This is a work of fiction, loosely based on the very real person, Russell Crowe. No insult or invasion of his privacy is intended, but rather, it is a
way of expressing the author's delight in his work and his manliness.
I guess you could say, this is the film I wish he would make.

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

 

 

Future Perfect - Section 12

I staggered out of bed at two in the morning and made my way into the nursery where Kate was yelling her head off, demanding to be fed. She was a week old and a quiet baby except when she was hungry. Then, she could be heard in Sydney. I reached to lift her from the crib, only to have Russell gently move me aside and pick her up. "Go back to bed," he ordered, "you know you're not supposed to lift anything yet."

I yawned and blinked owlishly at him, following him into the kitchen instead while he warmed her bottle and sat down to feed her. She was dwarfed in his big hands, but he was so gentle with her, smiling when she fastened greedily onto the nipple and made little piggy noises. Watching him with her, my heart flip-flopped inside me. He looked up, sensing my eyes on him and smiled. "What?"

"Nothing," I lied, yawning again, "I just wanted to be sure you didn't drop her."

"Not bloody likely," he retorted, knowing I was teasing him. "Go back to bed."

I lied and said I was wide awake, but dozed off a few minutes later, sitting at the table with my head pillowed on my hands. I wasn't even aware I had done that until I felt him lift me out of the chair and carry me back into the bedroom. "I can walk," I protested, but he just ignored me and put me into bed, tucking the sheet around me. He leaned down and kissed me, then climbed in and spooned up against my back.

"Let me take care of you," he said softly, kissing the back of my neck. "I like it."

I snuggled close and he wrapped his arms around me, being careful of my tummy, which was still very tender. Was any woman ever so lucky? I didn't think so.

***************
I was startin' to think I was going to have to tie Lynn to the bed to keep her from overdoing it. She was supposed to take it easy, what with her stitches and all, and not lift anything - including the baby - until the doctor gave her the okay, and it just didn't seem to sink in. She can be so stubborn! Of course, that's one of the things that attracted me to her in the first place - she's almost as stubborn as I am. I don't think anybody can dig their heels in as much as I can if I don't want to do something, but she's a close second.

Anyway, I loved feedin' Kate, even in the middle of the night. She'd holler loud enough to wake the dead; I'd wake right up and go get her. She'd yell until I stuffed the bottle in her mouth. She knew what she wanted all right, and when she got it, she drank it in as fast as she could, already greedy for everything life had to offer. I think Lynn thought I would make a hash of it, but once she saw that I could take care of Kate just as well as she did, she relaxed a little and let me do it. Of course, feedin' her was easier to do than change her nappy. I have to admit that was a skill it took me more time to pick up.

I mean, she's this little bitty thing, right? Man, she could soak through a nappy in two seconds flat, I don't know where she kept all that water. Even so, that wasn't so bad. It was the other ones - the ones that could be used as secret weapons - that almost made me lose my determination to be as good with her as her mum. It was like every film you've ever seen where the guy has to change the baby - I used to be real contemptuous of those movies until the first time or two I got stuck with nuclear waste nappy detail.

So here is my tiny pink and white daughter, cooing and kicking her feet at me on the changing table, and I unwrap her, totally oblivious to what she's deposited in the diaper, and wham! I jumped back. "Sweet, bleedin' Jesus!" I think what was I said. My eyes were waterin' and I was tryin' to hold my breath and not gag, and Kate is just so pleased with herself that she's done this. I picked her up, sort of holding her under the arms, letting her lower half dangle, and I turned to Lynn, who is standing there laughing like a hyena. "What do I do now?" I ask, thinkin', you know, that I needed to hose her off or something.

"You wash her, silly," Lynn informs me, like I'm some sort of retard.

"Well, I know that. HOW do I wash her off, is what I wanna know." I wasn't sure if I held her bottom under the faucet, or dunked her in the tub, or just sort of dabbed with those baby wipe things, in which case, I'd have to put on gloves or something. And a clothespin on my nose. I was getting desperate. And Kate decided to have a wee all over me just then for good measure. "Lynn!" I yelped. She was no help at all - she was laughing too hard.

