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This is a work
of fiction, loosely based on the actor Russell Crowe. 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. ©2001 by WILDBEARIES
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ROSE - Chapter 9
I threw myself back into my normal daily routine. Somehow, shoveling manure, spreading shavings in the stalls, grooming my horses, all seemed to restore some of my equanimity. It also numbed me, which I needed. I hadn’t even realized I was falling in love with him. How stupid could I be? I asked myself that several times a day, then redoubled my work and tried to forget it all. My dad wasn’t doing well. He had his checkup and his doctors put him on a diabetic diet because his blood sugar was off. Of course, he refused to eat what he termed “that crap”, and Maria was at her wit’s end trying to disguise the proper foods so that he would eat them. He was cranky, ornery, foul-mouthed and getting worse by the day. I found myself wondering what my mother ever saw in him, although I know that when he was in his twenties he was nothing like he was now. I mourned the handsome, intelligent, ambitious young man who had somehow turned into this embittered, nasty, sad old drunk. It was like evil fairies had exchanged my real father for this husk of a man and I wanted my real father back. I conferred with Roberto, and he and I sat my dad down two days after Thanksgiving and told him he had to start cutting back on the horses. “You’re not being fair to them,” I said, playing the one card that I knew would work with him. “They need a lot more attention than you have time for, Dad.” He argued. He raged at us and accused us of conspiring against him. He wept. Finally, he agreed and we began the process of selling off his horses. Once he got into it, surprisingly, he seemed almost relieved about it. We listed the horses with an agent and were pleased when buyers called from all over the United States to inquire about them. He sold all but his favorite riding horse and a two year old filly he was fond of. To my surprise, he began spending more time with the two of them than he’d spent with all his horses for the past couple of years. Nobody could break a young horse as gently or as well as my dad when he put his mind to it, and he was doing that with the two year old. Roberto and I exchanged a lot of speaking glances as this began, but we were glad of it. That left the status of our long-time employees and friends, Roberto and Maria, somewhat in question. I reassured them that they always had a job and a place to live so they wouldn’t worry, and I know they both breathed easier because of it. They would be old enough to get Social Security soon, but even that isn’t enough to live decently on nowadays. Knowing they had their little apartment over the garage and meaningful work to do seemed to really put the smile back on their faces. I wished I could put the smile back on my face. Sharon, of course, asked what had happened. I fobbed her off with some partial truths and pointedly let her know that further probing would be met with hostility. Not being one to enjoy getting her head snapped off, she let it drop although I know she wondered. Then there was the matter of Russell himself. He was anything but a quitter. He called and left messages on my answering machine. I erased them. He sent me flowers - I refused them. He sent more flowers with instructions to the delivery man not to take no for an answer. I left the roses in their vase on the desk in the tack room, reasoning that they wouldn’t upset me if they weren’t in the house. He left more messages - he sent me a singing telegram and gifts ranging from chocolates to baskets of gourmet treats to jewelry. I sent back the jewelry and gave the other things to Maria. “What you are doing here, Miss?” she asked me, hands on her hips when I brought over yet another basket of fancy fruit. “You must talk to him, this ignoring him will not make him disappear like you think.” “Maria, I don’t want to discuss it,” I told her flatly. That did not work with her, however. She had known me since I was, as she put it, just out of the egg, and considered herself my mother surrogate. “You are being foolish,” she said just as firmly, “He is a very special man, I think you’re just kidding yourself that he will go away.” I was sitting at Dad's kitchen table drinking coffee and I slapped the mug down in annoyance. “And you know this from long acquaintance with him?” She rapped the table with her hand, “Do not thump cups on my table! And yes, I have gotten to know Mr. Russell, the man calls several times a day for you. He is crazy about you.” “He calls here several times a day?” I hadn’t realized. How dare he enlist Maria in his attempts to talk to me? “Yes, since you don’t return his calls, he talks to me. You gonna tell me I can’t talk to him?” She had her arms folded across her chest in a stubborn pose that I recognized meant nothing was going to change her mind. I shook my head, “No, you can talk to him if you want, but I’m not going to see him.” I wondered what they talked about, but tamped down the curiosity. “Stupid,” she pronounced, and stalked out of the kitchen muttering to herself about stubborn, overly proud women who didn’t know what was good for them. I sighed and