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 13

The morning after Botany Bay's premiere, it was all I could do to get outa bed. I mean, mate, I was totally rooted. I am rarely sick. I don't get colds very often, though Lynnie had given me a beauty of one when we first met, and I don't feel bad after a night of drinkin' too many beers, like a lotta blokes do - I guess I have a naturally strong constitution.

So that day, Lynn is yellin' at me to get up. The phone is ringin' off the hook with various studio types wantin' me to give an interview to this TV show and that paper - I finally just pulled the plug outa the wall. "Lynn," I told her, deadpan, "I'm not sure what's goin' on with me, but it could be I'm pregnant."

We had a good laugh over that one. I mean, I was really stumped by how I felt and my lack of energy. Normally, I can out-do everyone at everything. Right then, all I wanted to do was sleep. Only, I'd sleep and wake up just as tired as when I went to bed. I could tell Lynn was worried. She had that little furrow between her brows that she gets when something is bugging her, and I knew I was the something. I dragged myself out of bed finally, determined to overcome it. Maybe it was some kind of super jet lag.

The other thing was - it was pretty warm for December, even in Los Angeles, but I was freezing. I had on a long-sleeved cashmere sweater and a leather jacket over it, and I was still shivering inside. Everyone else was in shirtsleeves and no jackets, and there I was, lookin' for the nearest blanket to wrap up in.

Even with all that, y'know I'm a fairly stubborn bloke, I was dead set on just gettin' on with things and ignorin' it. You think I'd learn to listen to my body when something's not right, wouldn't you?

He was really starting to worry me. The morning after Botany Bay opened in LA we were supposed to be at a nine a.m. press conference with all sorts of reporters and photographers. It was important, and I couldn't get him out of bed. It took me damn near an hour of shouting, cajoling, shaking, and cussing to finally get him awake enough to get up and get dressed. And then he looked like a train wreck.

"Russell," I told him in the car, taking in his haggard face, darkly circled eyes and lack of energy, "You look like you were on an all-night binge. What IS going on here?"

"Nothing," he told me. I knew that was a flat-out lie. Besides, the idiot was hunting in his pockets for his cigarettes, a sure sign of stress.

"You're pissing me off," I shot right back, "and you don't want to do that."

"What're you gonna do," he snapped, "tell my mother on me?" He realized what he was doing and forced his hands away from his pockets.

"That might not be such a bad idea," I answered, "you might tell her the truth."

He mumbled something, then dragged his hands through his hair. I caught hold of his right hand. "Look, your hands are shaking." I held him by the wrist and made him look.

"I see that," he finally admitted. He looked me in the eye and admitted, "I have no fuckin' idea what is happening, Lynn."

"Finally!" I said, "Finally the man admits something is wrong." I gestured to Jake to pull the car over, and, once we were parked on a side street, I returned my attention to my exasperating husband. "Okay, give."

"Give what?" He said, saw my face and lifted his hand, forestalling my retort. "Okay, no need to give me the sharp edge of your tongue, Lynn." He sighed, "I don't know what it is, but I can't get warm, and I'm really tired."

"When did this start?" I asked.

He mused for a moment, "I can't say definitely, but I think a couple of weeks ago. I don't have any real pain or anything, I just feel cold and tired, and once in awhile my stomach aches, but that's about it. I thought I just had some kind of bug and would get over it."

"Flu usually only lasts a week," Jake put in quietly.

"I know," Russell said, "I know that. But y'know me, Jake - stubborn. I kept thinkin' I was better, or that I'd get better, and with this trip and all . . ."

"With this trip and all," I finished for him, "you didn't want to let everyone down."

"Right," he said.

"I have the number of Colin's doctor," I said, fishing in my purse for the post-it note.

He groaned, "Don't tell me you've talked to Colin or anybody else about this."

"He brought it up, Russell, everyone has noticed you're not yourself."

"Yeah," Jake teased him, "you're a helluva lot nicer, man." When Russell sent him a look, he merely looked right back.

"So, do I call this doctor and see if he can check you out, or do we pretend that you sleepwalking through life is normal?"

"Oh, call the fuckin' doctor," he snapped, out of patience with our fussing. "I bet nothing is wrong but I need some vitamins or something."

