rose29

This is a work of fiction, loosely based on the actor Russell Crowe.
I do not own the copyright on that character, but only
on the premise of this story.

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

ROSE - Chapter 29

"So what you're telling me," Rosie said, sitting across the breakfast table and drumming her fingers on the tabletop, "is that you do this biofeedback stuff, and you alter your diet somewhat, and do the stress management sessions and you end up cured? No more headaches?"

"Pretty much, yeah," I answered. I sipped my tea. Thank God, I didn't have to curtail my hot tea drinking - I'd have been a whimpering wreck on the floor. I just had to limit the caffeine a bit, and I'd found I could stomach some of the caffeine free teas as long as I could still add sugar etc to make them palatable. I wasn't as enthused about the stress management bits - to me, that was nothing much unnerving than being shrunk by a psychiatrist, but I'd actually sort of enjoyed the first couple, so maybe Dr. Samuels was on the right track there, too. "I'm not keen on some of the dietary restrictions, but I understand they're flexible, based on trial and error, so maybe that'll work out, too."

She beamed at me. "The thing is, Russell, you look happier. Anything that makes you look happier and takes that shadow out of your eyes is tops in my book."

We beamed at each other. She was right. I did look happier. Mainly, because I felt happier. I think it was partly the therapy and partly that I was actually doing something - you know, taking a positive step - that was working. I still had migraines, don't let me mislead you, and I'd had a couple of rippers in the weeks since I'd been back, but they didn't come every day any more and they didn't lay me out for hours and hours afterward. The Imitrex worked. The other therapy seemed to be working. I had hopes that soon I'd be able to work again.

Until I could pass a bonding company's physical - which Dr. Samuels assured me wouldn't be too far in the future given how I was progressing - I couldn't think of starting a project. And I had some scripts that I was just aching to do, one of which was from Ridley Scott's team and was the long-hyped sequel to Gladiator. Yeah, that's right, sequel. Don't ask me, but it's really cool how they've worked it out, and yes, I play Maximus again.

---------------Rose

He no longer frightened me when he would ride or walk off to be alone for a bit in the afternoons. The vertical furrow Russell had borne between his brows and the shadows in his eyes had cleared, leaving him looking as happy as they day we married. I was so thrilled that he felt better, and so happy with our life together now that he was on the mend, at last. We enjoyed life at the farm, and would shortly visit the property in Florida, although that might be a lightning visit, depending on how the humidity affected Russell. It was October, though, so the dampness would be dissipating by the time we arrived in November. We'd check up on everything there, arrange to ship some horses over to Oz, visit friends, and I'd get to visit my Dad's grave.

Yes, Daddy had died in late August. His heart, the doctors said, had given out under his long alcoholism and the other illnesses that came from it. I had flown home with Lexie for a week for the funeral and to sort out paperwork, and estate stuff, and I'd finish that on the November visit. He hadn't been happy in years, so I suppose the release from an unhappy life isn't totally sad. I know I felt mostly relief.

I had also decided to seek dual citizenship, and, if Russell wanted to, live full time in Australia since the Florida foray had proven not to be the healthiest for him climate-wise. So, we might be putting the Florida farm up for sale. I'd miss the beautiful house, but truly, I loved our house in Australia just as much, and also the condo in Sydney - it would be my friends I'd miss, and I could visit whenever I wanted, so the decision to transfer my own personal operations to Oz wasn't as hard as I once would have thought. Rose Hill Arabians would just have to be an Australian operation from then on.

I became Russell's biggest cheerleader as he went through the first halting steps of reclaiming his life and controlling his migraines. Dr. Samuels said he would probably never be totally free of them, but he would be able to handle them much better and would be able to handle the stressors that often set off a headache by going to the stress management therapy and actually psychotherapy sessions he'd been going to. He was in a small group, also, which he at first thought wouldn't work at all given his celebrity status. But, the first few sessions the moderator had treated him like all the others in the group, and everybody shortly got over any star-struck nonsense and got on with getting over their headache problems. It amazed me how many people had migraines and went to these classes or whatever you call them. I went to some myself, given my own history, and found their techniques helpful.

We went to Florida in November, and, sure enough, the humidity did bother Russell, so we reluctantly put the farm up for sale, and made arrangements to sell the horses we didn't want and ship the ones we did. Alfie and Brat were coming to Oz at last, along with several nice fillies, and we sold everything else. Sharon was really depressed about it until Russell gallantly invited her to bring her husband and come visit us for our annual after Christmas house party. "I've always wanted to visit Australia!" she exclaimed, and immediately wanted to know what Christmas there was like, what shopping she needed to do, and so forth.