went back to my house, knowing argument was futile. I was working at my desk in the tack room, closing out the records on my dad’s horses we’d sold, when I heard a car drive up outside. I wondered if it was Sharon, but to my surprise, it was a car bearing the shield of the Ocala Fire Department. A man in a neat black uniform got out and walked up carrying a clipboard and some other papers. He introduced himself as the arson investigator and we went into the office where he asked me all the same questions the fire department people had already asked me. Apparently they had determined that my shop was set on fire deliberately and since usually in cases like that it’s the owner of the place that sets the fire, they wanted to see if I had a reason to want the place burned down. He was there over an hour, and by the time we’d gone over everything, then gone back over at least half of it, my head was splitting and I was ready to call it quits. “Please, I had nothing to do with this fire, I didn't even have a big insurance policy on the building, I just covered my stock, and I'm still going to be out a lot of money when all is said and done.” I sounded petulant, but I felt had reason to. He closed his notebook, gathered his papers and said as he got up to leave, “We’re pursuing all avenues, Ma’am, not just you.” “I’ve never been an avenue before,” I told him. To my surprise, he grinned and said he didn’t mean to depersonalize it, but that was what was happening. “I’ll let you know if we find out anything,” he promised. He drove off. I watched the car disappear up Shady Road, then stood for a while, just staring into the middle distance. I still couldn’t imagine who would want to burn down my shop, unless - and this sounded just like something he would do - Brad had called someone and had it done. I hadn’t mentioned my suspicions about him to the investigator. I had no proof, just my gut feeling and my knowledge of how his mind worked. He wouldn’t hesitate to destroy anything I held dear just to assert his control over me, even now, long after the divorce. Even now, after he’d been married to two other women since I’d left him. I refused to let myself dwell on that possibility, though. If I did, I’d start being fearful for the farm, the horses, my dad - everyone and everything I held dear. Including Russell? My mind put that question on the screen of my memory and I had to look at it. Yes, I told myself, including Russell. I simply would not expose him to the possibility of some kind of craziness committed by my ex-husband. I hunted through my file cabinets, found my .38 Air Weight pistol and went to the practice range to get reacquainted with it. If Brad showed up and was at all threatening, I would threaten right back, with the gun to bolster my bravery. I carried the pistol with me when I went out to the stables, and back into the house later. I put it on my nightstand when I went to bed, but it was not as comforting as I had thought it would be. What I wanted, what I told myself I should not - could not - have, was Russell. Finally a day came when there were no messages on my machine. I found myself feeling down about that, which was ridiculous, since I’d told myself all I really wanted was to forget the whole time we’d spent getting to know one another. So why did I check the machine first thing every time I went in the house? Why the disappointment when the light wasn’t blinking, or if it was blinking, when the voice on the tape wasn’t his? “You miss him because you’re a romantic sap,” I informed myself, “and you should know better.” “Yes, you should.” The quiet words, coming as they did when I thought I was alone in my house, startled me so badly that I dropped the holstered .38 on the floor with a clunk. Luckily, it had the safety on and wasn’t loaded. Still, I whirled on him with outrage. “What are you doing in here?” Russell stood just inside the open kitchen door. At my question, his lips pressed into a thin line and I could tell he was biting back a sharp retort. Finally, he shrugged and explained, “You wouldn’t answer my messages, so I came to deliver them in person.” He glanced at the padded holster still lying where it had fallen, “I didn’t realize I’d need a bullet proof vest.” “I wouldn’t have shot you,” I said, bending and picking up the gun. I shoved it in a drawer and leaned my back against the counter, arms folded defensively across my body. “There, it’s gone.” “For the moment, yes, until you decide to shoot yourself in the foot with it.” “I won’t do that - I know how to use it.” “Yes, so I saw,” he answered. He shut the door behind him and moved further into the kitchen. “Mind if I sit down?” “Yes.” “Yes you mind, or yes, you may sit down, Russell darling?” One corner of his mouth was quirking up in a grin. How dare he find this funny! “Yes, I mind.” I yanked the opposite chair out and sat down facing him. “Now, what do you want?” “For one thing, I came to check on my horse.” When I looked blank, he shook his head at me, “Ebony? Remember? I came to see how she’s doing.” “She’s fine, the vet has been in to look at her and her leg is improving. And that’s not why you came.” I sounded like an old fishwife. I wished I would shut up. “Crabby,” Russell commented. “I also came to talk to you - I think you at least owe me an explanation as