CoachTwo

COACH
 
Part Two
 

This work of adult fiction includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned. No offense to any person, living or dead, is intended.  Copyright Arianne 2006


by Arianne
 
 
Day Three, continued - Monday, One in the Afternoon
 
Olivia and Connie had been chatting non-stop since early morning, breaking only to walk over to the craft services’ enclosure for a late lunch.  As they stood on line, they heard a voice that was now all too familiar for Olivia’s comfort; her head snapped round to see if she could get away before he spotted her.  If he’d been back to his caravan since leaving her there earlier in the day, he was likely angry at her having left the door unlocked.  Too late for it.  Richard Harris, Ridley Scott, and Crowe were two persons behind them in the queue.  Richard spoke as Olivia rolled her eyes toward Connie. 
 
“Connie, my Dear, join us for lunch, won’t you,” and Connie accepted as his glance moved on to Olivia.  Ridley stepped forward to introduce the two, and Mr. Harris took her hand, clasping it warmly between his large ones.
 
“Ah, a lovely English rose.  How charming.  My Dear, I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”  He smiled toward Scott and Crowe.  “Gentlemen, how many men of my advanced years are so fortunate as to have the company of two lovely ladies – and such young ladies – at lunch?  Russell, have you met Olivia?” 
 
Crowe’s eyes bored into Olivia’s, and he forced a smile.  “I understand she’s Connie’s new diction coach.” 
 
“We’ve met, in a manner of speaking.”  Olivia inclined her head at Crowe in acknowledgement before directing her attention back to Mr. Harris.
 
“Yes, Mr. Crowe and I have encountered each other on two occasions, though we’ve not been formally introduced until now.  Mr. Harris, it is a true delight to meet you.  My mother is a great fan, and I’ve followed your films since I was old enough to sit in the cinema without wriggling.  She’ll be delighted when she learns I’ve had the opportunity to meet her favourite actor.”  She felt Crowe’s eyes on her and smiled politely at him.  His visage said more clearly than any words could have done that he considered her to be sucking up to the older man.  She’d only stated the truth and had raised an eyebrow at Crowe before returning her attention to the others as Ridley nodded toward the far corner of the room.
 
“Why don’t you ladies head for that table?  We’ll join you shortly.”  Having filled their plates, Olivia and Connie moved to the indicated table and sat across from each other, waiting to begin their meal until the others joined them.  Connie’s comment wasn’t lost on Olivia.
 
“This should be entertaining.” 
 
“I’m trying to decide if I dare being rude enough to plead a sudden headache and take my leave.” 
 
“Stop it, Olivia!  Can’t you see that he’s baiting you?  Nothing would amuse him more than to see you leave and know he’d gotten under your skin.  He isn’t as bad as you think, so give the man a chance.  He really can be quite charming if you give him the opportunity.” 
 
“As can a cobra, or so I’ve been told.”  Connie sighed in temporary defeat.
 
“I give up.  Go ahead; tear each other to ribbons.  See if I care.”  Deciding that discretion was always the better part of valour, Olivia plastered a smile on her face as the three men approached.  Crowe took the chair on one side of her, and Richard Harris smiled as he sank into the chair on her opposite side.
 
“Well, now, what shall we talk about?  Politics?  Human suffering?  The reproductive cycle of that rare phasmid known as the Indian walking stick?  How the production is progressing?”  They all laughed, though Ridley ignored Harris’s question and addressed himself to Olivia.
 
“Olivia, I’ve been thinking on it.  Connie has her first scene with Russell tomorrow morning.  I’d like to have him sit in with the two of you this afternoon and have you listen as she goes over her lines with him.  That way you know precisely what she’s to say and can work with her very specifically on that scene.  Russell, you’re done on set for the day.  Go along with the ladies when we’re done with lunch.”  Olivia glanced across the table at Connie, and the woman was struggling to contain her laughter.  Harris was nodding in agreement, and Crowe looked thunderous.  Olivia felt quite sure that her face resembled nothing so much as that of a deer caught in the headlamps of an oncoming lorry.  For the second time in as many minutes, she forced herself to smile.
 
“Of course, Ridley.  That makes perfect sense.”  Out of the corner of her eye, the tight line that Crowe’s mouth had compressed into was not lost on her.  He was forced into having to make some sort of comment, and she was perverse enough to wonder what it might be.
 
“Fine.  I’ll just drop by my caravan after lunch and get out of this (gesturing to his mud-caked costume), have a quick wash, then make my way over.  I’m sure it will be an interesting afternoon.”  Harris smiled at the group like a benevolent father and put in his own tuppence worth.
 
“If it won’t distract you, Connie, I may drop in a bit later.  You three can provide an old reprobate with an afternoon’s entertainment, if I don’t decide to head back into London and nap away the afternoon.”  Olivia bit her tongue and managed not to say she would prefer the company of an old reprobate to that of the younger one sitting next to her.  She smiled as Connie assured him she would love to have him stop by.  They finished lunch, and Crowe stood, excused himself, and stalked out of the building.  Ridley watched him go then turned back to the others, shaking his head.
 
“He’s in a bit of a mood today.  I trust he won’t let whatever it is interfere with his concentration this afternoon.” 
 
Harris defended his younger alter-ego.  “I’m sure he won’t, Ridley.  Russell is a consummate professional.”  Olivia wasn’t altogether sure of Crowe’s professional integrity as yet, but she would have been the first to agree had Harris opined the man to be a consummate arse.
 
 
Day Three, continued - Monday, Three-fifteen in the Afternoon
 
Olivia and Connie returned to the caravan after lunch and began going over lines for the following morning's scene with Crowe.  Olivia drilled her on the tonal inflection and cadence Scott had deemed appropriate for his production.  They had been at it for perhaps 20 minutes when there was a tap on the door, followed by, “Connie?”  Crowe opened the door and stepped inside before the actor could answer; how very rude of him.  He knew Olivia would be there; he ignored her presence, not speaking to her until sitting heavily on the couch beside Connie.
 
“You unaccustomed to locking doors, Love, or were you trying to tell me something?”  Though his tone was a bit brusque, there was now no apparent malice in his voice, rather there was a hint of a gleam in his eyes.  Olivia answered his look with a wide-eyed and innocent one of her own.
 
