This is a work of fiction, very, very loosely based on the real person, Russell Crowe. I wrote it for my own entertainment, and entertainment is its only purpose. No insult or injury is intended.

This story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit adult language and sexual references.

Twist Of Fate

…what’s meant to be will come to pass

A Quentin Finch story

by: Jackie

©2008

Chapter Ten

Quentin

His mobile phone bill would be sky high from all the calls and texts that were flying back and forth between them. It started first thing in the morning; he’d ring her soon as he’d open his eyes. Sometimes that was 5 AM, depending on what time he had to get his make-up and hair done. She said she didn’t mind. Sometimes though she was still so sleepy when he rang her, he could only giggle his ludicrous high-pitched giggle at her while she slurred, trying to talk to him. He was crazy about her. She was so sweet, so full of love, so sincere, so special; he sometimes phoned her after every take, or at least during every break he was granted. One time, he was suspended in his wireworks harness, upside down, ten feet up in the air. The lighting crew was running around below him like mad, trying to fix something of monumental import. He had his mobile thrown up to him by a nimble runner and he spent ten minutes happily talking to his sheila.

She was travelling from place to place, she actually wasn’t too far away from him at the moment, and she was getting closer still. The film had been moved to a location somewhere in the Californian mountains, where enormous man-made spider webs of climbing rope were spun between trees, so that he could play his samurai superhero part and do the flying wireworks kung-fu shit he’d been training so hard for.

Kenny was chuffed with his performance so far; the little gent from the Orient had immediately guessed Taz was back in his life. Claimed Quent was much calmer now, much more in control of himself. Yeah, that may be true, but still Tazzie was too far away from him. He wanted to be able to hold her, kiss her senseless, love her madly…

He knew her itinerary by heart; he knew exactly where she’d be, and when she’d be closest to him. Almost, she was almost there. And he was frustrated to the extreme, because he knew very well that he’d be stuck here, filming one of the most challenging scenes so far, physically speaking, his arse hoisted high up into the foliage, and him slashing around with his bloody katana and all.

He’d been brooding for days. He just had to get out and see Taz, just had to. It had been a good two weeks now since they were officially back together, they still hadn’t seen each other again, and he just chafed at the impossibility of it all. Illicit action was the only way to go, he decided; after all he wasn’t called a Hollywood bad boy for nothing; he might as well do something mad and dangerous to actually earn the title. And so, as the shooting day wound down, he hid in his trailer, claiming he needed to clear his head, while instead he just kept his head down, waiting for the crew to leave.

After some time, there were just some security people left, plus Alfie, who was supposed to drive him back to his hotel. A two hour drive, which he’d so far spent talking to Taz on his mobile - unless she was busy reading from her book to people, or sitting down at reading club dinners, or whatever it was that she did on her promotion tour - or trying to get tomorrow’s script changes into his head. He was pretty good at remembering lines, all in all, but he liked to elaborate, and sometimes experiment a little, if he had the idea that the character didn’t feel right. It could annoy the hell out of directors, but honestly, he was only looking for the best result on film. And most times, when he started work shopping on a scene, it did help. It did get better. It could only result in a fuckload of rewrites to make things fit together again in the editing room.

Be that as it may, Quentin had no intention of getting into the car just yet. He surveyed the set, estimated the number of people still around, found the result to his satisfaction then quietly made his way over to where the wireworks stage was set up, a small plastic bag dangling from his hand. There were a lot of ropes, and there was a camera setup for motion capturing, much like what was dubbed bullet time in The Matrix. Only this wasn’t at an indoor stage. This was live, on location. There’d be a lot of CGI involved in the final cut, but at least the foliage would be real.

Quent grinned and fished a bread knife out of his bag. He carefully chose a rope and equally carefully sawed though it, leaving jagged edges and loose fibres hanging out, much like it would have looked if some kind of animal had tried to chew its way through it. Then, he smeared a thin layer of vegemite on the rope. Then, on the bark of several trees, another layer of ‘mite. The stuff blended in with the natural surroundings beautifully, it was almost invisible. He slathered some more on another rope, and another, that he half-sawed through first. He grinned. He had his ‘mite flown in especially for him, loved the stuff, grew up with it and all that, but no one, absolutely no one else on set considered it edible.

