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 Twelve

Quentin

When he woke up she was looking at him. He smiled lazily; he wanted to wake up every morning and see her on the pillow next to him, the sweet arc of her eyebrows, her soft feathery hair… ‘Hey luvvie,’ he murmured at her, barely awake but happy, ‘there you are…’

‘You look sweet when you’re asleep,’ she said, and she touched his hair, stroked it behind his ear. He loved it, just loved it when she did that. It was just so amazing that with her, he could finally get some kip in like a normal human being instead of waking up three times a night, gasping, his heart beating high in his chest… he turned towards her, wanting to hold her, but to his surprise his stomach suddenly gave a really loud rumble.

‘Uh,’ he said, looking under the duvet to ascertain that that sound had actually come from him, ‘Taz, when’s brekkie in this outfit, you think? Sounds like I’m starving…’

Tazzie giggled. ‘I dunno really, but if Mrs. Meyerhoffer’s the one serving breakfast, she’ll be so disappointed when we come downstairs…’

‘Yeah?’ said Quent, lazily slouching against the headboard and rubbing at his face, trying to get his motor running. ‘Why’s that, Tazzie-luv?’ His head itched and he gave it a good scratch, mussing up his already sleep-tangled mop even further.

‘Well, for one thing, she thinks you’re Clint!’

‘Clint? …ohhh, fuuuuck, that’s right… completely slipped my mind…’ Quentin slid back down and he wrapped an arm around Taz, shoving her against his chest. ‘C’mere you,’ he added superfluously.

‘Mf,’ said Taz into his chest hair. It tickled deliciously and Quent giggled, running his hands along her back and snuggling up closer. ‘Christ I love you Tazzie,’ he softly said, almost as if he was surprised by his own emotions.

She looked up from his chest and smiled at him. ‘Love,’ she said, and ‘Quent,’ and she softly kissed his lips.

The kiss quickly deepened, and Quentin was just getting to the point where he had her leg on his hip, her breath coming in those lovely short, expectant little pants, and his proud early morning hard-on in position for a quick, happy root, when there was a knock on the door. He groaned in frustration at the voice of Mrs. Meyerhoffer.

‘Ms. Archer, Mr. Eastwood… Breakfast is served downstairs…’

‘Well there you have your answer,’ Tazzie grinned, and a little louder she said, ‘Thank you, Mrs. M.; we’ll be right down.’ She tried to disentangle himself from Quent, saying, ‘come on, we need to get into the shower,’ but he put on a terribly wronged face and pointed at his erect cock forlornly.

‘What about him then,’ he said, one eyebrow hoisted up.

‘Oh…’ Tazzie grinned, ‘well we could… take care of him in the shower, couldn’t we?’ and she hopped right out of the bed.

All right! Quentin thought, and he needed no more incentive to get up than seeing Tazzie’s pink, round bum disappear into the bathroom. She had a fine bum, he mused as he crawled out of bed; she was soft and curvy and all feminine, not at all like all these entertainment industry anoretics. They were lethal. Skeletal, even. He grinned. He knew very well that at one time in his life he would have called someone as shapely as Taz fat, but when he’d first checked out her behind, back at Nana last year – she was changing into her jeans in the guest cabin – he’d known deep down that she’d feel absolutely great when he’d get his arms around her.

She had turned the very old fashioned, squeaky shower taps until the water was running and stood, her arm inside the curtain, checking the temperature. He came up behind her, encircled her in his arms and deliberately nudged her backside with his erection. She only chuckled softly and rubbed her buttocks against him a little, and Quent suddenly felt a pang in his heart that was so violent he thought it must have been audible. She was so natural, so sweet, such brilliant company… just such uncomplicated crazy fun to be with, and he felt so at home with her, so whole with her, he wondered how in the world he was going to stand being away from her ever again.

She slowly turned in his arms, her eyes misting up again, and whispered, ‘hey…you feel it too, Quent, love?’

