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 VI

London. I'd always wanted to go but somehow had never found the time. It was wonderful, even in the grip of a damp gloomy late winter. That part was a shock after the heat of Australia, but my body soon adjusted and I began a daily routine of visiting the sights in the morning while Russell was filming, then going to the set in the afternoons to be there for him if he needed wifely comforting.

So far, he'd needed a lot of that sort of comfort, Diane Dimante was a thorn in his side, although his term for it was much less polite and involved his backside. She seemed determined to fight every script change as if her life depended on it, and her arguments with Russell both on and off the set were already taking on the quality of the Arab-Israeli conflict. The more she resisted changes, the more determined Russell was that she perform the lines as written. Or rather, rewritten.

I reminded him that he himself was well known (I think I used the term "notorious") for arguing over lines. I got a "mind-your-own-business" lecture that left me close to tears, determined to not try any further logic on the subject with him.

"This is entirely different," he had snapped, looking at me as if I had just fallen off the ignorant truck. "You don't know enough about what took place in those situations to comment intelligently, Lynn, so please - spare me the information about myself."

I felt about an inch tall and decidedly unappreciated at that moment. I walked outside, wandered off the set into a maze of old soundstages and got lost. I sat down on the front steps of a house that was only a front wall propped up by timbers and had a good cry. I would never comment on anything again, I decided.

Did I mention that, despite our efforts, I wasn't pregnant yet? I was experiencing awful mood swings, and very emotional because of it. Some days I just wanted to curl up with a hot water bottle and a bottle of Ibuprofen and not come out till summer.

After that lecture, I hesitated making anything more than the most general of comments on the film, even when he asked me. His scathing words had left me very cautious. When he would turn to me and ask, "What do you think, Lynn?" I would mumble something noncommittal and change the subject, ignoring the questioning look in his eyes. "I really want to know," he insisted once or twice, but I refused to be drawn into it.

As a belated birthday gift, he took me on a three day weekend trip to Paris. We visited all the tourist spots - the Louvre, Eiffel Tower, DeGaulle Museum - walked along the left bank of the Seine and drank coffee in quaint little outdoor cafes. The sex during that trip was intense and tender, and I came back from Paris determined to achieve pregnancy, if for no other reason than because I was tired of being bitchy and sad. If I hadn't caught during that weekend, however, I would be surprised.

It was late April and I had seen most of the sights I wanted to visit in London and surrounding environs, several times visiting the Tower to see the Crown Jewels, which were just stunning. I began working on the novel again, spending a lot of time in the trailer near the set, writing all morning. I came to the set in the afternoon and sat in Russell's chair when he was filming, or sometimes perched on his lap when he was between takes. I often caught Diane's eyes on us, on me, really, and wondered what her game was. How could she not realize that this film, Russell's comeback effort, could be hugely important to her career? Why jeopardize that with her diva's attitude and endless stirring of his temper?

One day I came to the set and watched as the scene they were shooting deteriorated into a shouting match over who should make the first move in a romantic scene between Russell's character and hers. Colin, who had already told me he couldn't abide Diane, stood on the sidelines looking disgusted, and Steven looked as if he wished he had cast anyone but her in the role, although he was too diplomatic to say it.

"I don't care what you think," Russell snapped to a red-faced Diane, "your opinions don't mean fuck to me!"

"Oh, that's not in the script," I teased Colin. He just shook his head, a resigned look on his face.

Diane was screeching at Russell, "You arrogant prick! Just because you've got two Oscars, you think you can rule everyone on this set and change anything you want so you get the best of it!"

"People," Steven commented, pointing to his watch.

They ignored him. The crew settled in to watch, apparently used to this kind of confrontation. Russell pushed Diane so she plopped down on a table, then loomed over her, stabbing the air in front of her face with his finger, "Listen, you bloody idiot," he thundered, all traces of posh London accent fled, "if you fuck up one more scene with your whinin' and cryin' over dialogue that you bloody fuckin' well got copies of, you're fired from this film."

You could have heard a pin drop on the set at that point.

Diane put her hand in the middle of Russell's chest, shoved him back a step, got off the table and slapped his face, hard. The crack of her palm hitting his cheek was like a gunshot. My jaw dropped, as did most everyone's. Russell didn't even blink, he just snarled, "Get the fuck off my set," turned and walked off in the opposite direction.

