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A Yook by Any Other Name Chapter Three |
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Chapter three: Steve Perks Up
His lids half lowered as he replied, "I have an idea." "What?" she cried. "What idea?" "Good-bye," he whispered, kissed his fingertip then touched it to her lips, turned on his heel and dashed way more quickly than she could ever hope to follow into a clump of trees. She stood there, looking after him, appalled. My God! WHAT had he thought of NOW? *************** Slowly Bunny walked alone back to the house, long sighs escaping her lips from time to time as she went. With a mind like Sid's, there was no telling what he might have come up with. She felt like getting out the sandbags and plywood, nailing everything shut for the approach of some hurricane. Once inside, she realized she hadn't actually seen Joimus yet and so made her way down the long hallway and tapped lightly on the door to Himself's bedroom. She couldn't help smiling a bit to herself as she did that for the strangeness of her actually DOING such a thing still boggled her mind a bit. How had she gotten from Yorkshire to this bedroom door? Ah, yes, she had gone to Tuscany, hadn't she, and offered to help with the restoration of the huge old villa. And she'd been wandering the world with this motley crew ever since.
Joimus'
"Come in!" broke through her reverie and she opened the
door, peeping in. When Joimus saw who it was, she smiled
affectionately and said softly, "Oh, Bunny! Do come on
in." Maximus lay sleeping in the bed but Joimus added, "If
we sit over there, we can talk quietly. He won't wake. He's sleeping
really deeply." "Probably
what he needs, " Bunny added, looking at his quiet form. She
couldn't help remembering her last moments with Sid and truly, truly
hoped it did not bode too evilly for the General. He'd been through
so much recently and needed time to get his full strength back. She
was very concerned, though, as how often was it that Sid went out of
his way to think up some diabolical test of Arthur's ability to
survive?
Steve was a bit depressed. Not only was Jocelyn completely out of bananas for him to photograph, but he had never gotten much air time in epis. . . never. He couldn't really understand the why of that as he knew well and good he was a handsome bloke, had a much better tummy than Aubrey, less facial hair than Zack, and was quite, um, proficient. . . in the shower. Despite repeated mentionings of the fact that he had no lady to watch his back in times of train rollings or glacial entrapment, he continued alone, epi in and epi out. He stopped by the refrigerator, checking out the vegetable supply for possible inspiration and it was as he stood there, celery in hand, that he heard voices from the den. One he knew right away was Himself's but the other was feminine, and he realized he had never heard it before. It reminded him of someone else's voice quite a bit, but he couldn't think just whose.
There was a small silence, then the voice replied, "Thank you, Russell. I think I'd like that." Replacing the celery in the veggie bin, Steve walked quietly to the door of the den, trying to see who was there with Himself. His eyes widened a bit when he saw a tall, slender woman in a pale pink business suit. He had never seen such long legs before, and the above-the-knee pencil skirt with the matching pink heels, only served to accentuate the lines of them. She had sable brown hair twisted up behind her head and he must have gasped slightly, because both of them turned, staring at him. Himself, a knowing smile on his lips, said, "Steve! Come in. I'd like you to meet Laura Bridgecourt, the legal consultant from Fox Searchlight." No one, of course, knew what made Steve tick better than Himself. He looked positively amused when Steve almost tripped over his own feet as he walked into the small room. Setting
down her leather briefcase, Laura extended her hand to him.
"Hello," he said, his eyes shining as they roamed a bit
brazenly over her face, his photographer's eye delighted. "I'm
Steve." She smiled at him, a bit of a chuckle in her voice, and replied, "So I gather." Not taking his eyes off her face, he asked, "Are you new to epis?" "I am," she answered. "This is my very first." He had forgotten to release her hand and Himself, observing this, remarked, "You can let go of her now, Steve." "Oh!" he said, slightly embarrassed, but not actually overly much. Still looking at her, he asked, "Will you be staying?" Himself heard the silent, "I hope," in Steve's voice, so explained, "She's having lunch here today and will be up at the set during most of the filming." "Ah," he sighed, "very good." Himself's shoulders shook with a little, partially-repressed chortle. "Why don't you show her where the dining room is, Steve? I have some matters that need my attention." "I'd be glad to," he replied quickly, brightly. He stepped aside, letting her go out the door first, both because he was attempting to be gentlemanly and because he wanted to see her from the back. She was completely aware of both motivations, but walked ahead anyway, a bit of a grin on her face that he couldn't see. They met Jocelyn in the hallway, looking for Jack, his reruffled shirt in her hands. "Ah," Laura said, "that must be the Captain's." Jocelyn seemed to know Laura and, nodding assent to her question, asked, "Have you seen him?" "I believe he was outside," she replied. "You know of Jack?" Steve asked, a bit puzzled that a total newcomer would be aware of the characters. She tipped her head slightly as she explained, "I work for a major studio, Steve. I'm well aware of all Russell's films." "Well,"
he added, "if you are going to be in epis now, you must begin
calling Russell 'Himself'." Then he stopped, his eyes widening
as a thought struck him. "Did you say 'ALL'?" "Well, most of them. There are one or two of his earlier, more obscure ones I haven't seen... yet." He reddened a bit, hoping that one of those was "Breaking Up" and not just "Prisoners of the Sun" or "The Efficiency Expert." Jocelyn had told them to make themselves comfortable whilst she located the Captain, so he gallantly pulled out a wooden chair by the large table, nodding toward it. She sat, crossing one leg over the other, and he couldn't help but stare. Ignoring it, she said, "So, you are a photographer?" He gulped. Perhaps she HAD seen "Breaking Up"? He licked his lower lip a bit. "Yes," he replied, "mostly stills of. . . of fruit and vegetables." Why did that suddenly sound a bit lame to him? "For advertising?" she asked. "Some. Others for art." She looked at him levelly. "And which fruit do you find the most. . . artistic?" Why did a
large banana slowly being peeled fill his brain and refuse to go
away? He reddened more. "Grapes," he spluttered. "Ah, small round balls," she commented. He reddened still more. "You like their. . . form?" she inquired. He couldn't talk. He just wasn't able. She smiled. He breathed deeply. She must have seen "Breaking Up", he figured. She simply must. "Large batches of them. . . on table tops?" she continued mercilessly.