“Did I neglect to lock it?  I must have been in more of a rush than I realised.  So sorry.”  At that, he grinned and laughed.  Actually, it was a giggle.  She was shocked at such a sound coming from so burly a man.  It was almost boyish, and for some unknown reason, she almost found it rather appealing; it was certainly disarming.  Even more surprising was the fact that for an instant she actually thought she might be able to like the man, assuming he could manage to stop being such a boor.  His next comment put that notion completely out of her mind. 
 
“Well, Love, if you wanted to be able to get back into my caravan with no one being the wiser, you could have fronted up.  I’d be happy to have an extra key made.”  She felt her anger rise again and forced it down; she would not permit him to bait her that easily.  Connie saw the effort and redirected their focus to the rehearsal effort, thereby circumventing possible harsh words.
 
“Russell, where’s your script?”
 
“Don’t need it, Love.  Got my lines cold.  Ready when you are.”  Connie nodded and walked to the far end of the lounge area before addressing Crowe.
 
“I do better when I’m blocking, even in a space as confined as this; do you mind?”  He shook his head, standing as he did, and gestured toward the closed bedroom door.
 
“No, I prefer it.  Want me to step in there then come out as if I’ve just left Marcus?”  She nodded, moved to the kitchen area, and leant against the wall whilst she waited for him to reappear.  Seconds passed, and the door opened.  It was a different man who strode to the centre of the lounge area, stopped, turned on his heel and paced back and forth for a few moments, turned again as if to leave, and saw Lucilla/Connie.  He was no longer Russell Crowe; he had become General Maximus.  Connie stepped forward and spoke. 
 
Lucilla: My father favours you now.
 
Maximus: My Lady.  (a slight bow of his head, acknowledging fealty)
 
Lucilla: It was not always so.
 
Maximus: Many things change.
 
Lucilla: Many things …not everything.  (Maximus turns as if to walk away)
 
Maximus, stop.  (She walks up behind him)  Let me see your face.  (he turns back to her in resignation)  You seem upset.
 
Maximus: I lost many men.
 
Lucilla: What did my father want with you?
 
Maximus: (a sigh before speaking)  To wish me well before I leave for home.  (turns again to walk away, but her voice stops him)
 
Lucilla: You’re lying.  I could always tell when you were lying because you were never any good at it.  (a slight inclination of his head, almost as if chastising her)
 
Maximus: I never acquired your comfort with it.  (significant sarcasm in his voice and bearing)
 
Lucilla: True, but then you never had to.  Life is more simple for a soldier.  Or do you think me heartless?  (she tucks her head before looking at him again)
 
Maximus: I think you have a talent for survival.  (he turns a third time to leave and she laughs)
 
Lucilla: Maximus, stop!  (still laughing, then becomes more sombre)  Is it really so terrible seeing me again?
 
Maximus: (he refuses to look at her at this point, as if to do so is painful for him, and he dissembles)  No.  I’m tired from battle.
 
Lucilla: It hurts you to see my father so fragile.  (he nods; she moves to face him)  Commodus expects that my father will announce his succession within days.  Will you serve my Brother as you have served his Father?
 
Maximus: (posture rigid, his body language is wary, evasive, as are his words)  I will always serve Rome.
 
Lucilla: Do you know?  I still remember you in my prayers.  (smiles at his look)  Oh, yes, I pray.
 
Maximus: (shifting attention from himself and back to her)  I was sad to hear of your husband’s death.  I mourned him.
 
Lucilla: (lowers her head)  Thank you.
 
Maximus: And I hear you have a son.  (she smiles, her entire demeanour brightening)
 
Lucilla: Yes, Lucius.  He’ll be nearly eight years old.
 
Maximus: My son is also nearly eight.  (both smile, he raises his head and inhales sharply)  I thank you for your prayers.  (she nods, watching as he walks away from her)
 
The entire scene had taken less than two minutes, but the words and the enactment of them had carried far more meaning than had been obvious on the printed pages of the script.  Olivia was silent and, for the first time, aware of a dawning respect for the man standing before her.  He might be an arrogant arse, but in that one brief scene, his talent had literally shouted at her.  She was astounded at the man’s ability to transform himself into another person living in another time and to convey so much with so few words.  His body language had spoken even more eloquently than his words; the grace notes provided by his physical being were more than simply powerful.  She gave herself a mental shake and considered him, startled to realise he was watching her rather than his co-star.
 
“So?  What do you think Olivia?  What needs work?”  Olivia stood so quickly that she almost upended the small table in front of her.
 
“It’s dreadfully stuffy in here.  Would you excuse me for a moment, please?”  She dashed for the door, flinging it open and almost running down the three steps to the path.  A moment later, Crowe followed her and found her patting the pockets of her trim slacks before cursing softly.  He recognised the behaviour and smiled.   Pulling a pack of cigarettes from his own pocket, he stepped in front of her, and extended the pack.
 
“Searching for a fag, Olivia?”  Her head snapped up, hands still at her pockets.  “I recognise the behaviour.  I do the same when I’ve left mine somewhere other than on my body.”  She took one with shaking fingers, cursing herself for the emotion she felt.  The bloody scene had rattled her usual composure more than she was willing to admit.  He struck his lighter for her, cupping one hand round it as she bent toward the flame; her right hand touched his as her left brought the cigarette to her lips.  She inhaled deeply.
 
“Thanks, Crowe.  My own must be in the car.”  She smiled as she exhaled.  It struck her then that he’d called her by her given name.  He lit a cigarette for himself, inhaled, and he blew twin streams of smoke from his nostrils into the grey sky.  She realised that the man actually did have what was popularly called a Roman nose. 
 
“The scene got to you?”  She nodded.  “Good.  It should, though it’s crook when you read it on the page.  Connie and I’ve talked a good deal about this first scene; it establishes the future relationship between Maximus and Lucilla.  We both wanted to be sure we conveyed the message clearly, and in more than mere words, that this was far from the first time those two had met, that there was a good deal more between them than words alone might imply.”  He gazed directly at her.  “So, tell me, what did you get out of the way we played it?”  She inhaled again, considered, exhaled, and mentally counted to five before speaking.
 
“My impression is that the characters have a good deal of history, were once lovers in fact, and that her father was likely responsible for their not having pursued their relationship further.” 
 
“What else?”
 
“It’s difficult for him to be so close to her again, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself round her.  He’s still in love with her but doesn’t want to confront that issue.  He’s also the father of her child, though he likely isn’t aware of that fact.  He seems a bit thick where the subtleties of male-female relationships are concerned.”  He grinned at her, nodding his head.
 
