by
Arianne
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.
Day Six –
Thursday, Four O’clock in the Morning
Olivia
had been awakened at four by the wake-up request she’d left
before going to
bed, and was showered, shampooed, hair dried, and dressed by five
minutes to
five. She rather
had the notion that
Crowe would be knocking her up by five at the latest, and promptly on
the dot
of five there was a tap at the door.
She
put down the cup of tea from the room service tray that had arrived at
half-four,
and walked to the door opening it to find the man in question standing
there in
sweats and smiling at her.
“G’day! Rest well?”
“Yes,
as a matter of fact, I did. Even
managed
to get up on my own without your being here to wake me.” He grinned wryly at her.
“Just
my bloody luck!”
“Is
Connie up yet, or do you know?”
“Just. I gave her a call on my
way out the door, and
she was getting herself out of bed.
We’ll have a bit of a wait.
She
said she’d be at least an hour.
Something about staying up until three this morning
rehearsing her lines
so she’d have them the way you and Ridley wanted them. That means we have time
for brekkie. Want
to join me downstairs?”
She nodded and picked up her handbag which
Crowe promptly took off her shoulder and placed it on the table in the
small
foyer. “You
don’t need that now you’re
staying here. DreamWorks
is paying the
fare, remember?”
“So
they are. Well
then, let’s go!”
He offered her his arm, and they walked to
the lift; he pressed the button twice, grinning at her as he did. She laughed and shook her
head at him. He let
go her arm as they entered the empty
lift but somehow by the time they reached the lobby, his hand was
holding hers
firmly. He gave her
fingers a quick
squeeze, then let go as soon as the doors began to open. He stood aside for her to
precede him into the
lobby and on toward the Grill Room.
Olivia had anticipated Crowe’s being denied
entry as he was dressed so
informally, but the maítre
d'
merely
raised an eyebrow and ushered them promptly to a table; apparently they
were
accustomed to his state of disarray and made allowances. A waiter brought them
water and waited as
they decided on tea or coffee and gave them menus.
They perused the menus and were ready when
the waiter reappeared. Crowe
allowed
Olivia to place her own meal order this time, then followed suit after
she’d
ordered Eggs Benedict. She
blinked as
she listened to his order, wondering where he planned on putting all of
it and
wondering if staying stuffed to the gills actually did serve to
suppress his
sex drive.
The
meal came, and Olivia watched in fascination as Crowe worked his way
through
rashers and sausages, eggs, toast, pancakes, and an order of Eggs
Benedict. The man
ate as if starving,
and she knew that not to be the case; after all, she’d had
dinner with him the
night before, and he’d eaten more than well then. As they sipped more coffee
after finishing
their meals, she could stand it no longer.
“Crowe?”
“Yes?”
“Forgive
me for asking so rude a question, but where in the name of all
that’s Holy did
you put all that food?”
He grinned at
her, leant back, and patted his belly as he did.
“Right
here, Love. I’m
doing battle scenes all
fucking day today; I’ll work off every bite of brekkie this
morning. By noon
I’ll be hungry enough to eat a horse
and chase the jockey.” He
looked at his
watch, frowned, pulled it off and stuck it into his pocket. “If Connie
isn’t at the front door fed or
not, I’m leaving in ten minutes.
I have
to be on set at 7:15. You
want to ride
out with me, or wait for her?”
Olivia
dithered for a moment before answering.
“Let
me give her a bell and see if she wants me to wait for her.” Olivia walked out of the
Grill Room and
toward the house phones in the lobby as Crowe settled the bill. By the time he joined her
in the lobby she
had completed the call and was on her way to the lifts.
“She’s
feeling under the weather and has already spoken to Ridley. She’ll be out in
a couple of hours, so if you
don’t object I’ll ride with you.
I just
need to get my coat and briefcase.”
He
nodded and followed her into the lift.
“Crowe,
why do you wear your watch first thing in the morning, then remove
it?”
“The
Romans didn’t have watches, and I’ve not been able
to find a sundial that
straps on my arm. I
take it off so the
marks can fade.” He
called over his
shoulder as he walked toward his suite.
“You’ve
got five minutes. Don’t
keep me
waiting.”
“I
won’t.” She
was down the hall and into
her suite, ran to the loo, washed her hands, and grabbed her coat and
case, shrugging
into the coat as she hurried toward the lift to find him already there
and
holding the car. He
smiled at her.
“We’re
off!” Forty-five
minutes later they
pulled into the car park in Bourne Woods.
Day Six – Thursday, Seven
O’clock in the Morning
As
Olivia still didn’t have a key to Connie’s caravan,
she went with Crowe to
his. Once inside,
he removed his key
from his chain and gave it to her.
“There’s
no need for you to be on set in the cold all day.
Stay here until you’re ready to come out;
keep the key until we finish the sequencing this morning so that you
can lock
up if you decide to come out and watch.”
She tried not to accept it, not feeling entirely
comfortable with the
implication of having the key to his caravan in her possession. He cut off her argument
abruptly.
“Olivia,
I don’t have time to discuss it with you now.
Just take the bloody key so I don’t have to
worry about you freezing
your bum off out in the cold. I’ll
find
you when I need it, or get one of the maintenance crew to let me
in.” With
that he was out the door, jogging down
the path toward the make-up and costumer’s caravans. She stood at the door and
watched him go
before retreating into the warmth of the caravan.
Poking about in the small kitchen, she
located the coffee and brewed a pot and poured herself a cup. As she sipped, she decided
to take Crowe a
cup to drink as he waited to be called into action.
She’d noted how he drank it at breakfast and
fixed it in a tall, insulated mug.
Pouring the remains of her own cup into a second mug and
topping it off,
she put on her coat, muffler, and gloves after slipping his key into
the pocket
of her slacks, picked up the mugs, and was out the door, taking care
this time
to ensure the lock was engaged.
