|
|
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
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 16
We were all over the tabloid news shows and the papers after that first day at the trial. Now mind, no reporters were allowed in the court room, but somebody had leaked some shit to the press sayin' that the defense was claiming that I was in cahoots with Ira and the kidnapping was a publicity stunt. I usually just ignore crap like that, but this really hacked me off because it was totally untrue, for one thing, and it was negative publicity just at the time Botany Bay was being considered for some important awards. I did not want to jeopardize the film's chances because of some courtroom shit, but I didn't see that there was much I could do about it, given that it was all pretty much out of my hands. I was also upset because the defense guy had boxed me into a corner about Jilly. One thing I did not do was tell tales about my friends, especially something so personal. Jilly was a good friend, we had always had a lot of laughs together, and I wouldn't hurt her for the world. Now, I'd had to say in court that she was a lesbian. On top of that the defense seemed to be headin' towards blaming me for my own kidnapping, first by trying to show it was somehow my fault that Ira was fired, and second by claiming we had planned the whole thing, just like the tabloids said. My stomach started hurting midway through my first session on the witness stand. I never realized how much I internalize things until this bout with the ulcer. I always thought I was the kind of bloke who just let everything hang out - God knows I'd gotten hell from the press for years because of my tendency to just say what I think. Maybe now that I was older, I held it inside more, I dunno. Anyway, I know I upset Lynn havin' the limo driver pull over so I could be sick alongside the road, but I figured that was better than inside the car. I have to hand it to her, though, she was real supportive and she didn't make as much of a fuss about it as she could have. I had her order us a nice dinner in our suite that night, but truthfully, I had to force myself to eat it. I kept her busy talking about other things, so I don't think she noticed that I mostly just pushed the food around on my plate. I knew I had to go back in the witness box the next day, and I wasn't looking forward to it one bit. I had made a joke of the whole thing before we got to London. I guess I hadn't realized that defense lawyers are defense lawyers wherever you go and they'll try to get their clients off no matter who else gets hurt in the process or what bullshit stories they have to tell to do it. I wasn't going to be as naïve the next day.
So I knew before we left the next day to go back to the court that he wasn't in the best frame of mind and since he hadn't eaten much the night before or for breakfast, I was worried about him. A lot of the time, I can't tell when he's not feeling just right because he hides it. He camouflages it with a lot of window dressing so you pay attention to the window dressing and not what's behind the flash and wallop. But, just as he claims to have an inborn bullshit detector, being married to him, I've developed a bullshit detector of my own, and he was bullshitting me. I went armed with his medications in my handbag, the phone number of Ridley's London doctor in case I needed it, and hoped for the best. Russell, as he had the day before, was dressed in some of his best clothes - today he wore a dark navy blue pinstripe suit over a matching waistcoat and a white silk broadcloth shirt with his kangaroo cufflinks. I had given him a new tie - dark blue with lighter blue outlines of Australia and New Zealand on it - and he wore that with his suit. "They'll never mistake you for a rough necked colonial," I complimented him. "Good, because that's exactly what I don't want them to do." He shot me a feral smile and adjusted his cufflinks, checking the mirror. "I look like a layout in GQ," he commented. It was true. He did. I gave his tie a minuscule adjustment, resting my hand on his breast pocket for a moment. "It'll be fine, Russell," I told him. He put his hand over mine, large and warm over my fingers. "If you're with me, it will be," he said, and gave me a lingering kiss. "Come on, let's go impress the bastards with how well us Aussies can do in the big city." It was the same crowds as the day before, at least they looked the same. We drove into the underground garage and were sneaked into the court by side passages. Once inside, we were seated as we had been the day before. Russell sat with me, though we knew he'd be called back up to the witness box as soon as the session began. He was studying his hands, apparently deep in thought. I leaned against him and he gave me a smile and a brief, affectionate look that reassured me quite a bit. Then the judge came in and court was once again in session. Russell was called back up, reminded that he was under oath, and the Defense resumed questioning pretty much where he had left off. "Sir, it is our contention that you and Mr. Trenary, rather than being enemies, worked in concert to pull off a publicity stunt by faking your 'kidnapping' for ransom, and that, rather than being in any physical danger, you were safely ensconced at Oldham Park Race Course the entire time." There were the usual objections from the Prosecution, and they all argued back and forth over verbiage while Russell sat and stared off into space, appearing to be infinitely patient in the face of the accusations being leveled at