Chapter 1

He walked from the balcony back into the hotel suite, slamming his cell phone closed and tossing it onto the sofa. Thomas looked up as Derek MacMurray ran his hands through his still-long blonde hair, tugging out the leather thong that held it in a queue on his neck as he strode through the suite’s lounge room.

“That bad, Mate?”

“Worse,” Derek replied, sitting heavily on the sofa and leaning forward, resting his arms on his legs before sitting back and rubbing his face with both hands.

“She’s given me an ultimatum …come home and do it now, or it’s over. Bloody fucking hell! Her timing is pure fucking shit. And what the fuck made her choose now to start believing everything that’s spewed out by the media? She’s always ignored it before …what’s got her knickers in such a twist this time?” Derek shook his head as he stood and walked to the suite’s bar, grabbing a beer and popping the tab.

Thomas took a deep breath before speaking. Though the two men were extremely close friends and had been for years, as Derek’s personal assistant and bodyguard Thomas knew all too well what the man could do when he was angry. He also knew that Derek was more than capable of sacking him on the spot if he annoyed him, particularly given that the bloke was already pissed as hell at his on-again off-again sheila back in Australia. Derek was looking at him now, obviously expecting some sort of response and while Thomas was financially secure, he liked Derek and enjoyed working with him; he was in no mood to be sacked. More importantly, he didn’t want to work for anyone else. He weighed his words carefully before he spoke.

“Derek, you’ve been with Denise on and off for ten fucking years, and she’s given you an ultimatum at least once a year the entire time. What makes this time any different than the others?”

Derek ran his hands through his hair again, a dead giveaway to his emotional state. “Because this time, I’m bloody fucking sure she means it.”

“How do you know? I thought she’d meant every one of them, and she hasn’t …what makes you so sure about this one?”

“Because I know the woman, probably better than she knows herself …I know how she thinks, how she reacts, what she wants, and her tone of voice. This time, there was no anger in her voice …no passion, just a flat statement and let me quote it for you, Mate. Get your arse home within 72 hours, or forget it. I’ll be moved out before you get here if you’re one second later. She hung up on me. She’s never done that before. She’s always waited for me to cajole her and apologize and grovel, then she’d forgive me and everything was apples. No, Mate, this time, she means it. I’m sure of it.” He returned to the sofa and sat again, staring out the window and across the Thames.

“What do you want, Derek? What about the commitments you have outstanding? If you go home now, the tour’s most likely in the bag, and you’re going to disappoint a hell of a lot of fans …don’t think the rest of the band will take too kindly to that. You have a day job, but the rest of the lot is heavily dependent on the revenue from the tours and CDs.”

“Yeah, I know …and I’ve got to get back to California for retakes before I go home; that’s going to take at least two more weeks, and that’s still two weeks off. I told her that, but she’s not moving …or rather, it looks like she will be if I’m not there in three days. FUCK!” Derek stood and paced the room …not a good sign, as Thomas knew all too well from experience. Still, Derek hadn’t answered Thomas’ question and the man didn’t seem that upset about Denise’s threat …he was far more annoyed at the notion of canceling the planned tour with his band and the retakes yet to be done than at her ultimatum. Thomas reckoned he might as well be shot for a wolf as a hound, and asked the question again.

“So, what do you want, Mate?” Derek stopped his pacing and looked hard at Thomas.

“I have to finish the fucking retakes, and I want to get the rest of the tour mapped out before I fucking go home. That’s why the fuck I built in the two weeks between now and the retakes, for fuck’s sake. I want Denise to fucking realize that while her “craft” may not be that important to her …and why the fuck should it be? I’ve been supporting her for the last two years …my craft is very fucking important to me. Most of all, I don’t want any more fucking ultimatums. I’ve got enough on my plate just now with Mum’s condition; I’ll be home for her surgery and stay through Christmas and the New Year. Even if I cancelled the tour, I’d still have to be back in the States in March to start the promo tour for the film. Denise knows all that ...why the fuck can’t she be reasonable for once in her life?” Derek had stopped pacing, and his eyes were flitting rapidly round the room, a sign Thomas knew meant things were about to start flying. He couldn’t stop that from happening any more than he could stop the sun from rising the next morning, so he might as well go for it.

“And …?”

“And I’m thinking maybe it’s time for this relationship to end, once and for all.”

“Thought you were in love with her.”

“I suppose I am, else why would I have stuck about and put up with her shit all this time?” He stopped pacing and seemed to think for a moment before speaking again. “Problem is, I’m not at all sure that I am in love with her …or if I ever have been. Maybe I’ve just stuck about because she’s been convenient and being in a more-or-less publicly acknowledged relationship has kept the media off my arse a bit as far as women are concerned.” Derek’s large hand caressed a small Ainsley vase that was sitting on one of the side tables. An instant later, it was in shards after Derek hurled it across the room and into the wall. Thomas stayed where he was and began a mental tally of what would likely be half dozen broken objects before Derek’s temper cooled. The vase was followed by a large metal ashtray. That wasn’t breakable but the miniature of the Venus de Milo that flew across the room after the ashtray was. Derek’s cell phone was next and it exploded into pieces when it, too, hit the far wall. Well, at least he wouldn’t be getting any more calls this afternoon, not on his cell phone anyway.