Jake passed me his cellphone and I called the number, explaining to the woman who answered that Colin Firth had recommended that I get in touch with Dr. Forrester, that my husband was in need of being checked in the next 24 hours, and that we needed utmost discretion. She assured me of that, put me on hold for a moment, then came back and told me to bring my reluctant patient to Dr. Forrester's office in two hours. I agreed and clicked off. "Right, meantime, let's get through this press conference and then find out what the hell's wrong with you."

"Why is it always somethin' wrong with me?" Russell wanted to know.

"Because it usually is," Jake and I said at the same time.

So we go to the fuckin' press conference. Lynn is watchin' my every move like a hawk, and now she's got Jake on her side, and he's keepin' an eye on me too. I felt like one of those convict blokes out on a weekend pass and everyone watchin' everything he does. All I was missing was the ankle bracelet with the radio thing in it.

I was so damned charming at that press conference, you wouldn't have believed it. I never scowled once, although Lynnie told me later I looked a little punchy by the end of it, probably from smilin' like a fuckin' idiot. Luckily, it wasn't just me answerin' questions, it was Steven, Colin and a bunch of other people from the studio, so I didn't have to carry the whole bloody thing. When it was over, and I could get out without causing too much notice, I excused myself to Steven and we took off.

Jake drove us to the doctor's office, which was in one of those complexes that looks more like Treetops in Kenya than an office, and we went in. I expected there to be a room full of patients, but it seems that because it was Wednesday afternoon, the doctor was only seeing private patients like me who didn't particularly want to advertise to the world that something was wrong. I filled out some papers, then we waited for a few minutes.

A real motherly looking lady called me back. I dragged Lynnie along with me, and we explained to the lady that I was feeling really tired lately, and cold, and that I just wanted to sleep. "No energy," I added, "which isn't like me."

She wrote everything down, and I kept expecting her to go get the doctor. When I finally asked her where Dr. Forrester was, she smiled real big and said, "Well, Mr. Crowe, I'm Dr. Forrester, will I do or do you want my dad? He's retired now, but I'm sure he'd fly down from his fishing trip in Canada if you asked nicely."

Man, talk about embarrasin' myself. There was nothing to do but laugh, which thankfully she joined in, and we got over that hurdle. "Okay," she said after she listened to my whole story. "If you'll follow my nurse to the exam room, I'll check you out." I followed the nurse out the door, while she stayed behind with Lynn. I was sure she was going to ask Lynn a lot of stuff, and I really wondered what, but I had to be a good boy, so I couldn't eavesdrop.

The nurse handed me one of those bloomin' paper gown things and said, "Everything off, put on the gown, sit on the table, we'll be right back."

"Would that be the whole UCLA Marching Band we, or just the you and the doctor we?" I asked.

Thank God, she laughed. "The me and the doctor we," she answered, gesturing for me to drop trou and get going changing clothes. I sighed, but did as I was asked, wonderin' why they always keep examining rooms so cold you could hang beef in them, then make you take off all your clothes and sit on a cold table with nothing on besides a paper gown. I think it's to make you feel insignificant so you'll do as they say. It was working.

Dr. Forrester came in before I turned into a Popsicle and listened to my heart and my chest, then her assistant took my blood pressure and, while I was distracted talking to the doctor, popped this little torture instrument against my finger and took some blood. "What's that for?" I never did know why they did that, especially since every time I'd had a physical they drew this huge syringe full of blood later anyway.

"To check your hematocrit," the nurse said.

"Right," I said, " and that would be?"

She gave me a grin, "To see if you're anemic." She got up and left the room with her little tubule of blood, and did whatever sleight of hand they do with your blood to make it tell them all about you. She came back just as Dr. Forrester was havin' me lie flat and checkin' my belly. I saw them exchange glances, then Dr. Forrester read the piece of paper the nurse was holding, and I tell you, my blood ran cold because she got this real odd look on her face.

Dr. Forrester saw my face and told me, "You're a little anemic, Mr. Crowe."

"Russell," I said, "And I've never been anemic in my life."

"Well, you are now," she murmured and started pressin' on my stomach.