He nodded. He felt it. She felt it, and she felt that he felt it. No more words were needed.

He started kissing her, trying to convey his feelings when words just weren’t enough, and they stumbled into the shower together, their mouths locked in desperation. It wasn’t about fucking, really. It was about trying to get as close as they could possibly get, physically, mentally, spiritually… to reinforce the bond between them, to tell each other wordlessly how much they meant to each other. Quentin just lifted her up,  she wrapped her legs around his middle, and then he slowly lowered her until he was firmly secured inside her hot, pulsing flesh. He’d become so muscular from all the bloody workouts that he managed to hold her there, moving her, moving with her as she rode him, and only when their mutual release crashed about them did his knees buckle and they both slid down onto the floor in a boneless puddle, the water pounding down on them. Tazzie sobbed again, hiding her face against his neck, and he felt his throat tighten as well.

‘Bloody hell,’ he thickly said, reaching up to turn off the shower. ‘Bloody hell, Taz…’

She wrapped her arms around his neck once more and cradled his head, rocking him slowly. He marvelled at that: she was crying and still she sought to comfort him. He felt his love for her rush though him in wave after wave and all he could think to say was ‘…we should get married… Taz, we should get married as soon as we can…’

She shushed him as they came down slowly, and he stroked her back. It had been strangely, beautifully intense and Quentin did not think he had ever felt anything remotely resembling this for, or with, anyone. He’d known he loved Tazzie, before; he’d known he wanted her back, he’d known he needed to change things, both about himself and in his life, and he’d even realized, a long time ago actually, that she was the woman he wanted to marry in the end, but it wasn’t until now that he’d felt so deeply touched, so profoundly changed by this knowledge. It literally left him shaking.

‘C-come on s-sweetheart,’ he mumbled, getting up and helping Tazzie get up as well. He wrapped her in a big towel and used the ends to dry his own face, still shivering, but then Tazzie hugged her warm wet body against his and started to dry his shoulders with one end of the towel as he rubbed her hair and back with the other end. There was no need to speak, really.

As they dressed, they kept touching each other, quietly reaffirming that feeling between them. Quent pulled Tazzie’s tee down over her head and she buttoned up his shirt. Everything in a bewildering harmony.

‘Are you going to put the pillow back in?’ she finally said to him, as he stuffed his shirttails in his much too wide pants. She smiled. He loved her smile.

He shook his head, smiling as well. ‘Nah. Can’t be bothered. Nor the wig. Let’s just go and get some… brekkie…’ he tucked her hair behind her ear and she fiddled with his collar. And then they slowly wound down the stairs and into the breakfast room.

Mrs. Meyerhoffer was there waiting for them, and she wasn’t alone. She was talking animatedly to a good looking guy with a fedora in his hand, but she stopped the moment she saw Quent and Taz entering. She smiled at Tazzie, but her smile froze on her face when she took in Quentin in his ill-fitting suit, his yellow shoulder-long hair in a messy ponytail.

‘Young man! What do you think you’re doing, wearing Mr. Eastwood’s outfit?’ she started, and Quentin felt his eyebrows travel up his forehead. It had been a very long time since anyone had called him young man. ‘How is that poor Mr. Eastwood going to hide his true identity when you…’ Mrs. M continued, ‘wait a minute. Ms. Archer, why are you laughing?’

Tazzie was grinning behind Quent’s shoulder, and she gave him a soft prod, as if to say go on, explain yourself out of this one.

‘Um,’ said Quentin, ‘I’m really sorry Mrs. Meyerhoffer, but…’

‘Yes?’ she replied, hands in her side. Quentin was fighting off a fit of the giggles – Mrs. M. was adorable in her anger and protectiveness of her hero.

‘I’m not Clint Eastwood.’ There. He’d said it, straight and true. The corners of his mouth quivered with suppressed laughter. Tazzie had come to stand beside him and he knew that if he’d look at her face, he’d lose it.

‘Yes, I can see that. Who are you, and where is he?’

