From Russell With Love

Parkinson. I've always loved that show. The pure calibre of the
guests puts other chat hosts to shame. But tonight was extra special,
the Aussie perspective was somewhat unnerving true. Kylie Minogue could
barely formulate a sentence and I didn't even hang around to watch the
last guest. But on the upside there was Russell Crowe.

That man is pure sex. It just hit me as I watched the programme with
the kind of detached voyeurism this country seems to be marketing these
days. My mind started to wander. A consequence of too little sleep and
too much imagination, I began to consider what meeting him would be
like. Would I be tongue tied and bashful? Probably. But in keeping with
the Hollywood theme I decided to step outside my typecast frame and
become a different character, as only a truly gifted fiction could
allow.

I've never been one for shallow fantasies. For me the thrill comes from
the storyline. Complex and unexpected, still somewhat possible in a
sort of Notting Hill extremely improbable way.

Okay, so how? I started to imagine a kind of modernish, Italian
restaurant. Upmarket but not elitist. With subtle lighting and lots of
leafy indoor plant life. I was sitting at a table with some friends I
haven't seen for a while enjoying a meal. Celebrating?something?not
important. There were about 6 of us, laughing and joking. Our table was
near the back with one side against a pillar and the other cushioned
next to a little sectioned off area made of plywood slats. Down one
side of this was a sort of makeshift alleyway from the kitchens used by
hurrying catering staff and the occasional lost toilet
adventurer.

We were making nonsensical, slightly inebriated chitchat about God
knows what when the topic of movie stars floated out. Natasha, my good
friend Jason's psychopathic girlfriend, piped up,

"Russell Crowe, now there's sex God"

"Blokes an idiot" mumbled Jason glaring at Nat for daring to suggest
that anyone better looking than him could possibly be desirable.

The obvious argument ensued, I won't bore you with the details, but the
upshot was Natasha asking me for corroboration. Pissed by now, and
feeling extremely suave and intelligent, I said in a clear, resonating
voice,

" Well, as I've never met Russell Crowe I can hardly speak about his
personality, but he's a damn good actor, I watched his Parkinson
interview and he certainly came across as my type of man" Quite a good
speech considering that I was battling with nausea and an equally
desperate need to visit the ladies. Unfortunately spoilt by,

"Besides he's drop dead bloody gorgeous" and the inevitable, highly
cringe worthy set of giggles.
"Well you can't have him, he's mine!" Natasha doubled her fists in mock
fighting stance.

"Wait, you'll see" I returned knowingly "He'll find me eventually. Any
minute now and he'll pop out and shout surprise. I bet if I go over
there" I pointed to the mock alley way "He'll be waiting for me"

A sound of a choked off snort of laughter came from behind the
makeshift screen, quickly smothered. Far too far gone to notice such
subtleties, however I wobbled ungraciously to my feet and lurched to
the top of the alleyway.

"What's that Russell?" I asked the empty air just out of sight from the
table.

"Dinner you say? Well alright, you know I can't stand to watch you beg,
but no funny business okay? I'm not that kind of girl"

A quick pirouette which nearly floored me and I watched my friends
dissolve into laughter at my antics. Sketching a brief, dangerous bow,
giggling helplessly I almost missed the deep, sexy masculine voice that
was unable to resist the joke, and the tall, even sexier in real life,
international celebrity body which it belonged to, that had stepped out
from behind the sectioned off area directly behind me.

"Thanks darling I promise I'll behave this time"

In the flesh. It was Russell Crowe.

I'd never sobered up so fast in my entire life. But did I stammer and
blush? Did I hell. This is my screenplay and I'm its undoubted
star.

Quick as a flash, and undoubtedly more gracefully than before, I turned
around and answered,

"What can I say; you've finally worn me down"

He laughed, a deep belly laugh that couldn't be forced. Grinning he
offered his hand,

"Table for two?"

I put my hand in his and followed him behind the alleyway into the
private dining area.

I'm a little hazy about the details of this meal, getting to know
questions and the like. And as I have no idea if Russell Crowe is
married or has children ( though not in this story he doesn't) I'll
skip over this part. He was charming of course and I was intelligent
and articulate and extremely witty, so naturally he couldn't help but
become completely fascinated by my charms.

Skip to the next morning. I'm woken up alone in my hotel room by the
telephone. Groggily rubbing my eyes, I answer it with a typical morning
grunt.

"You're beautiful when you're sleepy" a teasing voice murmurs through
the earpiece and a shiver wanders down my spine.

He asks me out for lunch. He has only four more days in London before
he needs to fly across the Atlantic. He wants to spend them with me.
Elation.

Selflessly consenting to show him a city I have practically no
knowledge of, I blow off all my plans for the next four days.

It's a magical time. Picture cut scenes from Pretty Woman. A West End
show, a picnic in a park (what park?) romantic candlelit dinners and
the slushy view of two people falling for each other.

Cut to The Last Night. After a fantastic evening, walking hand in hand
beside the Thames, and, oh I don't know, a trip on the London Eye or
something, we get back to his hotel for a cosy, room service meal and
the movie style, utterly impractical, not to mention far to un messy,
lovemaking scene. Its earth shattering and yet ironically peaceful as
only an overworked imagination can draw it.