"Ow! Bloody oath!" I about came off the table when she hit an area beneath my ribs, just above my waist in the middle.

"I'd say you're a little tender there, Russell," the doc said, flashing me a grin.

"Er, yeah," I said, wonderin' when that started. "Don't press that again, okay, mate?"

"I'll try not to," she said, then had me get up so she could do the "turn your head and cough" routine.

"Y'know, there's thousands of women who'd like to do exactly what you're doin'," I joked with her when she put her hands down there.

She laughed this bawdy laugh and said she imagined there were. "Good thing patient/doctor privilege applies here, huh?"

I hadn't thought of that, but agreed that it was. It appeared she was satisfied I didn't have galloping hernias or anything, cos she went right on and finished the exam. I couldn't remember when a female doctor had ever examined me as intimately as Dr. Forrester. I reckoned she was okay; in fact, I liked her - she didn't make a fuss and she had a sense of humor. Also, she knew how nervous I was and she went out of her way to calm me down.

She told me I could get dressed and to come back down the hall to her office when I was ready. I walked in and Lynn was sittin' there with these big eyes, and I thought, "Uh-oh," but turns out she was just worried that I would be cranky or something. Once she saw that I wasn't, she breathed a bit easier.

"Okay," Dr. Forrester said, lookin' at her notes. "I think you're anemic, Russell, and that's why you're feeling cold and tired. Also, something is going on in your gut - which is why you about came off the table when I pressed on your abdomen."

I could feel Lynn turn to give me a look. I squeezed her hand. "So, what now?"

"What now is, I want you to have an upper GI series - that's a series of views of your stomach and esophagus - the tube that leads down into your stomach. I also want you to be scoped."

This did not sound good. "Scoped. Like in you swallow this camera and they look inside your guts?" I pictured me swallowing my Pentax.

"Like in we anesthetize you, pass a very small, lighted tube down your esophagus into your stomach and the upper part of your intestine, and take a look through that. It's really not so bad."

"You ever had it done?" I mean, if she wanted me to believe it wasn't so bad, I wanted to know she'd had it done herself and knew that from experience, not that she was just blowin' smoke. She nodded and said she had, and that she had been treated for an ulcer.

"In fact, I'm almost certain that's what you have, and why you're anemic."

"An ulcer?" I couldn't fathom it - didn't ulcers hurt like blazes? I asked her about that.

"Not always, and you may have had this for a long time, just not had any symptoms before now. Have you been under increased stress lately?"

Lynnie and I both started laughing. I explained, "No, just the premiere of a multi-million dollar film - my first in a few years. Oh, and there was the kidnapping. And we recently had our first baby." I looked at Lynn, "What else?"

"You don't like leaving Australia," she added, which was the truth.

"Is that considered stress?"

Dr. Forrester agreed that all of those were stressful. "I'm sure there are more things you're leaving out," she added. She wrote out instructions on several slips of paper and handed them to me. "Okay, I want you in here bright and early in the morning - we'll get your upper GI series done then. Does that fit in your schedule?"

Lynn and I both dragged out our day planners while Dr. Forrester just smiled, apparently used to us gypsies and our calendars. "Yeah, that's fine, I can shove this one thing off until we come back to LA next week, but we're due to fly to New York day after tomorrow."

We figured out a plan, and pretty quickly were on our way out the door. Lynn read the prescriptions, "Hmm, vitamins - that's not a big shock. Iron - okay. And here's the slip for your test tomorrow." She kept them though - she knows I lose things because I'm not organized. Well, I am organized, but I still lose things.

I sighed. She leaned against me and took my hand. "Stomach ache, huh?"

"Yeah, sometimes." It was like havin' a tooth pulled to admit it, but I'm not the sort of bloke that goes around bitchin' about something bein' uncomfortable or a problem. I just handle it. I don't - or I try not to - keep stuff inside. I used to get all kinds of grief for lettin' everything hang out, castin' off negative energy before it could turn into a problem. I guess I needed to get back to that, though maybe not to the point of goin' in another room and screaming, or poundin' a wall with my fist - you know, stuff that scares the sheilas.