She took pity on me, gathered up the dirty nappy and disposed of it, helped me wash off the baby, get her dry, put on the baby lotion, and get her in a clean diaper. Kate seemed to enjoy the double attention, and fell asleep in the middle of it. When this operation was done, I felt like I had just stormed a beach head and taken out an enemy machine gun nest using a fly swatter and a roll of duct tape. I breathed a sigh of relief. "I never thought she would do that." I commented to Lynn.

"Welcome to fatherhood," was all she said.

I think I said something real clever like, "Harrumph." Still, she was my daughter and I was just as responsible for her as her mother, so I got used to it. It wasn't too long and I could handle just about anything that happened, even when she'd burp all over my shirt in spite of my havin' a towel over my shoulder. All she had to do was roll those big blue eyes at me and coo a little bit and I was a goner, wrapped right around that tiny pinkie finger.

*****************
Once I was able to pick Kate up and get around like a normal person again, I thought Russell would stop being so involved in taking care of her. Wrong! He seemed to really love being a hands-on dad, and I loved watching him with her. He was convinced she understood every word we said to her, so he never spoke baby talk to her, he had what he termed "small adult" conversations with her.

I woke up one night and, finding his side of the bed empty, knew he was with Kate. I got up and looked: not in the nursery. Not in the kitchen. Not in the living room. Then I saw shadows move outside the kitchen door. I went out. Russell was walking slowly around the area between the house and the barn, talking softly to Kate, who was apparently resisting his efforts to lull her back to sleep. He saw me and smiled, whispering, "She's bein' stubborn."

It was a warm night, a couple of weeks before Christmas, and I sat down on the stone wall by my rose bushes, content to watch him with our daughter.

"See?" he said to her, pointing up at the sky, "Those are stars, Kitty. They look really close don't they? But they're millions of miles away - so far away that their light takes years to get here." He switched her from his right shoulder to his left, supporting her head so she could look. He was convinced that she could see just as well as he could despite my reading to him from every baby book I owned about babies' vision developing from seeing only the very closest objects until eventually they could see clearly at a distance. He'd just roll his eyes at me until I gave up the argument.

Kate gurgled and sucked her fingers. He removed the wet fingers and held her little hand. "No fingers," he chided her. She laid her head on his shoulder and kicked her feet. "And no feet in the ribs," he added, switching her back to a cuddle position. I swear she giggled. "That's my girl," he said to her, rocking her a little. He walked back and forth with her, eventually singing her back to sleep with "Bye Baby Bunting" and some nonsense nursery songs he must have remembered from when he was little. He was so dear to me at that moment, I could have wept. Instead I rose, walked over to him and put my arms around him and our daughter.

"It's almost Christmas, Lynnie," his voice rumbled in my ear. "Remember a year ago? Shopping in Sydney and that great hotel?"

I nodded, listening to his heart beat and to Kate's soft breathing.

"I wish we could do that again this year," he said, sounding wistful.

We were going to New York, Los Angeles and several other large cities instead. "Botany Bay" was being shown in limited release starting Christmas Day so as to qualify for the Academy Awards the following March, and we were going to do quick publicity stops for those openings. It was going to be a challenge, doing that with an infant, but we were going to take Sandy's daughter Jackie along as a nanny - much to her delight - so that would certainly help. That way, Kate would be with someone I trusted while I could be with Russell, as he wanted, and everyone could be as relaxed as possible given the frenetic nature of such affairs as premieres, press conferences, and the like.

I was doing exercises to regain my figure, swimming in the pool, walking around and around the paddocks, riding Russell's exercise bike. It was working and I felt great. I had gone down to Sydney and been fitted for clothes to wear to the grand events I would be going to on this trip. Since I wasn't going to be all the way back to normal, I was pleased that fashions that winter (it would be winter where we were going) were floaty and feminine rather than cut close to the body. I had chosen several skirts of layered silk, beaded tops that went with both the skirts and the satin evening pants I was also taking. Everything was in shades of amethyst, smoky topaz, russet, and dark gray with blue overtones, and the beadwork was exquisite. When I tried everything on and modeled for Russell, he was as happy with the clothes as I was. "I forgot what you look like when you're not egg-shaped," he teased me.

