Doing the most rational or logical thing wasn't necessarily his strong point, but Russ always made choices from the heart. Whether it was to help someone or attempt to make things better for himself; it was his gut and his soul that always made the final decisions. Just yesterday he was generous enough to let that mugger take his wallet. Not bad. The bloke got fifty dollars and most of the rent money. And Russ got away without a black eye. Good go after all; he needed to look good for the busking Friday night, now didn't he? Yeah, he liked his life for the most part. It was all moving as it should be, almost predictable. Slow but inching ahead. He had a few years before he had to question his heart, right? Things could work out yet. But, at the moment, he was determined to take care of number one.

He and Dean were doing fine, sort of. Scratching and hoping and doing everything they could think of to be heard. No one actually knew about them yet, but soon. Maybe someone would tell someone important how good they were. It's possible, right? At least that's what his heart was telling him. Rain dripped onto his head and he spied just what he was looking for. He grinned, took the 'Help Wanted' sign and walked into the restaurant. Hadn't all musicians worked in a restaurant at some point? Sure they had. Another due to pay and he was willing.

Inside the door he was greeted with a big smile. She was a pretty sheila, but it was like watching a catastrophe playing out in slow motion and not real graceful either. The nipper tossed the spoon that spun in the air, bounced off the shoulder of the man seated across the aisle then tumbled to the floor. From there it slid at breakneck speed across the hardwood, rolled a few times and came to a stop just as the smiling waitress stepped down. Her ankle twisted, the tray of water glasses she was carrying flipped, splattered and shattered and when it was all said and done, Russ was covered with water … no big deal as he was already wet from the rain.

"Bloody hell," he gasped, watching the girl roll to her knees and shake her head. "You okay? Ya hit your head, didn't you?" He lowered to a knee, ignoring the water dripping from his hair and nose to grip her elbow and help her to her feet.

"Ah … ah …" She blinked and he pressed her soft yellow curls away to see the growing lump on her brow. "I'm fine, I am, really. I'm fine." But there was more than confusion and pain in her eyes, there was worry and he turned to see the manager running across the restaurant.

The man paid no attention to his disoriented waitress, simply babbled his deep apology to Russ. "Sir, sir, I am so sorry!"

"Hey mate; I'm not the one with the twisted ankle and bump on the head. I'm bonzer," he continued to hold the girl's elbow.

"So sorry, sir. Please, dinner is on the house … and this waitress will be fired, I assure you. This was totally unacceptable. Please, come, sit. The best table in the place."

Yeah, it was tempting. Free tucker. But Russ simply couldn't. He groaned, lifted the 'Help Wanted' sign and grinned. "Not a customer, mate. Lookin' for work. And this wasn't the girl's fault. I saw the whole thing happen. It started with that little boy over there and -"

"Yes, yes," the man grunted. "It's always someone else's fault. Charlene, clean up this mess. You," he glared at Russ, "come with me."

Russ turned back once to wink at Charlene and take note of the red mark on her brow. Maybe he could get his hands on a piece of ice after his interview and give it to her for the swelling, poor sheila.

Interview went well enough and to his pleasure, the next afternoon when he tied on his apron for his first day of work, Charlene was still employed, standing at the wait station and making the coffee. Two massive urns chugged and brewed and he considered; he was a tea drinker himself, but if the coffee was good, he'd certainly love a swallow or two. He and Dean were up late the night before, perfecting a few new song ideas and talking hopeful dreams about the future. Unlike the day before, Russ was feeling the pressure. There were a few years before he'd reconsider his choices, but shouldn't something be starting for him? Something different than another in a long line of jobs he didn't really like? He shrugged and turned to set up the tables for dinner.

Linens, glasses, he knew where the forks and spoons went, thanks to mum. The fancy napkin tents were tricky and even though he watched the others quickly fold and snap them into shape, his hands simply wouldn't accommodate. "Psst, Charlene. Give a minute here and show me again how to do these bloody things."

She smiled and slowly explained every fold, every twist and every move then stayed with him at the table as they folded several napkins before speaking again.

"I wanted to thank you for yesterday. It was kind of you, saying that it wasn't my fault."

Russ blinked, looked up at her. Charlene was a pretty girl, soft spoken and gentle, easy on the eyes although nothing that would grab a bloke's attention. But there was something about her that was intriguing. Something he couldn't put his finger on … aside from her interesting accent. "You an American?"

She nodded, a slight blush on her cheek.

"What the bloody hell are ya doing down here, love?"

"That's a very long, boring story," she shrugged. "But I'm trying to get back home."

"Trying?"

But before she could answer, another waitress bellowed. "Charlene! There's a bloody mess here at the wait station! Who spilled the sugar? Or is it salt? It's disgusting!"

Charlene sighed. "I'll clean it up." She turned and the hem of her apron somehow caught onto the mountain of lovely napkin tents; they cascaded to the floor in a mound of linen and she groaned.

