I blinked.

I guess I had expected Maximus. Or maybe Bud White. Or at least the surly, scowling man who appeared in the sound bites on the entertainment news programs. I should have known better than to expect anything like that. This man with the tousled, collar-length hair and extra 15 pounds, was in faded old jeans and a flannel shirt with holes in it over a tee shirt that had definitely seen better days. I believe the tee shirt was a gimme from some Australian radio station. This was definitely not the man I had been briefly introduced to the year before at the Golden Globes banquet - that man was clothed in Armani and black silk.

"Is it Jennifer or Jenny?" he asked me after introductions.

"Whichever you prefer - most times it's just 'Jen'."

We exchanged a bit more similar talk and then they had me read a scene where the character of Alicia Larde is asking her professor out to dinner. I loved this scene because if I had been in her position and attracted to the somewhat shy professor, I might very well have put the moves on him like the character did. I glanced at the script I'd been given the week before, then put it down and launched into the scene.

I was immediately blown away because Russell put on Nash's persona like anyone else might slip into a jacket. I hoped I didn't look surprised - I kept in character as much as possible, having researched Alicia quite a bit to prepare for the audition. We ran through the whole scene, then both of us sat back in our chairs. Russell's grin flashed and I found myself grinning back at him. I felt like the Cheshire Cat - all grin and not much else. I realized that if I got this part, I could expect to be challenged right down the line on every part of every scene. This is not necessarily a bad thing - but I would have to be so up on my toes with this man that I actually found myself wondering if I could do it. Or if I wanted to do it.

The two guys did the standard, "We'll call your agent" routine and I was out of there. I felt like a train had run over me. A train from Australia. I went home and started reading other scripts - I really thought I needed a contingency plan because I doubted I was going to get this role. To be totally truthful, I wasn't sure I would be able to do well with it because I found Russell Crowe too damned attractive. And temptation of that sort was the last thing I needed in my life right then.

It was mid January when I got a call from my agent to tell me I had the role. At that point, I put aside my caution and accepted with pride and anticipation. This would, my agent told me, be the perfect follow up part to my last film - the one where I was a drug-addicted woman who overdosed and died. I got to be a heroine in this one, but it was just as dramatic. Rehearsals would begin in New York in mid-February. I started making arrangements to move myself back east and Kai in with my parents for the duration of the shoot. I had learned that - however much I missed him, it wasn't fair to Kai to have him spend hours with sitters while I was on the set until God knew what time every day. He would settle in with his beloved grandparents, and we'd talk on the phone everyday. He was already looking forward to playing with their two collies.

As easy as making arrangements for my son was, I ended up having a huge disagreement over it with the man in my life. We split after several days of nasty arguments. It was my life, I told him that last afternoon when he slammed out of my apartment. My life, my career, my choice to make. If I loved him enough, he had shouted at me, I would give in to his wishes and not go. I guess that was the main thing - I had found that I didn't love him at all, much less enough to derail a career I'd worked long and hard to build.

My agent made arrangements for me to sublet a great loft apartment in Soho that I had rented before, and I moved myself and what seemed like a ridiculous number of boxes the second week of February. Around 2 on the afternoon of the first day in the place, Fedex delivered a parcel to me. It was from a big computer manufacturer, so I figured my mom must have splurged and gotten me one of those email machines so we could correspond every day without burning up the phone wires late at night.

I sat on the floor and unpacked it. It wasn't an email machine - it was an incredibly powerful laptop with all the bells and whistles including a glove-leather carrying case. I couldn't believe Mom would spend the amount of money it had to have cost, and when I flipped up the active matrix screen, a gift card fell out. Curious, I opened it.

"I hear you don't have one of these - thought you'd like this. Happy Computing, Russell"

I almost dropped the computer in shock. Russell Crowe had spent a couple of thousand dollars to buy me a computer? I just sat there staring at it and the pile of black and white packaging. The doorbell rang and I went to answer it. It was the doorman from downstairs, and he handed me an envelope of heavy cream paper that had just my name and the apartment number on it. Now what?

I opened it to find a computer CD with a post-it stuck to it that read, "Put me in drive D". I had to laugh - it was the same handwriting. This was starting to remind me of a high-tech version of Alice in Wonderland, only instead of "Drink me" or "Eat me" it was "Put me in your computer". I carried everything to the desk in the small dining area and got the thing plugged in, hooked up and going.