I let her drag me off to go over her wardrobe while Russell met with the packers who were boxing up our things to be shipped to Oz. The realtors also descended and every inch of the house and stables was measured, diagramed, photographed and otherwise cooed over. The property would, we were told, fetch half again as much as he'd paid for it, at the very least, and probably closer to double given the improvements he'd done. I would miss that house, but again, as I said, the farm was home to me now. Wherever Russell was, is home, truthfully.

------------------------- Russell

That Christmas was a wonder, mate. Rosie's friends from the States came over, also Ron Howard and his wife Cheryl, Paul Bettany and his wife, Jennifer Connelly, Nicole Kidman, Bryan Brown and his wife, Jack Thompson, all my TOFOG mates, Bobby Mammone, a whole bunch of mates from the Sydney actors' colony and the music business, Ridley Scott and his gorgeous Italian wife (my film wife in Gladiator), all the neighbors, and more actors, musicians and just plain folks than even I can remember.

Lexie tried to climb the Christmas tree twice, dumping it over both times so that I finally wired the fucker to the wall. I think she may have a future as a mountain climber or forest ranger or something, I'm not sure. Mum and Dad took tons of videos, and Chelsea, her dad and her new stepmother also shot cassettes and stills - probably enough footage of our Christmas to equal a feature film. I loved it.

The afternoon of the 28th, when everyone was napping off the huge amounts of food they'd eaten, Rosie and I went for a long ride out into the far paddocks. We ambled along, holding hands across the short distance between Fandango and Honey, talking about silly stuff, just being happy. I could do that now and not feel guilty that there was something I needed to be doing. That was one thing I'd learned about myself - I had felt I needed to control everything, and I had to come to terms with the fact that I couldn't, that I could only take charge of myself and not run everyone and everything having to do with me and my life - just myself, and not always that. Once I relaxed and accepted that, it was like this fifty pound block of stone just melted off my shoulders, and that's when I began to only have a headache occasionally, and none that laid me out.

I had passed a bonding company physical the week before, in fact, and one reason Ridley had come was for us to make plans for our film sequel. True, it would be shot in Malta, Italy, London and God knew where else, and true, I'd have to be gone, but Rosie and Lexie would be with me, and I felt the happiest I ever had in my whole life.

"Penny for 'em," she teased me now.

I glanced up from a deep contemplation of Honey's ears. "I was just thinking about the film - it's going to be so much more fun than the first one because you'll be there for me."

She squeezed my hand. "I can't wait, truthfully," she said, "I haven't gotten to see you actually making a film yet."

"Well, I'll be tired and cranky a lot of times, and have bumps and scrapes, but I'll have someone to kiss all them and make it better, and I'll have our baby to play with, too."

"And you'll be sensible about getting your rest and eating right," she twitted me.

I repeated it after her like an elementary school student, "I'll be sensible about getting my rest and eating right," I chanted.

We both giggled. "And maybe," I added with a leer, "I can see about getting you properly pregnant with Number Two while we're in Italy or London or someplace conducive to good fucking."

She shouted with laughter and let go of my hand to shake a finger under my nose, "Since when do you need a conducive place? I thought any old corner would do."

I grinned, "It will, but some nice romanticism never hurt."

She kicked Fandango into a canter and shouted back to me over her shoulder, "Well, come on then - nothing more romantic than our place by the river!"

She referred to a wood and stone shelter I'd had built near the river bank - the benches were just wide enough and comfortable enough to lend themselves well to sex alfresco. "Watch out for the red bellied black!" I yelled after her, urging Honey into her smooth rocking horse gait.

"I'm more concerned with the green-eyed russet," she yelled back, and rode on towards the river bank.

I reached it just after she did, and she caught me just like I intended her to do. She can catch me any time, my Rose. Nobody ever made me so happy. Life is good.

LOCATION - Some months later. . .

Everything was a sea of mud.

I'd been slogging through it for what seemed like weeks now, bogged down not only by muck three inches thick on my boots, but by 20 pounds of armor that was the height of the costume designer's art, a three foot long sword hanging from one side of a thick leather belt and a large dagger hanging off the other. Added to that was the long cloak of heavy wool decorated with the fucking wolf pelts that added another bit of poundage to the whole outfit. Oh, and the leather skirt-thing with the metal lappets on it - that was another five pounds. It was a good thing I was fit - I'd have just collapsed under the weight of the bloody costume.