“That’s precisely the implication we want.  Even got Ridley to agree with us.”  He watched her for a moment before continuing.  “You know, I could probably do with a bit of a critique of my accent as well.”  She gave him an incredulous stare.
 
“Your accent is fine, Crowe.”
 
“It’s good enough if you like Royal-Shakespeare-Company, three-pints-after-lunch and copied from Richard with a touch of brogue, but if Connie’s going to sound posh, it might play better at the cinema if I did as well.”  Was he acknowledging there was an aspect of his theatrical repertoire that might use improvement?  Oh, that was just too good to let pass.
 
“Well, I suppose I could work on it with you, but you’d have to get clearance from Ridley for the change in my contract amount.  Working with two people is twice as much effort, and I’m not willing to spend 16 hours a day at it and be paid only for eight.”  There!  That should shut him down.  To her surprise, he nodded.
 
“Bewdie!  I’ll speak with Ridley straight away once we’re finished up for the day.”  She could think of nothing else to say, so walked back up the steps to the caravan and inside where Connie awaited them.  He followed her and seated himself beside Olivia on the couch, listening earnestly as the women went over Connie’s lines and worked on both diction and intonation.  They must have run the scene 30 times that afternoon, until Olivia was satisfied with Connie’s performance.  As they left, she turned back to the woman.
 
“Remember, Connie.  I don’t want you having any unnecessary conversation with anyone until you arrive on set tomorrow.  Keep running the lines in your head, and I’m sure it will go swimmingly.  I’ll see you on set at nine.”  Connie appeared exhausted, and Olivia’s head was pounding with fatigue as the woman followed Olivia and Crowe to the door before stepping back inside her caravan and closing the door.  Crowe escorted Olivia down the path to the car park, walking beside her all the way to her car.  She pulled the keys from her pocket and unlocked the door; he reached round her and opened it, handing her in with every courtesy.  Before closing the door, he crouched in the open doorway and looked up at her.
 
“Thanks for the effort with Connie.  She’s been nervous about the accent, and I think you’ve done a good deal to settle her.  She’ll do well tomorrow, and we’ve both you to thank for it.  You’ve been very patient in having me about all afternoon.  I know you don’t particularly like me, so I thank you for your tolerance as well as your professionalism.”  Those last statements took her completely off guard, and she was suddenly ashamed.  God, was she that transparent?  Her mum had always said she had a face that was as easily read as the page of a book, so what did she expect?  He stood and stepped back to close the car door.
 
“Crowe?”  He stopped and waited.  “It isn’t precisely that I dislike you.  I think it’s rather more that I can’t sort you out.  One moment it seems you’re going to take my head off and the next you’re courtliness itself.  I admit I have a tendency to be a bit touchy at times; I will try not to inflict that aspect of my personality on you.”  She took a deep breath.  “And thank you for working with us today.  I didn’t relish it, but you were totally professional, and I truly enjoyed seeing the two of you work together.  I’d never realised how much hard work goes into making a film.”  She fastened her safety harness and smiled up at him.  “I’ll see you on set tomorrow.  I do apologise for leaving your caravan unlocked; that was very childish of me.  Good night.”
 
“Good night.”  She cranked the engine, shifted the car into gear, backed out of the parking spot, shifted again, and turned the car toward the road, heading out of the car park and toward Farnham.  He watched her until the taillights disappeared into the gloom, then smiled to himself and shook his head slightly.  He headed back to his own caravan and called his driver to take him into town.  He would call Ridley about Olivia’s contract revision when he got to his suite.
 
 
Day Four – Tuesday, Eight-thirty in the Morning
 
Olivia had slept poorly the night before as the result of being in a strange bed.  That had been a problem for her since childhood.  It had taken her a week to settle into her new bed when she’d gone off to Ely at age five and almost that long to settle into her own bed at home when she returned on Christmas Holiday, followed by the same thing when she’d returned to Ely, and so it had gone all her life.  She had developed a deep envy of those individuals who could apparently sleep anywhere they lay their heads, and she contrived to travel away from home as infrequently as possible. 
 
She wondered at those for whom travel was a constant thing, and rock stars always came to mind when she had those thoughts.  How did one manage to get any rest when sleeping in a different bed each night for weeks on end?  Unfortunately, she was one of those individuals who tended to be a bit cranky when she’d not slept well and knew she would have to watch her mood as well as her temper until she settled into her bed in Farnham.  As she drove from Farnham to the set that morning, she decided to forego weekends at her flat and remain at the inn the entire time after collecting sufficient clothing for the duration.  She would speak to Ridley about it.  If he wouldn’t pay for the extra two nights each week at the little inn, she would pay it herself.  It would be worth the expense not to have her sleep disrupted for the next two months.
 
She pulled into the car park and got out, locking the car after assuring herself she had cigarettes and lighter in the pocket of her coat.  She walked to the path and glanced toward the caravans and then the opposite direction leading to the set, stood there in indecision, not knowing whether to check Connie’s caravan first or go directly to the set.  As she looked toward the set, she heard footfalls behind her and turned to see Crowe walking toward her with a smile on his face.
 
“G’day, Olivia.  Rest well?”  She shrugged, not wishing to confide her sleeplessness to a virtual stranger and answered his question with one of her own.
 
“Good morning.  I was wondering if Connie was still in her caravan, or if she’s on set by now.  Do you know?”  He put his arm round her shoulders as she shivered in the early morning chill and pulled her along the path.
 
“On set or near as.  She rode in with me at five and was in make-up by half-six,” he pulled his wristwatch from his pocket.  “She should be in hairstyling at present.  She’s likely thrown a wobbly by now, wondering if you’ve gone screaming back to London with your hands in the air.”  She easily matched his long stride and thought of pulling away from him, but the warm weight of his arm over her shoulders was welcome in the chill of the morning.  She hoped he wouldn’t read anything into the fact that she permitted him to drag her along the path in that manner. 
 
“Why would I run back to London, screaming and with my hands in the air as you put it?”  He grinned at her though he didn’t stop walking.
 
“To get away from me?  I got an ear bashing from Connie last night when we had dinner together to go over the scene again.  It seems you find me arrogant, overbearing, and there was something about my behaving as if I’m the only man on the planet or words to that effect.”  She flushed crimson and stopped so quickly she caused him to miss his step and stumble.  Her humiliation was so complete that she was fighting back tears, and her words trembled.
 