Night falls. Replete and intimate we fall asleep. A strange sensation
of panic attached to a dream wakes me some hours later and I creep
across to the window and stare out at shadowy London.

I realise then that this can't be possible. It would never work.
Russell Crowe?..RUSSEL CROWE?. and me. This wasn't a love affair, I
could see it now. It was a seduction. A rich and famous man's way of
passing four boring days in a cold city. He didn't love me. He was,
after all, a consummate actor. I felt the cold chill of dread creep up
my spine at the thought of the inevitable humiliating scene that would
came when it was time for him to leave. I shivered.

"You're cold. Come back to bed babe"

Bastard. He sounded so sincere. A wistful longing fluttered in my
belly. I looked over my shoulder at the beautiful naked man lying on
that king sized bed.

"I was just thinking?." I trailed off.

"What?" he murmured teasingly as he moved to his knees, reaching for
me.

I lay back into his arms.

"I was just thinking what a pleasant fantasy this is"

He did a double take, a frown marring his brow.

"Fantasy?"

For a moment I recklessly considered confronting him with the truth,
but I couldn't spoil the moment. I'll play on the fantasy I thought,
just for tonight. No humiliating scenes though, tomorrow I'll leave
before he wakes up.

"Intelligent, witty, a fantastic lover and as gorgeous as hell" I
murmured "The Man of my Dreams. I feel like I'm in bed with James
Bond"

Placated, he grinned sleepily and pulled me back down under the
covers.

??????????????????????????????????..

Three months passed. I hadn't mentioned any of this to my friends or
family. The ones who'd been with me in that restaurant were still under
the impression I had wandered away pissed with a phantom Russell Crowe
and got a cab home. Sitting at home in my flat with my flatmate,
Michael, that time all seemed a world away somehow.

Nothing much had been on the box all evening, we were sitting and
channel hoping. Mugs of tea in our hands we were curled up on the sofas
when Mike stopped on BBC1 and Johnny Vaughan's latest chat show.

I started flicking through the TV guide uninterested, when Mike
suddenly said,

"Hey! It's Gladiator" and my heart skipped.

I'd seen him of course. On TV, magazines, posters and billboards,
couldn't avoid it really, but I hadn't heard his voice. Still so sexy,
answering the quick, irrelevant questions from Britain's most loved
comic host.

I could tell they were getting on like a house on fire. Of course.
Johnny Vaughan's laddish humour would appeal to him I thought
darkly.

"And what about women, Russell?" Johnny was asking from the studio
set.

"Now, you've been linked to several main names in Hollywood, such as
the lovely Nicole Kidman, but you remain publicly single. Is this true
or is there a lady out there with Crowe name badges just waiting to be
sown into her knickers?"

"No I'm still a single man, Johnny"

"You hear that girls" Johnny says aside to his audience "he's still
available"

The whooping and catcalling from the TV had me grimacing with a brief
stab of pain.

"So no action in your busy schedule then Russell, no tussling in the
hay with those farm girls back on El Rancho?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that" That sexy Australian drawl murmured

"Oh? What's this? Some juicy gossip I can scoop. Yes! Johnny Vaughan
has his fingers on the pulse of celebrity life once again"

"There was a girl?"

"A chick?"

Laughing "Yeh?. A chick. We met a few months ago in London, when I was
last over here promoting, in the bizarrest way imaginable, I ?uh? won't
bore you with the details."

"Oh?by all means bore us"

"Nah it doesn't matter. Any way we had the most incredible four
days?.and four nights" winks "in London before I had to go back to the
States and I thought I'd finally met the one, you know? The perfect
woman of my dreams.

"So what happened? Where is this delectable beauty?"

He shrugged "Went to get breakfast at a local bakery the last morning
and when I got back she'd gone"

"Gone? What?as in left?" Johnny asked, surprised

Russell nodded grinning sheepishly

"Vanished actually. You see I hadn't gotten around to the whole, where
do you live, what's your number deal and I had no bloody way of tracing
her. Haven't seen her since"

"Really? Johnny Vaughan seemed fascinated "Marvellous!"

Russell shrugged again, "Well that's life, you know?"

"What ?and she's British?" A nod of confirmation "Well you know this
show goes out on primetime BBC1, she might be watching.

I held my breath as Russell looked suddenly intent. He gestured toward
one of the cameras questioningly and then leaned in, arms braced on his
knees.

"Vicky. I know now why you said you felt like you were in bed with
James Bond. I wasn't using you?.so I guess you were using me. I'd just
like to say thanks for the experience babe,but I think I'll stick to
good old fashioned home grown Aussie girls. They suit me a helluva lot
better."

"Nice!" congratulated Vaughan and let out an exaggerated breath, "Whoo,
Hot Stuff!"

The program went to an ad break, but I couldn't bear any more.

Michael turned to me with a grin and made a quip, "Careful Vic, Russell
Crowe's mad at you"

"Yeh" I said sarcastically, as he expected "I broke Russell Crowe's
heart" and made him laugh. I wandered shakily into my room and burst
into tears.

??????????????????????????????????

DISCLAIMER:
To prevent any law suits I would just like to state that this is a
complete work of fiction, with the obvious exception of the celebrity
names. THIS DID NOT HAPPEN?unfortunately.