"I don't think I'd follow him at this point," Colin advised me unnecessarily.

"Me either, let's think happy thoughts." We grinned at each other, wondering what would be next.

An hour later shooting had resumed, the actress' ego and temper apparently soothed by whoever had been assigned that task. Russell had walked back on the set looking tense but resigned, doing a little double take when he saw me sitting in his chair. Apparently he hadn't realized I had seen him get slapped. He walked over to me, leaned down and kissed me. He had a slight puffy area over one cheekbone where her ring had caught him. He saw me looking and told me they had been icing it. "It's almost back to normal, no worries."

I gave him my most encouraging smile, realizing it had been long days since he'd been on the receiving end of one. He blinked in surprise, then smiled back, leaned down, and kissed me thoroughly, eliciting a few calls of "take it off set, Crowe!" from the crew. We both giggled, and he walked back to shoot the next scene looking decidedly happier. Slap my husband, would she? We would just see about that.

I made it a point to spend time on the set every day after that. I think Russell appreciated it, but, as the film progressed, he was more and more caught up in it - both his performance and the production aspects - that he didn't say much. A quick squeeze of the hand when he'd come to sit down between takes, a brief kiss and hug, and that was about it for gratitude. I told myself I knew it would be like this, but inside, I was hurt nonetheless.

One morning in May, Russell was striding around the hotel suite, furiously hunting for some updated script pages that he was sure he had brought over the night before. "I need to read the fucking things in the car," he growled, picking up anything that might hide a stack of papers, turning it inside out, upside down and flopping it back down again when the papers didn't magically appear.

I hid in the bed, covers pulled up over the top of my head in a vain attempt to drown out his voice. I hated it when he was angry at 5:30 in the morning - it usually meant that by the time he got back to the hotel at the end of the day's shooting he would have had eight to ten hours of seething to add to it, making him decidedly unpleasant to be around. His voice faded, then I heard the door slam and realized he was gone. I pushed the covers down and sighed. My romantic dreams about this trip were over. I was in the way, and I should have realized it would be this way, but, I told myself, I was too starry-eyed to realize how intense Russell would be once the serious business on the film got underway.

My stomach roiled and I ran for the bathroom, barely making it before throwing up. I crouched in front of the toilet, retching and miserable until my stomach finally settled and I could curl up with a cold cloth on my forehead until I felt halfway human again. Food poisoning, I decided. I was so worried about being in Russell's way, about arguing with him - which I hated - and wondering if I should come up with a really good excuse to go back home and wait for him to finish the film, that it took three mornings of similarly upset stomach before the thought dawned that this was a very odd kind of food poisoning to last so long and only nauseate me in the mornings.

Kate Capshaw, Steven's wife, came to take me shopping the third morning. "You look awful!" she said, taking in my pale face, dark circles under my eyes and red nose. "Are you pregnant?"

I stared at her. She stared back, smiling. "Well," she asked after a minute or so of my thunderstruck silence, "I'm right, aren't I? You're in the family way?"

Her old-fashioned term for it brought a smile to my lips and I realized she could be right. "I think so," I said tentatively, looking down at my body, searching for changes that weren't readily apparent. I looked back up at her and said, "Oh, shit!"

Kate's grin widened. "Yep. I think I'm right. You've done it, Lynn. Russell will be so happy."

Woud he, I wondered? Or might he have changed his mind, given the stresses of the film? I decided that I was going to find out for sure if I was pregnant before saying anything to him, so I swore Kate to absolute secrecy, even to her husband, and she looked up the number of her obstetrician in London from three years earlier, when she'd found herself pregnant and away from home base. I got in to see the doctor that same week - it never hurts to use an "in" when the situation warrants.

"Mrs. Crowe," the tall, slim doctor told me with a happy smile, "you're pregnant. Congratulations!" She wore her stethoscope draped around her shoulders like a badge of honor. It had a little yellow ducky covering the part that went against your chest to listen, which was endearing and friendly. The whole clinic was endearing and friendly. I smiled back at Dr. Townsend, glad there was a reason to be sick in the mornings. She told me that would probably pass before too much longer, and sat me down with her nurse to plan out a schedule of visits. She would, she told me, give me detailed records to take back home with me at the end of our stay so my doctor in Australia could pick right up on my care when the time came.