By
the time Olivia got to the set, Crowe was standing there in the red
woollen
tunic and leggings as one of the costumers strapped the lorica and
greaves onto
him. She walked
straight up to him and
held out the steaming mug. He
looked at
her in surprise, and she smiled somehow pleased to have caught him off
guard.
“Coffee. I thought you might need
warming up a bit
before you start swinging your sword.
Wouldn’t want you to get your arm lopped off
because you were stiff with
cold.” His
smile was as genuine as the
sun creeping slowly over the horizon.
“Thanks,
Love. I’m
freezing my arse off, and this
skirt isn’t doing a bloody thing toward keeping it
warm.” He
gulped and smiled. “Just
the way I like it. Keep
this up, and I’ll have to take you to
dinner in payment.” Olivia
flushed and took
a peek round but saw nothing to indicate anyone present knew he had
done so the
night before. When
her gaze moved back
to him, Crowe winked so quickly that she thought she might have
imagined it;
his smile told her not.
Once
Crowe was buckled into his regimental uniform, the unpleasant part of
readying
him for the cameras began. Although
his
base make-up had already been applied, two make-up assistants were
standing by
and at Ridley’s nod, moved in and began daubing on what
appeared to be
mud. It went onto
his uniform, the
armour, his hands, and not to be missed, his face.
Olivia almost laughed aloud at the way Crowe
screwed up his face each time one of the make-up artists moved in with
the
mud-caked sponge. She
moved toward Ridley.
“Is
that really mud they’re putting on his
face, or is it cosmetics?”
Ridley grinned at her.
“It’s
real mud. Nothing
else looks quite like
it and certainly doesn’t flake off as it dries as mud
does.” Ridley
stroked his beard and smiled. “He
hates this bit.”
“I
should imagine he would. How
long does
he have to go about with mud dripping off him?”
“As
long as it takes to get the shots we need; likely, most of the day as
there are
multiple retakes in battle scenes.
He’s
scheduled to almost get his head whacked off this morning.” Olivia’s eyes
widened, and Ridley laughed.
“Not
to worry. I’m
not about to let anyone
kill him. I will
warn you he’s going to
get grumpier as the day wears on, and the mud flakes off and has to be
reapplied, not to mention as he gets colder.
You might want to stay well away from him.” That seemed good advice
but with Crowe’s
caravan key in her pocket, that wasn’t likely to happen. She could only imagine the
explosion if he
wanted to get into his caravan and couldn’t locate her and
was forced to wait outdoors
in the cold for maintenance to arrive.
She vowed to speak to Connie today about that extra key to
her caravan
and return Crowe’s at the earliest possible moment. Olivia looked at her
watch; it was already
half-ten, and she’d not seen any sign of Connie. Ridley’s phone
rang.
“Ridley
here. I see. Yes.
If you’re running a temperature, it’s
best you stay there rather than
coming down here and spreading it round to everyone.
I don’t need the entire crew sickening. I’ll have Olivia
check with you when she comes
in.” He
snapped the phone shut. “That
was Connie. She’s
running a temperature, and the hotel
doctor thinks it best she stay in today.
She’ll need to go over her lines tonight for her
scenes tomorrow. Check
in with her when you get back to the
hotel, would you?”
“Of
course.” Wonderful. There went any hope
she’d harboured of
staying out of Crowe’s reach for the day by ducking into
Connie’s caravan. Ridley’s
attention was back on the set, and
he stepped forward to speak to his actor.
It was a brief encounter topped off by a huge frown from
Crowe whose
voice carried to where she was standing.
“Bloody
Hell, Ridley, can’t we just get on with it?
I’m mud up to my eyes, and that’s
enough! Let’s
do this fucking scene so we can get
indoors and out of the fucking cold!”
His glance shot Olivia’s direction and softened
for a tic before his
scowl returned full force. Ridley
nodded
and stepped back.
“All
right, then. Action. Roll it!”
Before Olivia could absorb what was happening, Crowe
whirled about with
sword in hand, pivoting and striking a shattering blow to the arm of an
extra
who promptly screamed and fell. Olivia
wasn’t at all sure the man had been acting with that scream. Crowe turned to the next
barbarian and
promptly dispatched him and executed a perfect pirouette as
one of his own
troops backed into him. Crowe
spun
about, his arm with the sword coming up for a lethal blow, recognised
his ‘man,’
and smiled before turning to the next enemy.
The scene had taken less than ten seconds, and to her
untrained eyes it seemed
perfect. It
wasn’t. It
was re-shot nine times before Ridley was
satisfied, and a more than grumpy Crowe stalked out of camera range and
came to
stand beside her, digging for a non-existent pocket in search of his
cigarettes, swearing vehemently when there was no pocket and worse, no
cigarettes. She
reached under her coat
and pulled out her own pack and extended it to him.
He took it, shook one out, and leant into her
hands as she struck her lighter. He
inhaled deeply, exhaled the smoke skyward.
“Thanks,
Love. I’ve
been wanting that ever since
Ridley called ‘action.’”
“Do
you have a break now?”
“I’d
bloody well better. My
knackers are near
to frozen off from the cold!”
Ridley
walked over to them and stopped.
“Shall
we break until two-thirty? It’s
almost
one now.”
“Christ,
yes. I’m
for a hot shower and some
tucker.” Ridley
shook his head.
“No
shower, Russell, unless you want to start all over with the
mud.”
“Fuck! All right, all right, but
I’m having lunch in
my caravan. It’s
too fucking cold in the
craft enclosure, and I’m wet to the skin.
Olivia? Feel
like lunching with a
very wet, very cold, and at present, very grumpy general? You can read my lines for
the afternoon with
me.” Ridley
smiled hopefully and walked
away; she noticed that everyone else seemed to sort of disappear as
well,
leaving her alone with Crowe.
