COACH
Part Five
by Arianne
Disclaimer: This work of
adult fiction includes adult language and experiences; you have been
warned. No
offense to any person, living or dead, is intended.
© Arianne 2006.
Day Seven - Friday, Eleven-thirty
in the Evening
When Crowe had finished kissing her that
morning and doing so far more thoroughly than she could ever recall
having been
kissed in her entire life, Olivia had been breathless.
He’d smiled into her eyes, her face still
caught between his large hands.
“Well, then, it appears
we’ve got the hard
bit out of the way.”
“I don’t know what you
mean.”
“I think you do, Olivia. We’re attracted
to each other, strongly so,
and have been since I knocked you on your bum in the mud. Why else would we have
shot such sparks off
each other?” His
cell phone had trilled
then, and he cursed, releasing her face and reaching into his pocket
for the
instrument. Ridley
wanted him in make up
in ten minutes and on set immediately thereafter.
The weather was turning for the worst again,
and it was imperative they get the day’s scenes shot as
quickly as
possible. Crowe
snapped the phone closed
and looked at her.
“We’ll finish this
later,” and turning on
his heel, he’d hurried out the door.
She’d not seen him until almost one in the
afternoon when he returned to
his trailer where she’d stayed in from the cold. They had been largely
silent on the ride back
into London
and
on reaching the hotel, had gone to their separate suites after him
telling her
he needed to shower and warm up; he would be down to her suite as soon
as he’d
accomplished that. She
had paced the
floor for the forty-five minutes between his leaving her in the
corridor and
his knock on the door. She’d
rushed to
open it, and he walked in, kicking it shut as he pulled her into his
arms and
picked up where he’d left off so abruptly that morning. Somehow between his entry
and breaking off
the kiss, they’d managed to get to the couch, and she was in
his lap again,
trying to read those compelling eyes.
Crowe broke the silence.
“We need to talk.”
“Yes.”
“And I need you to get off my lap if
I’m
going to focus on something other than my dick and make any sense
here.”
“Yes.”
He grinned at her as she scooted off his lap.
“When we had dinner that first night
I told
you that if I was involved with anyone, she would have my undivided
attention.” Olivia
nodded. “You’ve
got my undivided attention now,
whether that was what either of us planned or not.
You realise that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“All righty, then.
What about you? Are
you involved with anyone? Got
a lover stashed in the closet that I’m
going to have to fight for your honour?”
Why did he have to ask that?
She
nodded.
“Sort of, but I’ve not seen
him in months
and had been planning to break it off.
He wants to marry, and though I’m fond of him,
marrying him isn’t in the
cards for me.” Crowe
nodded and pulled
his phone from his pocket, opened it, and placed it in her hand.
“If we’re going to pursue
whatever this may
be between us, you have to break it off quickly.
I’ll give you this evening to make the
call. I
don’t intentionally move in on
another bloke’s sheila, Olivia.
If you
meant it about breaking off with him, do it tonight and let me know in
the
morning, or I’m out the door.”
She took
a deep breath before answering him
“Russell, I can’t call him
whilst you’re
here.”
“I didn’t ask
that you call him with me here.”
She
continued nattering on, not realising he didn’t care in the
least what her
reasons might be for ending the affair with Robert so long as she ended
it.
“You may be the catalyst
for my break off with Robert, but you aren’t the reason. It
would be unfair to him for me to call him
in your presence.”
“Are you going to call him or not? Yes or no,
Olivia.” She
shook her head.
“Not. Right. Now. Even
though he won’t know you’re in the room,
it’s disrespectful to him for me to break it off with you
sitting beside
me. Think how you
would feel in his
position.” When
she’d shaken her head,
Russell had scowled though his face now softened.
“I will call him, and I’ll do it
straightaway once you’ve left, but I will not
call him with you here.”
He considered
that before speaking.
“But you will call before tomorrow
morning?” She
nodded. “You
promise me that? Olivia,
I’ve not always been the most
honourable man when it comes to a woman I fancied, but I’ve
been on the
receiving end of a woman I cared for seeing another man without my
knowledge. I
won’t knowingly put another
man through that. I
may fight him head
on for her affections, but I won’t sneak round behind his
back.” Even
had she not been intent on calling
Robert and ending it, Russell’s honesty would have made her
see it
through. She laid
her hand on his face.
“I promise that I will follow through
if
you’ll just leave for a bit.
I’ll call
you when I’ve done.”
He stood and walked
to the door. He’d
have given her as much
time as she wanted; having her call the bloke tonight was more than
he’d hoped
for.
“If you can reach him tonight, call
me
after you’ve spoken with him.”
She
nodded, and he walked out, closing the door softly.
She picked up the phone and dialled.
Twenty minutes later, she called Russell, and
he returned to her suite.
*
There were tears in her eyes when she
opened the door, and he stood silently for a moment.
“Olivia.
Look at me.”
She raised her eyes
to his as a solitary tear slipped from one eye and streaked down her
face. “I
didn’t realise you were in a relationship
of this apparent level of seriousness.”
She shook her head.
“I wasn’t.
It’s dreadful to admit, but I never was.
Robert was, and I just didn’t have the courage
to break it off. I
should have done it months ago.”
He lead her to the couch, and leant back into
the cushions and pulled her with him, his arm going round her and
pulling her
head onto his shoulder. She
wept
silently onto his sweatshirt as he held her close, waiting quietly
until she’d
done. He felt sorry
for the poor bugger;
he’d hate like bloody Hell to lose Olivia to another man. He reached for the tissue
box that was still
on the table and handed her the box, and smiled at her in understanding.