Kate was in the waiting room, my moral support. I came out and grinned at her, nodding. She let out a loud, "Yesssssssssssss!" that got us a few looks, then we went shopping.

"I'm not going to buy much," I told her, looking at stacks of coordinating layette items in an incredible baby shop near Harrod's. "Oh, my God, look at the crib set with the little lambs on it!"

Kate held up a mobile with little ponies dangling from a carousel. The shop girl, recognizing a newly-pregnant mommy to be, showed me some of the vintage baby clothes they had - lovely christening gowns, lace-trimmed baby shirts, high-button booties - I could have happily bought everything, but settled on two beautiful hand-knitted baby sweaters. "I'm not sure which I'm having yet," I explained, "So I'm going to be practical."

Kate rolled her eyes, exchanging "yeah - right!" looks with the sales girl, but not saying anything. After all, we had a lot more shops to look in and the day was young. We also went to shops with the most chic, clever maternity clothes I'd ever seen. Of course, I wouldn't need those for awhile yet, I told myself, but succumbed to some anyway. Besides, I'd never find anything as great as these anywhere but London, and if I didn't buy some now, I'd regret it later when we were back home in Australia and I couldn't find anything similar. It's nice to be able to afford to rationalize, isn't it?

That left telling Russell. I debated about how to do it. Should I just spring it on him, or plan out a romantic dinner and tell him in the course of that? He was always gone to the set in the mornings when I was sick, so he was blissfully ignorant of the time I had spent in front of the commode waiting for the nausea to subside.

I couldn't think how best to tell him. That night in bed, he was kissing me, working his way down my body from shoulders to bosom, licking and nibbling, making me crazy, when he stopped suddenly, hands on my breasts. He stroked them with his sensitive fingers, did a little sort of lifting-hefting motion, and sat up, turning on the lamp by the bed. "Need to see what you're doing?" I asked, a little irked that he'd broken the romantic mood.

"Yeah," he said, studying me in the light. His eyes traveled down to my belly, back up to my breasts, then up to my face. He quirked one eyebrow, waiting.

"Oh, damn it," I sighed, "I wanted to pick just the right time to tell you, I forgot you know my body as well as I do."

"Tell me what, Lynnie?" he asked in his warm velvet voice. He lifted me into a sitting position, leaning against the pillows, fluffing the covers so I was exposed from the waist up and he could continue studying my breasts. His hands, touching me gently and warmly, were driving me crazy. "Tell me what?" he asked again.

"We're pregnant," I answered.

We stared at one another, grinning like two lunatics, then he grabbed me, gave me about ten passionate kisses, and bounded out of bed. He paced excitedly, stark naked, laughing and bubbling over with the whole idea of it, then came back to sit with me on his lap, kissing me and whispering how much he loved me and our baby. "And to think," he said at one point, "I was about to just plow into you like some kind of idiot clod!"

"Well," I managed to say between assaults of his mouth on mine, "I sort of wanted you to do that."

He blinked owlishly, raking his hair out of his face. "Y'what? You can do that?"

I groaned, "Oh, no - don't tell me you're going to be one of those."

"One of those what's?" he asked in puzzlement.

I grinned at him. "Dr. Townsend told me we could have sex right up to the last week or so, Russell, so stop treating me like I'm an invalid. I'm a healthy, sexual being who just happens to be pregnant and who just happens to be married to the best lover in the world. If you don't demonstrate that talent on a regular basis even though I am pregnant, I'm going to be really, REALLY grumpy."

"Oh, well, in that case - I mean, if it's a case of your emotional well being," he agreed solemnly, then started giggling at himself. We sat and laughed, whispering and planning for a long time before he finally did demonstrate that talent. Luckily, he was still an expert, so it was worth the wait.

The first time Russell was present during one of my bouts of morning sickness was right after we learned I was pregnant. It was a Saturday, so there was no filming because of the weekend, and when I woke, stumbled out of bed to the bathroom and was violently ill, he quite naturally woke almost at once. I was sitting on the floor, resting between spasms when I felt him stroking my hair. "Don't," I warned him, but before I could tell him that any stimulus at all just brought on more retching, I threw up my socks.