him. Finally, the Defense rephrased his question, "Did you or did you not, Mr. Crowe, arrange this kidnapping as a publicity stunt?" "I did not." Russell answered firmly. He looked the man right in the eye, the picture of polite control, but I knew he was seething inside. "Come, come, do you expect us to believe that Mr. Trenary just happened to plan a kidnapping and luck onto you as his victim just at the time your film was wrapping in England?" "I do." The Defense barrister sighed, shuffled the papers on his table and re-addressed Russell. "Mr. Crowe, as to the loose concrete blocks in the feed room wall. You say you accidentally found them, and discovered that you could push them through to the outside and escape?" "That's correct." "So you just sat around after this discovery and waited until the time was right, then made your move?" "Milord," the Prosecutor was on his feet again, "I ask you to remind the honorable Defense that sarcasm is not necessary with this witness, who has proven himself to be highly cooperative and not at all hostile." "It is so stated," the judge said, peering over his pince nez at the Defense, who didn't appear to be at all cowed by the reminder. The judge said, "You may answer the question, Mr. Crowe." "That's correct. I waited until everything was quiet and I thought they had gone." "What did you do next, sir?" "I started working on getting the blocks out. It took me a while, but I managed to shove enough of them through that I could wriggle out. Then I started walking." "Did you not steal the horse belonging to the daytime security chief?" Russell smiled wryly, "The horse walked up to me, sir, I thought it might be prudent, since I was tired, to ride instead of walk." There was a burst of laughter, quickly quelled by one rap of the judge's gavel. "So you rode on this stolen horse for some time, until police found and detained you?" "I rode him for some time, until I finally found some police and I detained them." Another outburst of laughter, more gavel rapping, then silence. "He's much calmer today," Mick whispered to me. I nodded, hoping it was as true at the end of the session as it was now, just barely into it. "As I understand it, Mr. Crowe, you refused to dismount from the horse, and the police detained you where you were, at which point the Scotland Yard kidnap for ransom squad joined them, and told you they had arrested Ira Trenary and his partners." "Basically, yes." "May I ask why, once you found that your fearsome kidnappers were under arrest, you still refused to get down off the horse?" "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get back on him, if the need arose," Russell said without a trace of a smile. "And why would you not? Because you would be under arrest? You expected to be taken into custody, did you not, because you thought Mr. Trenary had told Scotland Yard you were in on the whole thing?" "Objection, it has never been established that Mr. Crowe was a party to anything to do with the kidnapping except to be its unlucky victim." "Sustained," the judge said. "Rephrase the question, please." The Defense sighed deeply, pursing his lips, then asked, "Mr. Crowe did you think you were about to be arrested?" "I did not, sir." The Defense looked at Russell, disbelief written on his face, "Come, sir, if that wasn't why you feared not being able to remount your, er, steed, what did you think would prevent you from just climbing back on him, galloping off, and losing yourself in the streets of London?" "I was too tired to get back on him," Russell said in a low voice. "What? Too tired? After sitting for more than two days, not doing anything presumably but thinking about getting away, you were too tired to get back on a docile horse?" "I was." "Why?" Russell sighed, glanced at the judge who glanced back at him, sighed again and said, "Because I was dehydrated, they hadn't fed me, and I was a little bit banged up. I knew I couldn't get back on the horse." "Come, come, now, Mr. Crowe, you fought the emperor of Rome while dying from a stab wound to the kidneys!" The court erupted with laughter, more gavel rapping, then silence. Russell looked at the Defense lawyer as if he'd lost his mind. "Sir, that wasn't real. This was." "All right, Mr. Crowe, I'll grant that you were tired." "Thank you," Russell said blandly, earning more chuckles from the spectators. The Prosecutor rose to cross examine Russell. "Mr. Crowe, good morning." Russell answered him in kind. I could see that, besides paying close attention to the questions, Russell was also paying close attention to every move the man made. "Tell me," I whispered in Mick's ear, "are they doing a remake of some famous courtroom drama that he's thinking about doing?" "I'm beginning to wonder that myself," Mick whispered back, winking at me. "Mr. Crowe, I wonder if you would indulge me by recounting a few things about your kidnapping. Firstly, how was it accomplished?" "I was being driven to the set of the film I was making, and my limousine was boxed in by three small vans and forced off onto an access road." "Were you alarmed at that?" "A little," Russell said, provoking more laughter which was quickly quelled by the judge. "Granted that it would be alarming, sir, could you tell the court, please, what occurred after your car was forced off the road?" "They - some of the men from the vans - came and started knocking on the windows, demanding that the driver unlock the doors. When he didn't do it, they smashed the glass and unlocked the doors themselves. One of them hit the driver over the head and knocked him out." "And what were