“Umm,
well, I suppose. Do
we need to go by the
craft enclosure and collect our meal or order take out or
what?”
“We’ll
order in. That’s
what cell phones are
for.” He
tugged her with him toward the
path leading back to his caravan.
When
they arrived he nudged her up the steps in front of him and stood
waiting
patiently as she dug in her pocket for the key, unlocked the door, and
stepped
inside with him following her. In
spite
of her usual reluctance to leave the thermostat up (fuel oil was so
dear in England)
she’d done so earlier when she left the caravan; after all,
it wasn’t going on
her tab, now was it? Crowe
closed the
door and leant against it.
“Feels
like Heaven in here. Any
of that coffee
left from what you brought out this morning?”
She nodded. She’d
shut off the
pot but could microwave a cup for him and start a fresh pot. “Thank Christ. I’m going to get
out of this wet gear. If
it’s not too much trouble, could you pour
up a cup and heat it, please?”
Olivia
nodded again, and he disappeared into the bedroom.
She
poured up the coffee still in the pot, fixed it as he liked, and popped
it into
the microwave, then washed the pot and started a fresh one. The bell dinged on the
microwave just as he
opened the door to the bedroom and popped his head out.
“Did
I hear the microwave go off?”
“Yes,
and I’ve started a fresh pot.
You can
have fresh in about five minutes, if you prefer.”
“Could
you bring me the cup that’s hot now before my mum’s
last hope for another
grandchild dies with a whimper?”
She laughed
as she picked up the cup and started toward the bedroom, the door of
which he
had left open. He
heard her come in and
called from the bath. “Just
put it there
on the dresser.” She
did, making the
mistake as she left of turning toward the bathroom with the intention
of asking
a question rather than back the direction from which she had approached
the
dresser. She was
facing the bathroom as
he threw the door wide and stepped out; he was nude but for a towel
hanging
precariously from his hips, though the skin exposed by his costume was
still
caked in mud. He’d
obviously at least
given himself a rubdown as he got out of his wet costume. Olivia flushed to the
roots of her hair and
tripped over his lorica where it lay on the floor in her haste to get
out of
the room. She’d
completely forgotten her
question. Crowe
caught her hand as she
made for the door.
“Olivia,
wait.” She
froze. “Thanks,
Love.” He
picked up the coffee cup and downed a deep
swallow, then leant over and kissed her on the cheek before letting go
her
hand. She stumbled
out of the room and
back to the kitchen so embarrassed she thought she would die. She was in the kitchen
taking deep breaths
when he strode in only moments later, now dressed in a sweat suit and
sank heavily
into the couch. He
propped his feet on
the low table in front of the couch and drained his cup before looking
over to
where she stood in the kitchen.
“So,
what do you fancy for lunch?”
His cell
phone was in his hand. She
poured
herself a cup of coffee, wishing that she had a handy bottle of whiskey
so that
she could add a bit to the cup. It
wasn’t as if she’d never before seen a man in a
state of semi-undress, but
she’d not seen Crowe before in that state and she
didn’t know him nearly well
enough to be comfortable with it.
He, on
the other hand, seemed completely at ease.
She was still working at regaining her composure.
“Whatever
you like will be fine for me. Would
you
like fresh coffee?” He
was already on
the phone ordering their lunch and stood whilst still talking, coming
to the
kitchen and getting another cup himself.
He snapped the phone shut.
She
flushed anew under his scrutiny, and he stepped back, obviously
realising that
something was wrong.
“What
is it, Olivia?” She
ran her hand over
the counter hoping to avoid responding.
Suddenly it all seemed so silly and girlish of her. He’d not meant
anything by it. He
was an actor for pity’s sake and likely
accustomed to having all manner of people about when he was virtually
naked. Well,
perhaps he was accustomed to it,
but she wasn’t. She
felt his eyes on her
and then his hand was under her chin, cupping her face slightly and
raising it
to his own.
“What
is it?”
“I’m
sorry for having walked in on you earlier.
I didn’t realise you weren’t
dressed.”
“What’s
this? An attack of
maidenly
shyness? For
Christ’s sake, Olivia, I
wasn’t in the nuddy, and I’d asked you to bring the
coffee.” He
fixed a keen gaze on her, his eyes
narrowing. “Wait. This isn’t about
your thinking you’ve
embarrassed me, is it? This
is about your being
embarrassed.” She
nodded once and looked out the small
kitchen window toward the woods. He
shook his head and then laughed softly, pulling her into his arms as he
did. She stood
there, rather sort of
paralysed and could feel his voice rumble in his chest when he spoke
again. One of his
hands came up and
stroked her back as one might do when trying to soothe a frightened
kitten
before releasing her and stepping back.
“Olivia,
I didn’t intend embarrassing you.
I
didn’t think about it. This
business. Christ,
Olivia, you get
accustomed to having people about when you’re in every
possible state of dress
or undress, and though you may not enjoy it, you learn quickly not to
dwell on
it. As far as most
are concerned I’m
just another slab of meat, a talented slab
of meat I’ll admit, but still just a slab of meat.” She hazarded a sideways
glance at him, and he
was smiling, taking the piss and trying to put her at ease.
“Talented,
is it?” He
grinned at her and
shrugged.
“I
rather think so.” She
gave up and
succumbed to his charm.
“Well,
I suppose you should do. You
are, you
know. And now
I’ve said that, your ego
will likely swell to even more monumental proportions.” He smiled boyishly and
then laughed. It
was that giggle again, and she was
actually becoming rather fond of it now she’d heard it a few
times. He shook his
head at her and picked up his
coffee cup with one hand and tugged at her hand with the other.