When I was finally done, panting and miserable, he gathered me up and sat on the closed lid of the john with me on his lap. "Here, rinse out your mouth." He pressed a cup of water against my lips.

I shook my head, "No, it'll just make me barf again." I pushed the cup of water away irritably, knocking it out of his hand.

"Lynn, Lynn," he chided me softly, then picked me up and carried me back to bed. He fluffed my pillows, pulled the sheet up and smoothed it, the whole time being so sweet I wanted to cry. Instead, I grumped something to him, turned on my side and shut my eyes. I heard him sigh as he got back in bed and put his arms around me. "I love you, Lynn."

"This is all your fault," I informed him.

"Well, you did help, y'know." He was stroking my hair again. I don't know why that made me irritable but it did. Chalk it up to hormones, I guess.

"Stop petting me!" I snapped, "I know I helped, I just didn't realize how bad I was going to feel, or I'd have reconsidered having this baby." The minute I said it, I was sorry, but it was too late to call the words back. Especially since I didn't mean them.

His body went rigid. He said in his calmest voice, "You know you don't mean that."

"Hmmf," I grunted, "I suppose not."

He turned me to face him, "Lynn, you wanted this baby as much as I did - as I do - tell me you haven't changed your mind."

I was ashamed of myself, so I hid my face against his chest. "I haven't," I said into his tee shirt. He tipped my chin up and I repeated it. "I haven't changed my mind, I just - I just hate being sick every morning."

He relaxed and nodded, a little half smile on his face, "I can see why - now. What did the doctor say about it?"

"That it will probably stop soon." I burrowed into him, feeling a bit better. I slid my hands around his waist and fiddled with the drawstring of his flannel pajama pants. "I love your butt," I murmured, patting him on it.

He giggled softly. "Don't change the subject, but thanks anyway." He yawned and curled against me. "If you're finished with your chunder session, I'd like to sleep a bit longer."

"I'm done," I affirmed, snuggling as close as I could. I put my hands on his bottom inside the pj pants.

"Bloody Oath! Your hands are like icicles!" He wriggled, but I wasn't letting go, and besides, by then my hands were warm. We slept another hour, then he woke me with kisses, which led, inevitably, to further mischief, and ended with a giggling, tickling, raucous good time. That was a really nice weekend, a kind of plateau before the plunge into the valley of gloom the week turned out to be.

He had a really early call Monday morning, so by the time I dragged myself out of the bathroom, got some clothes on and got to the set, they had already done quite a bit of work. I sat in Russell's director's chair while they finished a short bit involving him and some of the secondary characters. Diane was nowhere in evidence. I hoped this meant he had had a pleasant morning.

He walked over, kissed me, and went to talk to Steven about something. I picked up the script pages lying by the chair and glanced over them, looking up when I felt someone's eyes on me. It was Diane. She stood about ten feet away, just staring at me. I smiled, but there was no answering gesture, so I shrugged and resumed reading the lines.

When Russell came back to his chair, I got up, intending to find an empty one to drag over by him so we both could sit, but he forestalled that by pulling me onto his lap. I leaned against him, content, then noticed that Diane was looking at me again. "What is her problem?" I asked him in a low voice.

He glanced up from the changes he was memorizing, "Who? Diane? She's just on one of her rampages again, ignore her."

"She keeps staring at me," I commented, but took his advice and ignored her. When they completed moving things around for the next set up, Russell got up, set down the script and waited for them to call him. "Break a leg," I teased him, and was rewarded with one of his sweet smiles.

They took their places on the set and began shooting the scene. To my intense discomfort, it was a love scene between Russell's character and Diane's. It was a very odd feeling to watch my husband put his hands on another woman - even when he was playing a role and even when I knew he detested her. I decided not to watch and as soon as they stopped to do the scene from another angle, I went to the trailer to work on the novel. I eventually succeeded in putting the image of Russell touching Diane out of my mind, but it wasn't easy.

I worked for a couple of hours, ate my lunch when craft services sent me a tray, and, feeling sleepy, lay down on the comfortable sofa for a nap. Russell often napped there himself when there were breaks in filming, and I loved curling up there and just dozing. This time, however, I slept longer than I had intended, and it was almost dark when I woke up, disoriented. Voices outside the trailer.