He began to cough. "Are you all right?" she asked. "I. . . I'll be fine. Just give me a. . . minute," he gasped, continuing to cough. Bud and
Berti came into the room. Quickly Bud walked over to Steve and began
pounding his back. "Ack!" Steve cried. "That's
enough!" Regaining his composure, he watched Laura look at Bud
as though she knew what he looked like with his pectorals rising and
falling just above a white sheet. His eyes narrowed as he found
himself desperately needing that to be only a movie-thing. He had no
way of knowing that Bud had been there first, speaking purely in
terms of becoming aware of Crowe characters, of course. She sat there silently, however, and let him introduce himself as though she had no idea of who he might be. "White," he said, "Officer Bud White, LAPD." "This is Laura Bridgecourt, " Steve interjected before she could say her name. "She's a lawyer with Fox." "I'm. . . pleased. . . to meet you," she said. Steve's eyes narrowed more. "He's with Berti," he said, probably a bit too loudly. "They've been together for almost three years now. They're very, very close," he added, unable to stop talking.
"Hi, I'm Berti," the Louisianan said, sitting across from Laura. "You're new?" "Just arrived," Laura explained, "not two paragraphs ago." "Wow," Berti said, "that IS new!" "Fox?"
Bud said, a question mark in his voice.
"Their Searchlight division," Laura smiled. "We've only been around for a decade. We handle the films with more of an indie slant to them." "Like
Eucalyptus?" Bud asked. "As am I," Himself said, coming into the room, his torso completely encased in red flannel.
"My, MY!" remarked Berti. "I haven't seen you so, um, covered. . . in quite some time." "Home," Himself said fondly, "the cows, the Mum, the shirt." Bud laughed. "Has Phyllis seen you yet?" "Not
yet," Himself chortled. "I hope she recognizes me"
A moment later she saw him in the dining room, talking with Steve, Bud, Berti and a woman she had not met yet. He practically glowed red. She paused, taking him in, his new coloration and degree of coveredness needing a period of adjustment. He saw her and extended the full length of his left arm in her direction. "This is Phyllis, Laura. She and I have been together for quite some time now." The two women smiled at one another, and after some brief chit chat, Phyllis pulled Himself over to one side. "Your shirt," she said, trying to keep her voice low in spite of the great emotion she was feeling, "what happened to your shirt?" "Mum," he shrugged, "Mum happened." She leaned back on her heels a bit. "Ah," she said, her lips curving into a smile, "now I understand." She decided not to mention the scraps tucked securely in her bodice. It was enough that they were in her possession.
"And you would be looking for . . . ?" a male voice, similar to Himself's, yet different, said behind her, startling her so that she let the melon baller in her hand drop with a small clink to the floor. "Um . . . um . . . um . . . , " she stammered, staring at Himself's older brother. He stooped, picking it up, holding it out to her. "Um . . . um . . . we . . . we're having. . . um. . . honeydew for . . . for . . . lunch!" "We?"
he asked. "Yes," she said, quickly plopping the melon baller in a drawer, "all of us." "All? And just how many would that be?" "Oh, um, about, um, 50." He smiled. "I take it that my wandering sibling has returned?" "Yes, yes, he has," she said. "And not alone?" Terry continued. "Not alone. . . far from alone," she said. "We. . . we. . . all of us. . . we came. . . . . . too." Jocelyn came in the kitchen door. "I see you've met our annsmac," she said, then turned to the young woman and asked pleasantly, "and did you find the potato peeler, my dear?" "She had the melon baller," Terry said. "Melon baller?" Jocelyn repeated, her eyebrow arching. "Do you really think that will...work?" Annsmac blushed terribly, looked at her feet, and nodded side to side. "Perhaps, "Jocelyn continued, "there might be something in the barn... something we use on the horses' hooves?" She was quite enjoying herself. "To ball melon?" Terry laughed. Jocelyn
guided her son toward the doorway. "Go find your brother,"
she instructed. "I think he's in the dining room." Terry
left, giving one backward look over his shoulder at annsmac, who
still looked at the floor as though the composition of it were the
most interesting thing in the world. "I will NOT!" Sue the Vile announced, backing ever more deeply into the barn. He, of course, followed. There was no choice in the matter, now was there, not with three of his vest buttons still so firmly entangled in the lace of her bodice lining. "You're not really trying to get them loose, are you?" she said, her voice low in that way those from just north of London have when they are planning their own birthday celebrations.
"Good," she smiled, liking the barn much better than the Egyptian desert where she'd spent her last birthday. Jack was in the bathroom, studying himself in the mirror. He'd taken off his jacket and vest and put on the white poofy puffy shirt, leaving it somewhat open at the neck so a bit of chest hair showed. He sighed and leaned his forehead against his reflection. He felt old. Old and tired. He sighed again then left the room, his jacket and vest over his arm. It was too warm in New South Wales for them. "I love you so," she murmured. "Nothing will ever take you from me again." Ah, were
that only true!
Next
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