"No worries, love," Russ chuckled. "I got this."

w

Charm was one of Russ' innate traits but often he didn't even have to use it. Most times it came naturally, oozing like honey from a hive and sometimes it was a major boon. His tips were high and he actually enjoyed the clientele. Not super rich people, but not the fast food sect either. They rewarded good service and he attempted to give a little better than most; remembering to compliment a mother on how cute or well behaved her children were, offering suggestions for romantic or business entrees, even noting when a customer was confused or mentally counting pennies and offering alternative menu items that might fit into a tight budget. It was fun, reading people like that. Reading the customers and reading his coworkers was like a game that helped get him through the day.

LeSuitte, the chef and restaurant owner was a classic Frog. Had an expressive face that made him look like a cartoon character and his tall hat was always crooked, tilted to the left like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. Mr. Blockdon, the manager had a classic Victorian novel villain quality about him, complete with the cheesy handlebar mustache. He was always looking for reasons to yell or reprimand. Carla was the oldest waitress on staff, well past the age of retirement but she had her regular customers who were bloody miserable if they came on her days off, no one did things like Carla. There was a pair of queens too, Bart and Caplan, the only other male waiters; they were entertaining enough to keep Russ chuckling through an entire shift. The dishwasher was a massive Maori bloke whose girth seemed to take up the whole corner of the kitchen. But he too was pleasant enough and more than once, Russ had joined him for a beer after helping finish the clean up. Pukki Joe was a good time; that was sure.

Then, of course there was the sexual magnet, Olivia. Never failed, there always was one in any job Russell took. Never took long and by his third day he was shagging the beauty. Olivia was a few inches taller than Russ and that held a bit of Amazonian appeal. The sex was as exciting as dancing with her. Now, if she'd only keep her bloody mouth shut. It wasn't Olivia's strange, scratchy voice; the attractions of her stunning body made that bearable … it was what came out of her mouth that sometimes made him cringe. Without realizing it, he'd fallen into several discussions with her that oddly sounded like his own dad was doing the talking.

"Why are ya so brutal where Charlene's concerned, Livi?"

"She's a bloody Yank. She doesn't belong here, she's taken a job anyone can do better and she knows it. Why else would she just run off to clean everyone else's mess? She knows she's nothing more than a maid, should be bussing tables, I tell ya. Not taking tips we deserve. Besides," Olivia rolled over him on the mattress, straddled and took him in deep. "I don't like the way she looks at you. Like she's someone you'd even consider fucking." Her head fell back and she laughed an ugly cackle.

The vision was at once sexually charged and turned his stomach. What did she mean? Hell no, he wouldn't consider fucking Charlene, but he would consider intimacy with the Yank. She was pretty and far more palatable than the likes of Olivia. Lately it seemed Olivias were a dime a dozen. But young women of quality, humble women with values and sweetness, they just didn't come along all that often. Was Charlene really looking at him? Looking at him with interest? Fuck all, he hadn't even noticed. And in the blink of an eye, a decision was made. He was tired of the Olivias of the world. Maybe it was time to look in another direction, then.

It was a distasteful situation all around, Olivia bouncing on him like that. The way she talked about people was simply rank, unkind and aggravated the bloody hell out of him. Of course, he finished what he was doing, Russ had values but he wasn't a fool. He waited until she dressed to leave his place before announcing that they were through. Olivia wasn't too pleased, to say the least.

The next morning he stood at the wait station, yawning and rubbing his puffy, red eyes. The Amazon had taken a lot out of him the past few nights and he needed at least one good night's sleep if he was gonna keep his wits about him, stay on top of his job and everything else important in his life. How the bloody hell did he keep getting himself into messes like that? Well, it was over. From that point on, where women were concerned Russ was taking the high road, looking for quality.

He watched Charlene make the coffee and reached for a cup. "How are ya today, love?"

"Good, good … oh no. Oh shit."

"What?"

"Oh Russ, I really screwed up. I put the decaf in the wrong brewer! Shit, shit, shit. Now I've gotta wait until they're finished perking, empty these damn things and start all over. Crap, crap, crap, the coffee won't be ready on time. I am in so much trouble!"

"No, no, love. Here, just do this." He switched the carafes, placing the decaf labeled carafe under the correct nozzle with a flair. "Just tape a note to the thing; it'll be apples. Just fine."

But she never got the chance to put a sign in place, never saw Olivia grumble and put the decaf carafe in its usual place or run to tell old man Blockdon about Charlene's hundredth mistake in less than an hour.

"No, no, Mr. Blockdon, there was a reason I put the pot there, see I put the wrong grinds in the brewer and -"

"I've had enough of your bloody fuck ups, Charlene! Get back in the kitchen, someone broke a jar of pickles and the floor needs mopped. And stay back there where you belong!"

"Hold up at minute, mate." Russ intercepted Charlene before she could leave, tears already filling her eyes. "It was fine. All she needed to do was put a little sign there. We're intelligent human beings, ya know. We could've just served from the opposite carafes this evening. No need to make such a big thing about it."