“Blow.”
They said it at the same time, and she obeyed. He took his arm from round
her and rested his
elbows on his knees as he gazed into her eyes.
“I’m sorry to have put you
and Robert
through that, but you know as well as I that anything less would be
unfair to all
of us.” He
was right of course, and it
did help a bit to hear him say the words.
“And as I said earlier, we need to
talk.” She
nodded in agreement, as he continued.
“It won’t take long before
others on the
set realise we’re together, for lack of a better term. There will be gossip, much
of it unkind,
because that’s just how it is on a film set.
We live and work in a fishbowl, and sooner or later,
everyone knows
everyone else’s business.
We won’t be
the exception to that rule.
“I’m not going to push you
for a physical
relationship, Olivia. It’s
early days
yet, and while I’d love to drag you off to bed right now, I
think we both know
that’s unwise in the extreme.
We need to
know each other better, much better, before we consider that step. For me there’s a
great deal of difference in
a relationship and a quick root, and while I’m more than
capable of and
thoroughly enjoy the latter, the former is what I’m
interested in with
you. I’d
like us to take this one day at
a time and be very sure of each successive step before we jump into
something
that either or both of us might later regret.”
She was incredibly relieved.
He
might be a man’s man and clearly was, but he also had a
rationally functioning
brain, and it wasn’t controlled by his penis.
“I agree on all counts. I don’t want
vicious gossip about us running
rampant on the set though I’m sure there will be at least
some
speculation. I
appreciate your wanting
to take this slowly, as that’s the only way I can do it. I’ve been badly
hurt before, and I surmise
you have as well, else you wouldn’t be so cautious.” He smiled grimly.
“Too fucking right!”
“And what is Ridley going to have to
say
about this? I
can’t imagine he’s going
to be happy to have his Gladiator carrying on with the diction
coach.”
“That’s where
you’re wrong; I’ve already
had a chat with him.”
“What do you mean you’ve
already had a chat
with him?” Crowe
took a deep breath and
blew it out.
“I spoke with him after I left you
this
morning. Told him
we were attracted to
each other, and that I knew it would soon be gossip about the set as
I’m not
good at hiding my feelings when I care for someone.
He asked if I could manage to keep my dick in
my pants on set and not let our affair, his word rather than mine,
interfere
with my job. I
assured him that nothing
of a sexual nature would ever transpire on set, and that I would not
let
anything that transpired between us in private interfere with my
dedication to
my performance or to carrying out my job to the best of my ability. He said if I could live up
to that, he had no
problem with us being involved.”
Olivia
blinked. Obviously,
Crowe had already
given this a great deal more thought than she had; it also appeared he
was much
better at telling himself the truth than was she.
Fair enough.
She could certainly work with honesty.
“All right.
I certainly live with that, Russell.”
He giggled.
“Well, thank Christ.
The woman really does
know my Christian name!”
Day Eight – Saturday - Nine
o’clock
in the Morning
Crowe was at Olivia’s door at
half-eight
and by nine they were in the dining room having breakfast. As this was
Crowe’s first extended trip to England
and it was a working visit, he’d seen none of the sights and
admitted to having
always been an avid tourist whenever he went some place new. He appointed Olivia his
tour guide, and they
were planning their day as they ate.
She
had told him of Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum, and he was eager
to visit. Her
description of the display of the Battle
of Trafalgar had captured his interest and his imagination. By ten, they were in a cab
and on their way. Crowe
had given his driver the weekend off,
and they were heading toward the museum located at Marylebone Road
and Baker
Street.
The queue for entry on a Saturday was
always formidable, and they stood on line for almost an hour before
purchasing
their tickets and joining the next group to take the tour. They wound their was past
the effigies of
Prince Charles and Princess Diana, the four most recent presidents of
the
United States, the Prime Minister, legendary Hollywood film characters
(Olivia
felt sure they’d eventually have one of Russell as Maximus),
rock stars (Sting
and the Beatles), and then downstairs to the Chamber of Horrors.
They peered through the glass case at a
letter said to have been written in the blood of one of Jack the
Ripper’s
victims (where was DNA when you needed it?) and Madam du Farge sitting
in front
of the guillotine. At
last they made
their way back up the stairs to the last exhibit.
The Battle
of Trafalgar. The
exhibit featured the
deck of Lord Nelson’s flag ship, HMS Victory, at the height
of England’s
historic battle against the combined
forces of the French and Spanish off the coast of Cape Trafalgar.
The deck was
situated on gimbals and rolled and pitched as if actually on the ocean;
the
cannon thundered at a level as to be virtually deafening. Screams of injured and
dying sailors rent the
air, and blood ran red on the deck.
Though Olivia had seen it numerous times, it never failed
to raise chill
bumps for her, and she shivered as she and Crowe exited the museum,
blinking in
the early afternoon sunshine. He
threw
his arm over her shoulders as they walked down the street in search of
a cab,
turning to her with a brilliant smile on his face.
“Battle of Trafalgar, totally fucking
amazing! You felt
as if you were there,
with the crew, in the thick of it. I’d
love doing a film
about Nelson one day.” They
walked in
silence for a few minutes, and Olivia knew he was filing the experience
of
Trafalgar away for future reference.