There was a chemist's shop - that's a pharmacy for you Amurricans - right there by Dr. Forrester's office, so we got my junk and went back to the hotel. I could see that Jake was dyin' of curiosity, so I filled him in. I was real glad neither Jake nor Lynn did the "I told you so" shit. I guess they knew there was no point.

I swear, I wanted to throttle Russell when he admitted to Dr. Forrester that he'd had some problems and hadn't bothered to mention them to me. Of course, I realized that he's just not made that way - he's not a whiner or complainer, and he thinks he can handle just about everything, so why not physical ailments too?

I made him take a nap when we got back to the hotel. I bribed him with the promise of oral sex - nearly always works and is usually just as much fun for me since he's a master at it. What I really wanted to do was put him over my knee and wallop his backside, but he'd probably like that, so I didn't bother wasting the energy.

When I went in to wake him later, he still looked very tired, so I decided to be sweet and climbed onto the bed beside him. "Come here, you big goof," I murmured. He smiled that little half smile that always got me, and moved into my arms. We tangled our legs together, making our usual monkey puzzle of thighs and knees and feet.

"I love you, Lynnie," he said, his face against my collarbone.

I hugged him close and stroked his hair, smoothing the long, silky strands. "I love you too, but please don't keep secrets from me anymore."

He squeezed me, drifting back to sleep. "I won't," he promised.

I knew he would - he was, after all, a man, and men keep secrets from their women when it's something they think would hurt their façade of manly infallibility, but I was satisfied to get his promise anyway.

We had gotten through the premiere in New York by sheer determination. Russell, understandably nervous about his testing, and about the endoscopy (that's what they call looking in your stomach with that tiny camera), was about at the end of his tether, so Jake, Mick and I did a lot of the things Russell would ordinarily have done such as phone calls, coordinating things with the publicists, studio, and so on, so that he had as little to worry him as possible. None of us wanted him folding up on us in the middle of the red carpet in New York.

We didn't tell anyone outside of the immediate circle what was going on for fear of inadvertent leaks to the press. We didn't want a media frenzy turning his anemia into galloping leukemia as they would no doubt do. Steven, of course, was very concerned, and used his considerable powers of persuasion to make sure everything went as smooth as silk. Kate even offered to take care of our little Kate while we went to New York, but I declined because Russell is so in love with the baby, I knew he'd fret himself into a spasm if we didn't take her. Besides, I would have fretted myself into a similar spasm.

He had his upper GI series the day after our first visit to Dr. Forrester. He didn't say much about it, except he had to drink some horrible tasting stuff that they had told him was mint flavored. "I dunno what kinda mint, though, Lynnie, feen-a-mint, maybe." His endoscopy was to be the day after we got back from New York. I know he wasn't looking forward to it, but he tried to be a good sport.

We flew first class, as usual, because that is the most private way to fly on a commercial airline, and Kate brought a lot of attention to us because she was being extra cute that day. I had her in a tiny reindeer sweater over bright red leggings, and had a little red bow in her blonde topknot. Russell held her while I got things settled. You know women cannot resist a big, rough looking male holding a baby, especially, it seems, a girl baby, and Kate loves her daddy, so she was waving her fists and cooing and grinning as if we'd written a script for her to follow. I looked up from stowing my carryon in the overhead bin to find about twenty women grouped around our seats, all of them smiling at my husband as he held up the baby for them to see.

I cleared my throat, "Er, hello." They ignored me. I shrugged, stuffed the diaper bag under the seat and settled back with my eyes closed, thinking they'd go away when the plane was ready to taxi. They did.

We took off. It was a really smooth flight and about an hour into it, I took Kate onto my lap so he could use the lavatory. He came back to the seat with a really odd grin on his face. "Okay, what have you done?" He only ever looked like that when he had pulled some sort of trick or joke.

"Nothing, I swear," he answered, but he couldn't stop giggling. When I gave him a threatening look, he finally pulled himself together enough to explain. "Well, remember that skinny reporter that always said all the nasty things about me?"

Oh yes! "The one who said you smelled?" And called him a turd and various other impolite things.

"Her. Well, she's on this flight. I just stumbled over her coming out of the loo."