you doing while this was taking place?" "I was trying to write a note on the cover of my script, hoping somebody would read it and know what it meant." "They allowed you to do this?" "They didn't have my door open yet," Russell said, "I had turned in the seat so they couldn't see what I was doing, and I had to write really fast. I didn't quite finish it before they got the door open and hauled me out of the car." "Then what did they do?" "The one who knocked out my driver bashed me on the side of the head. He didn't knock me out, but I got a whole lot more cooperative. One of them, I didn't see which, jabbed me with a needle full of something that put me out most of the rest of the way. He and another man dragged me to one of the vans, tossed me inside, and taped my hands and ankles, then they put more tape over my eyes and took off." "By 'more cooperative' do you mean you were concussed?" Russell grinned at the Prosecutor, "Yes, milord, I do, and doped up with something. I had a bit of trouble walking straight for a few days and the drugs made me throw up." "Let the record show, the Prosecution enters into evidence a report from Queen's College Hospital from the head of the neurology section in which it states, and I quote, 'Mr. Crowe suffered, among other injuries, a concussion that caused dizziness and mental confusion.' Would that be what you felt, sir, dizzy and confused?" "I suppose so, yes. I lost track of how long I'd been there, and I had a bad headache." The Prosecutor handed a copy of the report to the Bailiff, who in turn, handed it to the judge to be marked into evidence. "Reading further in this report, Milord, the distinguished physician states, 'In addition to the effects from the concussion, Mr. Crowe was suffering assorted cuts and bruises - among them bruised ribs and bruises in the groin area. He was dangerously dehydrated and had not eaten in over 72 hours when he was brought in to hospital.' Is that correct, Mr. Crowe?" Russell, who looked decidedly embarrassed at having the litany of his injuries recited in the court, nevertheless answered succinctly, "Yes, that is correct." "Would you say, Mr. Crowe, that had you not found the horse and been able to ride him, you might not have even gotten off the grounds of Oldham Park?" "Probably not." "Mr. Crowe," the Prosecutor asked in a stern voice, "did you collude with Ira Trenary in your kidnapping?" "I did not." "Have you ever engaged in any sort of publicity stunts to promote a film?" "No, sir. Well, unless you count press conferences and the like." The judge gaveled the room to silence again after loud laughter. "While you were being held captive, Mr. Crowe, were you frightened?" "Scared shitless," Russell acknowledged. It took the judge almost two minutes to silence the laughter that time. "I will take that as an affirmative answer," the Prosecutor said, and then addressed the judge, "Milord, an accusation was made that this witness somehow planned his kidnapping and furthermore, that the loose cement blocks in the room where he was incarcerated were loosened ahead of time and that he knew about them. I would like to read a statement from the maintenance firm in charge of the buildings at Oldham Park Race Course and have it entered into evidence. I believe it will put to rest any question of the victim's being a conspirator in this case." The attorneys and the judge argued and objected for a long time, while Russell sent me a brief smile, then the Prosecutor was finally allowed to read his statement. "The buildings at Oldham Park Race Course are to be knocked down commencing first May of this year due to their advanced state of decay, which renders them outright dangerous and unfit for habitation by man or animal. Most particularly troublesome are the concrete block walls of all the stables, which are full of broken and loose blocks, plus holes where blocks have fallen out over the years." The Prosecutor handed the report to the Bailiff, then fixed the jury with a look, "I submit to you, members of the jury, that the victim had no part in his kidnapping, that he had no foreknowledge of the condition of the blocks in the room where they kept him, and that Ira Trenary and his co-defendants planned this entire operation themselves, and bear the responsibility for its failure." He sat down. The judge nodded and the Bailiff announced, "The witness may stand down." Which Russell did, with alacrity. Court then adjourned for lunch. We met in the corridor outside the court room. I grabbed hold of Russell's hand as soon as I got close, and snuggled against his side when he wrapped his arm around me. "Do you have to go back?" "I don't know, but you do, Lynn." He was right. I had forgotten. My heart sank. He gave me a reassuring squeeze, "Come on, I don't think they'll try to say you planned it." We all laughed, and went to eat lunch. Russell's personal attorney took us down through some pedestrian tunnels under the court buildings, then up to where his office was. We had a catered lunch - I made sure Russell ate something - and then we had to go right back to the courtroom again for the afternoon session, at which I was told I would be called first. Russell and I paused outside the door of his attorney's office for a short hug and kiss. "Lynnie, I'll be right there, I know you can do this, and I don't think they're going to be anything but polite. We're almost through and then we can get on with our own lives." He squeezed me tightly, then took hold of me and we walked back to the court building hand-in-hand. I knew that with him there, nothing could hurt me.