That is, apart from the local brown bear here and there; apparently they loved the stuff. He’d found out by accident: on the third day of filming on location, he’d made vegemite on toast for the whole cast and crew, and of course – and much to his delight - they’d hated it. They almost always did. Most of the toast ended up in the bin, practically untouched. Next morning they’d found out a couple of bears had rampaged through the set. There’d been quite a lot of damage, and all the toast had been gone. Filming had been delayed for two days, more security had been brought in, and the cogs in Quentin Finch’s fertile mind had started to turn.

So there he was now, slathering the ‘mite onto the tree and the ropes. He took care not to spill any near the expensive equipment, but still, he was sabotaging his own bloody film. Who’d have thought he’d ever do anything like this? If he’d get caught, he’d be in so much trouble; he didn’t even want to contemplate the extent of it. But it was all for love, so fuck it, he still did it with a big fat grin on his face. He hoped the bears would have a wonderful night, licking the trees clean, sucking and chewing on the ropes, doing a lot more damage that he’d done already with his little knife. If he was lucky, it would take at least another two days before they could continue. Insurance would cover it, just like before, and in the mean time he would slip off quietly, rendezvous with Tazzie, and be back here in time to get on with it when the ropes had been restrung and the whole setup thoroughly tested. Oh, Tazzie’d get a good surprise out of this one; he had it all planned out.

When he thought he’d done enough damage, he put his stuff back in his bag, ambled back to his trailer, got his backpack and trotted over to his ute, where Alf was waiting for him. On his drive back, he rung Tazzie and listened to her telling him about a reader who had jabbered on at her forever about his unhappy marriage and subsequent divorce.

‘He must have really fancied you,’ Quent grinned. ‘I know how he feels.’

Tazzie squealed into his ear in disgust, and he laughed all the harder. Christ, life was bloody brill sometimes!

Next morning, 5.30 AM, Quent woke up because his mobile started ringing. For an instant, he thought it had to be Tazzie and he marvelled at how early she was up today, but then he remembered. The ‘mite.

It was the director, Richard Davies himself, on the phone. Quentin admired his visual artistry, but he didn’t particularly like him as a person. The man was very inflexible, and ever since preproduction, they’d had regular shouting matches about fairly little things. Quentin was okay with that, as long as it was for the good of the project - confrontations didn’t really faze him that much - but he would have preferred a better atmosphere for his working days, if he’d have had anything to say about it.

Davies told him, basically, that the set was trashed. There were bear tracks all over the place, the bears had been up in the trees, most of the rope work had been damaged and was now deemed unsafe, and Quentin’s trailer had been broken into. The bears had been inside, and it was uninhabitable now.

Quentin remembered his hotel room a couple of weeks ago, after it had been renovated by Muriel Manning, and he grinned. He could do uninhabitable; he could do that very well. Loads of practise. And besides (although he didn’t say this out loud, obviously) it was his own fault. He’d left the ‘mite in his trailer instead of bringing it back to the hotel.

Davis didn’t think it was funny. The damage was extensive, it would be another setback for the project, both in time and in money, and he was curious, very curious why the bears would have been so interested in the wireworks stage in the first place.

Quent quickly fabricated, ‘…reckon I must have had some vegemite on my fingers or something… from lunch… you know, when we did the shoots yesterday arvo? Must have spread the smell of it all over the ropes and stuff when I climbed up… I’ll not keep it in my trailer any more if the bears are so keen on it, Christ, I had no idea… Fuckin’ annoyin’ innit? So, uh, Rich, what’s the plan then?’ He yawned shamelessly into the phone, trying very hard to keep the happiness that was bubbling up from deep inside him out of his voice and sound appropriately shocked at the delay they were facing. Three days at the very least. Maybe even four! Bloody hell, it had worked even better than he’d hoped!

Taryn

As they drove into the little town, Tazzie sat up straight. Population 400, the town of… Magic? What a totally lovely name for a town! Just imagine, living in Magic! Her imagination immediately fired up, and she saw herself as a witch, coming out of one of those adorable little houses in the morning in a dark blue robe full of silvery stars, to get her Magic mail, let the Magic cat in, give the Magic neighbour a wave… she’d be living with a Magic warlock, of course, a warlock who’d look decidedly like a certain Australian male she was very, very fond of, and who would share her breakfast of newt’s eye and toadstools on toast in nothing but a pair of black briefs with a pentagram embroidered on his butt, his muscled, but nevertheless soft, round and lightly furry… buns… Tazzie blushed, and hid a smile.