Did I mention the helmet with the toilet-brush crest? That was made of aluminum but it was heavy enough because of the brass decorating it that it pressed just over my forehead and ears and gave me a headache. Not a migraine, mind you, just a plain old pain in the skull. "Ridley," I told him every time I had to wear the fucker, "ten takes is enough, mate - or let me take the thing off in between."

"Leave it on, Russ," he'd patiently request, "we're ready to go again on the scene." So I'd leave it on and concentrate on everything else to take my mind off it. He'd just smile his little half-smile and go on, knowing the tiredness that showed through on my face only enhanced whatever scene we were shooting.

We were in England, filming action supposedly taking place in Germany around 190 AD, and it was, naturally, winter. It was just like the last time we had filmed there - cold, damp, rain often turning into snow, and I was bruised and banged up all over from various stunts and fights we'd been filming. I'd done for both achilles tendons filming "Gladiator". I'd never had surgery on them, although I'd been advised I would need to one day. I now knew that advice was correct and I'd need to do something after this film wrapped or risk permanent damage. As long as I was on horseback or sitting I was fine, but when I had to jump around with a sword or what-have-you, I was in extreme pain, mainly on the right leg.

"Five minutes!" one of the PA's called out. I sat studying my leather-wrapped hands, my script folded shut under my chair. I did a mental run-through of the scene - thankfully, one where I mostly talked to some other blokes in similar costumes - and the nuances I wanted to convey. Maximus was much less angry in this film, much more the world-weary soldier doing the bidding of his commander-in-chief, who wasn't the mad boy emperor of the first film, but an older, really more dangerous man named Pertinax, who was backed by the Praetorians, sort of the KGB of the Roman Empire, only much more overt.

As to how Maximus survived after the first film led you to believe he was killed in the arena, you'll just have to wait for this film to come out; I'm not spoiling the plot. It's neat, that's all I'll say about how Ridley and the screenwriters worked it out. I had a bit of input as well, but they came up with the premise, and it's what finally convinced me to don the armor again.

I sighed and looked up as I heard my name called, "Coming," I answered. I got up and slogged through the mud to go back to work. Thank God, Rose and the baby were waiting for me back in London. We'd wrap for the day soon and I could take off most of this stuff and go home. "Home" in this case being a suite at a fine hotel, but home, nonetheless because she was there.

We did three takes, thankfully all in quick succession, then Ridley called a wrap for the day and I headed over where I could take off the fucking armor and move towards going back to London. Ridley walked over and gave me a pat on the shoulder, "Good work, Russell."

I just smiled and nodded, thanking him. He's a strict taskmaster, is Ridley, but damn, the man knows directing and he had a vision of exactly how he wanted this film to look, and from the dailies, it was coming together extremely well. When the CGI bits were added in, we all knew, it was going to blow everyone away. But for the moment, just his few words were a bit of balm to my bumps and bruises and lightened my mood for the trip back into the city.

I found my car and driver waiting for me, as usual. He handed me a thermos of hot tea and a small bakery box. Rosie had sent it, I knew. She did it almost every day, sent some treat along for me to have with my tea in the car on the way into London so I wouldn't be starving by the time I got there. She had enough to do dealing with a tired, achey, cranky husband covered in mud without having me be hungry as well. I sank into the back seat of the car and opened the box. Red currant scones. I inhaled appreciatively and devoured most of one in the first bite. I hadn't even poured out a cup of the tea yet. But, hunger at bay for the moment, I sloshed some into the cup and drank it gratefully. She always made it just right - hot and strong. I sighed happily and glanced out the window as we came out of the deep woods and up onto the road that led into London.

It would be dark by the time we got to the hotel. In fact, it was almost dark now, but there were lights and activity everywhere as the film crew worked on breaking down what they were done with and hauling big pallets of equipment around. I knew Ridley would be at least an hour behind me, not leaving the set until he had his work lined up for the next morning. I have no idea where he gets his energy from. I was knackered, but then, I'd had the armor on all day and he'd only had on a down jacket. Maybe that was the trick. Directing sometimes looks like the ticket, but I wasn't nearly ready to give up working in front of the cameras, not by a long shot.

I finished the scones and the tea and let my head rest on the seat back, dozing all the way into London. Before I knew it, the driver had pulled into the underground carpark and was calling upstairs to let the concierge know I was coming. The concierge would let Rose know, and also make sure there was a security person down in the car park to be sure nobody threw themselves at me or anything untoward.