Testifying wasn't as bad as I had thought it would be. Apparently the defense lawyers decided I would be too sympathetic a witness if they bullied me - maybe it was the English sense of fair play towards ladies, who knows. They only asked me for details of how I found out Russell was kidnapped, how many calls I'd gotten, who from Scotland Yard was involved and how soon they were involved, and who planned the money drop, etc. They never asked me how worried I was or about the calls where I actually got to speak to Russell, or the times they beat him so that I could hear it while they were on the phone with me. The Prosecutor asked me those questions. Talking about it, even so many months later, was pretty harrowing. Russell was sitting where I could see him, his heart in his eyes, trying to give me support from a distance. "I was tryin' to send you brainwaves," he told me later. I held it together until I described how we had raced up in the car and I had seen him sitting on the horse, looking so tired and worn. My voice broke and I couldn't speak. The judge halted the proceedings at that point and asked if I needed a moment to compose myself, and they gave me water and allowed me to take a few breaths before continuing. I found myself wondering why even the defense lawyer was so kind to me when he'd been so nasty to Russell. It made me mad. "So," the Prosecutor said when I'd blown my nose and was answering questions again, "how did your husband appear to you when you arrived on the scene?" "Tired, he looked very tired and pale. And when I spoke to him, he seemed confused, but he was all bruised, so I figured he was hurting." I expected the Defense to object, but they didn't. I guess it was more of the "don't bully the wife" thing. "What did you do?" the Prosecutor asked. "I touched his leg to get his attention, and he winced so I knew I had hurt him, so I asked him to get off the horse." "And, did he?" "In a way. He fell off - well, he sort of slid off and landed on the grass." "Was there a doctor on the scene?" "Not right away, but shortly after that. They took him to the hospital to be checked." "Milord, it has already been attested that Mr. Crowe was kept in hospital for two days as a result of his condition at the time of his escape from the Defendant," the Prosecutor noted. He turned back to me, "Did you at any time, Mrs. Crowe, think that this was anything other than a genuine kidnapping?" "Objection, Milord, the witness is not a kidnapping expert." "Milord, she is the victim's wife, and she would have an opinion on a situation involving him, I am merely asking for her opinion on the matter." "Objection overruled," the judge said. "You may answer, ma'am," he said to me. "It seemed very real to me," I said, "and I can tell when my husband is acting - believe it or not." There were some chuckles, which the judge frowned at. I added, "Also, we had just learned I was pregnant - he wouldn't have done anything to upset me - we were both too happy about it." He asked me a few more questions, then the Defense was allowed to ask me some follow up questions. He stood really close to the witness box and I noticed he had a long, black hair growing out of a mole on his cheek. I couldn't take my eyes off it - it looked like it would tickle his face and I wondered how he could not be aware of it. I glanced at Russell and he winked, so I knew he had seen it the day before. I wondered why he hadn't commented on it, but realized he hadn't because he wanted to see if I'd notice it. I would get him later, I promised myself.