She
knew now that he’d played a vast array of different roles in
his career, and
the possibility that he might someday play a British Naval officer
certainly
wasn’t that far fetched, assuming Gladiator went over well. As they rounded the next
corner, Crowe
spotted a cab and waved it to the curb.
“Are
you up for anything else today, or shall we give it a rest until
tomorrow?”
“Have you been to Buckingham
Palace
and seen the changing of the Guard?”
He
shook his head and she smiled. That
was
first on the list for tomorrow. Olivia
knew that the Guard changed for public view at 11:30 in the morning on
the even
numbered days of the month in this particular month.
This was the ninth of the month, which meant
the Guard would change the following morning.
She smiled into Crowe’s interested face.
“Well, we can do that in the morning, but
you’ll have to wait until
then,” and explained the idiosyncrasies of the schedule. She could tell he was
disappointed and
thought for something they might do that afternoon.
Finally, inspiration struck.
“Do you ever shop for your family
when
you’re abroad?”
“Of course I do.
I’m not a complete hoon.”
“What sorts of things do you search
for? Do you shop
more for your mum or your
dad? What about
your brother and your
niece?” He
tugged at one ear for a
moment as he contemplated his reply.
“I always get something for me mum. We share a love of
crosses, so I always try
and find one for her that’s unique, something she
doesn’t have and would be
unlikely to find at home. For
my
niece? Christ! I always try and find a
willing female on set
who either has a child her age or knows one her age.
She’s just going ten now, but I’ve no
idea
what ten-year-old girls like. Do
you? As for my dad
and my brother? They’re
always happy enough to see me come
home and take a bit of the workload at the farm off their shoulders. That’s all the
gift they seem to want.”
A Coventry Cross would be a perfect gift
for his mum, though as Coventry
was in the West
Midlands, and several hours drive from London
that would be a day trip. They
could
either hire a car or have Crowe’s driver take them over the
following
weekend.
“Coventry
is several hours drive from here, but we might plan to drive there next
weekend
if you’d like. If
your mum truly enjoys
crosses, she’d likely love to have a Coventry Cross. We could buy one locally,
but I think you
might enjoy the trip and seeing the Cathedral.
I’ve always thought it was one of the more
moving places in all England. Your driver could take us
over or, if you’d
prefer we could hire a car and drive over ourselves.
Your option.”
His eyes lighted up at that last suggestion.
“Let’s plan on doing that
next weekend, and
let’s hire a car. That
way I don’t worry
about keeping Brian from a date he might have that night, if we get
back late
or decide to stay over.”
That seemed
workable to Olivia, and she made a mental note to check on car hires
for the
following weekend, having let her hired car go when she moved to the Dorchester.
“And what of your niece? Do you have any notion of
the sort of things
she likes? What
sort of things do you
usually take to her?” He
gave her a
blank and typically adult male look.
“Olivia, she’s
ten-years-old, and I’ve no
fucking clue as to what girls her age like.
I’m totally dependent for help upon the first
female I can find who has
a daughter that age, and I throw myself on her mercy.
You wouldn’t believe how many women
I’ve
dragged on shopping trips over the years to find treats for Chelsea.”
At the note of desperation in his voice, Olivia laughed
aloud and, yes,
she absolutely believed him.
“Well, I’ve a couple of
friends who have
daughters in that age range. I’ll
call
round and see what they suggest, and we’ll find something
appropriate.” His
sense of relief was palpable.
“Thank Christ!”
Day Eight – five seventeen in the
Evening
They returned to the Dorchester
tired but happy; it had been a lovely day.
After leaving Madame Tussaud’s, they had done
the Tower
Bridge
bit, again standing in line with all the other tourists. Crowe had purchased post
cards to send to his
family prior to leaving the historical site.
They went to his suite on their return and after divesting
themselves of
their wraps, Crowe sank gratefully onto the large couch in the lounge,
watching
Olivia as she walked to the window and looked out across the expanse in
front
of the hotel and toward Shepherd’s Market.
She stood with her arms crossed over her breast; there was
no tension in
her stance, nothing suggestive of a defensive posture as had been the
case
earlier in the week. He
smiled to
himself; she was quite a woman. Dragging
himself to his feet, he went to stand behind her, his arms encircling
her waist
and pulling her in to lean back against his body.
“Penny for them.” She smiled, leaning her
head back to rest on
his shoulder.
“I was just thinking how improbable
it is
that I’m standing here just now given my initial and rather
intense dislike of
you.” His
response was that silly giggle
of which she’d now become so fond.
He
turned her in his arms, brushing a lock of hair back from her face.
“Well, they do say opposites attract,
don’t
they? And what two
people could possibly
be more opposite than the two of us?”
Well, there was that.
Still,
Olivia couldn’t recall having previously disliked a man quite
so much at first
meeting, only to find herself wrapped in his embrace a week later. He was far and away the
most charming man
she’d ever met, and quite likely the most dangerous. One of his large hands
came up to touch her
face, fingers stroking gently down the curve of her cheek just before
his lips
touched hers.
His kiss was surprisingly gentle and
restrained almost as if he feared frightening her off if he was too
ardent. His lips on
hers were warm,
soft, and his tongue teased her mouth for only moments before she
opened for
him. His
penetration of her mouth was
minimal; again, it was as if he feared putting her off, and their
tongues
danced lightly in exploration. His
hands
rested on her shoulders, his hips barely touched hers.
He was close enough that she could feel his
body’s response to the embrace, yet he made no effort to pull
her closer; he
was leaving control of the embrace to her.