Thomas stood, picked up his coat, and walked toward the door. Derek looked over at the man, a scowl on his face.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“To get you a new phone …that one’s not reparable, now is it? And while I’m gone, try not to break anything that can’t be replaced, all righty?” Derek’s response was another vase crashing into the door behind Thomas as he made his exit.

Chapter 2

Derek

By the time Thomas returned with a new phone I’d already run up one hell of a tab on the hotel’s line. Figured I’d best call my olds and tell them I’d likely be home within a month, as soon as the retakes were done. I told Mum about Denise’s call and her ultimatum, which Mum did not appreciate. I learnt that she’d never been particularly fond of Denise, and had apparently been tolerating her all these years simply for my sake. Now that came as quite the surprise; I’d always wondered where I got my talent for acting, and I’d just found out as I’d have sworn she thought the world of Denise. My Mum is one of the few people in my life that I’ve ever listened to at all, and I got an earful today. Not bashing, mind you, but the fact that she’s always felt Denise was just hanging round until I got famous and wealthy, thinking I’d eventually put a ring on her finger. Mum has a great eye for character - possibly better than mine in this particular instance - and I’d listened carefully to every word she’d said. Just when I thought I had it sussed, she’d hit me with the knockout punch.

“Derek, if you really loved Denise, if you were really in love with her, don’t you think you’d have gotten round to asking her to marry you long before this?” Well, she had me there and there was that phrase again …in love, the same as Thomas had used earlier. Perhaps actions really do speak louder than words. Maybe I’d just stuck by Denise because she was a good fuck and I mean a really good fuck; that was a talent I knew I’d miss quite a lot. That woman did things in bed that I’d never even dreamt of before meeting her and, believe me, I’ve got quite the good imagination. I’d periodically wondered where she’d learnt all the things she knew; then again, perhaps I didn’t really want to know. What I did know was that there was no way in fucking hell that I was letting Denise lead me round by my dick any longer. I had commitments here and in the States that I had to honour and while I acknowledged that I might have to cancel the tour because of my Mum’s health, I still had a week before that decision had to be made. However, I did start calling the blokes in the band to let them know that we might have to cancel the tour scheduled for the January/February time frame, and postpone it until early winter …winter in Australia, summer in the States. I was surprised to learn that they really weren’t that upset about it; they weren’t looking forward to being in the northern hemisphere during the winter months there any more than I was and much preferred going over during the Australian winter so they could get warm again. Apparently, they’d just gone along with me because touring then fit neatly into my schedule between film commitments.

That reaction was another thing that surprised me. These blokes are my best mates, have been for years, and I’d always counted on them to be straight up with me. Had I become so unapproachable - even to my mates - that they were holding back their opinions from me? And if so, when did it happen? While I had now come to the decision that Denise and I were most likely history, it also appeared that I had some serious fence mending to do with my band mates. Well, perhaps having a couple of months off and being at home would facilitate that because I sure as hell intended having them come to the farm as often as their work schedules would permit.

Yeah, I have a farm in New South Wales …beautiful place, bought it from the family of a close friend a few years back and have finally gotten most of the improvements made that I want. It’s my sanctuary, one of only two places on the face of the planet that I can go where no one can get at me unless I give them access. And I can walk round town there, too; I’m no one special to the locals, still just Derek MacMurray, the bloke who’s in love with his fucking cows and dogs, and cries when one of them dies. I’ve always been a nong when it comes to animals.

Back to considering canceling the tour. Of course, I knew that the record company we’d signed with and which was promoting the tour was going to be a lot less than happy with me if we cancelled. If they were pissed enough to drop us as one of their artists, I’d probably be back to producing our records on my own dime again as I doubted anyone else would pick us up. We just aren’t that well known, and most of our fan base consisted of fans of my films and bought our CDs off the Internet. Well, I’d bankrolled the band before, and I could do it again …at least this go round, I could actually afford to do it and to do it right, options that really hadn’t been open to me in previous efforts. I knew I’d also have some really pissed off fans; the first two concerts’ tickets had already sold out and would have to be returned with full refunds. I just prayed the studio would forgive me and not make the band suffer if we cancelled.

When Thomas returned with my new cell phone, I apologized to him for throwing shit everywhere. He looked surprised, probably because I’d already picked up all the bits and pieces. I asked him why he appeared surprised and he said that for the last year I hadn’t apologized for anything I’d done, and he wondered why I was starting now. That statement from him hurt more than I’d have believed possible. Looked like I had more fences to mend than I’d realized and I started with him, wondering as the words tumbled out of my mouth just how much shit he’d taken over the last year that should rightfully have been directed at me but wasn’t for fear of invoking my now-legendary temper.