He also had new formal wear - made for him in Milan according to his measurements - plus some things made in Australia. We both felt we should patronize the Aussie designers because their clothing was beginning to be as fine as that of the French and Italian designers. My favorite thing Russell got was a tuxedo and trousers in the same dark gray as my satin pants and beaded velvet tunic. It had what had become his trademark duster-style coat with braiding in the same color as the coat fabric, and when he wore the pure white silk evening shirt with it and the gray silk cravat, I thought he looked magnificent. I gave him studs and cufflinks of heavy white gold set with amethyst and smoke topaz cabochons that just added to the effect. "I'm going to have to carry a whip and a chair to keep the women off you," I told him.

"Not to mention the pooftas," he teased.

"Indeed," I agreed. "Maybe I need a pistol too." Russell understandably had his share of gay admirers, and he was confident enough in his masculinity that it didn't bother him at all to be gushed over by the really effeminate ones or stared at by the less obvious ones. "It's all obsession, isn't it?" he often asked rhetorically, "I mean, the person they think they know isn't really me anyway, where's the harm in being civil?"

"Well, I'm a lot more bothered by the women who'd like to take you home to play with than any blokes," I said truthfully.

"They just want what you have, Lynnie," he pointed out with a wry grin.

What I had was my lover back. After the enforced hiatus because of Kate's birth and my Caesarean, we had just re-established our physical relationship and found it better than ever. I had been really afraid of having the well-publicized "baby blues" but so far I had escaped that. Probably because he kept me too busy to sit and feel sorry for myself. "Well, they can't have you," I said firmly, "I'm never letting you go."

"For which I thank the Lord daily," Russell answered. He smiled at me, his eyes admiring, looking me up and down. It always gave me warm shivers when he did that. "Whatcha thinkin'?" he asked softly.

"You know," I answered, suddenly fidgeting in my chair. A warm flush went down my whole body and his eyes went straight to where my nipples pressed against my tee shirt.

"Yes, I do." He leaned down, caught my face in his big hands and kissed me slowly, deeply, taking his time, sliding his tongue along my lips and teasing me with it. We were alone in the house, Kate at his mother's house for her daily hour with her grandparents. It gave us a short break, and time to be alone together. Since I had gotten the okay to resume normal activities, our favorite activity was sex. I was back on the Depo shots since we wanted to wait at least a year before I got pregnant again, and I was thoroughly enjoying being able to have Russell when ever and where ever we wanted. "Do you want me now?" he said in that low voice that went right through me.

I could barely think much less answer him, but managed a breathy, "um-hum," that made him chuckle.

"How do you want me, baby?" He was nibbling my ears and licking his way down my neck and throat, his hands rubbing up and down my back.

"However you want," I answered. I had my hands down between us, working on the buttons of his jeans. I could feel him, pulsing and hard, pressing against the denim. When I got the buttons open, I slid my hands inside and took hold of him. "I want this," I said. That was a definite.

He kissed me, a long, deep, breath-stealing kiss, then suddenly turned me away from him, bent me over the arm of the overstuffed chair, yanked down my shorts and panties, and held my hips still in his big warm hands. He was pressed against me, his cock hot and throbbing against my back, while he told me in a throaty whisper exactly what he was going to do to me, how many times he was going to do it and how many times he would make me come while he did it. "And, you know why, Lynn? Hmm?" He pulled at my earlobe with his teeth, breath hot against my neck. "You know why?"

I couldn't speak, but found the words somewhere, "Y-you like doing it?"

"No, too easy," he said, plunging a hand between my legs to rub me, circling around my clit and driving me crazy. He slid a finger inside me, then two. "Why, Lynn?" He circled his hips against my backside, moving the head of his cock up and down. "Why, Lynn?"