Olivia’s hands were at his waist, and she
stepped further into his arms,
slipping her own round his solid body and feeling his hands leave her
shoulders
as one arm went round her shoulders and the other circled her body just
above
her waist.
Olivia was shocked at the surge of heat
that went through her in response to the full contact of their bodies,
and her
eyes flew open. One
hand went to his
face and at her touch, Crowe’s eyes opened, searching hers
deeply. He stopped
immediately and stepped back, moving
slightly away and adjusting himself before turning back to her.
“Sorry, Olivia.
I can’t control my body’s response to
you,
but I can control how I respond to my body; right now, I’d
best ignore it. I
apologise if I’ve offended you.”
He took a deep breath, shoved his hands into
his pockets, and looked out the window.
Well! That
was something new and
different. Olivia
had never had a man
indicate that he might actually have the ability to control his sexual
urges
once awakened, nor had she ever had one apologise for the possibility
of having
offended her with evidence of his arousal.
Her first thought was that his mum must have worked
overtime in her
efforts to raise a man this sensitive to women’s feelings. Whilst that was
significant, it was her
second thought that mattered most, and that was the realisation that
this
particular man paid
attention to women’s reactions and heeded them. She
placed on hand on his
shoulder before speaking.
“Russell?”
“Yes, Love?”
“That wasn’t only about
your body’s
reaction to mine; it was just as much about my
body’s reaction to yours.” He turned to face her, one
eyebrow raised in
question. She
wasn’t accustomed to
discussing her sexuality even though he knew full well it existed, but
she took
a deep breath and soldiered on.
“Well, it’s just that ummm,
I’m usually,
uh, oh, damn it, Russell! I’ve
never had
such an immediate and visceral reaction to a kiss in my life, and it
shocked
bloody Hell out of me! I
just wasn’t
expecting it, if you must know.”
Her
voice trailed off and she stood there watching him, flushing furiously,
as he
watched her for a moment longer, hands still jammed deeply into his
pockets. His smile
was like the sun
breaking through after a storm as he tiled his head to the side.
“Immediate reaction, huh? Visceral?”
Olivia shrugged and nodded, now chewing on her lower lip. “Got your
attention, did I?” Another
nod and he just wouldn’t let it
go. “Felt
that one right down to your cl
…,” and she cut him off before he could even
finish the word. He
grinned like a little boy with a lolly.
“Yes, damn you, I did. First time
that’s ever happened, at least
that quickly. Are
you happy now?” She
was embarrassed at her brazen acknowledgment
of her body’s response to his, appalled that she would
actually voice the
words, and annoyed at Crowe’s ability to put so perfectly
into words what she
had bumbled over so terribly. His
hands
came out of his pockets and cupped her face as he stepped closer, his
lips
inches from hers, his voice a low rumble in the stillness of the room.
“I’m overwhelmed, Olivia,
and happier than
I’ve been in a very long while.”
Day Thirty-eight – Eight
o’clock in
the Evening
The preceding five weeks had likely been
the most amazing of Olivia’s life.
Through a quirk of fate, she’d landed a contract
as a diction coach for
the lead actor and actress on a major American film under the oversight
of one
of the more renowned directors currently working in the industry,
Ridley
Scott. She’d
met and become friends with
Sir Richard Harris and Tomás Arana, as well as Joaquin
Phoenix, Connie Nielsen,
and of course, the film’s leading actor, the Australian
Russell Crowe. Crowe
wasn’t truly Australian having been
born in New Zealand,
but
he’d lived much of his youth and all of his adult years in Australia
and
claimed it as his home. Truth
be known,
he could have claimed to be a Ferengi barman from Star Trek:
Deep Space Nine, and she’d not have
minded in the least. The
man had been
pursuing her quite openly for a month and though it frightened the wits
out of
her, Olivia was falling in love.
At that precise moment, she was awaiting
Crowe’s knock on the door.
Filming here
in the UK
was almost at an end, and a number of the cast and crew were meeting
for dinner
courtesy of Richard Harris as his part in the film was done. He would not be
accompanying the rest of them
onward to Malta
and Morocco. She knew that the older
gentleman had
encouraged Crowe’s interest in her, and in the early days he
had spent a good
deal of time attempting to convince Olivia that the man was not a
complete and
utter boor. Harris
was thoroughly
delighted in what he termed Crowe’s courtship of Olivia and
the manner in which
it was progressing. Olivia
smiled to
herself. She
suspected that if Harris
knew the truth of the relationship between herself and Crowe, he
wouldn’t
believe it.
The pair had grown quickly close, a rare
occurrence for Olivia and according to Crowe it was a rare occurrence
for him
as well. Though
gregarious, outspoken,
and at times a bit over-the-top in public, the private side of the man
was
vastly different from the facade he presented to the world. When he was with Olivia he
was quiet, calm,
often introspective, would get absolutely soppy at anything on telly
that dealt
with babies or animals, and missed his family and home dreadfully. He loved to read and did
so voraciously,
reading anything he could get his hands on, to include the backs of
breakfast cereal
boxes at the market. His
interests were
more than simply eclectic. Two
weeks
past, they had spent a Saturday afternoon at Foyle’s on Charing Cross
Road.
It was her favourite bookshop and a London
institution; Crowe
had lost her in the stacks.
The preceding week a young woman had been
abducted whilst walking from the small shop in which she worked in
Knightsbridge to her flat a few blocks away.