We sat and talked well into the night, and I told him I’d decided to break it off with Denise. He wasn’t surprised but advised me not to go public with it just yet, unless I wanted every female under the age of 90 beating a path to my door. He had a point, and I decided that I’d just keep that under my bonnet for the present. I was also hoping that by the time I did get home Denise would have moved out of my house in Sydney so I wouldn’t have to confront her immediately. Yes, I’ll admit it. I hate facing off with an angry and upset woman more than fucking anything. They always seem to end up crying and I fucking hate that. All I could hope for was that by the time I did get home she would be so angry that she’d be throwing things at me, rather than crying. I can deal with anger, but I’m not nearly so good at tears; tears always remind me of what a bastard I can be and, most times, I’d rather not be reminded.

I sat up most of the remainder of the night, mentally going over the obligations and commitments that I had for the coming year and getting more depressed the more I thought about all of it. Toward dawn I finally realized that my real problem was exhaustion – mental and emotional, as well as physical – and stress. It seemed I always had to be somewhere for a meeting, a photo shoot, a film, a concert tour, a film promo tour, an awards ceremony (whether I was nominated or not), a charity event, or Christ alone knows what. I don’t do drugs, other than an occasional joint, but I do drink and I’d been drinking more and more heavily in recent months with the result being that I wasn’t sleeping well. Add that fact to all the other shit and I finally had to acknowledge – at least to myself – that I was pretty fucking close to the breaking point. That’s when I decided that I had to cancel the tour with all the attendant ill will that would incur, because I couldn’t keep going the way I’d done for the last few years since winning my Oscar. Scrapping the tour would give me at least three months off and on my farm before I had to start the promo for the new film. Given that amount of time, perhaps I could manage to pull myself back together before I had a total meltdown.

When Thomas woke up and wandered into the suite’s lounge room, I was lying on the sofa, my arm over my forehead and tears running down my face. I just couldn’t do it any more; if I continued the pace I’d set for myself, I was going to break down totally and I wasn’t at all sure I’d be able to climb back up again. I hated the idea of letting down my mates in the band, not to mention the fans and the recording company, but I couldn’t see any other way clear. I had to get some rest, had to have some peace and quiet, had to get out from under some of the load and relieve the stress that had been and was continuing to consume me. He put one hand on my shoulder, and I opened my eyes.

“You come to a decision?” I took a deep breath, sat up, and nodded. “What, then?”

“I have to cancel the concert tour, Thomas. If I don’t I’m going to break into a million pieces, and I’m afraid there may not be enough glue in the world to put me back together. I have to have some peace in my life …I need to be with my family and out of the lights for a while. I just can’t do this anymore, at least not for a while.” And then I totally fucking lost it. I broke down and sobbed like a child, with Thomas sitting there patting me on the back. He finally stood and told me to go to bed, that he’d cancel the appointments I had for the day and call the blokes in the band and tell them …and he’d call the recording company. I hated pushing that responsibility off on him but was so grateful that he was going to do it because, at that time, I knew I couldn’t. I went to my room and stretched out on the bed; I think I was asleep before my eyes even closed.

I woke to the sound of my grip being zipped and sat up to see what Thomas was doing. He picked the bag up in one hand and looked at me.

“Let’s go,” he said. No explanation.

“I thought you cancelled everything I had today.”

“I did. Now get your shoes on and let’s go,” he said, again with no explanation. I sat there looking at him for a couple of tics, wondering what the fuck he had up his sleeve.

I frowned at him, for all the good it did. He’d long since become immune to my frowns and scowls as well as to my temper tantrums, and yes, I’d realized during that long sleepless night that was precisely what my outbursts had become …tantrums, just like you see in a child. However, that bit of self-knowledge in no way precluded my digging in my heels at that moment.

“I’m not moving off this fucking bed until you tell me where the fuck you think you’re taking me,” and I meant it.

“Okay,” he said equably, “you’re checking into Priory Hospital in Birmingham; they have an outstanding program in stress management and anxiety reduction. I’ve already spoken with the Chief of Staff, and he’s assured me of your total privacy and absolute confidentiality. You’ll be checked in as Marcus Hamilton and tended to by blind, deaf nuns, all of whom are over the age of 85, and obviously immune to your so-called considerable "charms." Not that I’ve ever thought you had any …charm, that is.”

I snorted at that and started to tell him to go fuck himself, then thought about it for a tic. All medical considerations aside, I was still rational and realized that if I did check into hospital for exhaustion and stress related issues, that it just might give me the bargaining chip I needed with the recording company and that leverage might keep them from dropping us from their label. Not that I really gave a flying fuck about what they might do to me personally in terms of suing me for breach of contract, but I really didn’t want them dropping the band off their label. My mates had worked far too long and far too hard to risk that if I could prevent it. I took a deep breath and looked at him before I spoke.

“Okay. I’ll go. But not one word of this to any-fucking-one until I say so, Thomas, and that includes my family. I trust they have data ports in the rooms so that I can at least communicate with the outside world?” If I was going to be a patient in the modern day equivalent of Bedlam, I at least wanted to keep up with what was happening outside my room. Thomas took a deep breath.