“Come
on now. Sit with me
and give us a
cuddle. I’m
still half frozen, and it
will be at least another ten minutes before lunch gets here.” She let him lead her to
the couch; his arm rested
comfortably round her shoulders as he nattered away.
They were discussing the morning’s scenes
and working their way round to the ones to be done that afternoon when
lunch
arrived.
Day Six – Thursday, Six-thirty in the
Evening
His
car pulled up in the drive at the Dorchester;
the doorman handed Olivia out and Crowe followed her.
They stood waiting for the lift to arrive.
“Do
you feel up to dinner tonight, or are you too tired?” His face was lined with
fatigue, but his eyes
were bright.
“Thank
you, but no. Not
tonight. I need to
check on Connie and go over the lines
with her for tomorrow. I’ll
have
something sent up to my room later.
I’m
tired, and you look completely done in.
You could do with an early night, I suspect.” Dinner with him two nights
in a row was
definitely not on her agenda, and she doubted it would be in the near
future. He frowned
slightly but let it
go. The door to the
lift opened and he
walked her to her door.
“All
right. If you
can’t sleep, give me a
call. I’ll
likely be up until
late.” She
nodded as she opened the door
to her suite and stepped inside, stopping when she heard him call to
her.
“Olivia?” She stepped back into the
hallway.
“Yes,
Crowe?”
“Thanks
again for the coffee.” She
stood and
watched until he got to his room, waved, and entered his suite. She closed the door and
leant against it,
taking a deep breath, and realised her hands were shaking. Irrespective of her
reservations regarding
dinner, what she had wanted to do was to drag him inside with her, kiss
him
silly, and shove him into her shower, follow him, and spend the next
hour
scrubbing the mud off him. That
was for
starters. She
stopped that notion in its
tracks; the very idea made her body flush with heat.
He was dangerous, and she knew it.
What made it even worse was the fact that she
was getting to like him and never mind the reality that she had managed
to fall
in lust with the man. It
occurred to her
with a bit of a jolt that she’d not once thought of working
on her book this
week. There was too
much happening on
the set to think of it, and off-set she was more focused on Crowe the
man than
she cared to acknowledge.
Olivia
walked to the bar and poured herself a stiff drink before sitting and
ringing
Connie’s suite. The
maid answered and
said that Ms. Nielsen had completely lost her voice and asked that she
be
excused for the evening. The
maid had
already left a message for Mr. Scott advising that Ms. Nielsen
wouldn’t be on
the set tomorrow either and wished Ms. Aitkinson a good evening. Olivia sighed and hung up
the phone and
walked to the window overlooking the street below.
She wanted nothing more than to call Crowe
and ask if his offer of dinner was still open, but that would be most
ill
advised. Walking
through to the bath,
she opened on the taps of the large tub, adjusted the temperature, and
let the bath
begin to fill. She
undressed, shut off
the water, and stepped into the tub, placing her glass on the floor
beside
it. A good, long
soak was just what she
needed. She rested
her head on the back
of the tub and let her thoughts wander.
Unfortunately, they went immediately to Crowe. She started so suddenly
that she splashed
water out and onto the floor. She
finished
her bath with haste and stepped out, dried off, and pulled on one of
the huge,
fluffy robes the hotel staff left hanging on the door before walking
back to
the lounge room and sat on the couch, picked up the remote, and turned
on the
telly.
The
news was on, and she let it play, walked to the desk, and pulled the
room
service menu from the drawer. Deciding
on soup and a sandwich, she called room service and ordered and was
told that
her meal would be up in 45 minutes to an hour.
She poured herself another drink, still lost in thought. The man was getting to
her, and what was
worse, she didn’t think he was even trying.
She mentally castigated herself for being weak and thought
it had been
far too long since she’d last had sex.
That was the only possible reason she could think of for
not being able
to get him out of her head. She
laughed
to herself. Too bad
that the bellman
wouldn’t have a listing of call men, as
he undoubtedly did for call girls.
Well, she reasoned, possibly he did
have such a list. Still
she wasn’t that
desperate, and she simply could not imagine herself being reduced to
paying for
it as the saying went, at least not as long as she still had her single
woman’s
best friend.
She
felt the familiar twitch between her thighs and the actual physical
longing
that accompanied having been without a man in her bed for far too long. She tried to ignore both. Ten minutes later she was
even more
frustrated and sighed in resignation.
Getting to her feet, she went to the bedroom and opened
her case which
was on the stand in the closet. There
were a couple of things in it she’d not unpacked, one of
which was a small,
zippered, black vinyl envelope. She
picked it up and walked to the bed, loosening the tie on her bathrobe
as she
did. Sitting on the
bed, she unzipped
the case and considered the contents for a moment before smiling
ruefully. Taking
the device out, she flipped the little
switch on the side. Yes,
the batteries
were still charged; she flipped the switch back to the off position. If she were to be round
Crowe for very long,
she would likely wear these down, and made a mental note to pick up
more over
the weekend. She
was only just beginning
to actually like the man, but she couldn’t ignore his
sexuality, and she was
far from immune to it. She
laid the
device on the bed.
Olivia
lay back on the bed, opening the robe and letting it fall to her sides. She stroked her breasts,
pinching the nipples
lightly, and felt them bloom and harden into peaks.
Running her hands down her body, she caressed
it as a lover might, imagining the face of the man she was technically
still
seeing, though they’d not actually been together in almost
two months. He
wasn’t the best lover she’d ever had, but
he had stamina and was more than willing to stay the course until she
was
satisfied. Such men
were difficult to
find, as it seemed most were interested only in their own satisfaction
and
having attained that, too often rolled off and went to sleep
immediately. She’d
known her fair share of that sort, as
well.
She
stroked between her legs, finding and rubbing her fingers over her
little
button, feeling the almost immediate languor and pleasure that brought. She reached to her side
and retrieved the
device, flicked on the batteries, and began stroking it between her
legs, over
her vulva, teasing herself as a lover might.