Her body had been found floating in the Thames
two days later. She
had been tall and
slender, with long, dark hair. Her
photo
when shown on the telly had borne a striking resemblance to Olivia, and
Crowe
had pulled her protectively into his arms, kissing her gently on her
temple as
he held her close. They
had separated in
Foyle’s, each following rabbit trails to books that caught
their fancy; when he
went seeking her, she had moved on from where he’d last seen
her. He’d
asked several clerks and the last one to
have seen her had done so on the street level.
Olivia had been perusing a book from the display close to
the street
door. He’d
not thought the worst at the
beginning, but as he climbed the stairs searching the stacks on each
successive
floor, wandering about and calling her name and finding no trace of
Olivia,
true fear had set in. He’d
located the
shop’s manager who had wasted no time in sending employees to
each level of the
shop with a description of Olivia and insisted that Crowe remain with
him in
his office until she was located.
Ten minutes later, one of the clerks walked
in accompanied by a very puzzled Olivia.
She’d not been abducted and had not even
realised that Crowe was trying
to locate her until the very relieved clerk had interrupted her perusal
of a
set of children’s books to ask her name.
When she told Crowe where she’d been for the
last 45 minutes or so,
everyone laughed. Olivia
admitted a
recent and growing interest in children’s books (she was
considering attempting
to write one of her own), and had been captured by the Sister Stories authored by Fiona Waters.
She’d
actually sat down in a corner behind one row of shelves and begun
reading,
rapidly becoming so engrossed that she neither saw Crowe when he passed
within
three feet of her nor heard him calling her name.
Both of them had apologised to the shop
manager and staff for the unnecessary bother, made their purchases, and
left
the shop within minutes. He
was notably
silent on their trip back to the hotel.
When they reached the hotel, he said
nothing until they got to her suite, inside, and he closed the door. He turned to her with a
pained look on his
face and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
“You scared the fuck out of me.”
“I …what?”
“When I couldn’t find you,
the only thing I
could think of was that woman in the Thames
last week. I
couldn’t imagine you
wouldn’t put up a fight if someone attacked you, but I
suspect that poor woman
did as well. After
I’d walked every
bloody floor looking and calling for you and couldn’t find
you, I
panicked. It got
worse when one of the
clerks said she’d last seen you standing close to the door
opening onto the
street.” Olivia
put her hands on either
side of his face.
“I’m fine, Russell. I’m here,
I’m in your arms, and I’m
safe. I got
engrossed in the books and
lost track of the time. I
truly didn’t
realise you or anyone else was trying to locate me.”
“The next time we’re on an
outing, I
suggest we have a time table and agree to meet at a specific place at a
specific time. At
least that way, I
won’t be calling bloody Scotland Yard just because
you’re off in a corner
reading a children’s book!”
His eyes
narrowed and his brow furrowed. “Why
were you reading a child’s book? Do
you have a cub tucked away somewhere you’ve not told me
about?” His
tone was jocular, but his face was more
than half serious. Olivia
was appalled.
“Of course I don’t have a
child tucked away
somewhere! Why ever
would you think such
a thing?”
“Most grown women without children
don’t
tuck themselves away in corners reading children’s books,
Olivia. It was an
honest question. Christ,
woman, I don’t even know if you
like children. Do
you?” He
had managed to annoy her sufficiently that
she was going to pull his bloody chain this time and do it hard. She pulled a hard look on
her face and made
her voice flat.
“No, as a matter of fact, I
don’t.” He
couldn’t have appeared more horrified if
she had admitted to torturing puppies, and his voice was actually
trembling
when he finally found his voice.
“You …you don’t
like children?”
It was almost a whisper, and
if Olivia had harboured any doubts regarding his feelings for
parenthood, they
were swept away. She
put one hand on the
side of his face.
“No, Russell, I don’t like
children. I
absolutely adore
them!” The
expression on his face when
he registered her words was like that of a child’s on
Christmas morning.
January
2001
The nominations for the Academy Awards were
announced at seven-thirty in the morning, American West Coast time. Olivia was in the Faculty
Lounge at Oxford
watching the announcements at three-thirty that
afternoon, the difference being the eight-hour time change between California and London. Gladiator was nominated in five
categories: Best
supporting actor –
Joaquin Phoenix, Best actor – Russell Crowe, Best director
– Ridley Scott, Best
original screenplay – David Franzoni, Best picture
– Gladiator. Olivia
didn’t note the other
nominees in each category; she cared only about Gladiator.
In the aftermath of the film’s
release the
previous May, Russell had rocketed to the pinnacle of his career. The film was a smashing
success, eclipsing
every other film released that summer; it was immediately listed as one
of the
top 100 films of all time. She’d
attended the London
premiere with him after begging off those in the States. That one public appearance
had resulted in
their photos being splashed all over the tabloids.
Following the remaining premieres, he’d
jetted off to Ecuador
to begin his next film, Proof of Life. Olivia
had been working on the final edits
for her book and couldn’t accompany him on location, much as
they’d both wanted
that. He was
disappointed but said
they’d be doing the indoor scenes in London
at Pinewood and could be together whilst that part of the filming was
done. That
didn’t work out as
planned.
Russell’s much-loved uncle had passed
away
in May, just after the world-wide premieres of Gladiator. On
getting word of his Uncle David’s death,
Russell had jetted from Ecuador
straight back to Australia. He’d called to
tell her of his loss,
promising to stop in England
for a couple of days before returning to Ecuador. The next call Olivia
received from him was
during his flight from Australia
back to Ecuador. He said he’d
held up production too long as
it was and didn’t feel he could ask the crew to wait any
longer for his
return. She’d
been hurt of course, and
he’d sounded genuinely remorseful.