‘Mrs. Meyerhoffer,’ said Tazzie, and he could hear the laugh hiding in her voice as well, ‘I would like to introduce my fiancé, Quentin Finch. He actually is an actor, though he isn’t Clint Eastwood. I’m very sorry. Well, that is to say, personally I’m not sorry that he isn’t Clint Eastwood,’ she dashed a sideways look at Quent and smiled, ‘since I don’t fancy him at all,’ and here, she leaned in towards Mrs. M. and conspiratorially added, ‘and the age difference would be a tad much, I think.’

Mrs. M. nodded sagely and Tazzie went on: ‘Quentin just said he was Mr. Eastwood because he’s mental. But you know, that’s the reason why I love him so much, so please don’t be angry with him?’

Mrs. Meyerhoffer narrowed her eyes at Quentin. He shuffled his feet and looked down, still fighting off the laughter, but feeling just a little embarrassed as well. ‘I haven’t seen you play in anything, have I?’ Mrs. M. asked suspiciously.

Quentin looked at Mrs. M. from under his eyebrows and carefully tried his charm on her, mentioning some of the huge films he’d played the lead in the past. He still felt the laughter tickle inside his belly, mixed with an intense need to cuddle Tazzie until she was breathless. She’d said he was her fiancé! He didn’t think she’d voluntarily said that ever before, not to anyone, and he’d been secretly worried that he’d been pushing his luck again, first with his joking to Mrs. Meyerhoffer the evening before, and just now, after their shower escapade, when he’d mentioned marriage again…

Mrs. M. in the mean time had had time to think and had come to the conclusion that she’d actually seen Quentin on film, numerous times even. It was a shame that he wasn’t Clint Eastwood, but he still was a real live film star, right there in the Magic B&B. ‘All right,’ she said, still a little disappointed, ‘I suppose it was too good to be true.’ She turned to the man holding his hat and asked him, ‘what do you think, Alex, do you want to do the interview anyway?’

Alex came forward, shook hands and introduced himself as the editor-in-chief - well, actually the only editor - of the Magic Gazette. He’d been hoping to interview Taz, but having a movie star along for the ride certainly would not do the Gazette any harm. Although he admitted that he hadn’t kept up with film releases in recent years, and he hadn’t seen any of the films Quentin had mentioned.

Quentin grinned, taking an immediate liking to the man – when did you ever come across an honest journo – and they sat down to breakfast, coffee, and possibly the most relaxed interview in which he’d participated in his life. ‘Listen, mate,’ Quentin said to Alex, ‘do you realize that this is serious news? No one knows about Taz and me yet, I mean after the APA we took a few questions and they snapped a couple of pics, but it’s not official, and no one knows I’m here. Besides,’ he scratched his head, thinking it through, ‘I think I could get into serious trouble if me being here with Tazzie got widely known; I had to, uh, pull a bit of a stunt to get away and be with her… Reckon it would be best not to be too specific about things, you know?’

Alex nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah, the things we do for love,’ he said with a gentle inward look on his face. ‘Well you know, I was supposed to talk to Ms. Archer this morning before she left, but Mrs. Meyerhoffer called me yesterday evening … I’m a reporter, I had to come in and investigate first thing. I hope you don’t mind. I’m about to publish the first all new edition of the Magic Gazette, I just started here, and I’m really trying to make it work…’

‘And you’ll do a fine job, mate, no worries’ Quent said, giving Alex a friendly grin and a pat on the shoulder. ‘I’d just appreciate it if you’d keep it a little low key where my name is concerned…’

Taryn

After breakfast, they’d said goodbye to Alex, who had given his promise to keep Quentin’s name out of the paper. She believed he’d keep his word; there was something about him that gave the impression he could be trusted. Tazzie was sure Alex was in love as well: she’d felt something of him during the interview, something  that was full of a glowing anticipation, a happiness waiting to blossom…

She was slowly walking through the streets of Magic now, holding hands with Quent, looking at the lovely houses, soaking up the atmosphere of this wonderful little town. They planned to walk down to the lake, have a look around, then come back and maybe have lunch at the diner again (Quentin intended to have a word with Olivia about Terry, although Tazzie tried to talk him out of sticking his shameless nose in), then maybe they could have a look at that quaint little museum they just passed… The weather was lovely, not too hot, not too cold, the sky was blue, and Taz felt like she was floating down the street, she was so high on being in love with Quent.