When she could stand it no more, she applied it to her
button, moving it
slowly back and forth, allowing the vibration to do the rest. Within minutes she was
writhing and panting. When
her orgasm struck, it was hard and
sudden, causing her to cry out loudly.
It
was Crowe’s face she saw and his body she imagined with her
in her lonely
bed. She was
usually rather quiet during
sex, and couldn’t fathom what precipitated her sudden
vocalisation. Almost
immediately, she heard a knock on the
door to her suite and froze. Room
service. She tossed
the device onto the
bed, jumped up, and belted the robe round her waist, ran her hands
through her
dishevelled hair and pulling the bedroom door open, almost sprinted to
the main
door and threw it wide, still breathing hard and feeling the flush on
her face
and upper body. It
wasn’t room service.
“Crowe!” He was standing there in
clean sweats, his
hair still damp from his shower. Olivia
struggled to control her breathing, knowing that her voice sounded
harsh. He raised an
eyebrow at her and walked in
without having been invited.
“Are
you all right, Olivia? I
thought I heard
a cry just before I knocked.”
He looked
hard at her. “Love,
you’re all
flushed. Are you
coming down with a
fever?” Before
she could back away, his
hand came up to her reddened cheek and he laid his palm on her face. “You’re
hot, too. Are you
ill?
Have you caught whatever Connie’s got?”
God, what an absolutely horrid moment for him to have
appeared!
“Um,
no, not at all. I,
uh, I just got out of
a hot bath and haven’t cooled down yet.”
She was backing away from him but without realising it,
she was backing
toward the open door of her bedroom.
He
followed her. Then
he sniffed, both
eyebrows shot skyward, and he grinned.
“Sure
you have. Looks to
me as if you’ve been
petting the pussy, Olivia.”
She almost
died. He stepped
round her and through the
open doorway of the bedroom. The
device
was in plain sight on her bed, and the air in the room was redolent
with the
odour of female sexuality. In
point of
fact, she’d contemplated petting the pussy again and would
have done, had his
knock not roused her from her reverie.
Now taking in her flushed and untidy appearance, the
bathrobe, the
device in plain sight on the bed and the accompanying odour,
he’d caught her
out. If the gates
of Hell had yawned
open before her, she’d gladly have stepped through them for
all eternity if it
would mean escaping what was surely her lot now.
“I
was doing no such thing! It’s
just that
you’ve …,” and he
interrupted her
before she could finish.
“Olivia,
don’t be silly. It’s
perfectly obvious
what you were doing.” He
nodded toward
the bed then placed an arm round her waist and steered her back toward
the
lounge, plopped her on the couch, sitting companionably beside her. By that time, she was so
flushed she could
feel the heat radiating off her in waves, and so embarrassed that she
was near
to tears. Of all
the men in the world to
have caught her, why did it have to
be HIM? She’d
never live this down and
couldn’t imagine how she was to face him from this point
forward. She would
have to resign first thing
tomorrow, making whatever poor excuse she could devise in order to get
Ridley
to let her out of her contract. She
was rigid
and unspeaking until she realised one of his large hands was resting on
her
thigh. She closed
her eyes willing the
tears not to fall and then felt the hand move, coming to rest just
beneath her
jaw.
“Olivia.” His voice was soft with no
hint of
derision. “Open
your eyes, Love. Look
at me.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath, opened them, and
dragged them up to
his face.
“Olivia,
never apologise for being human, for being a woman who has needs. I wouldn’t give
you five dollars for a woman
who ignored the demands of her body and was ashamed to meet them,
because she
wouldn’t be much of a woman in my estimation.
I’ve known more than my share of feminine
shells, and believe me when I
tell you they have nothing to offer, not to themselves and not to
anyone
else.”
His
empathy, for that’s clearly what it was, proved more than she
could bear, and
she burst into tears. The
next thing she
knew she was in his lap. He
must have
pulled her into it as she’d never have moved there herself,
and one arm was
holding her close to his chest as the other stroked comfortingly up and
down
her back. When she
at last finished
crying, he reached for tissues from the box on the side table and
handed her
one.
“Blow.” She did, then crumpled the
tissue and stuffed
it into the pocket of her robe. “Better
now?” She
snuffled.
“A
bit, I suppose.”
“Good. Now, get off my lap before
I’m tempted to
help you solve your problem in a manner far more satisfactory for both
of us.” She
scrambled off his lap, taking the fresh
tissue he offered and blotting her face.
He was sitting with one arm draped along the back of the
couch and
watching her.
“I
promise you, Olivia, this will go no father unless you choose to tell
it. I would never
embarrass you by discussing
something so private. Mind
you, that
isn’t to say I won’t
occasionally take the piss when we’re alone.” A smug small smile played
at his lips. She
felt a tremulous smile tugging at the
corners of her mouth and couldn’t help herself.
She was amazed and finally giggled, shaking her head as
she did. The man
was too charming and too
understanding by half.
“God,
Crowe. No
one’s caught me out at that
since my mum when I was about 13-years-old, and I heard about my
transgression
for the next five years.”
He shrugged
and ducked his head.
“Well,
mums are like that, I suppose. Mine
caught me when I was eight. She
didn’t
shout at me, but it might have been better if she had.
By the time she’d done with me I was
convinced that I’d grow hair on the palms of my hands and
soles of my feet, and
be blind before my next birthday.
Now
that I think on it, the hairy palms might have felt nice. Christ!
I didn’t touch myself again for, oh,
let’s see.” He
seemed to think before speaking. “It
must have been at least three
hours.” That
time, they laughed
together.
“Actually,
I came to see if you’d reconsider dinner.