As usual, there were a couple of fans, and I infuriated the security bloke by signing their autograph books. I like obliging nice people, and this was a nice, quiet group from America who didn't get crazy or try to jump on me. They deserved a minute or two of my time. I liked the ABM shoot where we'd been right on city streets and college campuses and fans could actually watch the filming and I could interact with them at the end of the day. These few minutes in the car park were a kind of miniature flashback to that shoot. I wanted to do more, but we could hardly invite anyone who cared to watch out to the middle of the forest in the muck.

"Thanks, mates," I said to them and let the security man drag me onto the elevator upstairs. "Leave off," I snapped when he started to lecture me on not stopping to do autographs. He left off.

We arrived on the concierge level and there was Rosie standing waiting for me with a big smile and a warm hug, although I was all over dried mud, at least on my legs, so she was somewhat gingerly about the hug. "Come on, I've ordered dinner, it'll be here in 20 minutes - you've got time to wash off the mud, sweetie."

I let her take me by the hand and giggled when she grimaced at the leather bindings I still had on. "I forgot - I get so used to them," I explained. "I ate the scones - thanks, baby."

She smiled and bundled me into the room where Lexie sat in her playpen, bouncing up and down. She squealed when I came in and I stopped to scoop her up and kiss her about a hundred times while she laughed and yanked on my beard and hair. Rosie firmly took her away from me and shoved me toward the bath, "Shower," was all she said and I gave her a long-suffering eye roll, although truthfully I couldn't wait to get in the hot spray.

I took off the sweat pants I'd donned over the muddy flannel drawers, then got them off and the long-sleeved flannel shirt that was part of the underwear of a Roman general, and removed the leather bindings. I shook my head at myself for leaving them on - guess I was more tired than I thought. I turned on the shower and climbed in when the spray was hot enough. "Oh yeah," I groaned as the hot water needled away the mud and the fatigue, turning the nozzles onto massage to loosen my shoulder muscles and back. That done, I rinsed off, got out and wrapped up in one of the huge hotel bath sheets. I heard Rosie call out that dinner was there, and hunted up clean sweats to put on. I padded into the sitting area and was met by the wonderful aromas of dinner.

"I could eat a bear - what did you order, luvvy?" I sank into my chair and lifted the covers. "Oh, steak - wonderful! I'm in a carnivorous mood." Wonderful filet mignon and mushrooms, asparagus with Hollandaise and little oven browned potatoes - I ate like a footy player. Salad and bread and dessert too. I'd have eaten hers if I thought I could get away with it, but I knew I'd really had enough and was just bein' greedy.

The nanny came in and fetched Lexie to put her to bed, so we both hugged and kissed the baby. We would go in and read her a story in a few minutes - Lexie and the nanny being in the adjoining suite with all of Lexie's toys and junk. I hadn't wanted to be separated from her even by that much but Rosie had prevailed in getting me to try it, and it worked really well. She knew I'd need the peace and quiet of being alone or just with her, and since Lexie was only a few feet away under the care of this really great nanny Ron Howard had recommended to us, it worked out just great.

Rosie came and sat on my lap when we were finally done eating, snuggling up with her head burrowed into my shoulder. "How was your day?" she asked.

This was my invitation to unload on her if I chose, but nothing was really pressing me that day, so I just told her some of the funny bits that had happened and my usual gripe about the mud, and we laughed a bit over some other stuff - a funny email from Chelsea, who was at college now; a call from my mum reminding me it was Terry's birthday that coming Saturday; what wondrous thing our offspring had gotten up to while I was gone to the set. I was so relaxed I almost dropped Rosie by the time we finished talking. "Ooopsie poopsie," I teased, and grabbed hold just before she slid off my lap. "Let's go say g'night to the poppet, I'm rooted."

We went next door and tucked Lexie in. Rosie read her a Mother Goose rhyme and we kissed her sleepy little self goodnight.

I yawned all the way into the bedroom and climbed into bed. Rosie joined me shortly and snuggled up. "Wanna mess around?" she teased, tickling my stomach.

"Mmm," I managed, but I was gone before I could even connect her question with the pleasurable activities it promised.

I sighed and kissed his tired face, patting his cheek, "Oh well, there's always tomorrow," I thought. I would just have to wake him a bit early. I snuggled in and fell asleep smiling at the thought.

The End

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Photographs of Russell Crowe courtesy of various fan sites.