He continued his sensual assault, now plunging his fingers in and out of me, flicking my clit with his thumb. "Because I love it," I admitted. I cried out as he slid just the head of his cock into me from behind. "I love it!" I said louder.

He rewarded me with more of himself, stroking in and out slowly, each time going a little deeper, rubbing my clit a little more thoroughly. I tried to shove back against him but he held me in place, chuckling, "No, now, I'm in control here," he chided me, pulling almost out of me and holding there until I whined with frustration and he drove all the way back in, grinding his pelvis against my bottom. "You want this?" He circled his hips, rotating his thick shaft inside me.

"Oh, yes," I sobbed, "Yes, yes, yes!" I wanted him and what he did for me. I wanted it never to end. I told him that. "I want it," I moaned.

He laughed exultantly and stopped teasing me, concentrating on pleasuring both of us. I held onto the chair to keep from falling while he worked my body with his, thrusting in, pulling out, driving back in, over and over until I was screaming in climax, then he slowed down and started rotating his hips again, and working me with his fingers until I was panting, on the edge again, ready to explode, then he took a firm grip of my hips, spread my thighs a little wider, and began ramming in and in and in and in and IN, until I felt him through my whole body. I shook and shuddered and spasmed and moaned, coming over and over until my legs wouldn't hold me up. He finally allowed himself to come and just filled me to overflowing with his hot essence, driving it into me, shooting it straight to my core. Then he collapsed against me, panting and sweating, kissing my neck, turning my face so he could get close to my mouth. "That's just a taste," he purred in my ear. "Just a taste of what I have for you, luv."

Oh, God . . .I wanted him again. We were really late fetching Kate that day. I hoped his mum didn't notice the beard burn that showed, fiery red, on my face and throat. I think Terry noticed though, I caught him giving Russell a bawdy wink when they thought I wasn't looking. Russell just lifted one eyebrow, looking innocent.

He is, after all, an incredible actor.

It was an interesting flight to Los Angeles. Kate was a dream - she slept most of the way, and the rest of the time was content to either be on Russell's or my lap, charming the flight attendants and the other passengers. She was the happiest baby. I knew this meant that at some point she would probably turn into a monster child, perhaps when she reached the dreaded "terrible two's", but for now, she was a joy to be around.

Russell sat by the window and held her up, pointing out cloud formations, the ocean, etc to her and explaining it all to her as if she could understand him. She would bounce and laugh, drooling on him, and he loved it. The women who passed by and observed this behavior and the sappy look on his face also seemed to enjoy it. Hell, I enjoyed it - it was fun to see the macho Mr. Crowe brought low by the tiny tot with the little pink bow in her strawberry blonde topknot. With her round baby cheeks and big blue eyes, Kate resembled a Kewpie Doll more than either one of us, although she had his dimples.

We set up camp at the Bel Air Hotel in one of the lovely old fashioned bungalows near the swan pond. Behind their stucco and wrought iron fence it was peaceful and quiet. And safe - they had impeccable security. Jake, whom I hadn't seen in months, showed up the first evening to drive us to a dinner Steven and Kate were putting on to celebrate the premiere of the film. It was cool and breezy, and I enjoyed the change in weather, although Russell griped that it was too cold to go swimming.

"In the ocean?" I asked, incredulous. "Russell, the Pacific is almost always too cold to go swimming."

"No," he explained, "I meant in the pool. It's freezing."

I looked at him oddly - the pool was heated, but forgot about it as we pulled up in the circular driveway at the Spielberg house. It was an incredible house, as I had surmised it would be, but Kate had managed to have it decorated in a very homey style so it was comfortable rather than cold, and felt very lived-in rather than like a house from a magazine. Kate came charging out the door as soon as she realized it was us, demanding to hold our Kate, who would spend the evening with their youngsters, under the care of their nanny. Kate and Kate gazed at one another, then our little Kate laughed and waved her small fists in the air, kicking her feet, plainly delighted with the pretty blonde lady holding her.