I called Connie to see how she was feeling, and talked
with her
maid. She’s
got no voice and won’t be on
set tomorrow, so you’re free from working with her for the
evening.”
“Yes,
I know, and I’ve ordered up room service.
I thought that’s who you were.”
“Call
down and cancel.” She
thought on that
for a moment.
“I
suppose I could do.”
“I’m
waiting.” Olivia
stood and walked to the
phone, punched the number and waited for an answer, then cancelled her
meal and
apologised for the inconvenience.
Turning back to him, she stood with her arms crossed over
her chest,
eyebrows raised, silently asking what he had in mind.
“I
was thinking something casual. Someplace
we could go with me in jeans and you in similar attire.
Do you like hamburgers?”
“Yes.”
“Chips?”
“Yes.”
“Well,
I already know you like beer. Go
put on your
togs, and we’ll find a pub.”
She stood
there watching him for a moment.
“Olivia, I’m not going to ask you
again.
If you want to grab a meal with me, go get dressed before
I drag you
into that bedroom and show you what can be done with a hot, living vibrator!” She was out of the lounge
in a flash, the
sound of his booming laughter echoing through the closed door of her
room. Moments later
he tapped on the door of her
room and called through it. “I’m
going
to change and get my wallet and coat.
I’ll be back in five minutes.
Don’t keep me waiting!”
They
had burgers and chips and beer, and he had her back at the door to her
suite at
half-ten. Before he
left her there, he
picked up her hand and kissed her palm softly.
“Good
night, Olivia. I’ll
see you at 5:30 in
the morning,” and strode off down the corridor.
Day Six – Thursday, Eleven-thirty at
Night
When
he left Olivia to fetch his wallet and coat, Crowe had told her it
would be
five minutes. It
was closer to ten, as
there was an intermediate function he had to deal with.
By
the time he’d ordered her off his lap, he was cracking a fat
so hard he thought
he’d explode and considered himself fortunate Olivia had been
too self-absorbed
at that point to notice. Walking
down
the corridor to his suite was painful in the extreme, and as soon as
he’d
slammed the door shut he strode through to the bedroom, tugging at the
tie on
his sweatpants as he walked. Lying
back
on the bed, he tugged at himself once before grasping firmly and
beginning to
stroke, imagining Olivia lying beneath him.
Her flushed face flashed vividly in his mind’s
eye, and he smelt again
the odour of female sex that had assailed his nostrils as
he’d stepped round
her and into her bedroom door. He
came
silently moments later, biting on his lip to remain quiet in the event
Olivia
had decided to walk down the corridor and knock on his door. Whilst he had no
reservations about taking
the piss with her regarding her own behaviour, he wasn’t
ready to change places
with her.
Crowe
lay there, breathing hard for a few moments before moving off the bed
and into
the bathroom. He
grabbed a flannel and
ran warm water, cleaning up quickly and drying off before pulling on
underwear
again and a pair of jeans in place of the sweatpants he’d
been wearing. He
laughed at his reflection in the mirror.
He looked as self-satisfied as Olivia had
until it soaked into her lust-fogged brain that it was he at her door
and not
room service. Shaking
his head at the
pair of them, he walked through the suite, picking up his wallet and
shoving it
into his hip pocket and grabbing his coat and gloves.
Out the door and back down the corridor;
Olivia opened the door at the first rap of his knuckles. She was wearing jeans and
trainers and a
heavy jumper over a shirt, tugging on her coat as she stepped back to
let him
inside. He helped
her with her coat and
shrugged into his own. Five
minutes
later they had spoken to the bellman, had the name of a suitable pub
and
eschewing a cab, were out the door and walking down the street toward
Shepherds
Market a few blocks away.
It
was still snowing, but the wind had ceased; the walk was invigorating. They had located Kings
Arms with no
difficulty, and Olivia stepped inside as he held the door for her. They sat at the bar, and
Crowe ordered beer
for both of them. They
perused the menu
on the wall, ordering when the barman placed their beers on the counter. He nodded to Olivia to
order first; she
hesitated a moment before speaking.
“I’ll
have the cheeseburger with lettuce and tomato, no onions unless
you’ll grill them
first and then add them. Chips,
and that
will do me.” So,
she apparently didn’t
care for raw onions; he’d file that away for future reference.
“I’ll
have the same, but I’ll take the onions without
grilling.” He
grinned at her. “You’ll
just have to deal with onion-breath,
Love.” She
laughed.
“It’s
not the onion-breath I dislike, Crowe.
I
just don’t care for the taste or texture of raw onions. I love them cooked in any
form.”
“Grill
the onions for the lady and slather them on for her.” His eyes never left her
face. The barman
nodded and walked away. Crowe
raised his beer glass to her. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
Day Seven – Friday, Five-thirty in
the Morning
Crowe
knocked on her door at five-thirty sharp per their agreement the night
before. He helped
her on with her coat
before they walked down the corridor to the lift, waited silently, and
took it
down to the lobby. His
SUV was waiting
outside. They rode
in virtual silence
all the way to the set, now seeming somewhat ill at ease with each
other. Perhaps they
were remembering the rather
embarrassing events of the evening before, though they had seemed
comfortable
enough with it over multiple pints of beer during their meal at the pub.
Olivia
half expected Crowe to make some remark that would serve to remind her
of her
presumably ill-slaked desire for his body.
She was somewhat relieved by his silence, tense though it
was. As they left
the SUV in the car park, he
reached into his pocket and handed her a key.
“It’s
to my caravan. Had
it made for you
yesterday. Don’t
know when Connie will
be back, and it’s no good you waiting out in the cold, or me
having to hunt you
up if I need to get in and you aren’t there.
I’m due in makeup in five minutes.
See you later.”
He strode away,
leaving her standing there in the half light with the snow blowing
gently in
the chill air.