Seems the computer came with a bunch of free things, including an email account and Internet service for a year. I dutifully dialed up and signed up for everything. Wait until I told mom, I thought, she'd been after me for a year or more to get an email account because she gossiped online every day with her girlfriends and my aunts and cousins - I was the only Internet-less one left in the family. My mother would be more excited than I was, probably. I had to choose a screen name. Stumped, I stared at the screen, then finally chose "Jenalicia". Not real original, but it worked. I gleefully emailed my mother and my aunts.

After that, I finally put the mysterious CD into the D drive and waited while it caused whirring and clicking. The screen blurred then burst into a rainbow of colors. Music came on. I both jumped and laughed at the same time - it was "Waltzing Matilda" which was, I suppose, only to be expected, given the source of the disk. The man was apparently as inventive as he was talented. After a short bit where kangaroos, wallabies and other Australian fauna danced across the screen in little cartoon rows, the music stopped and there was Russell's voice. "If you got this, luv, you can now email me and Ron and anybody else you care to. And if you care to email me, my addy is RustyIra@Ozzienet.com.au. If ya don't wanna, that's fine too."

The screen then flashed all the rainbow colors again and when it cleared, I was watching out takes from Gladiator. They were hilarious. I had loved that movie- the grandeur and dignity of General Maximus in particular - along with most every other red-blooded woman - but I'd never seen the bloopers. The funniest one was Russell and Djimon Hounsou chained together, ostensibly battling some unknown foe that was really the camera lens itself. They were apparently having difficulty with being chained - probably because Djimon was left-handed and Russell right so that their arms and weapons kept tangling up in the chain. They both looked a little desperate; so I realized this was probably take number umpty-ump. Each one took one good swing, then Russell got the steel wrist band that was part of his costume caught in the chain, and he could only move the sword up about six inches. Djimon gave a big yank, hoping to untangle them, and they ended up weaponless, stumbling all over each other. Somebody belatedly yelled, "Cut!" and the two guys stood there panting and heaving, laughing like hyenas.

"You hit me, mate," Russell finally gasped to his partner in chains.

"I didn't hit you, you tangled your stupid arm in my chain," Djimon responded in his deep voice.

Ridley Scott walked into the scene looking harried, turned to the camera man and said, "Shut the bloody fucker off." Behind him, Russell was mimicking his every word and expression while Djimon grinned. When Ridley turned and caught them, he pulled a prop gun out of his jacket and fired it into the air, provoking more laughter. He turned back to the camera with a big grin and announced, "Dead, by God - bring in the replacement actors!" Meanwhile Russell was laughing so hard he tripped over Djimon and fell flat on his butt. The camera kept rolling.

Djimon said something about clumsy Aussies and Russell gave the wrist chain a yank, pulling the taller, heavier black actor down onto the dusty ground next to him. "That hurt!" Djimon exclaimed.

"Whoopsie poopsie!" Russell said, and my giggles turned into laughter at the incongruity of that expression coming from the ultra-masculine mouth of Mr. Crowe. Ridley, meanwhile, walked into the frame again, looked at his watch and informed the two laughing stars, "That's Take Number 5,432 - can we get one of them right gentlemen?"

"The first one was right," Djimon claimed.

"No it wasn't," Russell argued, "you stood in front of me - you're not supposed to stand in front of the star, mate."

Ridley looked at the camera, shrugged, and said, "You see what I have to put up with." He gestured to someone off camera, "Shoot both of them - see if Tom Cruise is doing anything today and call Bill Cosby while you're at it." The camera turned off then. I wondered what had happened after that.

Another out take was Russell battling the tigers and the giant gladiator, Tigris of Gaul. One tiger came out way too early and literally sideswiped Russell, knocking him head over heels. He rolled on the ground and the camera had a perfect shot straight up his tunic. I hadn't realized the ancient Romans wore bicycle shorts, but that was what it looked like he had on - with some kind of leather codpiece over them. The tiger kept going and five guys ran through the scene after it, yelling, dead set on catching it, while Russell sat up, looked at the camera and commented, "That shot of my knickers will go for big bucks on Ebay!"