to why you ran off like that the other day and why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder ever since.” I gaped at him. “Weren’t you paying attention? I told you - I can’t have children. You want a woman who can. I just ended things before they got messy and complicated.” Even to my ears, it sounded thin. “I was paying attention,” he informed me in a quiet voice, “and if you think the fact that you can’t get pregnant - if that is really the case - would stop me wanting to be with you, Rose, you don’t really know me very well.” “It is really the case - I have too much scar tissue to allow ova to get to a point where they can get fertilized, if you want the technical description - and I have second, third and fourth opinions on that subject.” “Okay,” he said nodding, “So you could adopt children couldn’t you? Or is there some horrendous secret in your life that would put paid to that idea too?” “I suppose I could, given the fact that it’s best to do that with a husband around, and no, no horrible secrets beyond what you already know. Why?” “Oh, no reason,” he shrugged, his face carefully blank. He pushed his chair back and went to the door, “I’m going to see Ebony now.” He went out, shutting the door softly behind him. “Okay,” I said to the empty kitchen. “God damn it,” I cussed and followed him out to the stables. “You can’t ride her yet,” I yelled to him. “No, really?” he said snidely and led her out of her stall, talking softly to her when she snorted, nervous because of our tension. “If you’re going to keep arguing, stay the hell back from my horse,” he ordered me. “Fuck you,” I said nastily and stalked off to stare out into the paddock at Alfie, who was cantering around, showing off. “How are you, stud muffin?” I called out to him. He came trotting over to sniff me and be petted. Why are the stallions always so damned affectionate and attractive? I could hear Russell talking softly to Ebony, then I heard the stall door and assumed he’d put her back. Good, I thought, then he’d leave. Alfie lifted his muzzle and snorted, his big eyes fastened on a spot just behind me. Before I could turn, a large hand took hold of my arm and spun me around. Despite myself, I squeaked in surprise. Russell was standing so close to me our bodies were almost touching. He had his hands on his hips, and was glaring at me, blue sparks shooting from his eyes. “Don’t ever tell me ‘fuck you’ in that tone of voice again, Rosie, or you might get more than you bargained for.” “What would you do, punch me?” I sneered, knowing he’d never do any such thing. He moved closer, backing me up until I was pressed against the fence rails with no place else to go. Alfie nuzzled the top of my head, sucking on my hair, which would have been hilarious had I been in the mood for it, as it was, I just flapped a hand in his direction and shooed him away. “I would never punch you - but I have a really strong urge right this minute to put you over my knee and paddle your bottom, Rose. You’re acting like a five year old, and it’s real tempting to treat you like one.” “I’d like to see you try,” I shot back. Mistake. I realized it as soon as the words were out of my mouth, by which time it was way too late. Russell grabbed hold of my waist, lifted me like I was made of feathers, and threw me over his right shoulder. I kicked my feet and beat on him with my hands, but he only wrapped his arm so tightly around my legs that any kicks I got in were useless. I went limp, bouncing against him as he strode up to the stable and sat down on a bench. “Now,” he informed me in a soft voice, “I’m going to treat you like you seem to want.” Before I could do more than open my mouth to impart some wiseass comeback, he upended me and put me across his lap. He managed to yank my riding pants down despite my fighting his every move and yelling at the top of my lungs for Roberto, Maria or anyone within earshot. “Don’t you dare!” I yelled at him. “Are you going to apologize for jumping to conclusions about what I do and do not care about?” “No, I will not.” Amazing how I could still be nasty hanging upside down over his lap. I darted my head forward and managed to bite him in the side of his right thigh. “Ouch, dammit!” He gave my hair a little yank so I let go, then, before I could draw breath to either bite or yell again, his hand came down across my backside with a resounding smack. “Yeowch! You big bully, don’t you spank me like I’m a baby!” I flailed my arms and legs, yelling at him. He really was barely touching me, it was just the idea of being treated like a child that pissed me off. Another smack and I yelled again, “Stop it! I’ll press charges!” “Go ahead, I dare you,” he told me, and swatted my butt one more time, however, this time he mostly just brushed me. Was he chickening out already? “Can’t do it, huh?” I kept wiggling, trying to get into position where I could rear up and get off his lap, but he held me down. The man is strong as three men when he’s got his mind set on something. “Oh, yes I can,” he answered me right back, and smacked me hard one more time. This time, to my utter humiliation, he yanked down my panties too so his palm came down on my bare skin. It really stung and I screeched in outrage, “Ouch, that hurt, stop it right now!” My bottom was stinging, to say nothing of my pride. “Put me down!” “Ask me nicely,” he ordered, “maybe I will.” The bastard, he was feeling me up! He had his hand down under my ass, rubbing me between my legs. What really pissed me off was that I liked it. “Oohhhh,” I fumed, “stoppit right now!” I wriggled some more, but managed to part my thighs so he could get a better feel. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. At least, I didn’t think so. Knowing fingers stroked and rubbed, two of them sliding inside to work their magic on me. “Do you give?” “No,” I retorted. But I was enjoying the sensations he was causing, not that I’d admit it to him. “Tough little sheila,” he remarked, and I could hear barely controlled laughter in his voice. He gave me another smack with his left hand, all the while he kept up rubbing and stroking with his right. When I just moaned, he chuckled and gave me another swat before flipping me over so I was lying across his lap face up. “Now, will you at least discuss things with me and not assume what I’m going to say or do?” I nodded. I’m sure my face was red as a beet both from hanging upside down and from embarrassment. How had I gone from outraged dignity to quivering lust in so short a time and by such a means? “Good,” he said, and yanked me so tight against him he about bruised my ribs. “You make me so angry, Rose,” he muttered, but then he kissed me and everything just flew out of my brain but his mouth on mine and the feelings he had caused. He kissed me until we were both breathless, then he got off the bench, picked me up and carried me into the tack room, kicking the outside door shut behind him. He dropped me onto the daybed and stood over me for a moment, looking down. His face was still set in stern lines, but his eyes gave the lie to that - they were soft, holding an expression I hadn’t seen before. As we stared at each other, he slowly smiled the most lascivious smile I'd ever seen. It gave me goosebumps. “Oh, no,” I protested half-heartedly. “Oh, yes,” he disagreed, unzipping his jeans. “I’m going to finish what I just started Rosie, and after we’re done, I just might take you into your own bed and do it again for good measure.” He was hard as a rock and he showed it off to me, like any proud male would show off his endowments to his mate, then he climbed onto the bed with me and proceeded to fuck my brains out. He thrust in hard and deep without any preliminaries, although I guess you could consider that spanking a pretty good preliminary. My body certainly seemed to - my flesh welcomed his invasion like it had just been biding its time, waiting for the length and breadth of him to pay a call. I wrapped arms and legs around him and held on, moving with him, giving as good as I was getting, scratching and nipping at him as he was biting and clutching at me. He came with a loud yell of triumph, while I just shuddered and shook under him, unable to utter a sound beyond a gasp or two. “Oh, God,” I finally croaked out when I had breath to.” Russell kissed me, still thrust deep inside, and gave a couple more shoves for emphasis as he panted, “Don’t ever drive me crazy like that again, Rose.” I snickered, “What’ll you do, spank me again?” “I might,” he said, finally pulling out and flopping next to me on the narrow bed. He was a sight - jeans down around his knees, shirt wrinkled and rucked up around his chest, hair mussed, and the most self-congratulatory look of male superiority on his face I’d ever seen. “Piggy,” I said, shoving an elbow into his side. "Grumpy," he fired back, then cuddled me against him, kissing my face. "Rose, I've missed you so much - the past few days have been Hell for me." "I missed you too," I admitted. I rested my chin on his chest, looking up at him. "You have circles under your eyes." "I've not slept very well - something about missing someone in my bed," he admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry - I thought I was doing the right thing by you." He shook his head, "Don't ever assume you know the right thing for me without at least consulting me first to see what it is I truly want." He sat up, leaning back against the side of the daybed and pulling me up to sit on his lap. "Rose, what I was trying to say the other afternoon was that I've discovered that you fill a void in my life and it's made me so happy to have you there. I want you to always be there." He had that vulnerable expression in his eyes again, and he was holding my face between the palms of his hands as if he was afraid I'd look away. I did close my eyes briefly, thinking how rashly I'd acted - however well intentioned it was - and how I'd hurt him because I'd not trusted him to respond well to the information I'd given him. I'd expected him to be disappointed, to back away, to think less of me because I couldn't give him children and he so wanted that. I had assumed he'd act a certain way and not given him the chance to actually respond. I opened my eyes and smiled at him. "I'd love that," I admitted. "You'd love what?" he coaxed. "To - to always be there for you, to be with you." "To just be my pal, or is there something more?" Damn him, he always wants to hear everything - there's no keeping secrets from him. "To love you," I finally said in a whisper. He pulled me close against him, laughing, "Thank God," he said, "Thank God."