"Where is she sitting?" You might know, the bitch would be in first class.

Russell pointed by tilting his head across the cabin, and mouthing, "Right over there, she's staring straight at us. She was standing right outside the door of the lav when I came out, I actually did stumble over her and said I was sorry before I realized who she was." He took a peek, "Cripes, she's still staring."

"Probably wants to memorize everything you do so she can tell everyone all three of us stink." I spotted the bleached blonde hair over the unnaturally-tight-skinned face. "Good grief, her eyes are practically standing on end!" I couldn't stop giggling myself now.

"I know," he added, resumption of his own giggle fit now imminent.

One row back, Mick and Jake were catching onto what we were laughing about. I heard Mick say, "Oh, bleedin' Christ, it's the boney bitch that said Russell smelt bad at the Oscars." Not one for subtlety, Jake stood up to get a better look. Mick grabbed the hem of his jacket and pulled him back into his seat, while we all continued to laugh like idiots, even Kate.

A flight attendant came over, obviously thinking the whole group of us was unhinged, but I assured her through my laughter that everything was fine, it was just an "in joke" that had caused our hilarity. We finally got ourselves under control, though Russell, naturally, kept giggling from time to time.

"Okay," I finally asked him, "What else happened besides you stumbling over her?" I knew there had to be more, he looked too pleased with himself.

"Well, she went in the lav I came out of, ya know." He dragged his hands through his hair, grinning.

"Oh, Russell - was your stomach upset?" I could see it now - a whole series of scathing remarks on some television show about following him into the bathroom on an airplane.

"No, more's the pity," he said, "I just had to have a wee, but the lavs have these new levers and stuff in them, and you know I can't resist stuff like that. They were that aerosol freshener stuff. There was pine and mint and rose and some kind of spice - I pulled them all. That lav was practically blue, that's why I came out the door so fast I didn't look. So when she went in right after me, she had to just about choke on all that room freshener."

I dissolved again, imagining her gasping for breath in the tiny lavatory. Russell leaned back in his seat and informed the two guys what he had done. We were shortly all four enveloped in the giggles again. Kate was waving her arms and legs and making baby squeals, so it was like even she thought it was funny.

"She'll probably claim now that you must've had a very smelly reason to use all that air freshener," Jake said.

"No doubt," Russell said, "but it sure felt good to get some of my own back on her after all this time."

The rest of the flight went in relative quiet. Russell quickly fell asleep - his usual method for dealing with long flights - and I settled Kate in her little carrier-cradle contraption where she slept the whole way once I got her comfy. The other passengers, that first frenzy aside, left us alone, and we all ignored the bony blonde on the other side of the first class cabin.

We landed at JFK and were whisked through the airport with Jake and Mick's usual smooth, well-oiled efficiency, and were shortly on our way to our hotel in the SUV provided by Dreamworks. We were at the Plaza because that was where everyone connected with the premiere had been put by the studio, although I know Russell would rather have stayed at his favorite hotel in SoHo. It was only going to be one night, and we promised each other a private trip to New York later on our own time, when we could stay where we pleased.

The premiere itself was largely a duplicate of the one in Los Angeles except it was snowing lightly, which was pretty in the klieg lights. Russell, who was going on sheer will power and antacids, looked very handsome in spite of it. He wore all black, even his tuxedo shirt was black, and he wore the gold kangaroo studs and cufflinks. He had gotten his hair cut, finally, so it no longer trailed down past his shoulders in back, although I liked it that way. It was just at collar length, still wavy and unruly, so I approved. "I like you looking like a pirate," I told him when he modeled it for me.

He bent me back over his arm and kissed me, promising to shiver my timbers later. I hoped he would feel up to it, no pun intended. Oh, hell, all puns intended!

I wore midnight blue - silk satin evening pants with a long, flowing top in the same fabric, encrusted with beading and embroidery in iridescent blues, old gold, copper and touches of garnet red. My shoes were midnight blue delustered satin. Russell told me if I wore just those shoes - which had very high heels - to bed later, he'd be sure to ravish me appropriately.

"I never knew you had a foot fetish," I teased him, putting on my earrings.

"When it's your feet I do," he said, "especially in those come-fuck-me shoes where you look like you're on tippy toes."