“Thanks!” Her belated call followed
him down the path,
and he waved to acknowledge it then jogged ahead.
Olivia walked down the path to his caravan,
let herself in, and flicked on the lights.
Checking the heat, she raised the temperature, removed her
coat, and
walked through to the small kitchen and started a pot of coffee. She would fix a cup for
Crowe and take it
down to him; he’d said he loathed instant, and she knew
nothing else was
available in the makeup and hairdressers’ caravans. Twenty minutes later, she
walked up the steps
to the makeup caravan and opened the door, stepping inside and pulling
the door
closed quickly to keep out the cold.
Richard Harris and his cosmetician were there, but there
was no
indication that anyone else had been there that morning. Olivia looked round in
confusion as the older
man greeted her warmly.
“Olivia,
my Dear, good morning. How
nice to see
you again. You’re
just the ticket to get
an old man’s heart beating as it should.”
He motioned her to the chair next to his own, and she
moved toward it still
holding the coffee mug.
“Yes,
good morning to you as well. Where
is
Crowe? He said he
was due here at least
twenty minutes past, and I know he can’t have got out so
quickly. Besides,
they’re only just getting up the set
lights, and I didn’t see him there as I passed.” Was that a hint of a frown
she saw on the
older gentleman’s face?
Before he could
answer, the woman doing his makeup answered.
“Russell? He popped in just before
you arrived, Mr.
Harris, asking for Annette. Said
he was
supposed to meet her for a conference.
I
sent him along to the crafts’ enclosure in case
she’s there. I
hope Annette’s not forgot.
Mr. Crowe isn’t too understanding when people
are late.” The
ensuing silence was
deafening. Olivia
headed for the door
and got all the way outside before Harris caught up to her. His hand on her arm turned
her round, stopping
her headlong flight back up the path, though where she would go
she’d no
idea. Certainly not
back to his caravan!
“Olivia,
stop. Where are you
going?”
“I
haven’t the foggiest. I’ve
a key to his
caravan, he had one made for me as Connie’s ill, but
there’s no chance I’ll go
back there now. I
don’t tolerate lies,
Richard.” She
was so angry that she was
trembling, coffee sloshing through the opening in the mug. The man sighed and fished
into a pocket,
pulled out a small key chain, unfastened it and removed a key, and
pressed it
into her free hand.
“Then
go to my caravan. It’s
the second one
past Russell’s. You
can’t be sure he
lied to you, my Dear. It’s
entirely
possible he did have a meeting set this morning with Annette.” Olivia snorted.
“What
sort of business does a man like Crowe do with a woman at half-six in
the
morning? If it
isn’t makeup or
hairdressing, what else could his appointment be?” The man raised an eyebrow
at her before
speaking.
“Calm
down, Child. He’s
a man. Surely you
know that by now? More
than that, he’s a young
man and not likely to be inclined toward a life of
chastity. I
wasn’t at his age.”
“He
didn’t have to lie, Richard.”
“Perhaps
not, but again, you aren’t sure he lied to you.
However, if he did I suspect it’s because he
didn’t want you knowing
that he was having a bit on the side, particularly as he seems to be
growing
fond of you. In
addition, I must give
him credit for at least making the effort to be discrete. I didn’t bother
at his age, and I was married
and with children.” Olivia
looked up at
the sky and the falling snow, then back at Harris.
The man smiled at her.
“Promise me you won’t castrate him on
sight;
ask him civilly and give him a chance to explain himself.” She took a deep breath.
“I’ll
try, but I’m not making any promises I may be unable to
keep.” The
man squeezed her shoulder, and Olivia
started back up the walkway. Just
as she
reached the fork in the path, she heard Crowe call her name and froze.
“Olivia! Come and meet
Annette.” Right.
Olivia could scarcely wait to meet his latest whore,
especially after
he’d obviously lied when he’d said he
wasn’t carrying on with anyone on
set. She steeled
herself to see him with
wet hair, anticipating he’d have had a quick shower after his
root. Her eyes
moved scathingly over both of them as
they approached. Though
his arm was
round the woman’s waist, his hair was dry and no more tousled
than it had been
when he’d left her half an hour earlier.
He was still wearing the same rumpled shirt and jumper and
the same
jeans as earlier, and they were in the same state of disarray. She inspected at the
woman; she was as neat
and tidy as a pin. She
was neatly
dressed, hair neatly styled, cosmetics done and not so much as an
eyelash out
of place; there were no smears of either her lipstick or the artfully
applied
blush. She might
have just stepped out
of an advert for Harrods’ cosmetics department.
It was rather obvious that absolutely nothing had taken
place between
the two of them, other than perhaps a chat.
The fact that she was behaving jealously struck Olivia
like a bolt of
lightening, but she had no option now other than to make the best of it. As they drew abreast of
Olivia and stopped,
Crowe made the appropriate introductions.
“Annette,
this is Olivia Aitkinson. She’s
the diction
coach Ridley’s hired for Connie and me.
Olivia, Annette. What’s
the last
name, Love? I
don’t recall having ever
heard it.” The
woman smiled and held out
her hand to Olivia, who shifted the coffee mug to her left hand.
“Annette
Bowles. Nice to
meet you.” Olivia
smiled lamely and took the proffered
hand, shaking it politely.
“It’s
nice to meet you as well.”
She glanced
at Crowe before continuing. “You
two had
a conference this morning? I
was trying
to find Crowe to give him a cup of coffee and chatted with Mr.
Harris.” Wondering
how he would answer, Olivia smiled
sweetly at the other woman.
“Yeah,
right. I’m
having a bit of a reaction to
the base cover Annette’s been using.
It
makes me itch, and we agreed to meet to try a couple of other types to
see if
they would do better. I
caught up with
her in the crafts’ building and as she had her kit with her,
she just shoved me
into a chair and started streaking me up with different brands. See?”