‘Thinking about the boyfriend?’ teased Sally, her publicist. Taryn had told Sal a little bit about what had been going on – her and Quentin Finch, falling madly in love with each other after the APA, him ringing her at every available opportunity… Taz hadn’t mentioned what had happened between her and Quent last year, since it hadn’t lasted long enough to get picked up by the press anyway, but Sally was enchanted enough as it was. Quentin Finch no less! Quentin Finch, who for a change hadn’t rung Tazzie first thing when he woke up. And by now it was ten thirty, and still he hadn’t called. Tazzie was happy for him, apparently he was allowed to sleep in for once, but still she couldn’t help waiting eagerly for his call. Absurdly eagerly. She blushed again.

Sally, slowly driving through the few streets of Magic, checked a printed email for directions, and said, ‘So this book shop is called … Bound Together, and we’re meeting a young lady by the name of… let me see, Melissa Thompson. I spoke to her on the phone before we headed out and she was very excited about your visit. She thought a lot of people from the village would show up for your reading and book signing; they never get a real live author in Bumfuck, California…’

‘Bumfuck?’ Tazzie grinned, ‘thought it was called Magic around here. Wasn’t Bumfuck the next town we’re visiting?’

‘Oh you know what I mean! This is small, even for a small town book tour. I distinctly remember telling my assistant to keep it to places a population of ten thousand at a minimum, and what was this, did you read the sign when we came into town?’

‘Yes… four hundred, that’s all. But hey, Sal if that’s four hundred enthusiastic buyers, I won’t complain. And neither will you.’

‘Fat chance of that happening… Oh look. That’s the bookstore. Doesn’t look too big, if you ask me; let’s hope that all four hundred of them fit in there.’

‘It looks great though,’ Tazzie gushed, ‘I love these cottages. They’re so, I dunno, so historic…’

‘Taryn, you’re British! You’ve got medieval castles at home, I mean, this is hardly in the same league!’

‘True, but still… it looks like a film set or something, doesn’t it? Just look at it, it’s lovely!’

They parked and got out, and Tazzie smiled again as the door to the bookshop jingled with a wonderful old-fashioned bell. Inside it was cosy, and absolutely chock-full of books and magazines. It smelled of paper, a lot of paper – some of it probably quite old – and potpourri. It was like visiting your auntie Dottie’s house, that is, if you had an auntie Dottie. Tazzie had. She adored her. She should take Quent to see her some day... provided he’d call her! Good grief, was he going to sleep all day? Or perhaps he had been up for hours; perhaps he’d been too busy to ring... Taz fought the urge to get her mobile out again – just looking at it wasn’t going to make it ring. Should she ring him then? Over the past two weeks, he’d been the one starting up the day by calling her, and then they’d tell each other what their schedules looked like, and when they would most likely be able to talk to each other during the day... Now he hadn’t, and she had no idea where he could be, what he could be doing...

A beautiful gazelle of a girl dashed out from behind a door. ‘Hi, I’m Melissa,’ she said with a big, lopsided grin on her lovely face. She had brown eyes and a mass of dark, untamed hair. ‘You’re early! I didn’t expect you until three in the afternoon, and people will probably start showing up around four, but, um, I could make some coffee? I think it’ll get really busy; Agnes at the library has been telling everyone you were coming in as well, and we’ve agreed that if it gets too cramped in here, we’ll just move the whole thing to her place. The library I mean. Is that okay with you?’

‘Yes, yes of course!’ said Tazzie, shaking herself out of her train of thought. She was fast falling in love with this town, its bookshop and its bookshop employee, and if they were anything to go by, the librarian had to be completely adorable.

‘Actually,’ Sally pitched in, ‘we just came by to let you know we’re in town, and to see the place… Don’t worry about a thing, Melissa, we’ll go find the B&B, freshen up, get some lunch, then come back here around three. All right?’

‘Oh,’ said Melissa, ‘lunch, yeah! Go to the diner; there’s a really sweet girl called Olivia working the day shift, she’s totally crazy about books and I’m sure she’s going to show up here after she finishes work. Agnes knows her really well, she’s always at the library. You have to try her apple pie; it’s the best in town. Oh, and she’s from England as well!’

‘Okay we’ll do that,’ Tazzie smiled, but then all of a sudden Melissa’s cheeks went bright red as she stared over Tazzie’s shoulder. Taz turned just in time to see a young man wave at Melissa through the shop window. ‘Melissa…’ Tazzie leaned in and lowered her voice, ‘is that your boyfriend? He looks really nice!’