“Oh, God, Crowe.  I am so horribly sorry.  I said those things just after you knocked me into the mud yesterday, and I was still livid with rage.  Christ!  Will I never learn to keep my bloody mouth shut when I’m angry?”  He actually laughed at her.
 
He continued their attempt at communication as they trudged on toward the set.  “I hope you don’t.  It’s refreshing to meet a woman who says what she thinks, even though it isn’t particularly flattering to me.  My mum has told me on more than one occasion that when I’m working, I‘m focused to a fault and to the exclusion of everything else; she’s very likely correct.  Oftentimes I’ve no notion of what’s happening round me because I’m working out the job in my head.  That may lead to good performances, but it also leads to alienating those round me.”  They had reached a fork in the path, and he stopped walking and faced her. 
 
“I’m glad you’re here, Olivia, ’strewth.  I think both Connie and I can benefit greatly from your guidance; I’d hate for us to lose you because of my behaviour.”  He stroked the fingers of one large hand down her cheek, thumbing away a solitary tear, and smiled at her.  “No wurries.  There’s a good girl.  Now, turn right, go about fifty metres, and stop at the trailer that says ‘Hairdressers’.  Connie’s in there.  I’ll see you in a bit, as Ridley wants you on set any time Connie is there.  I have to get to make up so they can transform me into a world weary general and then let costume put the dress and wolf pelts on me.”  He chucked her under the chin as one might a child before turning the opposite direction and walking away.  Olivia squared her shoulders, vowed to kill Connie on sight, and walked toward the hairdressers’ caravan.
 
 
Day Four, continued - Tuesday, Nine thirty-five in the Morning
 
Olivia stood shivering in the cold, watching as Connie and Crowe walked through their scene one last time before the cameras began to roll.  She was bundled to her ears and still cold.  Fat snowflakes drifted lazily down about them, and she marvelled at the actors’ ability to suppress their bodies’ natural reaction to the cold and extreme damp of the English winter.  Connie’s costume cloak was open down the front; she had to be freezing, but one would never know it.  Aside from the pink at the tip of her nose, she looked perfectly comfortable.  Crowe walked away from her as they finished the scene, then looked at Ridley.  He nodded and called the actors over to where he and Olivia were standing.
 
“Great.  Wonderful.  Connie, the accent is precisely what I want.  Olivia, if you can keep her at this form for the rest of the production, you’ll have earned twice your keep.  Before I forget, Russell and I had a chat last night; as it seems he wants your assistance as well, I’ve redrawn your contract.  It’s in my caravan.  You can sign it at lunch so the courier can get it back to London and on to our solicitors.”  He looked at his actors.  “All right.  If you two are ready, let’s roll this one, shall we?”  They nodded, returned to their start positions and waited for Ridley.  “Camera?  Action!”
 
Watching the scene re-enacted for the cameras was an almost magical experience for Olivia.  She had always wondered what went on behind the scenes of a film set.  Now she was not only learning first hand but was a part of it as well.  Bloody amazing.  It took seven takes to get the scene the way Ridley wanted it.  A change in posture for one or the other of the actors here, a slowing down of a phrase there, and a couple of retakes due to a dog running onto the set after having got away from its handler and an extra tripping over a bit of equipment and making a loud noise.  It took most of two hours, but in the end, the principals seemed pleased with their work. 
 
Olivia had been impressed with Crowe’s ability the preceding day, but he was even more intense in front of the camera.  He literally took her breath away with his portrayal of Maximus’ emotional turmoil.  Ridley called for a break, and they trooped en masse to the onset coffee bar and stood talking as they gulped hot coffee or tea to stop their collective shivering.  Olivia was so cold she wondered if she would ever feel warm again, and Connie was still shivering whilst Crowe stamped his feet to warm them as Ridley appraised the condition of his cast and crew. 
 
“Let’s get inside before we freeze to the spot, shall we?”  The actors and everyone else in the immediate vicinity almost ran over the director in their haste to take him up on his suggestion and headed toward the craft services’ enclosure where it was warmer.  As they gathered at a table, Crowe shook his head.
 
“I fucking hate the cold.  I’m freezing my tits off out there.”  Connie laughed.
 
“You’re freezing your tits off?  At least you’ve got on warm clothing!  I’m prancing around out there in this stupid gown made of gossamer and this cloak wide open so the audience can see the costumer’s talent, and you’re complaining?  Jesus, Russell, suck it up!”  Everyone at the table laughed, Olivia included, as Crowe scowled before grinning at them.  He seemed to be searching for a way to make everyone forget their physical discomfort.  The more outrageous he might be, the more likely his chance of success.
 
“Its not just my tits I’m worried about, Love.  It’s the dodgy bits, too.”  His 'dodgy bits' got shouts of laughter, and Olivia found herself wiping her eyes from laughing so hard.  He looked round the table and went right on with it.  “Not that you lot care a damn if my knackers freeze and drop off into the snow, but me mum is still holding out hope for a grandchild from each of her sons.”  If possible, they laughed harder, and this time Crowe joined them.  Connie couldn’t resist a last jab.
 
“Well, in that case, you’d better find an understanding woman and improve your behaviour, Russell, because right now, I can’t think of a woman who would have you.”  At that moment, one of the production assistants came in and walked over to the table, bent to speak quietly to Ridley, and then stood waiting.  Ridley sighed and put his head in his hands for a moment.
 
“Bloody English weather.  We’re done.  The camera crews are having trouble with the cameras.  It’s cold enough now the lenses are freezing over, and the temperature is predicted to drop steadily.  We’re shutting down for the day.”  He stood and walked resignedly to the door as Crowe’s eyes swept the group. 
 
“If we’re done for the day, I’m heading back into town.  Connie?”  She nodded.
 
“Olivia?  I know you’re staying here in Farnham, but I’m sure there’s no room there for us to work.  Why don’t you come back to London with us; you can stay with me overnight.  We can stop at your hotel, and you can grab whatever you need, and come back out with Russell and me in the morning.”  Olivia hesitated, not wanting to put the star out of her way, but Connie assured her that hers was a two-bedroom suite.  She relented at that information, and Crowe called for his car.  They waited in the comparative warmth of the building until the driver stuck his head in the door, then rushed from the door to the car, almost climbing over each other in their haste to get inside and into its warmth.  Olivia had expected a stretch limo and was more than a bit surprised to find herself shoved into a black American Ford Expedition with tinted windows.  Connie read the surprise on her face.
 