It was a great evening. It was casual rather than dress up, and the group of ten or so guests were all people we knew, so there was none of the "meeting new people" tension. Russell was soon engaged in conversation with Ron Howard, who pretended to be miffed that he hadn't had a shot at directing Botany Bay, although he had been in Germany working on another film during most of our shoot anyway. Kate took me upstairs and we got little Kate established in the nursery, which was decorated with cartoon characters - Roger Rabbit, the nubile Jessica Rabbit, the Animaniacs, and more I didn't recognize. The nanny was English, though nothing like Mrs. Doubtfire, and seemed very competent. I was at ease with her immediately and went back downstairs to enjoy the evening.

The premiere of Botany Bay was to be held at Mann's Chinese Theater the next night - a full-blown, old fashioned Hollywood extravaganza complete with red carpet, klieg lights, orchestra playing outdoors while the celebrities arrived, and a private party afterward by invitation only. The whole affair would be repeated, in almost identical fashion, in New York three days later. Then we come back for a short stop in LA before heading back home. The London and other foreign premieres, and the Australia/New Zealand premieres were set for the new year. The LA and New York openings were to get the film out in release in time to be considered for the Academy Awards, Golden Globes, etc to be given out in a few months.

I walked over and sat close to Russell, who was listening to Steven tell some humorous stories from the Botany Bay shoot, many of which involved Russell's practical jokes and nutty sense of humor. He included a little bit about Russell's flight from the kidnappers on a horse, leaving out the worry and stress we had all gone through. As for my husband, he laughed, but didn't add any stories of his own, which struck me as a bit odd. I decided that he was jet lagged and just feeling a bit off. In fact, when I took his hand and squeezed it, he gave me his usual wink and smile, so I dismissed my unease as unfounded.

We got back to our bungalow about one in the morning - not really all that late for a Hollywood evening. I put Kate down in her crib. She was sound asleep, curled on her tummy like a little fat doll. I brushed her hair off her face and kissed her. She slept on - bless her! Russell was also sound asleep, also lying on his stomach, on top of the covers. I stood looking at him, wondering how I was going to manage moving him off the covers enough to allow me to climb into the bed. Besides, he was fully dressed except for his shoes. I shook him. "Wake up, I need to turn the bed down."

He woke up enough to roll over and sit up, rubbing his face. "Man, I don't know what hit me," he mumbled.

I walked around to his side of the bed and felt his forehead. "You don't feel feverish. Maybe it's jet lag."

He grunted, "Could be." Then he shivered, "Man, I'm freezin' my ass off. Is the A/C set on 50 or something?"

"No, I just checked it, it's on 78." I studied him. He did look tired. I made him open his mouth so I could look at his throat. "Nope, looks normal," I told him. "Maybe a good sleep tonight will fix you right up."

He agreed that it probably would, and trudged into the bathroom to shower. I joined him, soaping his back and playing with the lather, but he kept yawning, so I knew he wasn't really into it and didn't press him. Once we turned off the water, I dried his back for him, then sent him into the bedroom with a flip of the wet towel across his backside. He yelped and covered his butt with both hands, laughing. I dried off, blew my hair dry and went into the bedroom to find him burrowed under the covers, once again sound asleep.

"Boy, you're about as exciting tonight as wet spaghetti," I muttered, but I was yawning myself and was soon asleep snuggled up next to him.

He had a photo session in the morning to which he insisted I accompany him, so when Jackie showed up at the bungalow door at nine, I was really pleased to hand over Kate into her care. "This is to get even for all the times I babysat you," I teased her. I knew she and Kate would get along. The instant Kate saw Jackie's long straight hair, she chortled and wanted to grab it. "You might want to tie that back if you want to keep some of it," I advised.

"We'll see," Jackie said, laughing as Kate waved her hands and squealed happily.

Jake came to get us and we headed off to the photo session. "I hate gettin' my bloody picture taken," Russell groused in the car on the way there.