He
promised to call as soon he knew his departure date for London
and the filming at Pinewood. It
shouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks
before they’d be together.
Less than a week later, she was standing on
line at the market checkout and saw photos of Russell and Meg Ryan
splashed on
the covers of half a dozen tabloids.
The
photos were said to have been taken with a telephoto lens and showed
the couple
in the bedroom of his hotel suite; she was in her knickers and a teddy. Russell was shirtless and
in jeans unbuttoned
halfway down the fly. The
phone was
ringing when she got to her flat.
“Olivia, we were working on a scene;
it was
a rehearsal, nothing more.”
She said
nothing, waiting for him to continue.
“Love, please, it isn’t what it
appears.
She’s a mate, nothing more.”
Right. “Olivia,
say something.”
“I don’t know what to say, Russell.”
“Listen, Love, the weather here has
turned
off horrible, and we’re shutting down for a couple of days. I can get a night flight
out and be in London
tomorrow. We’ll
have a long weekend. I’ll
call as soon as I know what time I’ll
arrive. I love you,
Olivia.” Of
course, she’d given over.
“I’ll be waiting, and I
love you,
too.” After
they’d disconnected, she
stood for several minutes, twisting the large diamond on the fourth
finger of
her left hand, the ring he’d put there the night of Gladiator’s
London
premiere. Russell
had called back in
less than an hour and would be in mid-afternoon of the following day. She’d rushed
home from her appointment at the
publisher’s, quickly Hoovered the flat, and run out to the
market to get his
favourite foods and a case of VB.
The
phone was ringing when she walked back into the flat.
She’d rushed to answer, feeling sure he was
calling to tell her he’d got an earlier flight.
It was Meg, saying Russell wasn’t feeling well
and didn’t feel up to
making the trip. Olivia
had hung up
without responding and walked to her bedroom.
She took off his ring, putting it into her jewel box
before she lay on
the bed and cried.
*
Olivia had thrown herself into finalising
her book, and it was published to rave reviews.
It was considered outstanding for a first work, and new
publishers were
beating down her door to sign her.
Davis
Farley called and offered her a position at Oxford; she
accepted. She’d
begun teaching full time in the fall of
2000. She got
through the fall term and
Christmas, flying her mum in from the States for the week surrounding
Christmas
Day. Russell called
on New Year’s
Day. It was over
with Meg, and he begged
her forgiveness. The
affair, though
intense, had been a mistake, a reaction to his loneliness for Olivia. He’d missed her,
and when Meg seemed
sympathetic, he’d turned to her for comfort.
He’d had no intention of becoming involved with
the woman and once
having done so, never thought the relationship would take on a sexual
bent. Olivia hung
up on him. He
didn’t call again, but classes resumed the
following day, and the day after that, he’d walked into her
classroom at
uni. Once the
students got over the
shock of having the
Gladiator walk into their class, they’d left
quickly. Russell
locked the door after the last one’s
departure and turned to face her.
“You’re not leaving this
room until you hear
me out.” She’d
listened, and he’d gone
home with her. That
was on a Tuesday,
and he’d stayed until the following Monday, then left for Australia. By the time he’d
left, his ring was back on
her finger, and he promised to stop in on his way back to the States
for the
start of the round of awards ceremonies.
He wanted her to go with him but understood she
couldn’t because of the
new teaching post. He
called her after
each show whilst in route to the airport to return to her in London.
The Academy Awards were in late March, just after
half-term, and she’d
managed to take a few days off to attend the ceremony with Russell. Davis Farley had
graciously taken her classes
until she returned.
Russell was waiting for her at the airport
in Los
Angeles,
almost hidden behind a huge bunch of roses.
The paparazzi more than earnt their keep with all the
photos they took
of Russell and Olivia’s reunion.
They
met the crew from Gladiator for dinner that night, and for
Olivia it almost felt as if they’d all taken a step back in
time. It had been a
year since she’d seen any of
them, yet none had changed in the least.
When they’d last been together, she’d
not been engaged to Russell. Connie
was the first to spot her ring and had
the predictable reaction.
“Oh, my fucking GOD!
Did he rob the Bank of England to pay for
that?”
“I’ve no idea, though he
did say it set him
back a few quid.”
“I guess it did!
Christ, Olivia, that thing must be three
carats.”
“Three-point-two, to be precise, and
yes,
it’s bloody gorgeous, isn’t it?”
“Did you select it?”
“No.
He totally surprised me with it.
He was coming to dinner at my flat one evening and came in
looking
edgy. You know that
expression he gets
when he’s unsure and uncomfortable about something.” Connie rolled her eyes;
she was quite
familiar with that look. “He’d
barely
got in the door before he went down on one knee and pulled the box from
his
pocket, opened it, and held it out to me.
All he said was, ‘If you don’t marry
me, I’ll jump off Tower Bridge.’ As it didn’t
seem polite to put the Bobbies
and the Royal Navy to the trouble of fishing his body out of the Thames, I said yes.”
They had been in the ladies’ at the time of that
little chat and were
still laughing as they approached their table.
As Russell and Joaquin stood to pull back their chairs,
Russell looked
at the two women.
“Why do I have the feeling your
laughter is
at my expense?” Connie
grinned at him.