“Russell doesn’t like limos; he thinks they’re ostentatious.  I don’t think he realises how easy riding in this thing would make it for a kidnapper to pick him off.  It’s the only damned one going between London and this God-forsaken place on a daily basis.”  Crowe snorted in disdain.
 
“Connie, anyone who kidnapped me would likely be calling Ridley within 24 hours, offering to pay him if he’d just bloody well take me off their hands.  I’m not worried.”  They all laughed, settled into silence for the ride to Farnham, and then on to London.
 
It took Olivia precisely ten minutes from the time she left the car to pack her kit and return.  When Crowe opened the door for her, he put a finger to his lips and motioned toward Connie stretched out on the forward seat, apparently asleep.  He patted the seat beside himself; she sat as far from him as she could without tumbling out the door on the opposite side of the car.  She didn’t know him well but assumed that he likely didn’t care for others invading his personal space any more than she did.  She was quite willing to accommodate him in that manner, not to mention suiting herself.  The driver put her kit into the rear deck, and they quickly left Farnham behind.
 
The car was warm and quiet but for the hum of the engine, and Olivia felt herself getting drowsy.  Her lack of sleep the night before was catching up; the cab of the car was like a warm and soothing cocoon.  She was asleep before she realised it, slumping against her shoulder harness and toward the centre of the seat.  Crowe watched her with a small smile on his lips, and after giving her 15 minutes to get into a deeper sleep, reached across and quietly unlatched her harness.  He braced her with his hand as he got her out of the straps, then gently tugged her down, lifting her legs onto the seat and placing her head in his lap.  He leant against the door and was asleep himself within five minutes.  He didn’t awake until the driver pulled the car under the portico at the Dorchester on Park Lane.
 
 
Day Four, continued – Tuesday, 12:30 in the Afternoon
 
Someone was shaking her shoulder to awaken her, but Olivia was having none of it.  She was in the midst of a wonderful dream and wanted to finish.  Unfortunately, whoever was shaking her was persistent, and the dream fled as she moved slowly into wakefulness, hearing a low, masculine voice with a teasing tone as it purred into her ear.
 
“Wakey, wakey, Olivia.  We’re here.”  She tried ignoring him, snuggling more deeply into the warm lap beneath her cheek.  Lap?  Beneath her cheek?  Bloody Hell!  She’d fallen asleep in the car on the way into town and ended up with her head in Crowe’s lap.  She bolted upright so suddenly that the side of her head connected with his jaw, a resounding crack ringing through the car’s interior. 
 
“Fuck, Woman, are you trying to bloody kill me?”  She couldn’t answer immediately, as she was seeing stars and trying to gain her senses after a sudden change of position.  Her head was swimming from having risen too quickly as well as the sudden blow.  She managed to right herself and rubbed her head, turning to Crowe who had one hand to his jaw, as if protecting it from further assault. 
 
“Oh my God, Crowe.  Are you all right?”  He grimaced, still rubbing his jaw, and finally smiled.
 
“I will be, but the next time someone wakes you from a kip, try and come to your senses before you kill him.  You’ve got a damned hard head, Love.  My teeth likely won’t meet for a week.”  Ordinarily, she’d have been offended at such a comment from him, not to mention the implication that men often woke her from naps, but the gleam in his eyes and the smile playing about his lips said he was having her on.  Further, she did have a hard head, having tested that fact on numerous tumbles from trees during her childhood years.  She was also aware that she had a hard head in the other sense of the term; she was very opinionated in certain areas and would argue a person into the ground if she believed she was in the right.  They considered each other for a moment and burst into giggles at the same time.  Their laughter was sufficient to awaken the still sleeping Connie, who slowly opened her eyes and stared at them, sitting and stretching as she did.
 
“What have I missed?  Are you two laughing because I drool in my sleep, or do I snore?”  More laughter, as they shook their heads at her.  Crowe finally got his breath.  By that time, they were out of the car and walking through the lobby of the Dorchester.  Crowe was talking as they walked toward the lifts.
 
“No, you don’t do either, at least not as far as I know.”  He re-enacted the episode with head meeting jaw. 
 
They were all laughing as they entered the private lift to the Concierge Floor.  The operator slid the doors silently closed for the ten seconds that it took to take them up.  They parted company outside the lift, Crowe heading for his suite, advising he was still cold and going to take a hot shower to warm up, and said to give him a bell when they were ready for lunch.  Olivia and Connie walked to the opposite end of the hallway and entered her suite, shedding coats, mufflers, and gloves as they did. 
 
Olivia wasn’t surprised to see a resident femme de chambre, a middle-aged woman who silently and with a smile took their garments and hung them in the coat closet just inside the door.  Connie led Olivia to the empty bedroom and told her to make herself at home; the porter would be up shortly with her bag.  Olivia dropped her handbag on the king-sized bed and walked round the room in amazement.  As the child of an ambassador, she’d grown up in great comfort but had never been in so grand a hotel suite.  Connie smiled at the awe on the other woman’s face.
 
“Better get used to it, Honey.  Once we leave London, I suspect you’ll have a mini-suite of your own until this is done.”  Olivia was stunned.  This suite must cost the earth, and even a smaller one, a mini-suite as Connie called it, would likely go several hundred pounds a day.  She wondered if Connie and Crowe really needed her assistance as a diction coach that much, or if Ridley was retaining her services for the duration as a matter of courtesy to his lead actors.  She supposed it didn’t matter but determined to redouble her efforts as their coach as well as to stay on polite speaking terms with Crowe.  A tap on the door, the maid opened it, and the porter walked in with Olivia’s bag and was directed to her room.  Olivia followed him, her intention being to get money for gratuity from her handbag, but Connie shook her head and handed the fellow a £1 note as he left.
 
“You’re not on expense account yet, Honey, though I suspect you will be soon, and I am.  I’ll get reimbursed for his tip.  At this point, you won’t.”  Olivia nodded and thanked the woman, following her back to the suite’s expansive lounge area.  Connie pushed on with lunch plans.  “Russell wasn’t kidding about lunch.  He eats like a bear after a long winter’s nap, and he’ll be calling within 20 minutes at most.  Do you want to have lunch here or in his suite, or would you prefer going down to the dining room?  If you’ve not been there before, it’s worth a visit.”
 
“Whatever you and Crowe prefer is fine with me.”  Connie’s brows drew together in a slight frown.
 
“Must you continue to call him Crowe?  He does have a first name, in case you’ve forgotten.”  Olivia flushed slightly at the rebuke.
 