The last one was the famous scene where he has on the silver helmet, takes it off and proclaims, "I am Maximus Decimus Meridius. . ." Only, they must have done too many takes that day. In this one, he turned and took off the helmet, revealing his sunglasses under it. When Ridley Scott yelled "Cut! What the fuck is that?" Russell pretended not to know what he was talking about. Thereupon ensued a discussion where each one's accent - one Australian, the other Glasgow, Scotland - got thicker and less understandable. Finally, Russell took off his sunglasses, only to reveal another smaller pair beneath those. The take ended with both men laughing uncontrollably.

Russell's voice came again with the message, "I'm not as surly as I look." More kangaroos, platypi and wombats danced and the program ended.

I couldn't believe he went to all that trouble. He could have simply send me a note with his email address and suggested I get a computer so he, Ron and I could all talk before rehearsals began. I was touched. I was also a little alarmed. Was he putting the rush on me or was he this overwhelming with every female co-star? I guessed I would find out quickly enough.

I wrote my first email to RustyIra. "Got the surprise - it's wonderful. I cannot thank you enough. I guess I'm the first one to arrive in New York - am I showing too much eagerness? When do you come over from Australia?" I signed off and went to unpack some of my things. When I came through the dining room an hour or so later, there was a tiny light flashing on the screen, so I went to look. Sure enough, it said I had email.

I sat down and logged on to get it. There was one message from my mom - I was right, she was thrilled. The other was from the multi-talented Russell Crowe. It read, "You're no more eager than I am - I'm at the Mercer in SoHo - call and ask for Ira Russell's room - maybe you'd like to have dinner?"

I debated calling or not. I dithered back and forth for a good half hour. Finally, getting my courage up, I dialed the Mercer Hotel.

"Ira Russell please." I didn't even get an argument. The extension rang immediately and was picked up on the second ring. "Hello?" came the unmistakable voice.

"Hi, this is Jen - I got your email."

"Hey! How cool - would you go to dinner with me? I hate eating alone - did it last night, dead boring."

"Yeah, that'd be nice - I hate eating alone, too."

"Okay, can I pick you up in an hour?" I agreed that would be perfect, and we rang off. I went to search through my clothes for something sort of middle of the road - not too dressy and not too casual, and shortly was showering, wondering what my evening was going to be like.

We had the best time. Russell picked me up in this huge black SUV - he said he always rented something similar because they were so comfortable and private - and we rode to a Chinese restaurant in the Village. It was smallish, understated, and private. It also had some of the best food I'd had in ages. I made a pig of myself on sesame chicken and fried rice. My fortune cookie read, "You are a person others are drawn to." "Well, what kind of fortune is that?" I wanted to know.

Russell was busy reading his, laughing - well, giggling, really. He has a very funny laugh; this was the first time I experienced it up close and personal. It made me want to join in. He held up the scrap of paper and chortled, "It says 'If you don't succeed the first time, try again' - now I ask you, how did they know it was me out here just waiting to read the story of my life in a fuckin' fortune cookie?"

Discussion during dinner had revealed that he wasn't satisfied with any film he had made and hated watching them because he always spent the whole time wincing over what he could have done better instead of just enjoying the film.

"I'm can understand that," I commented, "I always look at myself and wonder who that skinny brunette with the stuck up expression is."

He gaped at me for a second, "Skinny brunette? Luv - have you not looked in the mirror?"

To my extreme embarrassment, I blushed. Was he saying he thought I had a bit more grace than I thought I did? "Um, I guess not," I finally murmured, knowing I had to say something or come across as a ditz. I had realized in the first five minutes of conversation that I had better be on my toes with him because he had one of those minds that goes in ten different directions all at the same time and all of it interesting. Plus he seemed fascinated with everything - there wasn't one thing on our table that hadn't been picked up, turned every which way, looked at, sniffed and put down in another place by the time they brought the appetizers. I had a feeling he was the same way with people - he examined them every way he could to find out what made them tick. I wasn't so sure I wanted to be scrutinized like that.

Since nobody bothered us during dinner, we got real brave and decided to walk a ways, the SUV shadowing us, driving slowly along at the curb. "You always have the minders?" I asked him. To my surprise, he looked a little upset at my question. "Forget I asked, none of my business," I hastened to say.

We stopped to look in the window of a flower shop. "Actually, luv," he said in a low voice, "I don't always have the minders - this is something a little stupid."