“I just got a recitation of your
threat to
jump off Tower
Bridge.”
He laughed outright as he scooted Olivia’s chair
to the table.
“Well, it worked at treat!”
*
Russell had gone from Proof of Life into A
Beautiful Mind, and from that into Master and Commander:
The Far Side of the World. Olivia
had managed to spend part of the time
he was in New
York
filming A
Beautiful Mind with him.
She’d taken her summer holiday and jetted to Baja California
to be
with him during part of the filming of Master and Commander. Following
that, he’d returned to Australia
for post-production, and she’d gone back to England.
There were phone calls and instant
messages and a never-ending stream of e-mails.
That lasted for several months and then began to wane. The e-mails became less
frequent, the instant
messaging sessions more difficult to schedule, and the phone calls
gradually
went from twice and three times daily to once a week.
She knew he’d not end it, so she did it for
him.
“We can’t go on this way,
Russell.”
“I’ll be finished up here
with Peter by
the end of the week. I’m
already booked
out on Qantas on Saturday at 1550.
I’ll
arrive at Heathrow at 0530 in the morning, Saturday morning, your time. I don’t want you
coming to the airport that
early; I’ll take a cab into your flat.”
“No, Russell.”
“What do you mean NO?” His tone was growing
belligerent. Olivia
took a deep breath.
“I mean no, don’t come. This isn’t going
to work.”
“I love you, Olivia.”
“And I love you, but loving someone
doesn’t mean it can always work.
Russell,
you’ve worked desperately hard to get where you are at this
stage of your life,
and I won’t ask you to turn your back on it.”
“You’ve also worked fucking
hard, and I don’t ask that you turn your back on your
career.”
“That’s the point. My work is in England;
it may always be in England. Your work takes you all
over the globe, and I
can’t be with you all the time.
You want
me with you constantly; you’ve said that time and again, and
the simple truth
is that I’m not willing to chuck my career to follow you and
be constantly hounded
by the tabloid press.” His
voice trembled
and she knew he was struggling as much for control as was she.
“I’ve never asked you to
chuck your
career, Olivia. I
know what it means to
you.”
“And that’s the problem,
Russell. We’re
neither of us willing to give up what
we’ve worked so hard to gain.”
She was
crying now, struggling to speak through her tears.
“I love you too much not to be with you if we
go on with this. I
won’t make a promise
to you that I’d come to hate you for even though you never
asked it of me. We
have to end this.”
“No.
I’ll be there on Saturday; we can’t do
this on the phone.”
“Russell, please! It’s
less painful this
way. It will hurt
both of us less if we
never see each other again. Please,
don’t come.” His
voice had gone hard.
“I’ll be there Saturday
morning. Please be
home, Olivia.” He
hung up before she could reply. She
didn’t call back; it would be of no use.
*
They stood less than a foot apart, looking at
each other. Tears
rolled silently down Olivia’s face and
Russell with tears in his own eyes realised again that she was the only
woman
he had ever known who could both cry silently as well as not have her
face turn
to a red, puffy mess. Was
there anything
about this woman that wasn’t elegant?
If
there was, he’d not found it, and Christ knew he’d
made more than ample
opportunities for that discovery.
One
large hand came up to stroke her face, his thumb gently wiping away the
tears
that traced down her face.
“Olivia.
Please, Love. Don’t
do this.” She
turned her face into his
hand and rubbed her cheek into his palm, her own hand coming up to
caress his.
“I have to, Russell.
I can’t do anything else.
Anything less will destroy both of us.”
How had they come to this sad state? Bloody Hell if he knew,
because they had both
tried so fucking hard to make it work.
They been so close, closer than he’d ever been
to a woman in his life,
and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that Olivia didn’t
know about him;
he felt certain the same was true for her.
So many confidences shared, hopes and dreams voiced and
worked toward,
and then the harsh realisation that no matter how much they wanted to
make it
work, the one obstacle they could not overcome was his life. They couldn’t
overcome the appalling talent
that had catapulted his career into the stratosphere and the firestorm
that had
been unleashed in March 2001 when that fucking golden statue had been
placed in
his hands.
He had been so sure that Olivia Aitkinson
was The One. Fuck
it all. She was
The One and would always be the one, the only one for him
and he knew that as surely as he knew he still had at least one more
breath to
take in this life. She
might think it
was over, but he swore to himself that it wasn’t; it would
never be over for
him where Olivia was concerned. Though
at this point in their lives she could no longer tolerate the
media’s
intrusion, he knew beyond any doubt that the world’s
fascination with him would
one day end. When
that day arrived, he
would seek her out, and he knew she would be there.
She would be waiting for him, whether or not
she realised it in this moment. Simply
stated, he would never give up on her or the possibility of a future
with her.
Russell’s hands touched her
shoulders, and
she shivered as if from the cold, though the late summer day was warm
enough. Her
tear-filled eyes closed as he pulled her
into his arms for the last time at this stage of their relationship. He believed he would see
her again, he had to
believe that if he was going to remain on his feet given the pain in
his
heart. He
couldn’t tuck her head under
his chin as she was too tall, and he smiled as she bent her head into
his
shoulder and her arms went round him.
She loved him every bit as desperately as he loved her. They were intended for
each other, and
somehow, someday, they would make it work.
When had he come to love her?
His mind went back over the last
two-and-a-half years, searching, trying to determine if there had been
a
precise moment when he knew that she had taken his heart, or if love
had simply
crept up on him, catching him unaware.