"It's for the film, remember? And you haven't had any formal shots taken in a few years, so you're overdue."

"Bah," he shot back and spent the bulk of the trip glaring out his window.

I pointedly cleared my throat and chatted with Jake. When we arrived, Russell was out of the car and waving to me to hurry up almost before the car stopped rolling. I exchanged shrugs with Jake, and scooted out after my impatient spouse.

"I thought you hated getting pictures done," I commented.

We were riding up in a beautiful elevator lined in pink marble with gold sparkly veins all through it. "I want to get it over with," he said, lips in a firm line.

I sighed, but followed him to the door of the portrait photographer's studio. We went in. The lobby was empty except for the receptionist, but we were expected and were quickly waved through to the main part of the studio. Russell knew the photographer, so after some brief introductions, I was given a comfortable chair to sit in off to one side, and Russell went to be groomed for the pictures.

"Grooming" for portrait photos involves getting your hair trimmed and/or styled, often having full make up done - depending upon the kind of photos being taken and the amount of lines and flaws they needed to hide - and having to wear clothes selected for you either by the stylist, the photographer, the magazine or the studio. In this case, these were pictures Dreamworks wanted to use for publicity shots for both Botany Bay and any future needs, so Russell was to be photographed both in costume as John Hamilton, and in formal as well as casual clothes as himself. I could hear him grumbling as the stylist and her assistant worked on his hair, which he still had long since there was no reason to cut it until he began another film role. "Don't yank it out by the fuckin' roots, luv," I heard him snap. I winced.

Eventually, he emerged from the dressing room wearing the buckskin trousers, high leather boots, white linen shirt and brown leather waistcoat that was a familiar outfit for John Hamilton. He posed standing up, sitting down, leaning against a table with a backdrop that resembled one of the sets from the film, then did several more relaxed shots where he was laughing, and went back to change clothes.

This time he emerged in his gray tuxedo, sent over the day before, and a garnet red silk shirt open at the neck. He repeated most of the poses, jittering impatiently as the photographer changed cameras, changed film, etc, and eventually finished those shots. He again went and changed clothes, this time into jeans and a leather jacket I'd never seen before, worn over a cream V-necked cashmere sweater. Once again, several different poses, and he was looking unhappier by the minute. Finally the photographer asked him if he wanted a break.

"No, I don't want a fuckin' break," he snapped, "get on with it."

I looked up, my mouth open in surprise. The photographer appeared unfazed, however, and quickly finished his shots. "Thank you, Mr. Crowe," he said somewhat ironically. That was a lot nicer than I would have been given the circumstances.

We gathered up all the clothing that was his and, with Jake's help, got it all down to the SUV and back to the hotel. "Don't rumple the gray tux," I warned the guys when they carried the clothes into the bungalow.

"Trust me not to mess up my suit," Russell growled. I fumed until he came back outside. When he sat down beside me in the back seat of the SUV, he gave me a look that said, "What are you on about?"

I ignored him for a few minutes, told Jake where we were going for lunch, and then turned to my husband while Jake drove, pointedly not paying attention to us. "What I'm 'on' about, Russ, is how rude you're being today. What gives?"

He cursed under his breath, then shrugged, "I guess I'm just tired, I dunno. I feel like I'm at the bottom of a well - everything echoes."

I felt his forehead again, to his intense disgust. He pulled away from me and I resisted the urge to smack him one. "You're clammy," I informed him.

"It's the cold weather," was his answer, "I'm freezin' here."

"Arrgh," I growled at him, temporarily giving up on the discussion, except to add, "I think you're coming down with something."

"Could be," he agreed, the first thing I'd said that day that he agreed with.

We had lunch with Colin Firth and his wife and several other members of the cast of Botany Bay, eating at The Mondrian, a really beautiful restaurant at the top of the Mondrian Hotel. The artwork and the food were exquisite, as was the view of the Hollywood Hills and the ocean off in the distance. It was one of those rare smog-free winter days in LA where the sky was brilliantly blue and the air crisp. I loved it.