"Yes, I am." "When your husband prepares for a film role, does he do a lot of research into a character?" The Prosecutor arose, "Milord, objection - I see no relevance to this line of questioning." "Milord," the Defense answered, "It is to clarify our position regarding the planning of the kidnapping." "I will allow it," the judge ruled. "Yes, he does a lot of research," I answered. Russell wasn't looking as cheerful now. I didn't feel particularly cheerful myself - it didn't take a rocket scientist to see where they were going with this. "Wouldn't you agree that such research would be useful for some time to come, in other situations?" "Possibly, yes." Now I knew how Russell felt when his stomach rebelled. "I submit to you, Mrs. Crowe that he used that very research to plan this so-called kidnapping with the defendant, and now has left Mr. Trenary high and dry to take the rap for it." Over loud buzzing and the judge's gavel banging, he went on, "I submit to you, ma'am, that your husband was never a victim of any kidnapping because no real kidnapping ever took place." I just stared at him. Finally I asked, "Was there a question in there, sir?" "Yes, the question is, Mrs. Crowe, were you a party to this ludicrous scheme?" "What?" "I asked you, madam, if you were in on the scheme. Did you know about the kidnapping beforehand?" The Prosecutor was on his feet, the judge was banging his gavel, the spectators were exclaiming and talking, then, over all of that, I heard Russell say in a clear, carrying voice, "You fucking defense whore, leave my wife alone." I looked out at him - he was on his feet, his angry eyes fixed on the Defense attorney - and I thought, 'oh shit, now he's going to get lectured', but the judge merely banged his gavel until everyone shut up. Russell calmly sat down. Mick, who had looked as though he wanted to join Russell on his feet, shot me a thumbs up. When silence had reigned for a few moments, the judge turned to me and said, "Mrs. Crowe, you are required to answer the honorable barrister's question." I took a deep breath, and in my most carrying voice, answered, "There was no 'ludicrous scheme', so I could not be a party to it, sir." I gave him the coldest, most haughty look I could come up with. It was the kind of look you'd give someone who tried to serve you a plate of bugs instead of the steak you had ordered. The man blinked, tut-tutted again, and sat down, waving a hand in dismissal of me. The Bailiff indicated I could return to my seat, so I did, gladly. Russell grabbed hold of my hand as soon as I got there and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. "I'm fine," I whispered to him, "thanks for the support." "Shall I squash him for you?" he whispered. I shook my head, asking instead if we could leave when they adjourned for lunch. We checked with the Bailiff, who said we could, and we all trooped back to the hotel and collapsed, glad our part of the trial was over. "I would not be surprised," Russell said over lunch, "if they let the bastard off because of this damn fool idea that it was a publicity stunt." "Surely they won't fall for that," I said, meaning the jury. But, I knew juries had fallen for stranger ideas than that one, and acquitted people I would never in a million years have let go. I sighed. "Okay, so I'm naïve," I said. Russell got out of his chair, walked over and whispered in my ear, "You just stay the way you are, Lynnie, I love you for it." Then he kissed me while Mick groaned theatrically and pretended nausea. "Oh, stop it, you wait till you get married," Russell told him, "you'll see how it is." "I will not be as sappy as you, mate," Mick insisted. Russell just smiled knowingly at him. "We'll see," Russell said. He fixed me with a beatific smile. "Personally, I'm enjoying the hell out of being sappily and sloppily in love." "Me too," I answered. Mick groaned again and took himself off to find something to do, saying we were going to give him diabetes with our sugary emotions. Russell went off to change into less dressy clothes, as did I, and we sneaked out the back of the hotel disguised with baseball caps pulled low over our faces, and managed to get a cab without being recognized by any of the paparazzi hanging around the hotel. The good ones must've all been at the front or the parking garage doors that day, not in the back alley by the trash bins. We went shopping. I took him to some of the wonderful shops Kate Capshaw had introduced me to the year before, and Russell took me to some of the great old bookstores he had found when he'd been to London in the past, and we took each other to Harrod's for an hour of decadence, looking at just about everything in that wonderful store. He insisted on buying me some things that I liked, even though I had only looked and was about to walk on, happy to just look. "You need this," he insisted, and bought me an incredible handbag from Italy that was so soft it felt like velvet instead of leather. After that, I was careful not to let myself drool over anything for fear of