“I’m like a ship without a rudder,” I told Sharon one afternoon when we were taking a break from fitting my costume for the native costume class. I was currently wearing a Bedouin styled dress over my riding britches and boots, with the whole back of the dress closed with safety pins since we were just deciding how it should hang. “Some rudder,” Sharon teased me, “I’d miss him too.” I laughed despite my gloomy mood, “Yeah, I guess so.” “Aren’t you glad you decided to trust him?” “You know too damned much about my deepest, darkest secrets,” I teased, faking a scowl. “Well, who else are you gonna tell, hon? It’s not like your dad can listen to women’s business without yawning.” “True,” I got up to get more coffee. “Want more?” “No, I’ve got a caffeine buzz on now that would have an ordinary woman walking on the ceiling.” She got up, “Come on, let’s finish this damned costume so we can have it ready in time.” I dutifully stood, arms out to the sides, while Sharon crimped and tucked and pinned and prodded the garment and me. We marked where the Velcro fasteners should go, pinned in a couple of tucks so the dress wasn’t quite so loose, and called it a day. I folded it and put it by the sewing machine so I could stitch on the fasteners later. It would keep my mind off how much I missed Russell for awhile, so I saved it for that evening when the house would no doubt seem too quiet. “Are you going to ask him?” Sharon wanted to know. “I’m not sure - he might not go for it.” What she was after me about was that this year, there would be a pairs division of the native costume classes. She and her husband were going to enter it, and she was dying for me to enter it with Russell as my partner. I hadn’t mentioned it to him in the flurry of last-minute packing he’d been caught up in for his trip, and I really wasn’t sure if he would do it. Besides, I thought it might be looked upon as unfair play by the other competitors if I had a movie star as my partner. “The trick’s going to be disguising him so nobody tumbles to who he is until the judging is over, that way nobody can claim you took advantage of judges who were bedazzled by the fact that he’s who he is.” Sharon munched on a chocolate chip cookie as she imparted what I’d been thinking. “How can we do that?” I was beginning to picture a very virile Bedouin warrior riding beside me in my garb as the princess. Maybe a mask? “Make up - he’s an actor, isn’t he? I’m sure he knows how to put on make up so nobody’d recognize him.” “Oh - right,” I said, smacking myself on the forehead, “why didn’t I think of that? I’ll ask him if he calls tonight.” “If he calls? Don’t you mean one of the times he calls?” “Who did you tease before you started busting my chops?” I wanted to know. Russell called at least twice a day; in fact, he was a little overdue for his midday call. As if on cue, my cell phone rang and I answered it by saying, “Sharon’s just leaving.” I heard his laugh over the line as I waved bye-bye to Sharon, who was exiting the kitchen door making funny faces and waving back. “Hi,” I said when I was alone, “how’s it going?” “I’m not twenty five anymore, Rosie, it’s a fuckin’ shame,” he answered mournfully. “You sound a little hoarse, are you gargling?” “I already have a mum,” he grumped, “and yes, I’m gargling, but I miss you. Come up here.” “I can’t come up there - I’m in the middle of getting ready for the horse show.” The temptation was great, however. The show wasn’t until the week after New Year’s. “I can hear vacillation in your voice,” he said, pouncing. “Please, please, please?” “Don’t whine, it doesn’t become a macho bloke like yourself,” I teased. “Where is it you are today?” “Nashville, and it’s snowing.” I could hear him fiddling with something, then he said, “I’m lookin’ out the window, the whole place is covered in white, but the sky is still peekin’ through blue between the clouds. Weirdest damn thing I’ve ever seen.” “I can imagine - I’ve been there when the weather’s like that.” I had shown my horses in Nashville, and inevitably during the winter shows it seemed to snow to the point we’d get stuck for a couple of extra days because it was too icy to drive the truck pulling the horse trailer up and down the hills heading south on I-65. I