Russell ate two bites of his lunch - leaving food that he normally loved sitting on the plate - and only talked when he was asked a direct question. Colin shot me a couple of questioning looks, to which I had no answer. After the meal was over and people were leaving, Colin took me aside while Russell chatted briefly with Colin's wife, who was asking about Kate. "Listen," the tall Englishman said in a low voice, "what's with Russell?"

"Colin, I haven't the foggiest. I thought it was jet lag, but he usually doesn't get it very badly - he's too used to traveling, so maybe he's coming down with a cold or something."

Colin nodded, "Well, could be. But listen, he looks pretty ragged. Let me give you the name of the doctor we use here in LA, just in case. No point in him not feeling well for the premiere tonight."

I agreed, that would not be good at all. He needed to be upbeat, smiling and confident - all of which would promote the image that Botany Bay was worthy of such enthusiasm. I thanked Colin and stuck the post-it with the number in my purse. We left and went back to the hotel to rest and get ready for the evening's festivities.

I had my hair and nails done in the hotel beauty salon while Russell crashed on the bed and apparently slept the whole time I was gone. When I came in around 4:30, Jackie said he'd been sleeping ever since I had left. I told her I thought he was coming down with a cold, and she agreed that could be the case. I paid her, over her protests, and sent her home until the next day. For that evening, Kate was going to be in the care of a nanny the hotel recommended. She arrived shortly after Jackie left and took Kate off to the other side of the bungalow for her bath, then fed her.

I woke Russell up, and, to my relief, he seemed somewhat rejuvenated and much more himself. While he went to shower and shave in one bathroom, I went in the other and got ready myself. I bathed in the tub so as not to ruin my newly coiffed hair, and enjoyed the brief soak, though time didn't permit more than a few minutes. I could hear Russell thumping around in the big closet, so knew he was on schedule, dressing. I emerged in lilac silk undies and sat on the bed to pull on lace-topped stockings and fasten them into the garters that hung from the lace garterbelt I was wearing. I was wearing a silk taffeta skirt in a deep amethyst encrusted with iridescent beadwork. Over that I wore a silk velvet, long-sleeved tunic with more of the same beading. It had a scooped neck and I wore a rose gold chain with a big round amethyst that Russell had given me for our anniversary. I added the matching earrings, fiddled with my hair, and I was ready except for my shoes, which I would put on just before we left so as not to take a chance on scuffing them.

Russell was in the gray tuxedo with a shirt one or two shades darker than the tux, and a silk evening tie that matched my outfit. I tucked a carnation in the same color into his lapel. We were quite spiffy. "You look wonderful," he told me, smiling at me as we examined ourselves in the mirror.

"You too," I said. He handed me my wrap - a silk dupioni evening cloak that matched his tux - and we were shortly off, on our way to the premiere of Botany Bay.

The street in front of Mann's Chinese Theater was mobbed with people, limousines and reporters. We arrived right on schedule, riding in a stretch limo instead of the more comfy SUV, and with Jake riding shotgun instead of driving. He said he "didn't do stretch", meaning he preferred not to drive the ungainly vehicle, not that I blamed him. He got out, surveyed the crowd, nodded to the security people provided by Dreamworks, and opened the door of the limo for us. Russell got out first, to the accompaniment of squeals and applause, then he helped me out, and we took a deep breath, grinning at one another, thinking about everything that had taken place since we met, all of it leading to this very moment. "Nothing for it but to go in," he quipped.

"If they don't like it, tough," I answered. I thought they would, though - the test audiences had all responded favorably and the buzz from the few critics who had seen the advance showings was almost all positive. I was so excited, I could have floated right above the red carpet, but Russell held my hand in his, keeping me firmly grounded as we made our slow meander up the carpet to the theater entrance.