being loaded down with packages. Of course, once we each had two shopping bags loaded full, Russell came up with a solution and we sent them back to our hotel by taxi, something he said he had done a lot of times without any problems. I took him at his word and was pleased when we got back to our hotel later to find our parcels there waiting for us. In the meantime, heady from an afternoon of just being ordinary, Russell got bold and took me to Bond Street, where we looked in the windows of some of the most exclusive jewelers in the world. I wasn't sure what he had in mind, but I enjoyed looking at the spectacular colored stone pieces - plain old white diamonds had never really rung my chimes. He finally took me inside one of the ritzier shops, where we were ushered to a private show room in the back that was furnished with velvet sofas, ottomans and antique coffee tables. A thin, bespectacled man came in and Russell introduced me to him. It seemed the man was an expert with fine watches - one of Russell's weaknesses - and he proceeded to show us two dozen of the most wonderful men's watches I'd ever seen. Russell already had six or seven really special timepieces, including an antique pocket watch in 18K gold with a hunt scene embossed into the case, but he couldn't resist looking at more, sometimes buying, most often not. This time, he came under the spell of a Chaumet watch with a deep blue metallic face. The watch itself was stainless steel, the knobs were 18K white gold and the band was blue alligator. "This is the newest Aqvylla," the jeweler said. Russell almost moaned aloud when he tried it on his wrist. Hell, I almost moaned aloud when I saw it on his wrist. It obviously was meant to be his. Sure enough, he handed it to the jeweler and nodded, saying only, "that one." I thought we were finished and began gathering my wits - still stunned from the glittering trays of high-end pretties - but Russell grinned at me and asked to see women's watches. I tried to argue him out of it while the jeweler was off gathering treasures for us to see, but he wouldn't be moved. Russell in a stubborn phase is almost as immovable as the Great Wall of China. The jeweler was back shortly with two trays of watches to tempt me. My eye fell on a Chaumet almost indentical to his only scaled slightly smaller. I tried it on and gulped. It almost felt warm where it touched my wrist, like it was humming "take me, take me". "Would it be too adolescent to have similar watches?" I asked the jeweler. Russell said firmly, "It would not." So the ladies' version of his watch was duly added to the "gotta have it" stack. "How about something dressier too?" Russell asked me, selecting a yellow gold watch from the second tray. The face was an antique gold coin - a small masterpiece with the head of a goddess on it - with tiny diamonds at the 12, 3, 6 and 9 o'clock positions. The band was gold links, so it looked more like a bracelet than a watch, and the clasp had small diamonds on it as well. I tried it on despite my lukewarm feelings about diamonds. It was beautiful. "Yeah," Russell said, in a tone that I knew meant, "get it, get it, it's wonderful". I glanced at the discreet little paper price tag and almost fell off the sofa. He took the watch from me before I could say anything, "That one too." To my relief, he stopped with those three. I wasn't sure my psyche - born and bred on a farm in Indiana, after all - could have stood anything else. I wasn't sure I'd be able to wear either watch, frankly, without feeling a bit guilty about what they cost, but later Russell informed me that if you figured their cost in proportion to what he earned, it wasn't so awful. I just looked at him, unconvinced. I did, however, never voice my guilt feelings to him because it would have spoiled his joy in giving me the beautiful things. I wore the Chaumet out of the shop, as he did his. Out on the sidewalk, we grinned conspiratorially at one another, and set off to find somewhere to have a quiet supper. We settled on a pub he knew, and had wonderful traditional English food - meat pies, Stilton cheese, trifle - and ate ourselves wounded. He sat back, patting his stomach, for once smiling instead of frowning when he did it. "I feel so much better." "The tension of having to testify is gone," I commented. "I feel better myself." We had only to attend a private screening of "Botany Bay" requested by His Majesty, King William, then we could go home. I, for one, could not wait, and I knew Russell was probably pining for home even more. We returned to the hotel well after dark, going back in through the same trash bin doors from the alley, surprising a couple of maids who were sneaking a smoke break. When they realized it was us, they begged Russell for autographs, which he very kindly gave. I am always impressed with how sweet he is with fans, unless, of course, the person acts obnoxious, in which case he becomes icily polite, occasionally even refusing to sign if the person is really rank. But these two were so funny, giggling