“I’m sure he does; we all do, but I barely know the man and, at this point, wouldn’t feel comfortable using his Christian name.  In academia last names are utilised when one doesn’t know someone terribly well but just well enough not to use the formality of titles.  I spent so many years at both Ely and Oxford that it’s habit.  My senior don at Oxford was Davis Farley.  I called him 'Professor Farley' or 'Sir' from the day I was admitted until my last year when I finally felt comfortable calling him ‘Farley,’ and he and his wife are my parents’ dearest friends.  Since leaving Oxford and seeing Davis and his wife socially, I’ve finally got to the point that I’m comfortable calling him Davis.”  She shrugged; it was simply the way Olivia was.  She did not presume to call someone by their Christian name until she knew them quite well. 
 
“You call me Connie.”  The woman's tone was slightly short of confrontational.
 
“Yes, I do, but then we’ve spent quite a bit of time together in a very short while.  And calling you Nielsen seems a bit formal after we’ve discussed and dissected the men in our lives as well as men in general in such exquisite detail.  And don’t forget that you asked me to call you Connie.  Crowe hasn’t asked me to call him Russell.”
 
“He calls you Olivia.”
 
“Yes, he does, but he’s a Colonial, an Australian, and they’re far less formal than we British.  As I said, I wouldn’t presume to call him by his given name until such time as I know him far better than I do at present and likely wouldn’t do so even then unless he asked me.  Actually, I’m not at all sure I would do even if he did ask.”  She smiled as Connie raised an eyebrow at her.  “Perhaps it’s a British thing.” 
 
“You’ll never get to know him really well unless you unbend a bit, Olivia.”  Connie shook her head.  This time Olivia was en garde as one would be in a good fencing match.
 
“What makes you think I want to know him 'really well' as you put it?  I don’t.  I’ve enough complications in my life at present, and I suspect he would complicate it even more if I were to know him well.”  Her eyes narrowed as she glared at her protégé.  “Connie, are you attempting to play matchmaker with Crowe and me?  If you are, I can assure you it won’t work.  I’m immune to what you may consider his so-called charms, and I suspect I’m the last woman on earth who would interest him in that fashion.” 
 
“Oh, I think you’re dead wrong there, Honey.”  Connie seemed highly amused at the thought.  “I think your aloofness and that sexy English reserve will have his gut in knots within a month at the outside, assuming they don’t already.  I suspect you’re going to be more of a challenge than he’s had in a long damned time, and he’s incapable of ignoring a challenge.  Just wait and see!”  At that the women laughed, even though Olivia shook her head in disbelief.  The phone chimed, interrupting their chat, and Connie answered.
 
“Yes?  Sure, we’ll be down in five minutes, so get a grip.”  She rang off.
 
“That was Russell.  He’s got a table for us in The Grill Room and said if we’re not there in ten minutes, he’s going to eat everything on the menu, and we’ll have to take the scraps.  Let’s go; he’s probably capable of doing exactly that.”  They were laughing companionably as they walked down the hall and entered the lift.  Less than five minutes later they were shown to a table in an alcove of the grand dining room, and Crowe stood as the maître d' seated them. 
 
“I’ve ordered starters, prosciutto and stuffed mushrooms.”  Olivia stared at him.  Starters at this early hour?  Was he mad?  Connie yawned theatrically and smiled at her.
 
“He’s just hungry, Olivia.  Food takes his mind off his sex drive.”  Olivia’s mouth almost dropped open at that, and Russell glared at both of them.
 
“What the fuck does my sex drive have to do with ordering starters?”  The women erupted into laughter, and his glare intensified.  Connie finally managed to control herself and reached over to pat his hand whilst Olivia tried to suppress giggles.
 
“Russell, when you said you’d ordered prosciutto and stuffed mushrooms, Olivia’s eyes got as big as saucers.  I don’t think she’s accustomed to hors d’oeuvres this early in the day.  If I’m correct, that’s something the English tend to reserve for the evening meal, and I couldn’t resist ragging on you.  It isn’t my fault that your sex drive is an ongoing topic of speculation on the set.”  His eyebrows went up, and his jaw tightened.  From the expression on his face, Olivia had the distinctly unpleasant feeling that she was about to bear witness to the infamous temper of which both Connie and Ridley had warned her.  His words bore out her suspicion.
 
“I haven’t touched anyone on the set in a sexual manner, and I’ve no intention of doing so.  One or both of you has been listening to unfounded gossip.”  He jerked his serviette from his lap and was about to toss it on the table when Connie grabbed his hand.  He knew that bit about not having touched anyone on set in a sexual manner wasn’t precisely correct, but he’d be buggered if he would openly advertise his activities.  In point of fact, the only person he had touched was the Amazonian redhead from make-up, and she seemed inclined to keep quiet.  That was his condition for their brief liaison, and she seemed willing to take their activity at face value, nothing more than a bit of a romp between mates.
 
“Russell, for God’s sake, stay in your seat and calm down.  Jesus!  You’re more sensitive than a 16-year-old boy.  I never said you’d had anything to do with any of the women on set, but even you know that you’re prime fodder for the gossips, and you’ve laughed about it.  Half the women on the set are following in your wake like obedient little puppy dogs, even if you don’t realise it.  I was teasing you, for God’s sake.  Don’t you have any sense of humour at all?”  Connie was clearly irritated with the man.  Olivia didn’t know him well enough to attempt placating him so she remained silent, deciding correctly that anything she might say would only make matters worse. 
 
“I still fail to see what starters have to do with my or anyone’s sex drive.  Care to enlighten me on that one, Connie?”  The woman sighed and rolled her eyes, explaining it to her now very testy co-star in the manner one would use with a four-year-old child.
 
“Okay, here’s the easy version.  You’re not getting laid.  I’m not getting laid.  Richard’s not getting laid.  Ridley’s not getting laid.  Now Olivia’s joined our cosy little group, and I know she’s not getting laid either.  I made a joke.  I was inferring that since you weren’t getting any, at least not as far as I know, you were substituting food for sex, and my attempt at a joke fell flat.  Sorry.  I’ll keep my sense of humour to myself from now on.”  Olivia was perusing her menu and attempting to ignore what was happening two feet in front of her nose.
 
“Now, what sounds good for lunch?  Oh, yummy, they have Steak au Poivre and fresh asparagus.  I’m there.  How about you, Olivia?”  Olivia had been covertly watching Crowe and waiting for what she thought would be an inevitable explosion; she had barely heard a word the other woman said.  Steak au Poivre registered in her brain, and she latched on to it.
 