‘Um, um, he’s, um, Arthur,’ she muttered, reddening even further. She did raise her hand in a small wave in return though. ‘He’s from Australia!’

‘Is he, really? Fancy that, I’d never have expected an Aussie living here! My boyfriend’s from Oz as well, isn’t it a shame he can’t be here? We could have double-dated!’ Tazzie put her hand in her pocket and felt her mobile, which stayed alarmingly quiet, while Melissa rattled on.

‘Oh we actually have a couple of them here, now that you mention it; the day cook at the diner, that’s Andy, he’s from Oz, and there’s this guy does some stuff for Mr. Markham, the stable-owner; Agnes is crazy about him – oh, not about Mr. Markham, I mean, Mrs. Markham wouldn’t like that would she? No I mean this other Australian, um, what’s his name again… Akira, my roommate, she thinks he’s got a thing for Olivia, he’s always eating at the diner, or so Andy tells her. Her and Andy…’ She blushed again, and visibly made herself shut up. ‘Sorry. You can’t possibly be interested in…’

‘Oh no, but I am! This is such a lovely place; I really envy you for living here! Did you grow up here?’

Sally, who was enormously hungry, barged in. ‘Taryn, how about we go find the B&B first, and you and Melissa chat some more after lunch? That apple pie sounds sooo good to me right now!’

‘Oh, okay, sure… Sorry Melissa, work calls! We’ll see you in a bit, all right?’

The B&B turned out to be within spitting distance of both the diner and the bookstore, so after they’d checked in with the friendly old lady at the desk, who introduced herself as Mrs. Meyerhoffer and who seemed to know exactly who they were even before they opened their mouths, and after a brief inspection of their respective rooms, they set off on foot. Mrs. Meyerhoffer assured them she’d attend, that afternoon, and assured them she’d bring Eli Proctor, who apparently ran the gas station, if she had to drag him in by the scruff of the neck.

‘Christ almighty,’ said Sally, ‘I believe I know half the town already. I don’t think I could live here, you know, everyone knows everything about everybody! It would drive me insane within half an hour.’

‘Oh I dunno...’ Taz was distractedly touching her phone again, her hand in her pocket; she was literally dying to hear from Quent, and by now she had to admit that she was starting to get stressed. What if he hadn’t wanted to ring her, this morning? What if he was losing interest...?

‘Hey... Are you okay?’ She turned to Taz right before they entered the diner. ‘Haven’t you heard from him yet?’

Tazzie shook her head. ‘I’m beginning to feel a little worried... it’s... not like him, not to call...’

Or was it? Tazzie’s famous inner voice was kicking up a fuss inside her head as they sat down, studied the menu and ordered. The waitress had a nametag that said Olivia, and she was indeed British. She was also enormously friendly, as well as quite shy, and she was obviously distracted by a guy having lunch a few tables across from them. He looked very close-shaven and even-keeled, while his companion represented the red-haired opposite of him, being noisy, lively and full of jokes.

Tazzie and Sally looked on, amused, as the quiet fellow steadily watched Olivia move through the diner while in the mean time good humouredly bearing the ongoing ribbing from his mate, and she, blushing every time she looked in his direction and finding his eyes on her...  ‘Hoh yeah, that’s love all right,’ Sally sighed, ‘and look at him, I mean, he’s not bad looking. She could do a lot worse, don’t you think?’

Tazzie got her mobile out and put it next to her fork. ‘Oh definitely...’ she said, her heart only half in it.

‘Go on, Taryn, call him. If he’s busy, you’ll find out soon enough. Come on, I’m sure it’s nothing. Or if you don’t want to call, at least send him a text, put your mind at ease. Look, here comes our lunch! Oh my, that looks great...’

A young guy in a very stained apron brought them two plates full of lovely food straight from the kitchen, winking and nodding in Olivia’s direction. She was haltingly chatting to the quiet fellow now, blushing like a rose, and quite oblivious to the rest of the room. ‘Livvie’s got a brave day,’ said the cook, his soft Australian accent rolling easily off his tongue, ‘thought I’d best bring you these, hey, and not spoil the moment for her?’

