This is a work of fiction, loosely based on the very real person, Russell Crowe. No insult or invasion of his privacy is intended. I do not know Mr. Crowe, nor any of the other real people mentioned in this story.

This story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit adult language. The writer is not responsible for any "discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these situations.

 

ECHOES by Wildbearies ©2002

Chapter Nine Louise went to see "The Crossing" and was stunned by Rusty's power and presence on-screen. She knew he could act. She just hadn't realized how his inner fire could leap from the screen and grab you by the throat. She left the cinema a bit shaken. Had she really been intimate with this person, this dynamic, charismatic young man? Lord above, she said to herself. She told everyone she knew to go see the film, trying not to be foolishly giddy about it, but definitely conveying that Russell was going to be somebody in films. He was, she knew, leaving behind his life on the streets of Sydney, and while that meant he would be largely gone from her life, it was something that just had to be. The two restaurants thrived. Geraldine Davis and Louise got along famously, and they spent their non-working hours doing a lot of fun things to keep from being bored away from the activity of Lulu's. They took ceramics classes and painting classes until they had both filled every available empty space of their respective residences with bowls, canisters, vases, painted furniture and the like. They moved from that to learning to line dance. That gave them a social outlet and they began going out with a mixed group to practice on Fridays after the restaurants closed. That was so much fun, they also danced in a local western club on Sunday afternoons. It was there that Louise met Brian Henry, who owned the club, aptly titled "The Silver Spur". "How did you come to open an American western themed club in Sydney?" she asked him. Brian, 50-ish, a bit paunchy but a good dancer, regaled her with stories about his trips to the States as a grammar school student. He'd then been an exchange student for university, graduating from the University of Texas in Austin. It was in Texas that he'd become enamored of the line dances, Texas chili, western movies and the like. He'd inherited the bar from his dad, and totally remade it into the Spur because he didn't much care for running a traditional Aussie pub. Besides, there were enough of those around and hardly any clubs like the Spur. "So that's how the Spur came to be, Lulu, an accident of Fate or two." Brian kept asking her out, and she kept refusing, not wanting a relationship with anybody, really. When she examined her inner self, she realized it was because her heart was still filled with Russell. "Now that is just sad," she told herself in the mirror. And she supposed it was, but it was how things were. Maybe, in time, that would change. In the meantime, she could stave off Mister Henry, continue to run her business and have some fun as well. If she got past Russell, well, so be it. If she didn't - that was fine, too. It seemed to be working, so she kept her life as it was, ignoring friends' advice to go ahead and go out with poor Brian, or find another man, do anything but just "waste away" as they put it. Of course they didn't realize the nature of her history with Russell, and would have been shocked if they had. It gave her a giggle or two when she thought about how gobsmacked they would be if they knew she had a years-long, very carnal, very passionate relationship with the beautiful, much younger man. Of course, she knew he had plenty of women falling at his feet now and he no doubt sampled the gifts offered to him on a silver platter - he wouldn't be human if he didn't. In the winter of 1991 he came breezing back into her life with a vengeance. She was going over the menus for the next week with her head chef when she became aware of the twittering in the foyer of the restaurant. She lifted her head from perusing the shopping lists only to see a very nicely dressed, broad-shouldered man standing with his back to her, chatting to the hostess. The shoulders had a familiar set to them, and she dropped her pen onto the table with a plop when their owner turned and she saw Russell's grin flash when he spotted her. No wonder there was twittering - he was in a suit with a cashmere top coat over it and a blue fringed scarf draped around his neck. He made his way back to where she and the chef sat, apparently unaware of the cross-eyed women he left in his wake as he passed. "Lou, there you are, luv," he said when he got within range and didn't have to shout across the tables full of customers. All heads swiveled to see the "Lou" he was speaking to as she blushed beet red and sank back in her chair behind the half-height screening of a Victorian buffet. She could hear his mad giggle as he caught on. "Lord, here he is," she muttered to the chef, who merely smiled, gazing as appreciatively at the vision of sartorial splendor as any of the women. "Rene, you're drooling, stop it," she chided him. Rene shut his mouth with a snap and protested that he was merely admiring, not actually drooling. "What ever," Louise teased him. Then Russell was there. "Lulu! I've come back to you," he announced in a loud voice that had every woman in the place save her swooning in a romantic haze. He swept off his top coat, leaving the scarf in a rakish swath around his neck, fringe dangling and sat in the third - empty - chair, grinning at her and the chef. "Rene," he acknowledged with a wink that had the chef blushing and stammering that he had things to do. Exit Rene, Stage Right, at speed. "That's got rid of him," Russell observed, reaching across the table to take hold of Louise's hands. "Hello," he said in a more normal tone of voice, "miss me?" "Were you gone?" she asked weakly, not sure if she should applaud or just laugh at this little show. He sat back, brows drawn down in mock annoyance, "What - my performance of successful actor returned to greet his long-suffering lady fell flat?" He spoke with an exaggerated upper class British accent until he said "flat", then he looked at her anxiously, and said in a normal Russell voice, "I've fucked up then?" "I'm withholding judgement on that," Louise said to make him suffer. "So - how long are you here for this time?" "Not long - a couple of weeks - I'm off to make a film with Charlotte Rampling - can you grasp it? She's a major star, Lou - and it's a real Australian folk tale kind of film - Hammers Over the Anvil by Alan Marshall." "I know the stories - which one are they filming?" "I'm to play East Driscoll. He's a horseman. . ." Louise interrupted, "I know the story - a horseman and a cocksman extraordinaire. And he gets bashed in the brains when his horse drags him across the county one night because he's drunk. Don't tell me you're doing your own stunts, please, I'll worry." "I always do my own stunts," he said, looking wounded. "Speaking of which - " he glanced around covertly. "That linen closet still there?" She swatted him in mock chagrin, "Is that all you came here for? To brag and then root me in the closet? For shame." "And after all we've been to each other, too, right?" he asked, laughing. Then he shook his head, "No, I won't drag you off by the hair of your head - which, now that I look at it, is very nice - I like that hair cut. But Lulu," he hunkered over her hands, holding onto them like they were the most wonderful thing in the world, "I really did miss you and I've got loads to tell you about 'The Crossing' and George Ogilvy, and, uhm, there's this actress I met - a real beauty - maybe you saw her in the film?" Louise nodded, her heart fallen down to the level of her shoes. "Yes," she said through lips that felt frozen, "I saw her." Blonde, very young - or she appeared so - and probably every young man's fancy with her masses of hair and her blue eyes. "Yeah," Russell answered, "well - she's a stunner all right, but she won't have much to do with the likes of me, God knows why, I'm such a rare catch." His grin would light a room much larger than LuLu's, she thought. She patted his hands, "Give me an hour - why don't you have lunch - and I'll be able to spend some time with you this afternoon." He nodded, "Okay, I could eat - and I really need to talk to you." Louise set him up at a rear table - one of the special ones usually reserved for V.I.P.'s, and went off to finish her tasks wondering what woman in her right mind wouldn't fancy Russell. This should be interesting. NEXT
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