". . .well, I don't see what the attraction is," the woman said. It sounded like Diane. I sat up to hear her better, reasoning that since they were speaking right under my window, I was entitled to hear what they were saying.

A man's voice answered her, but there was so much noise from something heavy being trundled past the trailer, that I couldn't hear all of what he said. I only heard, ". . .her, and she stays out of the way."

I tried to look through the corner of the window, but couldn't do that without moving the venetian blinds, a dead giveaway that I was eavesdropping.

Diane said, "She's fat! And she's so fucking sweet, I want to vomit - "

The man's voice cut in, and once again, I was frustrated as a group of people walked by, talking and laughing loudly, drowning out most of what he said. I couldn't place the voice, and he was speaking softly, which didn't help. I wondered who they were skewering, then, a moment later, realized it was me when Diane said, "Well, associate producer or not, she's like a duck out of water around here. Looks like she'd just go back to Los Angeles, or wherever it is she's from."

The trailer dipped as someone put their weight on the steps, and Russell said, "See you later." He opened the door and came inside, stumbling over something in the gloom, then switched on the light. "Lynn!"

Was Russell the man speaking to Diane? His voice hadn't been plain enough to recognize, if it had been. Did he look guilty now, or just surprised to see me there? I couldn't tell, and my stomach was churning. "I - I fell asleep, " I said, gesturing at the tumbled pillows on the couch.

He smiled then and shut the door, tossing his pile of script pages onto the counter. "Maybe I should join you over there," he said with a wink.

"No, that's okay," I stammered.

"Hmm?" He didn't appear to have heard me because he came over and sat down on the couch, reaching for me.

"Russell," I asked, just as he started to kiss me, "Who were you talking to outside?"

"When?" he murmured, giving me little licking kisses along my throat and jaw.

"Just - just now, before you came inside."

"Nobody," he answered, pulling my leggings down.

I wriggled away, but he thought I was playing, because he chuckled and followed me, kissing and sucking wherever he could get his mouth on me. "Who did you say 'see you later' to just before you came in?"

"Colin," was the answer, then he succeeded in getting my leggings off and my shirt pulled up. Once his mouth came down on my breast and he began sucking and licking my nipples, all my questions flew out of my head. "Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr," he growled playfully, dragging my hand down to the fastening of his leather pants. "I'm going to eat you up," he informed me, "and then I'm going to fuck you silly."

I freed his erection and stroked him, loving how his flesh responded to my touch and how he groaned with pleasure when I did the things he liked. I squeezed his cock, then ran my nails down his inner thighs and up onto his buttocks, digging into his firm ass cheeks. "Oh, God, Lynn! Don't stop…I have to - I have to…" He thrust into me hard, all finesse flown out the window, and just took me, pumping furiously. I wrapped my legs around his waist and met his thrusts with my own, wanting him all the way inside me, wanting him so deep he'd never be able to stop. He came hard, shuddering and groaning, finishing me off with a few well-timed strokes of his fingers. He kissed me for a long time, whispering to me how much he loved me and loved being with me, having me be here for him.

We spent most of that night entangled on the couch in the trailer, finally stumbling out around two in the morning to make our own way to the hotel. He had sent the driver home hours before with a wink and a large tip. I forgot all about Diane Dimante and her comments, for then, anyway.

Two days later, I was working in the trailer while he was on the set. I finished the chapter around lunch time, turned off the laptop and was going out the door when I ran headfirst into Diane as she walked up the steps to the trailer. "Oh!" we both said, and she jumped back, scowling. "I didn't think you'd be here," she snapped.

I smiled although my stomach was in knots. "Oh, no? Then why come by, if you thought the trailer was empty?"

Her answering smile was one of the nastiest I've ever seen. "Why, to wait for Russell," she purred. "He said he'd be here by now."

I stared at her, then shook my head, "Well, he isn't. And I can't imagine why he'd ask you over here."

"Can't you?" she drawled.

"No, I can't." I fixed her with a look. "And another thing, MISS Dimante, if you ever put your hands on my husband again, I'll turn you into mincemeat."