He pointed to three different areas on his face. His forehead and both
cheeks did appear to
have streaks of cosmetic on them.
“She
took an oath that if any of them are going to make me itch,
they’ll do so
within half-an-hour. We
were heading
back to the caravan. I
told her I
reckoned you’d have a pot of coffee on.”
He grinned at her; it was that charming little-boy grin
that he evinced
on occasion and held out his hand for the mug in hers.
“That for me, Love?
Thanks!”
He turned to Annette.
“This is
the second time she’s brought me a cup.
If she keeps it up, I’m going to have to find a
way to keep her
close!” Olivia
smiled weakly as he
nudged her toward his caravan, and Annette fell into step behind them
on the
narrow path.
Day Seven – Friday, Seven forty-seven
in the Morning
Annette
left after having a cup of coffee, saying she would see Crowe later in
make-up. She
reminded him to let her
know which if any of the new cosmetics caused him any discomfort, and
she would
adjust as required.
“What’s
wrong, Olivia? Something
was chewing your
arse when we met you on the path, and you’ll still not
entirely
comfortable.” His
ocean-coloured eyes
bored into hers; she made up her mind to tell the truth and just
weather his
wrath.
“I
took your coffee to the make-up trailer, and you weren’t
there. Richard’s
cosmetician said you’d popped in
earlier then gone off searching for Annette.
You’d told them you had an appointment with
her.” He
nodded.
“That’s
true. And?” Olivia took a deep breath
before continuing.
“Unfortunately,
I made an assumption, an unflattering one.
It seemed to me that there was only one reason a man would
have an
appointment with a woman this early in the day, and the notion made me
angry. When I met
you on the path, it
was obvious I was mistaken. I
was both
embarrassed and angry at myself for having suspicions of you that were
unworthy, particularly when I’m in no position to care one
way or the
other.” She
stopped speaking after her
admission. He
sighed deeply, and his
discomfort was glaringly obvious.
He
motioned her to the couch; she remained where she was, watching him as
he went
to the kitchen for another cup of coffee, and sat in the chair across
from where
she stood. He
started to speak, stopped,
ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his jaw, sipped his coffee,
and tugged
at his earlobe in apparent discomfort.
“Olivia,
I wasn’t entirely truthful with you and Connie earlier in the
week when I said
I’d had no involvement with any of the women on the set. I apologise for that. However, I can’t
undo it, so I’ll try and put
it right.” He
put down the cup and ran
his hands through his hair again, mussing it even more than it already
was; now
the short Roman trim was sticking up in points.
Olivia felt the sharp prick of anger at his words.
“Until
you came on the set, I’d had a bit of a thing going with
Annette. It was
casual, no strings on either side, and
I made that very clear to her before we started.
I’m a man.
I make no apologies for that or the fact that I enjoy a
root as well as
the next bloke. She’s
of much the same
mind as me, and as any connection we had would have ended with the
shoot, we
saw no harm in it. We’re
both adults and
not involved with anyone else, so there was no damage done.
“After
I made that statement to you and Connie, I spoke with Annette and told
her I
had decided it was unwise and unprofessional for me to continue to see
her in
that manner. She
understood, and that
was that the end of it. We
remain mates
and she’s a good person, not to mention very skilled at her
craft. My
difficultly lies in the fact that I don’t
lie well. My
conscience has troubled me
about it, even though I’ve since discontinued the
relationship.” He’d
been toying with the cup in his hands,
and now raised his eyes to hers before he continued.
“Olivia, I’m sorry I lied to you. If you can manage to
forgive me, I promise it
will not happen again. Given
that we’ll
be working very closely for the duration of this production, I hope we
can at
least continue on as mates.”
Olivia
didn’t speak immediately.
She was too
busy analysing her anger and attempting to control it.
She realised that her plight was really very simple;
she was jealous. If
any woman on the set
were to have his attention in that manner, she wanted it to be her and
no one
else. She
rationalised that she had no
right to feel jealous, as there was nothing between them other than a
working
relationship; she knew she’d have to at least say
she forgave him. She
also told herself that if she caught him
in another lie of any sort, she would walk off the set, the money and
her
ability to have Ridley Scott stand as a reference in the future be
damned. Further, as
Crowe was being honest with her,
she felt morally obligated to reciprocate, though it galled her to make
the
admission to him. He
watched warily as she
took a deep breath and paced about the small lounge area for a moment
before
facing him squarely.
“Crowe,
I detest lies and can forgive almost any other transgression save that
one. However, as
you’ve been honest with
me now, I’ll do my best to let it go.
Unfortunately and to my chagrin, you’ve put me
in the position of
acknowledging something I’d not realised previously, and I
owe you the respect
of being honest with you as well.”
She
walked into the kitchen, putting its small counter between the two of
them
before she continued. “When
I discovered
you weren’t in the make-up trailer and learnt you’d
left seeking Annette, then
encountered the two of you coming up the path with your arm round her
waist, I
was furious and didn’t know why.
Now and
on analysing my reaction, I understand; I was jealous of her.”
At
her words, Crowe’s eyebrows shot skyward and he stood, facing
her as she went
on. “I
may not always like what I see
when I put myself under the glass, but I am
unremittingly honest about
it and it was jealousy. If you were to be carrying
on with any woman
on the set, I wanted it to be me.
I
apologise for my fit of pique, and while it’s horribly
embarrassing to me to
admit it, I won’t lie to you about it.”
Crowe walked round the counter and took the cup from her
hands, placing
it on the counter before looking deeply into her eyes and placing his
hands on
either side of her face. She
felt the
tears gather as she whispered.
“Crowe,
I’m terribly sorry for having misjudged you.”
His voice was a murmur, his lips mere centimetres from her
own.
“Olivia?”
“Yes?”
“Shut
up.”