"What is?" I asked in as low a voice as he had used.

"Well - don't laugh now - but it seems some damn fucker wants to kidnap me for ransom."

I turned to look at him so fast I'm surprised I didn't get whiplash. "Really?!?"

"Unfortunately, yes, really. The minders - well, except for the bloke driving the car - are FBI. Not my usual cavalry at all." He looked irritated as he told me this.

We turned away from the window and started walking again. "Should I be scared to be with you?" I asked.

"Probably," he said on a chuckle, "but not because of any damned kidnapping threat."

I smiled. "Oh. Mister Antipodean Lovehound?"

He groaned and nodded, "Yeah, that, but I'm mot even sure what a lovehound is, are you?"

"Haven't a clue - unless it's one of those little dogs that hump your leg?"

His turn to get whiplash looking at me. "Never that," he claimed. He had hold of my hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. "Anyway, you're pretty safe with me, Jen. I'm in sort of romantic limbo right now - all dressed up and nobody to go to, and not sure I want to go anyway."

I digested that, realizing what he was telling me. So his highly publicized romance with the blonde actress was over for good. I risked a glance and saw he was walking looking down at the sidewalk and not where he was going. "Russell - you're going to walk right into a light pole doing that," I teased him.

He glanced up, his expression brightening, "No I won't - you'd warn me in time, I know you would."

I smiled. "How do you know that? I might just let you go clang and stand there laughing and pointing."

He squeezed my hand again, "No, luv, not you. You've got too much heart in you to be that cold." Before I could ask him on what he was basing that judgment, the SUV stopped, the driver beckoned for us to get back in - I guess the FBI guys were getting jittery - and we were shortly parked in front of my building.

I thanked him for a lovely dinner. "It was great - we won't have time for nice evenings like this once filming begins."

"Nope, that's why I wanted to do it now," he agreed. He took my hand and squeezed it like he had when we were walking. "Look, Jen - just because you're in this film with me people are going to say things about you. They're going to write things that are untrue, say that we're some kind of romantic couple - all that usual bullshit they write. I don't want that to jeopardize your relationship with your fella back in California."

I blinked, then realized I hadn't said a word about being footloose and fancy free. "Oh - but I'm not in a relationship any more."

His face changed and became infused with sympathy, "Christ, I'm so sorry - that was clumsy as an ox, wasn't it?"

"It's okay, really. It was over a long time ago, he just didn't accept it and I didn't push it until a few weeks ago."

"Oh - well, if you're sure." He studied my hand in the dim light from the street. It was as if the driver and the two FBI men in the front seats weren't in the same dimension. "I'm alone too, now," he finally said softly. When he glanced up from my hand to my face, I was struck at how much hurt was in the famous blue-green eyes.

"I guessed as much," I said. My turn to squeeze his hand. "If you want to talk - maybe we can be each other's sounding board? Diss the opposite sex and damn all lovers?"

He grinned, nodding. "Sounds like a workable idea, luv. Well, best let you go on up," he opened the rear door and got out, helping me step down onto the sidewalk. "Careful - no broken ankles," he teased. As I turned to walk to the lobby doors, he caught my hand and held me back for a brief kiss. His mouth was very soft and very warm, "Good night, Jen - thanks for tonight."

"Good night, Russell," I said with a smile. "Thank you for asking me - and for the computer. That was very special."

"Oh, shucks," he claimed, sounding like Gabby Hayes, "T'warn't nothin', ma'am."

I went inside and stood in the lobby, waiting for the elevator to my floor. Outside I could see him still standing on the sidewalk beside the car. He waved when he saw me looking, and I thought he looked a little bit like a stray cat - hopeful and resigned at the same time. The elevator came but I was back outside, walking back to him. I took his hand, "Come on."

He looked owlishly surprised, then gestured to the car to drive on without him and followed me into the building. In the elevator, he asked, "You sure about this, Jen? I might just try to ravish you in your foyer."

I giggled, "I don't have a foyer." The doors opened onto my private entry hall and I keyed the door open. "Don't hang back," I urged him, smiling. "Maybe there's a foyer after all and I lied about it, you can't ever tell."

He gave me a more assessing look. "True - you can't ever tell, can you?"

I shut the door behind us and we were in for the night.

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