looked at the calendar in front of me on the kitchen wall. There really wasn’t anything going on for the next week that demanded I be there. “I might could come.” He giggled, “Might could?” “All right, so I revert to southern under duress,” I shot back, adding, “mate.” “Is that a yes?” “That’s a maybe - if I can get a flight out of Orlando.” “No need, luvvy, I’ll send the plane down.” The perks of being a star, I thought in passing. “Oh, okay. I’ve never flown on a little plane before.” The chuckle came again, “Luvvy, it’s a pretty big fuckin’ plane - you’ll be fine, I promise.” I heard him say something to somebody else in the room, then he came back on, “Can you be ready tonight about ten?” “Yikes, yeah, I suppose so. What should I wear?” I had no clue what one wore to these things. When he stopped laughing he said, “Jeans, luv, totally casual. No need for fancy duds, just comfortable clothes. And a warm coat - ya got one of those?” “Of course I do,” I said indignantly, “somewhere - I’ll find it.” “Good, that’s my girl,” he approved, then he lowered his voice and added, “I miss you.” “I miss you too.” It was a ritual, every phone call ended with him telling me he missed me about twenty times before we actually hung up. “Russell?” “Yes, luv?” “I’m sorta fond of you.” “Are ya?” “Yeah, God knows why.” “Oh, I think I’m just a likeable fella, how can you not be fond of me?” “Conceited, too.” “Me? Never!” His laugh washed over me again and I wanted to burrow into his hug right then. “Well, I suppose not. Let’s just say you have good self knowledge.” “I’ll accept that,” he said, “go pack, I want you up here before I go crazy.” “Too late,” I teased him. We hung up giggling. I ran into my bedroom and began packing, making a mental list of people I had to call and things I had to do before I left. Roberto would see to my horses, and I’d have Sharon as a back up. Maria and Roberto would, as always, keep an eye on my dad. With the shop gone, I didn’t have that to worry about, so aside from making sure Maria would bring in my mail every day, that was it. I called everyone, put up with Sharon's chortling of "I told you so!" for five minutes, went out to do the evening feeding, and settled on the couch for a nap. The pilot would call when the plane landed, and I’d make the fifteen minute drive to the airstrip, park the truck there and be off on my adventure. As I waited, I reflected on how much my life had changed in the few short weeks since the night a stranger came into the record shop asking for music by Crowded House. I guess one never knows what twists and turns life is going to take. The pilot called at nine fifteen. They’d had good flying weather and were early, I should come on up, they’d be refueled and ready when I got there. I grabbed my duffle and set off. True to his word, when I parked where the pilot told me, I could see a beautiful jet sitting on the runway, door open. Russell was right - it was much larger than I’d picture. I parked and locked the truck and schlepped the duffle over to the foot of the stairs. Before I could yell “Hello” a blondish man popped his head out the door, startling me, but waving me inside once we agreed that I was Rose Jennings. The interior of the jet was all soft gray leather and suede with tapestry upholstered seat cushions. The seats, which were unlike anything I'd ever experienced before in an airplane, adjusted into all sorts of positions, and the banquettes, one on either side of the back of the cabin, were the most comfortable of beds once the loose pillow backs were stowed beneath them. The plane seated twenty passengers and 3 crew, the pilot told me. No wonder Russell laughed when I called it a "small plane". I settled into one of the front seats, got comfortable with a book, and we took off like a rocket. The sensation of flying in the small jet was much more like flying than anything I'd ever experienced. It was quiet as a whisper, but it felt much more like we were riding on the air currents than a trip in a commercial airliner ever had. I loved it. The co-pilot asked if I wanted anything to eat or drink, and provided me with hot tea, cookies and a blanket. I shortly found that I couldn't keep my eyes open, and put the chair back down so I could nap. I