Change of Scene"
by Wildbearies
Nine
I can be so fucking smart ten minutes after I do something really stupid. I should get an award for that instead of acting, which I work much harder at. Wait a minute - maybe there's a lesson there. I should spend as much effort thinking about what I'm going to say as I put into what I'm going to do in front of a camera after the director yells "Action!" Christ, I'd be weeks just working out a simple "G'day, how are ya?"
But Jessie, I think - I know - is worth that kind of effort. Thing was - I wasn't sure now she'd even listen to me even if I did spend days working out the nuance of every word that fell from my lips. We were done in Morocco and moved to Malta before she would answer me when I'd say hello or good morning to her. Not through lack of effort on my side, mind you. I'd done some pretty nifty moves trying to get through to her before we left Africa.
I'd sent her flowers and notes, candy and more flowers, a singing telegram (not easy to find in Morocco, but I talked a member of the crew into it), still more flowers, diamond ear studs, roses, a heartfelt handwritten letter returning the earrings to her when she'd sent them straight back to me with a terse "Fuck Off and Die" note. Well, you get the picture. I'd gotten so many bouquets of flowers back that the crew had taken to setting up a pool on how fast each one would make its way back to me. I even got in on some of them - might as well make a bob or two on a sure thing.
I joined their laughter when the flowers would arrive - sometimes bent in two or with the petals torn off the stems - but inside, down where the real me lived, it hurt.
Connie drew me aside a couple of times, trying to get me to go talk to Jess, be totally open and honest with her. "I told you to do that when we were still in England, Russ, why the hell didn't you?"
"I don't know," I said miserably. "I meant to - I really did - I just. . .the right moment never seemed to happen."
She gave me a rap on the back of the hand with her script, "Stupid. You have to make the right moments, otherwise you'll sit around until you're old and gray. You should go over to the infirmary, lock her in a room with you if you have to, and tell her the truth. You'll never get to the right moment otherwise."
I suppose she was right. But I still didn't do it. By the time we were settled in Malta, I was so wrought up over it I could hardly bear to look at her without wanting to fall weeping at her feet, begging for forgiveness. This was a totally new emotion for me and one I hadn't a clue as to how to deal with, so I went around looking, as Joaquin put it so kindly, shit on a stick most of the time. "Man, you look so mean nobody wants to even say hello to you," he groused at me one cold morning when were were both standing around with the crew freezing our nuts off in our Roman costumes - bare legs for me; at least he had those thin trousers on under his "dress". I had on a fleece jacket over mine, so at least my top half was warm, but if I hadn't worn the bicyclist's shorts under it, I'm afraid my knackers would have just dropped off. Two little blue balls lying on the ground with frost on 'em.
Wouldn't have really mattered - much good they'd done me lately.
That very afternoon, though, I got hurt again and this time, I had to be seen to by Jessie because Ridley was afraid I'd bleed to death right there on the arena set. I'd been doing a fight scene - carefully choreographed, of course - with Rolf, Djimon, several others - and when I stepped backwards, I tripped over some bit of debris on the sand and was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The "bad guy" brought his sword down and instead of missing my outstretched hand, he'd gotten me a glancing blow right across the back of it. My hand and arm went numb. My sword fell to the ground and I stood there with my mouth open, just staring like a booby at the blood spurting up from my hand.
Ridley yelled "Cut!" while I thought, "Yeah, it's cut all right," and then my nerve endings kicked in and I said a few really impressive things, with my hand still in mid-air. I don't even recall what they were, but they were choice. Joaquin said later he was impressed, but that bloke is so fuckin' innocent, it's pathetic. Production assistants and crew crowded around, Ridley was wringing his hands - uncharacteristic for him, he's always so cool and collected, even when he's telling me off - and I thought I just might go away for a bit.
The next thing I knew, I was on my ass on the ground with Jessie waving one of those nasty smelling salts poppers under my nose. "Christ, get that thing away from me!" I said, and batted at her. Of course, that brought my wounded hand into view again and everything got pale around the edges. Never knew I was such a pussy, did you? Well, if it's my own blood, I am. I could paint a house with someone else's blood - but mine? Forget it, I'm outa here.
So, it's off to the infirmary I go, walking with Ridley on one side of me and Rolf on the other telling me not to be such a girl about it, trying to make me laugh, which I would have if I hadn't felt so puny. It was really hurting by then, and I was walking carefully so as not to jar the hand. I still get emails from Rolf where he asks me if I've had any girly moments lately, referring to that afternoon. I guess I'll never live that down.
Anyway,
DeeDee and Jessie cleaned out the cut, which was pretty deep and
nicked a couple of tendons but didn't sever them. To clean it out,
they poured a big bottle of some kind of stuff on it that felt like
battery acid. Joaquin said later you could hear me yelling and
cussing all the way back to the woods in England. I thought that was
an under estimate myself. I have a pretty carrying voice when I want
to.
They decided it needed stitching, so into the town we go and find a
doctor at the local clinic who numbed it up, put in a few stitches,
gave me a shot of antibiotic just in case, and sent me packing with
a very impressive bandage round my hand. My right hand. The one that
I would use to hold the weapons for all the fight sequences we had
yet to film.
"That's not gonna work," I commented in the car on the way back to
the set, studying the thickly wrapped gauze and tape.
"Well, leave it on there, I don't want to see you pass out again,"
Rolf remarked from the front passenger seat. The driver, one of the
sound crew who knew his way around the area, just snickered. I
scowled at both of them. "Doesn't impress me," Rolf answered my
look, "I know deep down, Russell Crowe is a sissy."