It was even better than before, even better than their happiest time in Nana. They knew each other, they knew their love for each other was as strong as ever, maybe even stronger, and it was as if their worries about schedules and not being able to spend any time together in the future just evaporated in the golden sunlight as they drifted down the road towards the lake.

‘Look at that house,’ Tazzie said, nudging Quent softly with her shoulder, ‘isn’t that a lovely place?’ There was an old fashioned sign that said Farmington marking the driveway, and a pretty young woman in a pink tracksuit jogged out and onto the road. She waved at Quentin and Tazzie and turned into the direction of the town.

‘We could buy it,’ Quent said, ‘and live here… I could practically drive to work from here, if it’s a studio gig in LA… And I suppose we could have a little landing pad in the garden, for a heli…’

‘Thought you said you never wanted to live here,’ said Taz, wrapping an arm around him.

‘True, but here’s sort of nice, reckon… don’t you think? I like it here… it’s different, but good different…’

‘You’re good different too,’ Tazzie smiled up at him, and they stopped to share a slow, lingering kiss that was dappled with sunlight. His skin smelled very nice, all sunny, and she just knew that they’d never been this close. It was wonderful. They meandered down the road and onto a narrow dirt track that led directly towards the lake, and when they reached the water they found a rock perfect for sitting on and staring out over the glassy surface.

‘Wanna make love,’ Quent murmured in her ear, his need softly buzzing in Tazzie’s mind.

‘I know,’ Tazzie smiled. ‘You keep surprising me, you know? You have the stamina of an eighteen year old.’

‘Should have seen me when I was eighteen,’ Quent grinned naughtily, running his hand under Tazzie’s top and making her shiver.

‘Christ, spare me,’ Tazzie squealed, and she stuck a finger in his side. He yelped and retracted his hand; he still was extremely, sweetly ticklish and Taz knew exactly how and where to prod him. ‘Quent, save it for tonight, we really can’t. Not here. This isn’t Nana, with no one around for miles and miles, just us and the ‘roos; there’s a house, there’s people living here… I’d be mortified!’

‘Aw,’ he wheedled, ‘just a quickie? C’mon Tazzie-luv, look at the state of me, I’ll die of blue balls. I can’t walk back into town like this? Just giz a wank then, no one will see.’

‘No one’s ever died of blue balls,’ Tazzie said sternly, ‘and in all probability you’ll die of protein depletion instead,’ but she turned towards him nonetheless and softly rubbed the irresistible bulge in his jeans. He’d gotten some normal clothes out of the boot of his rental car right after breakfast and had changed from the Clint Eastwood suit into a pair of scruffy jeans, a tee and a threadbare flannel shirt. This was how she loved him best, when he looked like a normal (albeit ruggedly good looking) outdoorsy sort of bloke.

He wrapped his arms around her and growled softly, pulling her closer until he could kiss her and take her breath away. Tazzie lost coherence quickly as he cupped her left breast in his hand and started squeezing and rubbing, finding her nipple through the thin layers of bra and top. She started to produce little moans with every shallow breath she took and felt herself instantly moist up for him. She just knew that she wouldn’t be able to say no to him; even if the whole village stood around watching she’d probably still let him have his way with her. It just felt too bloody good.

‘Got interrupted this mornin’,’ Quent rumbled, ‘wanna finish what we’ve started… c’mere luvvie,’ and he hoisted her onto his lap, right against the solid bulge. They kissed and groped and ground against each other and panted into each other’s ears like a pair of hormone-driven teenagers, but just as Quentin was working on the buttons of her Levi’s, his mobile rang.