“Yes, that sounds lovely for me as well.”  She glanced up at Crowe and found him watching her closely.  Now that was more than just a bit disconcerting; in hope of getting him out of his mood, she smiled at him.  Surprisingly he smiled back before focusing his attention on the menu.  He put it on the table beside his plate after a few moments and nodded to the waiter who had been hovering a few feet away.
 
“The ladies will have the Steak au Poivre; check with them on how they like it.  I’ll have the Beef Wellington, rare.  You may bring the starters now.”  The waiter nodded and asked Olivia how she wanted her steak prepared; medium, please.  Connie preferred medium rare and then asked the waiter if he might bring her a martini from the bar.  Of course he would, and would the other lady care for a drink?  She would.  She needed one.  Glenfiddich straight up with water on the side would do nicely, thanks ever so much.  Would the gentleman care for another Victoria Bitter?  Yes, he definitely would.  The barman would bring their drinks straight away, and starters would be out shortly.  Olivia took a deep breath, unsure as to whether Crowe was over his fit of pique and if he and Connie were still on speaking terms.  Her concern was allayed moments later when Crowe smiled gamely at Connie.
 
“So, Connie, do I have months of your harassment regarding my alleged sex life or lack thereof to endure, or do you shoot through like a Bondi tram?”  Olivia held her breath; Connie laughed, and Crowe smiled at her.  The man did have the most disarming smile.
 
“Oh, there’s more where that came from, but you’ll just have to wonder when I’ll strike next.”  His giggle relaxed Olivia, and she let her breath out as the other two laughed together.  The barman appeared with their drinks, and Crowe suggested a toast.  Olivia held her breath again; she’d heard her fair share of Australian toasts and could only imagine what the man might propose.  She needn’t have worried.  He held up his glass to them and was delightful in his comments.
 
“To Olivia.  May she succeed in teaching a rough Colonial and a quasi-American the Queen’s English.  God knows, she’ll need all the help she can muster!”  The three of them burst into laughter just as the waiter appeared with the starters, and they tucked into them with relish.  By the time they’d finished lunch, they were groaning, and Olivia was stifling yawns.  Crowe could not resist teasing her about it.
 
“Are we boring you, Love?  If so, just say the word; I’ll carry you upstairs and tuck you in myself.”  That was too much for Connie to resist.
 
“Watch it there, Olivia.  You’ve heard about his sex drive; hang onto your knickers!”  They were still laughing when they reached the Concierge Floor and parted company.  Olivia walked into Connie’s suite.
 
“I’m sorry to be such poor company, Connie, but I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’m exhausted.  Will you be terribly offended if I go for a nap?”  The woman shook her head.
 
“God, no.  I could go for a nap myself.  If you wake up first, come rattle my cage.  If I wake before you, I’ll come and roust you out.  See you later.”  She headed for her room as Olivia did the same.  Amazingly and in spite of her usual sleeplessness in a strange bed, Olivia was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
 
 
Day Four, continued – Tuesday, 4:30 in the Afternoon
 
Olivia awoke to a hand touching her shoulder, stretched leisurely, and opened her eyes to find Crowe's piercingly blue ones watching her from his position on the bed beside her.  What in bloody Hell was he doing in her bedroom?  Before she could ask the obvious, he grinned at her and stood offering his hand to help her from the bed.  She’d gone to sleep fully clothed on top of the duvet, so she wasn’t embarrassed by having him catch her in her bedclothes.  Still, having a strange man in her bedroom and sitting on her bed was more than a bit unsettling. 
 
He pre-empted whatever she might have said.  “Have a care what you say, Olivia.  I told Connie I was coming in here to knock you up, and she has no idea what that means to a Brit and an Australian.  I left her in the lounge with her mouth hanging open.”  Olivia couldn’t help but laugh; it really was too funny given the difference between the American and European connotations of the term, and she took his hand as she rose from the bed.  She didn’t know what it was about this man, but he seemed to have the ability to do and say the most outrageous things and still have her find them amusing on those occasions she wasn’t annoyed with him.  She’d likely have upbraided any other man in no uncertain terms for having the temerity to enter her bedroom unannounced, but his smile and disarming attitude spared him her wrath.
 
“Tell Connie I’ll be out in a tic.  I need to splash some water on my face to wake up.”  He nodded and stopped at the door.
 
“You look like a little girl when you’re sleeping.  Did you know that?”  He left with her making a face that spoke to his incorrigibility then went to the bathroom to rinse her face and run a brush through her long hair.  She emerged to find Connie and Crowe sitting on the couch going over her scene with Richard that was to be filmed the next morning; Crowe was taking Harris’ part.  Olivia leant against the doorframe and listened as a burgeoning suspicion took root in her brain.  Crowe’s imitation of Richard Harris’ accent was impeccable; every nuance, each inflection was beyond reproach.  She stayed where she was, slightly behind him and out of his field of vision.  Connie glanced up at her, and Olivia shook her head indicating to the other to remain silent.  She crossed her arms over her chest and stood there, observing and listening for ten minutes as the two ran and re-ran the scene. 
 
Connie’s accent was improving but still needed a good deal of work.  It would likely take Olivia’s running Connie’s lines and having her repeat them the rest of the evening if the actor was to be ready the following morning.  Crowe was a more than acceptable stand-in for Harris, and she was convinced that he needed her assistance as a diction coach as much as pigs needed wings.  When she finally walked across the room to join them, Crowe turned to her.
 
“Thought you’d fallen in, Love.  Was about to come and rescue you.”
 
“I’ve been standing just over there listening to you two run the scene.  Connie, you need more than a bit of work, and Crowe, you’re going to have to sit up with us and read Richard’s part so that she can respond appropriately to his lines.”  He completely missed the bright glitter in her eyes as she sat beside him and across from Connie, doing so deliberately so that he’d not see her eyes full on.  Her expression was not lost on Connie who raised one eyebrow, then dropped it in response to the slightest negative shake of Olivia’s head.  She’d already sorted precisely what Olivia was thinking and what she’d have to say once Crowe left them for the night.
 
 
Day Four, continued – Tuesday, 11:30 at Night
 
The door closed behind Crowe as he left Connie’s suite.  The three of them had run the bloody scene more times than Olivia could recall, not even taking time to go downstairs for dinner, having it sent up to the suite instead.  Connie leant against the closed door.  Fatigue was etched into her face as she watched Olivia walk across the room to the bar and pour herself a drink, taking it with her as she moved to the couch 
 
“What is it?”  Connie’s voice brought Olivia out of her reverie.
 