She laughed merrily, "Put my hands on him! That's too funny. Did he show you where I scratched him when I blew him? Did he tell you how hard he came and how many times and that he screamed my name when he did?"

"No, he didn't," I whispered. I was so mad, I forgot why I'd been going to leave and went back inside, slamming the door behind me. I heard her walk off, laughing happily, the bitch. I seethed in impotent anger. "Oohhh!" I growled, kicking the waste basket and knocking the throw pillows to the floor. "I wanna break something!" I wanted to break her face. I was surprised at myself - I hadn't known I had a jealous bone in my body until the past few days - it was a rather uncomfortable revelation for me since I had always prided myself on my fairness. "I'd like to choke her! Blow job! That little liar!"

I went to the set after I calmed down and watched them film for awhile. Just my luck, it was another seduction scene, and more graphic than I had realized. It called for Russell's character to overpower Diane's character, lay her back on the work table, and have his way with her. Each time they stopped, Diane would have to be re-buttoned into her costume, Russell would have to have his mussed hair repaired, and his clothes straightened. It was like watching an endless rehearsal of foreplay with no consummation. Not that I wanted him to consummate anything with her! Colin raised his brows when he saw that I was staying put. I raised mine back at him, as if to ask, "Something you want to say?" He shook his head and didn't say anything.

Everyone was in place and Steven called "Action!" again. Russell (John Hamilton) advanced slowly on Diane (Lady Charlotte Drake), telling her how much he disliked her. "You are arrogant, high-handed, and you have a very high opinion of yourself, Lady Charlotte."

She, in turn, wanted to squash him like a bug, feeling he was an upstart peasant trumped up to pretensions of nobility. "No less than you do of yourself, Mister Hamilton." She backed against the table and Russell was nose to nose with her, forcing her to look up. He grasped her upper arms and ran his hands slowly down and then up from elbow to shoulder. Her head fell back and he caught her before she fell, lowering her to the table and leaning down to hold her face still for him to kiss. His mouth came down on hers and it seemed to me like the kiss went on forever, plus he was rubbing against her, hips flexing sensually. It seemed forever before Steven finally said "Cut!"

Russell straightened up, extended a hand for Diane to regain her feet. Then he lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed them. She looked straight at me, smiling. My heart thumped rather strangely. I didn't know what was happening, I just knew I hated it. I flung myself out of the director's chair, intending to leave. Only, typically, my foot caught on the rung, and I stumbled, making a racket that drew everyone's eyes to me. Red-faced, I stammered an apology and walked as fast as I dared away from the set. Behind me, I could hear Diane's mocking laughter.

I started to cry before I was out the soundstage door, walking faster and faster until I was running. I darted across the little alleyway that led to the trailers, and ran down the row until I found ours. The startled security guard let me in, I slammed the door behind me and sank to the floor, struggling to get my breath. Okay, I reasoned with myself, once I was able to stop panting. Okay, it was a movie kiss, it didn't mean anything.

Oh, no? My brain answered, then why kiss her hand? Why rub his body against hers like he did with me? That surely wasn't necessary for realism, was it? No it wasn't! I dashed the tears off my face with the backs of my hands. My brain circled and circled over everything, until I finally just curled up in the middle of the floor in a miserable heap. Everything they said about him was true. He hadn't changed, he was never going to change, and I had been a sap for believing that he had. He had kissed that bitch right in front of me, and he had smiled at her afterwards. "He fucking kissed her hand!" I exclaimed, and threw a book across the room. It bounced off a bottle of mineral water, knocking it to the floor where it fizzed and spun, emptying itself all over the carpet.

I climbed to my feet and began gathering my things together. I piled them all on the kitchen counter, then found a pillowcase and stuffed everything in it. There. That was it. Everything else was his. I didn't want her touching anything of mine. I bent double sobbing for a moment or two, mostly because I didn't want her touching him, either. I went to the door, opened it, and literally ran into Russell, who was coming in for lunch.

"Whoops, look out there," he said cheerily, stopping in mid-grin to study my face. "Lynnie?" He shut the door behind himself and took my hands in his. "What's happened? Why are you crying?" He spotted the pillowcase when I set it on the floor and looked inside. "What is your computer doing in here? And your toothbrush?"