self-consciously and embarrassed about being in the alley smoking in the first place, that we had a 5 minutes-long chat with them before going inside. We were all over the news again that night, but the scandal-mongering seemed to have ended and we were getting much more sympathetic treatment. More facts had apparently been leaked, and the story about the race track's buildings being ready to fall down had come out. It was odd to have Russell getting positive press from the tabloids, given their normal bashing of his every move. "Maybe we should buy one of each," he suggested with a laugh, "and frame them, cos it's never gonna happen again." "I wouldn't wrap the garbage in them," I told him, "positive or not." He agreed and the idea was summarily dropped, not that he'd been serious. In the morning, he checked with his personal attorney who told him we should be able to leave for home without fear of being called again, which was good news. We spent that day resting up for the private screening that night and getting our flight home set up. We were eschewing commercial flights to use Dreamworks' private jet, a luxury I really enjoyed because we had room to be comfortable in it, and it was more like flying in a hotel suite than an airplane. "It's all set up," Russell told me as I was luxuriating in a freshly drawn bath, up to my collarbones in sandalwood scented water. He glanced down where my breasts were half-exposed by the foamy suds. "Nice," he commented. "So I've been told," I said smugly. I took the soap and slowly ran the curved bar over my right breast, then my left, lifting each in my palm to soap underneath. I noticed that Russell's eyes were just about to pop out of his head, which was the effect I had wanted. I gave him an innocent look. "Something up?" He blinked, uttered a fierce growl, and began flinging his clothes in all directions. "Definitely, something is up and something is hard, and I'm going to climb in there and show you." I squealed in mock terror as he clambered into the tub, his hard cock bouncing as he slipped and almost fell on his ass on the porcelain. As it was, he splashed water and suds everywhere, but he was soon in the tub facing me, our legs tangled together, watching me as I continued teasing him. The empurpled head of his cock stood above the surface of the water. "Moby Dick?" I asked him. "No, my dick," he answered, lunging across the tub for me. "About to plumb the depths of this little ocean in search of the prime cooze I know is lurking there." "I love it when you talk dirty to me," I murmured, batting my eyelashes. Truthfully, I did. He was so creative at it, and knew all the right things to say. "Hah," he exulted, kissing me so hard I slid under the surface of the water. "Whoopsie-poopsie," he said, which always made me laugh uncontrollably, and he lifted me out of the tub, streaming suds, and carried me into the adjoining bedroom. He dropped me on the bed, flung himself on top of me, and kissed me until I stopped trying to wiggle out from under him. "Now," he panted, "now, I'm going to fuck you." "Come on, then," I challenged him, digging my fingers into his hips, "do it, I've been wanting it for days. Russell laughed, lifted my hips and shoved his cock inside me while I bucked and squealed under him. "Yes," he hissed in my ear, starting to pump in and out of me, "it has been awhile, hasn't it? You're all tight and wet, Lynn, you hot little sheila." "Only for you," I managed to gasp before I lost the ability to do more than just moan in pleasure. The water in the tub grew cold, but for some reason I didn't give a damn. We were dozing later, his face tucked into the hollow of my neck, when the phone rang. I answered it, hanging up after exchanging a few words with Mick, who was the caller. When Russell cracked one eye open a bit later, I told him the news. "Botany Bay has four SAG nominations, Mick was on the phone." He sat up, hair tousled, sleepy-eyed, "What ones?" "You for actor, Colin for supporting actor, Diane for actress and whatchamacallit for supporting actress." "Corrine?" he asked. Corrine Alberts was a veteran character actress and she had been outstanding in a brief appearance as a transported cockney prostitute . "Yes, I don't know why I can't remember her name, I always like her in films." "Four nominations, that's just great!" he enthused, and gave me a ravishing smile, "Let's celebrate." I pretended to be worn out, but he's very persuasive, my husband. In fact, we celebrated the rest of the afternoon, so that when we went to the special screening that evening, I was so tender I almost couldn't sit comfortably. This, of course, amused Russell greatly. "There's more where that came from, y'know," he whispered in my ear when he saw me wince as I sat. I whispered back, "Don't even think about it."
Press the "More" button for the next chapter
|
||||
|
|||||
|
|
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
|
Buttons, bars, logos © 2001 by WildBearies Photographs of Russell Crowe courtesy of various fan sites. |
|||||