He suspected the latter, as his love for her seemed to
have been like a series
of sudden summer storms, the crashing of thunder and streaks of
lightening as
clouds moved intermittently across the sun before disappearing entirely
to leave
a shining day in their wake. Truthfully,
when Russell first met Olivia he had seen her as a challenge, another
woman to
get into his bed and to be enjoyed as thoroughly as possible, but it
hadn’t
worked out quite that way. He
had fallen
in love with her, deeply and irrevocably in love, and that was that.
Olivia’s thoughts raced through her
mind in
frenzy. She loved
this man with all her
heart, her soul, her complete being, yet she could no longer bear being
under
the public’s microscope.
She had correctly
anticipated what would happen in the immediate wake of his win the
preceding
year. What
she’d never anticipated was
that she would be drawn into the maelstrom with him.
Why did anyone care whom Russell loved or
did not love? What
had their relationship
to do with any other than the two of them?
They had been stalked and hounded at every turn, the
cameras of the
paparazzi ever-present. Olivia
was
surprised no one had succeeded in installing a camera in their bedroom. She remembered the frenzy
in New
York when she had
accompanied him to the set of A Beautiful Mind and earlier, in the
aftermath of their break-up over Meg and the subsequent rekindling of
their
relationship just before the Oscars.
The
headlines in the tabloid press were burnt into her brain like a wound
that
would not heal. “Crowe
Returns to His
English Rose.” His English Rose; she doubted she could ever look at another
rose without shuddering,
and roses had once been her favourite flower.
Would things have been different had she accompanied him
to the film set
in Ecuador,
if they’d not had that time apart and the hiatus in their
relationship?
*
His thoughts went back to their
reconciliation just before the Academy Awards.
He’d met her at the airport amidst flocks of
reporters and had jumped
over the barricade as soon as she’d emerged from the Customs
Hall. He’d
crushed her into his arms and kissed her
until she was breathless. She
had
protested because of the cameras and his response had been succinct. “Fuck them
all!” An
hour later, they were in the throes of
passion in his suite at the Beverly Wilshire.
Later that evening they had met their group from Gladiator for dinner.
Ridley, Connie,
Richard, Joaquin, Djimon, Rolf, all the friends they had been so close
to on the
set of Gladiator. It
had been as if the lot of
them had never been separated, and Connie didn’t miss the
opportunity to get
Olivia alone in the Ladies’ after dinner.
“I told you you’d be a
challenge he’d never
be able to resist.” Olivia
had quirked an
eyebrow at her friend, answering with an edge in her voice.
“He wasn’t able to resist
Meg,
either.” Connie
had snorted.
“He was bored, missing you terribly,
and
she offered herself up on a plate.
She
took advantage of his grief over the loss of his uncle, Olivia. Did he tell you that when
he got back to Ecuador
after the funeral she had moved herself into his suite in order to comfort him in his time of loss?”
Olivia’s eyes had widened as she looked at the
woman; typically for
Russell, he’d not told her of the mitigating circumstance
that might have
partially exonerated himself. “Honey,
there hasn’t been a man born who would resist a piece of ass
when it’s served
to him on a platter; you should know better than anyone what his sex
drive
is.” Yes,
Olivia was quite aware of
that.
Olivia’s mind returned to the present. She moved gently out of
his arms and stepped
away from him. Her
hand came out to
touch his face one last time before turning and walking away.
“I will always love you, Russell.”
She turned
and walked away; she didn’t look back.
He watched until she turned the corner round a building
and disappeared
from his sight. His
eyes were filmed
with tears and he ran his hands over his face, wiping them away. He walked to the corner
and hailed a passing
cab.
“Heathrow Airport;
no luggage.” He
took the first available
flight to Sydney;
it was a Cathay Pacific flight scheduled to depart at 1245. He’d left his
carry-on just inside the door
at Olivia’s after she’d refused to speak with him
there, agreeing to meet him
at Tower
Bridge
in an hour. He
arrived in Sydney
at 2005 hours after a 22-and-a-half
hour flight. He
checked into the nearest
hotel, called room service for a bottle, and got pissed. He didn’t
contact anyone to say he was home
and didn’t leave the room for three days.
Three months later Olivia was at the
market and saw the tabloids as she waited to make her purchases. “Crowe to Wed
Long-time Love Danielle
Spencer.” She
bit her lip and stayed on
line, paid the clerk and went home.
His
bag was still sitting just inside her door; she’d never moved
it. That was in
November of 2003. Just
over five months later Russell and the
long-time love were married in the chapel on his farm.
His son was born the following December.
Olivia smiled to herself; his mum now had her
wish fulfilled.
Olivia knew it to be foolish in the
extreme but did it anyway. She
bought a
baby gift for Charles Spencer Crowe.
It
was a sterling silver cup, and she’d had the
child’s name engraved on it.
She posted it along with a card wishing
Russell and his wife joy of their son and signed it with affection. One
week
later, she walked into her flat to the ringing of the phone. She picked it up.
“Thank you for the cup for Charlie. I appreciate the thought
more than you
know.” She
swallowed hard. It
had never remotely occurred to her that he
would call.
“You’re more than welcome,
Russell. I’m
so very happy for both of you.”
“I have to be in London
for several days next month. I’d
like to see you when I’m there.”
“I don’t think that would
be wise.”
“Fuck wise.
When have I ever been wise, Olivia?
I
want to see you.” His
voice still had
the power to bend her to his will.
“Call me when you arrive.” He did.