I just looked at him, my throat closed up with tears, and shook my head. "I saw you," I choked out after struggling to say something. "I saw you."

"Saw me what? What do you think you saw, Lynn?" He raked his hands through his hair, heedless of the hairdresser's work. Then he blinked, realizing what I was upset about. "Were you on the set just a few minutes ago?"

"Y-yes." I wiped my face with a paper napkin.

"So this is all because of a scene I just did?"

"You could say that," I choked out. "I saw you."

"Saw me what, goddammit?! What do you think you saw besides me acting the role of Lady Charlotte's lover?"

"You stuck your tongue in her mouth, I could tell, and after, you kissed her hand. Why would you do that if you hated her, Russell? Tell me that."

"I didn't stick my fucking tongue in her mouth!" he said, in righteous indignation. "It just looked like it. And I kissed her hand because that was the first time she did the scene without fucking it up. I was so surprised, I didn't know what I was doing!"

"Right," I scoffed. "Let me past, I'm going back to the hotel." I attempted to dodge him, but he blocked the way to the door. I shoved him, but instead of moving out of my path, he grasped my upper arms tightly, picked me up and shook me.

"You are not leaving until we discuss this!" he thundered.

I clapped my hands over my ears, "I won't discuss this unless you let me go," I countered. "And don't yell at me!"

"I'm not yelling!" he bellowed. Then he modified his tone, "I'm not yelling, but you're about to drive me to it, Lynn. Now cut out this nonsense and let's talk about what you think you saw." He set me down.

"No," I refused, dodged him, and was out the door, running for the first limo with a driver in it. "Athenaeum Hotel," I requested, and we took off, leaving Russell behind on the sidewalk, practically jumping up and down in anger. I knew he wouldn't follow me; he still had half a day's filming to do and he would never just blow that off.

Once at the hotel, I ran across the lobby, got in the elevator to the concierge floors and was shortly in our suite. I threw the deadbolt and walked into the bedroom, intent upon packing to leave. I got out my big suitcase and started throwing clothes into it. I was almost finished packing when Russell came to the door, tried to open it, and began pounding on it, demanding that I let him in.

"No!" I shouted to him through the solid oak panel. "I'm leaving, you can just get out of the way."

"Lynn, you are not leaving!" He yelled, rattling the door handle. I heard him talking to the concierge, asking for the passkey, then the passkey clicked over the deadbolt. I just stood there in the midst of my bags, seething.

He shut the door behind him very quietly, looking like he was afraid I was going to go off like a ticking time bomb. Which, I suppose I was, given that I'd gone off on him with no warning. "Now, Lynn, suppose you tell me again what this is about and why I had to stop work to follow you and be sure you were all right."

Oh my God, he had stopped filming. That meant everyone probably knew that Russell's Crowe's new wife, the foolish fat girl from Los Angeles, the one who was too sweet to realize what was really going on, had thrown a tantrum and Russell had to rush off after her. I groaned, thinking that everything had turned to crap.

"This is just awful, " I muttered.

"What is just awful? I'm in the dark here, Lynn, care to enlighten me?"

He was pale and upset. He perched on the end of the couch, looking very nice in his costume, but all I wanted was to take him outside and roll him in the nearest mud puddle. "You kissed her. You enjoyed it. And she came to the trailer earlier today. She told me how you got those marks on your cock."

He nodded, head slightly tilted as he watched me. "And how did she say that happened, exactly?"

"You know."

"Humor me - how was it again?"

I told him how I had run into her trying to enter the trailer and what she had said about the blow job. His brows drew down over his eyes until he looked ready to burst, and I backed up. "She said she wouldn't have come by if you hadn't invited her and if she'd known I was going to be there."

"I didn't invite her," he asserted, "I can't stand her, and she knows it. Furthermore, she didn't give me a blow job. She loves to stir things up, Lynn. I think you fell for her act hook, line and sinker."

"No, that's too easy," I denied his explanation. "I don't believe you."

He just looked at me, looking so disappointed that I almost relented. Almost. "That means you don't trust me, Lynn. How do you think that makes me feel?"

"Probably the same way I feel right now, betrayed." I blew my nose and wiped my face. "I'm going home," I told him.

"You're not," he said flatly, and took a step towards me.

