|
This
is a work of fiction, loosely based on the real person, Russell Crowe. No
insult or injury is intended, this story is for entertainment purposes only. This
story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit sexual
situations and adult language. The writer is not responsible for any
"discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these
situations.
Remission by:
©
11/2004 Chapter 9 It's late October. The shooting
of 'Master and Commander' almost
done. They have spend the last five
months in Mexico. Russell rented a luxury suite in a highly secured hotel at
Calafia Point, a 15-minute drive from Rosarito, where the filming takes place.
Mari stayed with him off and on during the months of the shoot. Whenever her
work would allow. Sometimes spending a few weeks at the time. During the day, with Russell
away filming, she'd keep to their rooms. As always immensely enjoying the
privacy, peace and quiet. The hotel being beautifully located on the oceanfront
with a spectacular view. The suite had two large bedrooms, a spacious
comfortable living room and a huge terrace, semi-covered by a pergola shrouded
with bougainvillea, overlooking the ocean. The whole place was beautifully
furnished, in old Spanish style. From the terrace steep steps leading down to a
private beach. Mari always brought her
sketchbooks, several canvases and her paints. In the daytime she'd either worked
or just relaxed. Sometimes on the beach, mostly at the terrace. The weather had been lovely,
warm sunshine and fresh ocean breezes. She'd been reading a lot. She's
started on the O'Brian books and has fallen in love with Jack Aubrey and Stephen
Maturin. She's on book six now "The Fortunes of War". Easily picturing
Russell as the dashing captain. They'd spent most evenings
together. Enjoying each other. Ordering their meals from the excellent hotel's
kitchen. Eating out on the terrace. It had become their favorite spot. Under the
pergola stood a large comfortable bed, like a Roman couch, ideal for making love
under the starry sky. Russell had committed himself to
learning to play the violin. A task he found extremely challenging. He practiced
passionately. She'd loved to just sit there and watch him struggle.
His face in total concentration. Delighted as a child when he got it
right. It had been such happy nights, idyllic beyond words. If only she could ignore the
voices in her head, telling her it can never last..... ~*~ She's home again. She had to
leave ahead of him. Expects him home in a few days. The Sydney exhibition had been a
great success. The reactions overwhelming. Laudatory reviews. A great number of
her paintings sold. Her first self-earned money. She'd received requests from
museums, art-dealers, journalists.... She needs to make up her mind on
the best strategy. Works hard. Painting day and night. The phone rings. Russell. Richard Harris has
died. He's flying to England for the funeral. "Oh God, darling, I'm so
sorry to hear that. What happened?" "His son Jared called me.
Richard died in hospital last Friday. Hodgkin's disease." His voice so sad,
so tired. "I'm taking a flight to London tomorrow. The funeral is on the
4th." "Oh, Russ....I wish I could
be with you right now. How are you?" "....Coping... I loved him,
you know." "I know, baby, I'm so
sorry...." "I don't know how long I
will stay there. There's the funeral and Jared mentioned a wake. And I promised
Richard I would visit his hometown someday. So maybe I'll go there too. I will
let you know, okay?" "OK darling. Is Mark going
with you?" "Yeah, Mark and Danny. Have
to go now." "OK. Please take care, my
love" ~*~ He has called several times.
Emotional after the funeral. He's taking it hard. At the wake he recited Patrick
Kavanagh's poem 'Sanctity'. It made him cry. He's been to Ireland, to visit
Limerick. Richard hometown. "Very beautiful, darlin', I'll take you some
day." He's been to the rugby match between Ireland and Australia. Ireland
won. "That would have made Richard happy." He sounds so tired. He will be
home in a few days. She worries about him, wishes he was home already. ~*~ Mari wakes to the sound of the
phone. Disorientated. Jesus, it's 3 AM. Who? .... Oh
God, Russell! "Luv? I'm fucked,
luv." His voice blurred. "Russell? What's
wrong?" "I've fucked up,
baby." "Please, darling, tell me
what happened." "Got into a fight. Fucking
bastard Watson....Fucking mess..." "Oh God, are you OK? Are
you hurt?" "Just some bruises... The
press was there, Mari, and the cops. It will be all over the tabs by
tomorrow..." "The police? Oh God! Did
they make charges?" "No, no worries. I just
wanted you to know before it hits the papers..." "I don't give shit about
the papers. Come home, baby. I want you home and safe.." "I'm so tired, luv. So
fucking tired....." "Just come home to me,
Russell, please..." ~*~ He looks terrible. Face all
bruised up and swollen. What worries her most are his eyes. He looks beaten. She
cries, holding him close, very gently kissing his battered face. Happy he's
safely home again. He talks to her about what
happened. Just a stupid fight about nothing really. He can hardly remember what
it was about. He and Watson have never been friends, hating each other's guts.
He was pissed out of mind of course. Had been drinking for days. After the
funeral, at the wake, at Richard's favorite pub, after the game. The shit hits the fan Big Time.
His face plastered all over the media. "Russell Crowe's Restaurant
Fight." "Crowe's London Bar Brawl." "Gladiator takes it
lying down." Stories about racial remarks he supposedly made, about him
licking some girls face. She hides most of them from him. He's stressed out. He needs a break. He has canceled the band's tour. Wrote a statement for the Website. The media have taken over the statement. He's the talk of the day.
Chapter Ten or Index for Remission
Return to Real Russell
Return to Main Page
WANT TO POST FEEDBACK? VISIT THE ROUGH MAGIC FEEDBACK MESSAGE BOARD!
|