He waved and stopped what seemed like dozens of times to pose briefly for the photographers. So many flashes were going off I was blinded almost immediately. I hoped I didn't have a fixed smile pasted on my face, but there was no way to tell. We posed together, then just Russell, then the two of us with Colin and his wife, then Kate and Steven and all of us - it took a good half hour to go from the sidewalk to the canopied walkway that led into the theater. Television photographers, magazine photographers, fans with cameras - it was an explosion of light. I was so dazzled that when we got away from all of it, it took me a long while to be able to see without little round blobs of light floating in my vision. "Okay?" Russell murmured.

"Once I get my seeing eye dog, yeah," I said. He squeezed my hand. He spoke briefly to reporters from several network shows, as prearranged by the studio, then we all finally went inside, were relieved of coats and wraps, and escorted to our seats for the screening. By the time the film began, luckily, I was able to see again.

The film was just stunning. I hadn't seen it with the background music yet, and I was stunned at how much the beautiful score added to the dramatic scenes, and how it underscored the action. It was like seeing the whole story with new eyes, without a clue as to what was happening, even the scenes I had watched being filmed were thrilling and new to me. I even thought Diane Dimante - who had a prior commitment in France and could not attend this opening - was good in her role. The love scenes with her and Russell still made me a little uncomfortable, but they weren't as graphic as I had feared they would be once the various scenes were edited, and everything just fit into Russell's story as I had first read it that day in Nana Glen. At the end, the audience broke into loud applause, whistling and stomping its approval.

I could tell Russell was excited, and I was practically jumping up and down, I was so pleased for him and for the whole company. We made our way back out of the theater and were whisked off to a private party put on by Dreamworks in a huge hangar at a small, private airfield. It had been decorated for Christmas, and was filled with white trees sparkling with tiny lights, silver and gold orbs, and crystal icicles. The tables were draped with white satin, and at each plate was a small wrapped package that held exquisite chocolates from Belgium. The bows of the packages were sprinkled with crystal dust and there were more crystalline decorations in the centerpieces, which were white carnations, white roses and little tree branches painted with white sparkling glitter. It was beautiful, a fairyland.

"Where're the fuckin' reindeer?" Russell whispered irreverently as we got inside. He looked around, "Oh, shit, there they are!" He pointed and I saw that, indeed, there were reindeer. In this case, they were huge ice sculptures "flying" down the center of a long table at the front of the room, pulling a gold and white sleigh amidst constantly falling "snow flakes". He had to see this from up close, and once he had walked around it a few times and figured out how it worked, he commented to me that Kate would love it.

"Maybe next year, yes," I agreed, "but I don't think the ice sculptures would last until we could get them back home."

We went to our table and were seated with Steven, Kate, Colin and his wife, the executive producer and his wife, and the head of the studio. Dinner was as elegant as the room - and I was starving, so I ate just about everything. Once again, however, Russell picked at his food, only eating anything because I stared at him with one eyebrow raised in question. "I'm fine," he whispered. "Stop worryin'."

The first reviews came out in the early morning editions of the newspapers, and they were brought to us as we got back to the hotel hours later. Russell and I each took a different paper and found the reviews. "Botany Bay," I read aloud, "the film based on Russell's Crowe's fledgling effort as a screen writer, is a smash. The story, acting and direction are masterful. I give it five stars!" I yelled "yippee!" at the top of my lungs, then remembered Kate was sleeping in the next room and settled for doing a little Snoopy dance instead.

Russell read the review from his paper, "In Botany Bay, not only does reclusive Aussie star Russell Crowe make a triumphant return to films," here he made several mock-modest faces, "but he also has written a masterpiece of a screenplay that keeps you interested right through what could have been an overly long film, but turns out to be a stunner of a story. I highly recommend you see Botany Bay now because come Oscar time, you're going to see a lot more of it." He stopped, folding the paper, looking more than a little stunned.

"So?" I asked, when he had just stood there for a few minutes, looking down at the newspapers on the counter.

He looked up, grinning, "So - I think they liked it."

"I'd say so, you goof - more than just 'liked' - I'd say they loved it." I went to him and hugged him tightly. "You're a hit, honeybunch."

"Good lord," he muttered, "who'd a-thunk it?"