“Data ports in all the suites – which you have – but you won’t be allowed to have your computer for the first 48 hours. The plan is to keep you - quite literally - sedated for the first 36 hours to let you rest. Mr. Harding, the Chief of Staff, said it will probably take 12 hours for you to really wake up after that and once you manage that, you can have your fucking computer.” Well, if that was as good as I was going to get, I reckoned I could live with it. Frankly, the thought of 36 hours of uninterrupted sleep sounded like Heaven at that moment. Hell, as good as 36 hours sounded, I might ask them if I could go for 72. I couldn’t even recall the last time I’d gotten a really good night’s sleep.

I rolled to a sitting position and pulled on my running shoes and fastened the Velcro straps, then looked up at him and nodded.

“All righty, then. Let’s go to Birmingham.” As I stood, it hit me that I couldn’t even begin to recall the last time I’d agreed to anything so easily and quickly. Jesus Christ, but I must be a total fucking mess.

Chapter 3

When we got to The Priory I had to admit that I was impressed yet again with Thomas’ ability for doing his homework. Of course, I knew the man was thorough almost to a fault; I wouldn’t have hired him as my PA and bodyguard if he weren’t, but the place actually looked more like a resort than a hospital. Green rolling lawns, huge trees, tennis courts, pool, even a golf course. We were whisked through the check-in process, and I was in my suite in less than 15 minutes. It certainly lived up to the promise I’d seen outdoors. I had a lounge room, bedroom, small kitchenette, huge bath with a whirlpool (I could already hear it calling my name), and ceiling-to-floor windows in both the lounge and bedroom that looked out into the forests behind the hospital. It suddenly dawned on me that we were close to the woods that we’d partially burnt down whilst filming the opening battle scene in the movie that started me on this never-ending roller coaster ride.

The nurse who showed us to the room asked me to sit so that she could take my blood pressure and temperature. We all know the drill and I complied, though I didn’t really think she was going to find anything unusual. I was just overtired and stressed out, and was more than aware of that reality. Okay, temperature probe in my ear, blood pressure cuff on, and I watched as the nurse pumped up the cuff …and frowned. Pumped it up again, released the pressure and frowned again.

“What’s wrong?” She pumped up the cuff, released it, and frowned a third time. Now I was beginning to get worried.

“Do you know what your usual blood pressure reading is, Mr. Hamilton?” Well, of course, I did; most sentient beings do, I suspect.

“Around 110/70. Why?”

“Well, if that’s your norm, then it’s definitely elevated today. Are you under an undue amount of stress at this time?” I snorted.

“Yes, darling girl, I certainly am. That’s why I’m here …to rest and have some peace and quiet and, hopefully, learn a few stress and anxiety reduction techniques in the process.” She nodded approvingly; did that mean I’d passed her approval mark for reasons for being here?

“Just how high is my blood pressure at the moment?” Slight shake of her head.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you, Mr. Hamilton. Doctor will be by on rounds within two hours, and will update you at that time.” I hate it when nurses pull that shit on me. If they can fucking take my blood pressure, why the fuck can’t they tell me what the reading is? I looked over at Thomas, who just smiled. I sighed, resigned to the fact that I would just have to sit and wait with my dick in my hand until “Doctor” saw fit to grace me with his presence. “Nurse” bustled about the room, making sure everything was in order and met her standards, which I had now begun to realize were rather high. Making a last walk through and final turn about to look and be sure everything was as she liked it, she smiled, nodded, and left Thomas and me to our own devices. I stood and walked over and picked up my laptop; Thomas frowned.

“I’m not medicated yet, Mate. Give me a break. I need to e-mail the olds and tell them where the fuck I am, and give them my new cell number. What the fuck is it, anyway?” I wrote it down as he told me, then found the data port and plugged the computer in and waited while it booted. I sat at the desk and typed a quick note to my parents telling them where I was and why, along with the fact that once they medicated me, I’d be down for the count, and assuring them that they could contact Thomas with any concerns. I also knew that I had to get back in touch with Denise, and quickly. I did care for her and I acknowledged that, but I’d also come to realize over the course of the preceding day and night that I really wasn’t in love with her and likely never had been. I was beginning to suspect that I’d hung in with Denise because I wanted so very much to be in love, and reckoned that was as close as I was likely to get. As usual and much to my exasperation, my Mum had been right on target. If I had been in love with Denise, I’d have asked her to marry me years ago. Denise had been a known entity. She was safe, and although she’d given interviews to some of the tabloids from time to time (and for which I’d raked her mercilessly over the coals), she was basically trustworthy and being associated with her had kept the media from too much untoward speculation about my love life. Of course, once the news leaked of our break-up - and I knew it would - I would be fair game for every scandal rag in the free world. But curiously, all I felt was a sense of relief at having come to what I knew was the right decision, not just for me but for Denise as well. It was time to move on …for both of us.