I backed up another step, tripped over a stack of books, and sat down hard on the floor. "Ow, goddammit!"

"You should be more careful," he informed me, "you're pregnant, remember? It's not good for the baby for you to be this way."

"Hah!" I exclaimed, struggling to my feet, kicking books out of my way. "It's not good for me to see you fondling that skinny English bitch either, but that didn't stop you."

"I wasn't fondling her," he explained patiently, "I was filming a scene, Lynn. I was acting, and believe me, for me to look at all passionate with her takes a lot of acting!"

"You had a hard on!" I accused, though I might've imagined it, I was so upset at the time.

"You're imagining things. She has exactly the opposite effect on me."

I stared at the floor, feeling ridiculous. "I might have imagined that," I said tentatively.

"Thank you for that much consideration," he said in a quiet voice. "Now, look at me and tell me you believe this was all something that you blew out of proportion."

"I will not! She told me you were - you were - well, you know."

"Fucking her?" He said it like I would say, "Dismembering baby kittens?"

I blinked and suddenly felt very foolish indeed. "She said I was fat," I added bitterly.

"You're not, you're absolutely perfect," he said firmly, "she's just jealous." He was right in front of me now, and he reached out very tentatively to touch my face. "Your eyes are all swollen, Lynnie." He caressed my cheekbone with his thumb. "Come here now, let me hold you."

He put his arms around me and I melted against him, burying my face in the linen shirt. He was solid and warm, and I felt very safe in his arms. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, sniffling. "I feel really stupid."

"Don't, you're just on edge because of being pregnant, and I'm sure Diane didn't help any." He stroked my hair, sitting down on the sofa to hold me close. He kissed me several times as I slowly relaxed against him. "There now," he said, trailing little kisses along my face, "I didn't know you were such a firebrand."

"Neither did I," I said ruefully. "But I'm telling you right now, Russell, if she puts her mitts on you one more time - with the exception of when you're filming - I will personally slap her big, horsey teeth down her miserable scrawny throat."

"All right, you may do that, though maybe I should warn her."

"You will not!" I informed him before I realized he was teasing me. "Oh. Well, just don't warn her. I want it to be a surprise when the sweet little fat girl turns out to have claws."

"For the last time, you are NOT fat!" He petted my breasts, "And she'd probably give a million bucks for these tits, Lynn."

I giggled. I couldn't help it - he was so proprietary about my breasts. "Just wait, Dr. Bruckner says they'll get bigger."

His eyes almost crossed at that probability. "Oh, God," he muttered. "Lynn," he said brightly, after a few moments during which he was obviously thinking about my bosom. "Do you suppose we could, um, I could - er - do you forgive me enough to let me - oh, fuck it! Come here." He laid me back on the couch and pulled up my sweater. I had on a turquoise lace bra, which he stared at, licking his lips. His hands slid around my back, hunting for the fastening, which he opened with expert ease. "Take this off," he whispered.

I sat up, took off my sweater and the bra, and lay back down in his embrace. My breasts were already full from the pregnancy, much heavier than otherwise. He moaned and rested his cheek against them, then turned and took my left nipple into his mouth, sucking and kissing. "Oh my God," I breathed, back arching, and offered him the right one. He manipulated it with his fingers, then his mouth. At that point, I didn't care if he'd fucked her in the middle of the set in front of the whole cast and crew, I just wanted him inside me and fast.

"Now," I managed to croak. I struggled with the fastening of the damned costume trousers, finally managing to rip open the buttons, which bounced all over the floor. I would worry later about how he was going to get back to the studio and onto the set with unfastenable pants.

He was laughing, probably wondering the same thing. I dragged the trousers down over his hips while he yanked mine off, and pulled off my panties. "Won't they be expecting you back on the set?" I asked him at one point.

He positioned my thighs over his, grating, "Fuck them, they can wait. This can't." He pushed into me hard, then, holding my face between his palms, he looked into my eyes and informed me, "Nobody gets this but you, Lynn, nobody. Got that?"

"Got that!" I gasped out. He made sure I got the point. He didn't go back to the set for two hours, reinforcing the point. Not that he needed to - by then I was completely convinced.

"Nobody," he growled in my ear, "Nobody but you."

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