napped until just south of Atlanta when some air turbulence caused the plane to bounce like a car on a bad country road. The pilot stuck his head into the passenger cabin to reassure me they were going to climb higher to get over the rough air, and they shortly did. I breathed a bit easier and actually slept the whole rest of the way in to Nashville. We landed at the Nashville airport, taxied to the private jet hangars, and rolled along the tarmac a ways to one marked with the letters "LJI" which I later found out stood for Luxury Jets, Inc., a very accurate name. I saw a black SUV with blacked-out windows idling beside the big hangar and realized with a little jolt of excitement that that was probably Russell's car. I wondered for the first time if he was meeting me. I had assumed he'd be tired and resting since the concert was the next night, but one can never assume with him. As the plane parked and the door was jacked open, I found myself waiting impatiently to get out. I practically ran down the steps onto the pavement. The back door of the SUV opened and a man got out. I couldn't make out his features in the darkness, but caught the glow of a cigarette as he tossed it down, crushing it out with his heel, then recognized his distinctive walk. "Russell!" I yelled, and ran to meet him. He met me halfway, grabbing hold of me with a great shout of laughter, catching me up and spinning me around a couple of times. When I protested dizzily, he set my feet back on the ground and kissed me, which did nothing to improve my dizziness. "Come on, luv, let's get in the car, it's freezing out here." He led me back to the car and gave me a boost inside while the pilot stowed my duffle in the back. When Russ shut the door and everything was stowed, locked, belted and buckled, we took off. "God, I've been crazy without you," he told me, holding me so tight against him I was just shy of not being able to breathe. "Me too," I agreed, and did the burrowing into him that I'd been wanting to do earlier in the day. I leaned against him and looked out at the snowy streets flashing past as we drove. "Where are we staying? Do I have my own room or what?" I had no idea. "We're at the Motel Six, luv, and sharing a single - sorry about that, but they did leave the light on for us." I thumped him with an elbow, "Motel Six, the very idea!" I heard the driver laugh and realized they had cooked that up between them. "Men," I added with a sad shake of my head. "Where are we, really?" "The Torey Suites, luv, quite nice, actually." The Torey Suites were a chain of small, very plush hotels famous for top notch service, luxurious amenities and incredible food. "Ooh, a suite! How nice." I contemplated that, imagining something out of an old Hollywood movie, sort of a cross between "Grand Hotel" and a film set. Reality was actually better. Russell's suite, which was very large, was quietly done in shades of burgundy, slate gray and cream, with beautiful art on the walls and appropriately matching furniture. I grinned as he firmly took the duffle from the driver, who was introduced to me as Bobby, and put my bag in what he termed "my bedroom". No separate room for me - not that I wanted it. "So who's in the other bedroom?" I asked, going over to snoop. It was empty except for suitcases, some guitar cases and piles of books. "Oh, nobody." "Did you think I had a spare blonde stashed in there?" he asked, hanging up his leather coat. He gestured for me to come to the closet and relieved me of my quilted down coat when I did, hanging it beside his, then shutting the door. "I wouldn't have been shocked," I teased. "No loose women," he murmured, gathering me in for a thorough kissing. "I'm being very good," he added a bit later. "No drunken debauches, no serial bimbos?" I teased. "Uh-uh, and no trained sheep or naked parties." "Well, damn," I said in mock disappointment. "This is tame." "I'll show you tame," he threatened, leading me off to that bedroom, "Talk to me in an hour about tame, if you can." I couldn't. I was busy.
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Buttons, bars, logos © 2001 by WildBearies Photographs of Russell Crowe courtesy of various fan sites. |
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