We charmed everyone, I'm sure, or rather, Russell did. Steven and Colin and the others connected with the film took on a lot of the burden of the press's questions, and we got through the red carpet walk, the screening, and the reception afterwards in good order. We excused ourselves early and snuck out, returning to the Plaza to get a good night's sleep before the return flight to LA the next day.

All in all, I'd say it was a pretty good trip despite our worrying over Russell and his not feeling totally well. Of course, the air freshener incident on the flight east was a highlight for all of us. I only wished I could have somehow managed to have to change the baby and "accidentally" leave her one of Kate's atomic waste diapers. Alas, I couldn't think of a way.
 

So there I was, lying on one of those bleedin' cold surgical tables again - mate, the curse of my life! I'm in their stupid paper gown, and this time I lost the argument about my underwear, too. I'm freezin', I'm pissed off, I'm scared spitless, and I'm starvin' because they wouldn't let me eat anything for twelve hours before I got this scoping procedure done. The cherry on the cake of my day was that it was morning - like, 5 in the morning. I am not by any stretch of the imagination a morning bloke.

In comes Dr. Forrester in all that surgical garb, but I know it's her because I recognize her voice. She comes over and sort of pats me on the arm, nods to somebody, and boom, they turn on this anesthetic juice and I'm outa there. I don't remember anything after her sayin' hello to me and not to worry. Right. I won't worry at all - something's eatin' away at my gut, I have a new baby, a wife I'm crazy about, a new film comin' out and all the attendant madness that goes with that, I feel like utter shit most of the time and she says "don't worry" like that's gonna stop me from worrying. Not too likely.

I dreamed all sorts of stupid stuff while I was under - I guess the drugs do that. I was back in that feed room at the track in London for a lot of it, getting' beaten up and bein' hungry, mostly so thirsty I could drink a lake dry - just real uncomfortable stuff. When I came to in the recovery room, I was still thirsty. My throat hurt and I was real disoriented, but mainly, I was so thirsty I could just cry. I must've said something, because the next thing I know, something cool and wet is trickling into my mouth - water. God, it never tasted so good except maybe that morning in London when I broke out of that feed room. I wanted gallons - they gave me drops. Luckily, the anesthetic wore off pretty fast and I was able to sit up and have a real drink of water before too long. Dr. Forrester came in and checked me, then Lynnie came in and sat by me, while the doc told me I had an ulcer in my stomach.

"Not a large one, and only one - which is good. I think it's why you're anemic - you've actually bled from it without even knowing it. So I'm going to treat you with antibiotics and you're going to need to take some other meds for awhile until we clear this up. But I think you're going to start feeling better once these meds kick in, Russell. I know that in my own case, that's what happened."

We asked her dozens of questions - why antibiotics for an ulcer, mainly. Turns out most of them are caused by this bacteria called Helicobacter pylori, and once they get rid of that and heal up the ulcer. Then you take this other stuff to keep from making the acid that contributes to forming an ulcer, and Bob's your uncle - all better. So, although I hate taking medicine, I realized that I had to do it if I wanted to feel better, and since I'm not into feelin' like shit for the fun of it, I definitely wanted to feel better. We left with a bagful of prescriptions, sheets of instructions, and quite a bit of relief. I would see Dr. Forrester once more before we went home to the farm for Christmas, then see my own doctor in Sydney after that.

Ridin' back to the hotel in the car, I was leanin' against Lynn, sort of worn out, and dozing, while she filled Jake in on everything. I hadn't really slept well in days, worryin' about everything, and it all hit me at once when I got into the car. They practically had to shove me out of the back seat and drag me in the door of our bungalow. If any paparazzi had been lurkin' in the bushes then, they'd have had some really good "drunk Russell Crowe" pictures.

I stayed awake long enough to hold Kitty and feed her, but that was it for me for the day. I don't even remember handing the baby back to Lynn and going to bed, but I must have because when I woke up it was pitch black outside and the clock said it was almost midnight. I groped around, huntin' for Lynn, and her arms came around me, all sweet and warm. I felt safe. It was really sweet.

Click on the "More" button
For the next chapter