“I’m not entirely sure.  Earlier this evening when I was first listening to Crowe read Richard’s lines for you, I’d have sworn his asking Ridley to retain me as his diction coach as well as yours was so much bollocks.  He’s got Richard’s accent down perfectly, and that enables you to respond in kind.  When you were on the telephone, he asked me to go over his lines with him for his own scene with Richard, the one immediately preceding the one the two of you did this morning.  He seemed genuinely unsure as to whether or not his accent was correct.”  Connie made a drink for herself and returned to her former place across from Olivia, watching and listening as Olivia continued.
 
“I think what’s going on is that he’s had ample time to listen to Richard.  He has no difficulty in taking on Richard’s style of diction, but he seems unsure of that required for Maximus.  He’s a natural ear for voices, quite possibly he’s a born mimic, and can quickly copy anything he hears, but when he’s on his own to develop an accent, he seems somewhat less sure of himself.”  Olivia sipped her scotch.  “Am I being reasonable?  I truly want to believe that he’s not manipulating me, but I can’t be sure.  I’ve noticed he’s begun copying my speech inflections and patterns, and he’s very quick at it, but he needs to develop Maximus’ own voice.  I can’t do that for him, and I’m quite sure he knows that.  I don’t know him well enough to make a call, Connie, and it’s driving me round the twist.” 
 
Connie’s response was reflective.  “I do know that aside from the films he’s made in Australia, he’s always retained a diction coach.”  She sipped her drink, then reached across the table to Olivia’s pack of cigarettes, took one and lit up, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling.  Olivia was startled.
 
“I didn’t realise you smoked.”
 
“I don’t usually, but I’m making an exception for you.”  Sensing a lecture in the offing, Olivia lit up, and they smoked in silence for a few moments before either spoke again.  Connie broke the silence.
 
“There’s a lot you don’t know about Russell, not that I’m an expert, but I’ve been around him for a few weeks now, and I think I’m beginning to get a handle on him.”  She inhaled again and slowly blew the smoke toward the ceiling. 
 
“Olivia, the man is driven in every sense of the word.  I’ve never been around a more consummate and committed professional.  He’s difficult, arrogant, a driving perfectionist, extremely opinionated, and unbelievably demanding of everyone on the set.  The good news is that he’s even more demanding of himself.  He’s also an egomaniac, but in working with him, I’ve realised that if you can deliver what you promise, and he can, then he’s more than worth the effort it takes to get along with him.  If this film makes it at the box office, and that’s a huge gamble to make on this type of film, it will be because of his talent combined with raw power and magnetism as an actor and his absolute refusal to accept anything less than perfection from himself and anyone connected to this production.”  Connie had leant forward whilst speaking and now sank back against the furniture as she continued.
 
“Having said that, I don’t think he’s playing with you.  At first, I thought he might be, simply because you’re a beautiful woman, and he’s got a reputation as a ladies’ man.  From what I’ve heard about the women he’s been linked to in the past, other than a quick fuck here and there, you’re exactly the type of woman who would get his interest and probably hold it.  Aside from the fact that I do believe he’s sincere in wanting you as his coach, I suspect he’s also seeing that as a way to keep you around for as long as possible.” 
 
“Crowe knows nothing about me, Connie.  He’s no idea as to what type woman I am.”  Derision dripped from her words. 
 
“Don’t be too sure about that.  He’s read your CV, so he at least knows your background.  He got it from Ridley the day you arrived, and he’s made several calls checking on you.  I know because he made those calls here in my suite last Friday night.  He was thinking about having you as his coach within hours of having heard you open your mouth.  His concern was that you were, now how did he say it?  Oh yes, he was afraid you were too frail an English flower to deal with the force of his personality, and he wanted to know what you were made of before he committed himself.”  She stubbed out her cigarette, a self-satisfied smile on her mouth as she watched the woman sitting across from her.  For one of the very few times in her life, Olivia was caught totally unawares.
 
“I see.  And had I not brought up the topic, just when might you have told me all this?”  She was more than a bit annoyed with the woman and didn’t mind her knowing it.
 
“I’m not at all sure I would have.  I only do now because I don’t want you selling him short.  You may not like him as a man, but I saw your face yesterday after we ran that scene the first time.  You were stunned at his ability to immerse himself into the character of Maximus, weren’t you?”  Connie watched Olivia digest that; Olivia had been of the opinion that she’d kept her emotions well hidden.  She thought over Connie’s observation for a few moments.
 
“Yes, I was.  He stepped into the adjoining room as Crowe and emerged a few seconds later as Maximus.  Even without his costume, he was the Roman General.  His bearing, his body language, every aspect of his presence bespoke a man accustomed to command, and he wasn’t going to relinquish that control, not even to Caesar’s daughter.  The emotions he conveyed were so realistic that it was palpable.  Even though I know nothing about the cinema aside from sitting in the theatre, I suspect he’s going to be a force with which to be reckoned.  Frankly, I was stunned.  That’s why I left your caravan so abruptly; the tension in the room after that scene was so thick that I had to leave in order to breathe properly.  I’m not accustomed to that sort of raw power.”  Connie smiled and nodded slightly.
 
“Honey, if you think that raw power is present only when he’s doing a scene, you’re in for a big surprise.  He’s been holding that power in check because of you; he doesn’t want to frighten you off.  So far, you’ve only been exposed to him as Russell-the-Charmer, the side he’s wanted you to see in order to convince you to sign on as his coach.  Wait until he turns the power of that charm on you as the woman he’s decided to pursue.  And I promise you, sooner or later, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”  Olivia had been staring into her glass until that last statement; her head shot up as her eyes met those of her protégé.
 
“Whatever are you implying, Connie?  Why in Hell would Crowe want to seduce me?”  Connie laughed outright.
 
“Christ, but you’re naïve.  Of course, that’s probably got a lot to do with why he’s attracted to you.”
 
“Attracted to me?  I think not.”
 
“I don’t think you read men, or know them, as well as I do.  Wait and see, Olivia.  Wait and see.”  Connie drained her glass and stood.  “I’m going to bed.  I’ll leave a wake-up call for five and get you up when they call me, unless you want to leave an earlier call.  See you in the morning.”  With that, she turned and walked into her own bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.  She left a stunned and now intensely introspective Olivia behind her.
 
 
End Part Two
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