I realized that postponing getting back to her wasn’t going to work. I had to do it and do it now, had to tell her definitively that I wasn’t coming home until the retakes were done. I’m not so much of a bastard as to completely ignore her ultimatum or her feelings, but I wasn’t looking forward to talking to her at the moment either. Again, it’s that part of me that doesn’t deal well with angry and/or crying women. I took the coward’s way out and e-mailed her, explaining once again that there was no way I could come home before the retakes were done, but saying that we needed to talk once I did arrive home, and get things between us sorted. I set the stage for the final break-up by saying that I’d call her once I got home and we’d arrange a time – and a neutral location – to meet and settle things so that we could get on with our lives. I really did try to be tactful, but also wanted to let her know that I wasn’t caving in to the ultimatum she’d given me. I was also praying that by the time I got home she’d have packed her kit and moved out of my house. A few hours after I’d sent the message, I had a reply from her. She was succinct, saying that she would be out of my place within the week and that I could call her at her old flat, as she’d never let the lease go. Hell, I knew that; my accountant had been paying it every month since she’d moved in with me.

I shut down the laptop and wandered over to the entertainment center and turned on the telly, then checked out the stack of DVDs in the cabinet. I think they had a copy of every fucking film I’d ever made and I had to laugh ...I just couldn’t get away from my life, even in hospital. Of course, the selection of other films they had was also impressive …classics, current films, adventure, history, even Disney stuff; you name it, and it was probably in that cabinet. Just about anything a bloke could want but for the requisite fuck films. It had been a long time since I’d gotten laid, contrary to what the media would have you believe, and the visual stimulation would have been welcome. Of course, that little side trip would have probably increased the level of my already elevated blood pressure, so it was probably a good job that sort of entertainment wasn’t available …not to say that I didn’t plan on checking out the offerings on cable once I woke from what was my soon-to-be-induced sleep.

I busied myself with putting away my clothes and stowed my grip in the closet, then headed for the bathroom and turned on the water in the whirlpool. I hadn’t had a wash since the previous morning and after the day and night I’d had, I knew I must stink to the Heavens; I pitied the people who’d gotten too close to me during check-in. There were a variety of bath salts, bubble baths, oils, and soaps available, and I threw a handful of sandalwood salts into the steaming water as the tub filled. Thomas wandered in to see what I was about.

“That looks nice,” he commented.

“Don’t get any ideas …I’m first. You can follow me if you want but right now, that tub has my name written all over it.” He laughed and said he’d wait until he got to his hotel, as he’d checked into one of the local establishments for the duration of my stay at the Priory. I watched until the water was just above the jets and then stripped off, turned on the jets and climbed in, immersing myself up to my neck, just letting the water ease the tension knots out of my neck, shoulders, and back. I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew the water was cool and the jets were off. Thomas was nudging my shoulder, handing me a towel, and telling me that doctor was waiting for me in the lounge room. He had an amused look on his face, which I attributed to my having fallen asleep in the tub. I hauled my arse out of the tub, dried off, and shrugged into one of the plush, oversized terry robes hanging on the back of the door then padded my way into the lounge room …and got the surprise of the week.

“Doctor,” was a she rather than a he. Tall, flaming red hair done up in a twist, nice tits and arse, and a pair of tortoise shell horn-rimmed glasses perched on her very patrician nose. She extended her hand just as I tugged at my robe to be sure I wasn’t exposing anything, and I took it. She had a firm handshake, which I like in anyone, but which always tends to surprise me a bit when I find it in a woman. And “Doctor” was definitely all woman. If I hadn’t been so fucking tired, I might have considered putting moves on her but I just didn’t have the energy at that point. That was likely a good thing. I really didn’t need to antagonize the woman who was going to be calling the shots – quite literally – while I was unconscious and probably for a few days past that as well.

“Mr. …Hamilton,” she said, glancing at the medical chart in her hand, and then smiled at me. “I’m Mrs. Malloy.” I’d forgotten that doctors in the UK use Mr., Mrs., or Ms., unlike the States and Australia, where we generically use the honorific of “Doctor.” I hadn’t been sure if the nurse had recognized me but from the smile on her face, I was pretty fucking sure the doc had. If I hadn’t already suspected as much from the look on her face, the pause while she looked for my “name” was a dead giveaway. I’d already noted the wide gold wedding ring on her left hand; that was just fine with me, as I really didn’t need the complication of a married woman in my life at the moment. Been there, done that, and it will probably haunt me for fucking years. However, the fact remained that she certainly was a tempting little morsel and I’m quite sure she was aware of that fact. I stuffed my hormones back into my pocket as she sank into one of the armchairs, and I sat on the sofa across from her.

“So, you’re here as a result of stress and anxiety …is that correct?” I nodded tiredly as she flipped through my chart, scanning the notes, and reviewing comments I felt sure Thomas had made when he called the Chief of Staff to check me into the place. She pulled a pen from the pocket of her white coat and prepared to make her own notations.