"Oh, belt up, why don't you?" I said crossly. "I can't help it -
don't you have anything that really squicks you?" I had to explain
what "squicking" meant, and then he claimed he didn't have any such
quirks. "Oh, bullshit," I finally said.
Thus endeth filming for that day - for me, anyway. The next day I
reported to the set, bandage still intact, hand very sore under it
and the crew went to work trying to disguise it. They came up with
removing most of the gauze, just leaving a thin pad in place, and
wrapping my hands in the wide leather strips like I'd used in
England to both protect and keep my hands warm. It worked fairly
well, and the gauze didn't show, but my hand just didn't want to
flex properly, and it bloody hurt besides. We did manage to work,
though, and got most of the stuff we needed that day.
By the end of that afternoon, I was really tired, sore, and the
gauze was red right through under the leather. Ridley insisted I
have Jessie look at it, so I went mooching off to the infirmary,
although I'd rather have walked into a press conference stark naked
than do that. She came in and was giving me her silent treatment
again, although she was being very gentle in touching me. My hand
was real bruised and puffy under the wrappings, which she peeled off
very carefully. Then she soaked off the gauze pad and cleaned the
whole area before rebandaging it. "There," she said when she was
done, "Leave all that on overnight, then you can do the leather bit
again in the morning. And try not to pull those sutures out - that
end one is a bit ragged already."
"Okay - Jess?" I tried when she was done and had walked back to
throw out the blood-stained gauze. She didn't even look around.
"Jess - honey - please - can't we at least talk about this like two
adults? You're killing me here."
"Talk about what?" came as she put away her supplies and locked the
cabinet.
"Jessie - can't you even look me in the eye when you tell me to fuck
off?"
She turned, leaned her back against the metal doors and very softly
said, "Fuck off, Russell."
"Christ - Jessie - none of this is going right! I was trying to
teach you a lesson that day - can't you at least believe that?" I
sounded desperate. Hell, I wouldn't have believed me, if I was her.
"I'm a grown up, Russell, I don't need to be 'taught a lesson' by
anyone, especially you. Now go home, the infirmary is closing."
I got off the table where I'd been sitting. Instead of leaving,
though, I walked over to her, backing her against that cabinet,
putting my left palm flat on the door, trying to hem her in. Of
course, she ducked off to my right since I couldn't do much with
that hand, and I had to practically chase her around the room before
I blocked the exit door. "Damn it, you are going to listen to me!" I
shouted.
"Suit yourself," she shrugged, folding her arms across her chest.
Body language never lies - she might say she was going to listen,
but she was blocking me out before a word left my mouth.
I lowered my voice. Declarations of love made in a roar don't work
too well usually. I took a deep breath to steady my temper. "Jessie
- I haven't been with anyone but you since we were together that
first time - I need you to believe that."
"Whatever." She refused to look at me.
"It's the truth - and I haven't been chasing after other women, and
it's just killing me not to be with you."
She glanced at me finally, a half-sneer on her pretty mouth. "Blue
balls? I thought you knew how to masturbate, Russell - don't most
twelve year-olds?"
"Yes, I know how to masturbate!" I yelled. Of course, anyone within
ten feet of the infirmary door now knew that too. I lowered my voice
and lifted my hands to her, palms up in supplication, "Please - Jess
- I was getting my courage up to tell you something important that
day - I never got the chance."
"Oh, Russell, do you expect me to buy this crap?" she asked, turning
her back to me and starting to walk off.
I got hold of the hem of her shirt and stopped her. She stopped, but
only because she didn't want her clothes ripped she said later. "Why
won't you listen?"
She turned back to face me, "Because you haven't said anything yet
that is worth listening to, frankly."
I dropped both hands. Wretchedly, I said, "Jessie, I'm crazy in love
with you, woman - don't you know that?"
At least she didn't laugh. Or slap me. I looked up from a study of
the floor to find her eyes free of anger, and, if not full of an
answering emotion, at least with an expression that told me she was
listening.
"I was trying to wait for the right moment - Connie told me back in
England I should just tell you - and every time I tried to,
something came up, or somebody was there, and it just never was the
right moment." I was babbling like a fool.
"Connie told you?" she asked. I swear I saw a little curve of humor
on her lips before she caught herself and gave me that scowl again.
I was getting so that scowl is almost as much of a turn-on as her
beautiful smile.
I explained about Connie drawing me aside and giving me advice back
then, and more recently as well. "She knew before I did, Jessie -
she told me to just say it and be damned, but you know me - I have
to have everything right, like a bloody film production, before I'll
say something that important, and I. . ."
"Oh, shut up," she said firmly, and backed me against the door with
a thump. She grabbed hold of my ears and pulled my head down as she
ordered me, "Shut up, and kiss me, you damned idiot, before I change
my mind about this."
"Oh, shi...mmmmfff," I got out, and everything after that is kinda
blurry.
I know she locked the infirmary door. I know she stripped my clothes
off before I could say, "My place or yours?" and I know she jumped
me on the examining table right there in the clinic. After that,
everything is a very nice jumble of sex, kissing and heart felt
confessions - mine - plus heart felt threats of reprisals in case of
future misconduct - hers. By the time we stumbled out of there, it
was full dark outside and the area was deserted. We got a ride back
to my hotel with the last P.A. to leave the set - I know she
wondered what the hell we were doing all disheveled and grinning
like two loons, but she never asked and never blabbed.
Bless her.
Click the sword for part 10