‘Fuck’s sake, the fuck is it now,’ he groused as Tazzie scrambled to get off him, ‘every fuckin’ time we’re getting’ into it! Yeah, Quent here!’ He barked into his mobile, a big furrow in his brow.

Tazzie stood beside him, laid her hand on his shoulder and smoothed his hair behind his ear, and he relaxed against her while he listened.

‘So Rich, what are you sayin’, she just quit the production or did you chuck her?’ he talked into the phone and leaned against Tazzie’s side, rubbing his forehead against her while he spoke. She kept stroking his hair.

‘So what’s the plan then? Are we closing down for the time being? Are we still goin’ on location to the Azores, or are we moving that to the studio, or what?’ Tazzie heard the director’s voice jabbering but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Quentin felt happy and soft and warm, and Tazzie was already imagining them being able to spend more time together, when all of a sudden he shot upright and stiffened. His mood changed completely; he got angry so quickly and thoroughly that Taz involuntarily stepped back from him.

‘What?!’ he shouted. ‘Fuck me, you can’t be serious, mate. You can’t be bloody serious.’ Then his voice turned softer, and much lower. He sounded even more dangerous like that, he sounded like he had total control over his magnificent anger, like he could decide to unleash it at a moment’s notice. ‘Rich, I cannot work with her. I can’t believe you’re even suggestin’ this, you know we have a history together. And not a good history. This is a very, very bad idea.’

More jabbering coming from the mobile, louder and definitely annoyed-sounding this time.

‘Right. It’s very simple.’ Quent’s voice was steely. ‘If she’s in, I’m out. I refuse to have anything to do with her personally, and as an actress she’s got the range of a squirt gun and the depth of a saucer, so…’ he waited and listened for a bit, then interrupted, ‘I don’t need to be bloody professional about it, Rich; playin’ opposite her is bloody beneath me. Go ahead if you feel like it; me, I don’t give a fuck, you hear me, not… one… fuckin’… bloody… fuck. Mate, I’d be doin’ the production a favour walking out; you can just sign it Smithee and be done with it, all right?’

More jabbering still, and Quentin slowly turned from slightly reddened to a simmering, barely controlled, teeth-clenching white. Tazzie looked at him with worry in her eyes.

‘You’re playing a dangerous game, Davies,’ Quentin finally said, so low it was almost a whisper, ‘just make sure you know what you’re doin’ and watch your back mate, that’s all I’m gonna say about it for now. And make sure I don’t need to be on set with her because I’ll rip her head off, and you’ll be next in line.’ And then he flipped his phone shut, slipped it back into his back pocket and silently seethed, staring out across the lake, his jaw set.

Tazzie carefully sat back down beside him and looked at his face every now and again, waiting patiently for him to start talking about it.

‘Well that’s a fuckin’ mood killer if ever I saw one,’ he finally said. He sighed. ‘Tana McBride was supposed to play the female lead, you know? Well it’s not a very big part, and we haven’t even shot any scenes with her yet. But it turns out she could get something better, and she’s dropped out at the last second.’ He paused again, weighing his words and biting back his boiling anger. Tazzie could feel it anyway, curling inside him like molten lava. He sighed once more, calming himself as best he could, and went on. ‘So Tana needs to be replaced. And guess who the fuck happens to be available to fill in the gap?’

Taz looked at him, a growing unease spreading through her.

‘Brianna Roberts,’ Quent spat. ‘Brianna fuckin’ Roberts. And you know what really kills me here? Davies knows I sabotaged the set, he bloody knows, and he came right out and said that if I don’t get my arse back on set tomorrow morning, the studio’s gonna sue me until I’m penniless, and mind you they can with their bloody legal departments and everything, plus I’d be persona non grata for probably the rest of my life. I’ve got no choice, really. No fuckin’ choice.’

Chapter Thirteen