“When was your last holiday, Mr. Hamilton?” Now I had to think about that one because it had been so fucking long. I finally realized it must have been three years earlier when my band mates and I had taken a motorcycle trip through the Outback and told her that. The note taking began.

“Hmmm.” I hate it when doctors do that. “So, you’ve had four films, basically back-to-back, two concert tours with your band, promotional tours for each of the films, an ill-fated love affair with a co-star from one of your films, and now seem to be in the process of ending a ten-year relationship with a woman at home. Have I missed anything?” I just sat and gaped as her as she glanced down at her notes and continued. She definitely seemed to be on top of everything, some of which – such as the affair with my co-star – I’d just as soon she’d not have known although it was pretty common knowledge if you’d been sentient for the past few years, and I certainly wasn’t in any mood to revisit that debacle.

“Oh, yes, your Mum is scheduled for surgery in six weeks time and you have yet another concert tour planned in the States for January and February, to be followed by the promotional tour for your latest film and a month after that’s done, you start your next film. Is there anything else I should know?” She stopped and pulled her glasses off, letting them drop to her chest and hang suspended from a thin golden chain. She watched me for a moment and I nodded, confirming her comments thus far. Was there anything Thomas hadn’t told her? I doubted it; as I said earlier, the man is nothing if not thorough, though he had omitted one thing that might be significant.

“Yeah,” I said. “You missed the fact that I managed to get myself into a pub brawl last week, and got my fucking head slammed into the tile floor of the men’s loo. The fucking headache didn’t leave until yesterday.” She nodded.

“Yes, I seem to recall seeing something about that in the Times …did you go to hospital after that?” I shook my head negatively.

“No, I’ve had worse hits to my head …I just had the hotel doctor check me out and had done with it.”

“Well, as long as you’re here, we’ll do a series of skull films and an MRI of your head to be sure nothing’s amiss before we sedate you. I prefer being safe to sorry.” Well, thank Christ for that, as I certainly had every intention of waking up after the sedation wore off. I hadn’t been home to see my family in months and was really looking forward to being alive and spending Christmas and New Year’s in peace and quiet on my farm. It seemed that about the only thing she’d missed thus far was the knowledge of whether I was cut or uncut and I wasn’t about to volunteer that information. If she felt it necessary to have that tidbit of information, she could bloody well lift the sheets and look for herself after she gave me the knockout drops.

“All right …I have a few more questions and then we’ll get you scheduled for your x-rays and the MRI, and see what those tell us. Is that good with you?” I nodded …at that point, anything that she wanted to do short of ripping off my dick and goolies would have been fine, as long as she promised to let me sleep for a couple of days.

“Do you smoke, Mr. Hamilton and, if so how much?”

“Yes, about a pack a day on good days …more if I’m under a lot of pressure. For the last six to eight months, I’ve been closer to two packs a day. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get that habit back under control to some degree while I’m here.” She nodded approvingly, and I appreciated the fact that she didn’t go into the standard you-know-you-really-should-quit routine that I’d heard at least a thousand times.

“Alcohol use?” I nodded again.

“Beer and bourbon, though not necessarily at the same time. And yes, I’ve been drinking more than usual lately …probably for the last six months or so.” She nodded again.

“What about illicit drugs …anything there that I need to watch for? Are you going to go into withdrawal on me or anything like that?” I had to laugh at that one. The only thing I was likely to suffer from stopping was my fags, and she was certainly smart enough to figure that out on her own.

“I occasionally smoke marijuana, though I haven’t had any since I started my last film. I only smoke shit that I’ve gotten from a supplier I know I can trust as to the contents …I’m not interested in getting anything that’s been hit with angel dust or rat poison. I won’t carry it across state lines at home or in the States, and certainly am not stupid enough to try and smuggle it across international borders.” I wondered what her reaction to that admission would be.

“Very good. As a professional, I see no harm in occasional indulgence, nor do I have any personal problems with use of marijuana, unlike many of my colleagues.” I was beginning to think I might actually get along quite well with this woman. She was practical and realistic, and apparently not given to sermonizing, which I appreciated.

“Anything else I should know before I sort out your treatment plan?” And I just couldn’t resist the temptation. Call it juvenile and you’d be right, but I let her have it.

“Yeah, Doc. I really enjoy getting laid every day, but that opportunity hasn’t presented itself in several months either …any possibility of having that little problem addressed while I’m here?” I heard a strangled croak from Thomas and Mrs. Malloy actually laughed out loud. I had to give it to her …she wasn’t shockable, at least not in the conventional sense.

“Well, yes, you probably could have that problem alleviated during your stay with us, though if I or anyone in administration found out about it, the guilty woman would be sacked immediately. Would you want that on your conscience?” No, I wouldn’t. I was all too well acquainted with my right hand and though it wasn’t as much fun as the real thing, it would certainly carry me through until I got home and found a willing partner …which obviously was not going to be Denise. I laughed and shook my head.