Olivia, or Livvie, heard her name, looked up, blushed even harder, and said, ‘Andy! You look a fright in that apron; you can’t serve customers like that! Shoo! Into the kitchen!’ And she marched him off. Everybody laughed, Andy included, and if at all possible, Tazzie fell in love with Magic even more. This simply had to be the nicest place she’d been to so far. She picked up her phone and punched the buttons until it said everything ok? im in magic, it’s so lovely here, wish you could be here too, miss you, and then she sighed once more, and pressed send.

An hour and a half later, Sally and Taz slowly walked back to Bound Together, trying not to fall over from the enormous amount of food they’d eaten. The air was a pure, clear blue, fresh and healthy, and they were both amazed at how everything seemed to taste so good, smell so nice, look so pretty... Even Sally was falling for the magic of Magic, and reluctantly admitted she could see herself spend a week’s holiday here. Tazzie smiled, she actually felt really good, even though she still hadn’t heard from Quent. It was as if the food, and especially Olivia’s amazing pie, had chased away all dark thoughts.

Outside the bookstore, quite a lot of people had gathered already. They were standing around on the pavement, talking to each other, laughing and drinking wine from clear plastic cups, that Melissa generously handed around. It didn’t look like a book signing at all; it looked like an impromptu street party. A cheer went up as Taz came nearer, and an older gentleman came forward to shake her hand. “ Miss Archer, we’re so proud and happy to have you here; I’m Arthur Markham, this lovely lady is Roberta, the owner of our book store, and I believe you’ve already met Melissa? And this is Agnes, our trusted librarian...’

Arthur Markham then proceeded to introduce at least fifty people to her, whose names she of course couldn’t possibly remember. She hoped they would forgive her if they decided to buy her book and have it signed, and she would have to admit that she‘d forgotten their names the moment she’d heard them.

When the round of introductions seemed to come to an end, everybody drifted inside, sat down on stools, steps or a few available chairs, or simply leaned against a bookcase. Roberta took Tazzie around behind the counter, where a glass of water and a copy of her book were waiting for her, and clapped in her hands. An expectant silence settled, and everyone looked at Tazzie.

‘Right,’ said Taz, moving towards the tiller, ‘who’s next?’ Everyone laughed, and she fished her own copy of her book out of her bag. ‘Thanks ever so much, Roberta, for arranging this for me, but if you don’t mind, I’ll read from my own copy... I’ve put notes in and everything...’ More laughs and smiles. What a friendly crowd! For once, Tazzie wasn’t anxious to begin, she just opened her book at the marker and read, without hesitation or interruption, for the next half hour straight. Then, she took some questions, and an interesting discussion ensued. It appeared quite a number of people had read her book, as well as her previous one, and both had been discussed earlier at a reading group meeting at the library.

It was so lively, and so much fun – Taz ended up sitting on the counter, chatting away – that she almost forgot to worry about Quent. Almost.

But then the door to the bookstore jingled its bell and an elderly gentleman came in. He must have had jet black hair once, but it was greying now, and he sported the type of moustache a walrus may have been quite proud of. He had dark eyes, and he was... quite big actually, tall, broad in the shoulders, but with a paunch on him... He walked, or waddled in, muttering apologies for his tardiness, and something in the air seemed to change. Tazzie felt a faint, alarming buzz that she couldn’t place, and all of a sudden she remembered, almost with a bang, that she still hadn’t heard from Quent.

Strange. Very strange. She resumed talks, and the newcomer kept staring at her much like that bloke in the diner had been staring at the waitress, um, Olivia. Livvie was right there in front of Taz, asking very intelligent and challenging questions, but Tazzie was having difficulty concentrating on her. That man... he was so intense...

Taz decided it had been enough, and she ended with a cheery, ‘and now I would like to persuade you all to please buy my book, as many copies as you can manage, so at least my publicist won’t make me pay my own hotel room for tonight... I will sign your copies of course, that is, if you want me to... Thank you all for being here this afternoon, it has been a very real pleasure. I don’t think I’ve had so much fun since this tour started! Thank you!’

She received a warm applause, and very soon, a line formed in front of her. She was still sitting on the counter, swinging her legs, and signing copies on her knee. She looked up to ask the next person what he or she would like her to write, when her eyes met the strange man’s gaze. He was very close all of a sudden, and normally, that would have been disconcerting, but there was something... familiar...

‘Just put my name, and that you’ll love me forever... hey, Tazzie-luv?’ he said to her, very low, with a twinkle of mischief in his dark eyes.

Up close, Tazzie suddenly noticed he was wearing coloured lenses.

Chapter Eleven