“No, I wouldn’t …I’ve committed most sins known to man, but I still believe in the essential goodness of my Spirit. I’ve no desire to get some hapless female sacked for climbing into bed with me. I promise I’ll be as chaste as a nun while I’m in your care.” She laughed softly …a nice laugh, low yet feminine, and totally devoid of that irritating squawk that so many women seem to have.

“I thought as much,” she said as she stood and Thomas and I did the same. She extended her hand again, and we shook all the way round. “I’ll check and see when we can get you scheduled for x-ray and the MRI. Nurse will let you know if you're in the room at that time. Until then, please feel free to walk about the grounds if you’d like,” and pulled a pager from her pocket and handed it to me.

“If you’re not in your room when I get you scheduled, we’ll page you and you can return so we can get you started. I know you aren’t here for a pleasure visit, Mr. Hamilton, but do try and relax as much as you can. We aren’t Bedlam and we do pride ourselves on making our guests as comfortable as is humanly possible. I’ll see you again later this evening, after you’ve had your dinner. The kitchen staff will bring you a menu within the hour and as I’ve put you on a regular diet, you may have anything you like. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised with our chef …he’s a graduate of Cordon Bleu and keeps our clients quite well pleased.” With that, she turned and left the room, leaving me with a bone as I watched the enticing sway of her hips when she retreated down the corridor. Thomas was watching her as well, and looked at me as she disappeared round the corner.

“Nice tits and arse on that one.” I had to agree with him. Very nice tits and arse. It wasn’t until she was out of sight that I realized I hadn’t asked her about my blood pressure, and she hadn’t brought it up either.

Chapter 4

After Mrs. Malloy left, I walked over to the window of the lounge room and stood there staring out at the forest, thinking on what I wanted to do until dinnertime. A walk on the grounds sounded pleasant; I went into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of clean jeans and heavy flannel shirt plus a jumper against the chill of the late afternoon, put on my socks and shoes, grabbed my jacket and walked back in to the lounge where Thomas was watching the telly. I picked up the pager and tucked it and my fags and lighter into my pocket, and headed for the door. Thomas stood and reached for his jacket, but I stopped him.

“No need for you to come, Mate. I don’t think anyone is going to snatch me off the grounds. Watch the telly and have the nurse page me when the dinner menu arrives. I’m talking a walk round to see what’s what.” He sat down again, propping his feet on the coffee table and returned to his channel surfing. I called back over my shoulder to him as I walked out the door. “Be sure and note the channel numbers if you find any fuck films …that’s as close to getting laid as I’m likely to be for a while.” I left the room to the sound of his laughter. Easy for him to laugh …unlike me, Thomas really did have a girl in every port and I bloody well knew he’d have one here in Birmingham by the time we left the Priory.

I strolled down the corridor and took the lift to the lobby, walked out the front door and stood there for a tic, deciding which direction to take. The forest behind the hospital still seemed particularly appealing, so I headed for the back of the building and the trees beyond, thinking that at least while walking through an English forest I needn’t be on the lookout for any of the particularly nasty snakes and spiders that we had to keep an eye out for at home. There would be time and enough to worry about the creepy crawlies when I got back to Australia in a month.

As I approached the tree line, I saw a couple of well-used paths entering the woods and took one of them. On the off chance that I tripped over something, fell, and managed to knock myself unconscious, I was relatively sure I’d be found sooner if I stayed on one of the beaten paths. I entered the woods and within a hundred feet, the soft gloom took over. It was so quiet and peaceful that I almost wept. How long had it been since I’d been able to walk off on my own, not having to look over my shoulder with each step to be sure I wasn’t being stalked by some media whore with a camera? I took a deep breath, immediately coughed and of course, reached into my pocket for a fag and lit up. I hoped to hell the hospital had a good supply of nicotine patches as I’d sure as shit be in nicotine withdrawal when I awoke from my enforced sleep in a couple of days. I’ve tried to quit smoking numerous times in the past and never got past two or three days, not to mention having been a total and complete bastard to be close to until I lit up again. The last time I’d tried to quit Denise was waving the cigarette pack under my nose within 24 hours, begging me to light up just to improve my mood. Obviously, I am addicted to the bloody things. But, I reasoned, after a couple of days without smoking and the patches and not having anything on my plate other than doing the retakes (and that really was relatively low stress), I just might be able to accomplish quitting over the next few months. I told myself I’d give it a really good go this time. Right. Sure I would.

I walked deeper into the gloom, enjoying the solitude, and sat down on a large rock beside a stream that meandered more or less parallel to the path and just looked about. I could get used to this, given the opportunity. Unfortunately, I knew that was unlikely to happen, at least not unless I was willing to give up acting, which I certainly wasn’t …at least not yet. I silently blessed Thomas for having taken the initiative in checking me into the Priory, and wondered if I could check in here for a couple of weeks each year to just enjoy the peace and collect myself. Perhaps I could convince them to let me book a suite for about the same time each year and just pop in on schedule …Christ knows, I had sufficient stress in my life to qualify for a stress detox session on an annual basis and made a mental note to check into that possibility. I must have dozed off because the chime of the pager jerked me back into awareness as suddenly as if I’d been hit with a cattle prod. Checked the display and saw that the dinner menu had arrived so I stood, dusted off the grass and moss from the seat of my jeans, and walked back to the building and trudged up the back stairs to my suite. The only people I saw – or had seen since I was admitted – were the professional staff …made me wonder if the “clients” were all sedated, perpetual recluses, or tied to their beds. But then did I really want to know? All that mattered to me at that point was being out of the limelight, and having a long  delayed rest.

When I walked into the lounge room, I discovered that not only had the menu for the evening arrived, but had been brought up by the chef who was waiting for me and asking if what was on the menu would suffice, or would I prefer something else. He was at my disposal for the duration of my stay …you know, the usual arse kissing but this time it really was a bit different, in that he actually seemed sincere. I looked over the menu and decided what was there would do very nicely, and ordered Chicken Kiev. Thomas had already ordered and I thanked the chef for his courtesy in personally bringing the menu up to us. As he turned to leave the chef asked if there was anything else he could get for me and I told him no, unless he happened to have spare blonde available that I could borrow for the evening. He seemed to think that was very amusing; he didn’t realize that I was more than half serious. Knowing that I was actually about to get some much needed rest seemed to have recharged my flagging libido.

Thomas and I watched the evening news while waiting for dinner and I was annoyed to see a sound bite indicating that I’d “suddenly” checked out of my London hotel, heading for parts unknown. There was the predictable speculation that I was on my way to a “secret love tryst” with a well-known female film star – actually a mate of many years’ duration but never a lover – and posing several possible locations for our alleged meeting. I just shook my head; it never stopped, not even for an instant. However, that did prompt me to give her a call to let her know where I was and why, and to give her my new cell number. We chatted until a knock on the door interrupted us and then rang off. That woman is one of only two true female friends I’ve ever had and though I’d often fantasized about making love with her, there was no way in Heaven or Hell that I would even consider jeopardizing our friendship by trying it. Still, talking to her made me wish I had more female friends …not lovers, but women who were just really good mates. I needed to know women to whom I could say what I felt and not have to worry about it getting back to the media and most importantly, women who would tell me to get over myself when I needed to hear it.

Thomas went to the door and I headed for the loo to wash up, assuming that the knock heralded dinner. Wrong guess …it was Mrs. Malloy, making her evening rounds. We chatted for a few minutes and I remembered to ask about the blood pressure issue. She told me it was significantly elevated but as long as it dropped back within normal range over the next 48 hours, she didn’t attach any significance to it. She also said that my x-rays and MRI were set for first thing in the morning, and that she had ordered a mild sedative for me that night. Once she’d seen the results of those two tests she would be ready to begin my 36-hour sedation. She told us goodnight and walked out the door. I stood in the doorway again, watching the sway of her hips until she rounded the corner at the far end of the corridor, shook my head, and took the usual ribbing from Thomas regarding the bulge in my jeans. I aimed a pointed look at the bulge in his, and sarcastically reminded him that while I might be suffering from stress, I was a long way from being dead. Dinner arrived a few minutes later and we popped in a DVD to watch while we ate.

I went for another hot soak after the movie ended and the sleeping medication arrived just as I got out of the whirlpool. I took it and we watched the late news until I began to yawn and padded off to bed. I was asleep in minutes and actually slept the entire night without waking …couldn’t even remember the last time I’d done that.

I woke to the sound of birds chirping on the windowsill and just lay there listening to them until Thomas tapped on the door to tell me that the orderly had arrived to take me to Radiology for my x-rays and MRI. I started to dress until the bloke popped his head into the room and told me to just pull on a pair of pajamas and my bathrobe. How did he know I slept in the nuddy? I doubted that Thomas would have told him anything that intimate about me. However, I did as I was told – yes, on occasion I have been known to exhibit compliance – thanking Christ that I didn’t have to shave and I had no intention of doing so until I was back in California for the retakes, then followed the bloke to the lounge room and the waiting wheel chair. Even though I personally think it’s stupid to wheel a perfectly healthy person about like an invalid, I plopped my arse into the chair and off we went. Regardless of the fact that I had just awakened, I was just too frigging tired to argue the point.

The x-rays took about half an hour and then they took me in for the MRI. They sandbagged round my head to keep me from moving and trundled me into the tube, where I promptly fell asleep in spite of the clanging of the magnets. When it was all done, they told me that as soon as “Doctor” had gone over the results she would be up to discuss them with me. I was actually able to talk the orderly into letting me walk back to my suite, even though he insisted on walking with me in case I fell over my own feet on the walk back; sadly, I have been known to do that when I’m really tired. Once back in the room, my stomach was telling me it was time for lunch - I’d slept through breakfast - and Thomas and I ordered a bit early. As soon as I’d eaten, I was back in the bed and napping again. Guess it was a hangover from the sedative of the night before. Given that I so rarely take any medication at all aside from Panadol for headaches, I have no tolerance for any sort of sleeping – or most other – medications. All I’m sure of is that I was down for the count.