"Again?" Olivia spat from behind them. "Mr. Blockdon, haven't you had enough of these two siding with each other? Did you know she sneaks special things from the kitchen for him?"

"I … I …" Charlene gasped, stared at Olivia then the manager.

Russ groaned. "That's a bloody lie. I asked Charlene to fetch me an extra biscuit for the nipper at table six yesterday. He'd dropped the thing on the floor and was crying. It was a bloody biscuit." He glared at the tall beauty, wondering what the hell it was about her that had attracted him in the first place. "A simple, bloody biscuit."

"And it'll cost you, Crowe," the manager growled. "How many little extras you been giving the customers? That how you get all those big tips?"

"That's just crazy," Russ gasped. "A bloody biscuit to assure a customer comes back is well worth the fifteen cents it costs this place. Ya gotta make them feel special, ya know."

"And now you're gonna tell us how to make money? How to satisfy people? This restaurant has been in business for ten bloody years and we never had to give away biscuits before. You both can get outta here," Blockdon glared at Charlene then Russ. "Now!"

"Fine!" Russ untied his bistro apron and took Charlene's hand. "S'go, love."

"I need to clean the floor," she said, blinking, fully confused about what the hell had just happened."

"No, ya don't, we're outta here. S'go."

"Now!" shouted Blockdon and they both scurried out into the street.

Russ laughed and skipped a few steps. It wasn't that he liked getting his sorry arse canned; what he liked was being free again. A month at the restaurant had set him pretty; there was enough in the locked drawer at his flat to cover his half of the rent for the next three months. More than enough time to find another job, get back into the swing of busking, maybe at the Cross. They'd do well there, him and Dean. A little scary, but people would stop and listen and pay money for the entertainment, that was sure.

He walked backwards, grinning ear to ear and watched Charlene. She kept looking back at the restaurant until they'd turned the bend, then the tears really started to fall. Bloody hell, this was not something he was too good at dealing with.

"Ah, come on, love. It'll be fine, darlin'. Just fine. Are ya hungry? Let's get some tucker. It'll help calm ya down."

But Charlene was beyond the point of being cheered. She sat on the curb and sobbed into her hands. Russ plopped casually beside her, cuddled her close, let her tears wet his shirt and soothed her back with a tender rub. "Hush now, it's no so bad. We just keep going, love. Can't just stop, ya know. Keep going."

"Maybe you can do that, but I can't. Oh Russ, this is terrible! I needed that job; I mean really needed that job!"

"Darlin', we just get you another one. It'll be fine, sweetheart."

"No, no it won't." She stood, glared down at him. "You don't get it, do you Russell? Maybe for you things are going to work out just fine and dandy, but the world just doesn't work that way for me. I'm screwed. I'll never get home, I just know it!"

He stood and held her shoulders, lowered his face to meet her eye level and felt a smooth wash of desire. There was something good about a woman smaller than a man, something right. Something that made him feel big and strong and able to take care of her. "Yes you will, Charlene. It'll all straighten out. You just gotta keep going. Can't reach the prize if ya stop, now can you?"

"Why are you so nice to me?" she asked softly and he shrugged, turned and encouraged her to stroll with him.

"Well, I kinda like Yanks," he grinned but didn't look at her. "Kinda like you." His hand wrapped protectively around her fingers and they walked several blocks. "Listen, love. Ya never told me your long boring story. Looks like we got time now."

"No shit, tons of time. I'm out of a job and still four hundred dollars short of a plane ticket to the States."

"Four hundred? Bloody hell," he sighed. If it was twenty or thirty bucks, he'd have gladly given it to her, but four hundred? That was gonna take some time to pull together, even if he and Dean and she worked for it. "Wow."

"Yeah, big wow. And we didn't get this week's paycheck. Blockdon doesn't give them out until just before close. How much you want to bet we never see that money? He'll justify that we stole like a thousand cookies or something. So now, I can't pay the rent and I'll be out on my butt." Her glowing eyes turned up to him. "I don't want to dip into the money I saved for the plane ticket and I don't want to live on the street. Russ, what am I going to do?"

"Well, ya won't be living on the street … and you keep that ticket money safe. You can stay with me and my mate. Not the nicest place but you can have my bed, I sleep on the sofa most nights anyway, so no worries. And we will find ya a job, I promise, love. Now, no more tears. Gotta keep moving ahead. Beside, now I can busk tonight! Wanna come see me and Dean sing?"

"You sing?" her brow rose. "How cool! Where?"

"Anywhere, everywhere. We could even sing right here on this corner."

Charlene slowed and he turned to look at her. "Do you make any money?"

"Yeah. Sometimes as much as fifty, sixty bucks a night. All coins too. It's bonzer."

"Can I sing too?"

Russ thought. "I dunno. Can ya?"

Charlene shrugged. "Maybe I can just come and watch tonight."

"Sure. Maybe we should gather your things and get them to my place today, darlin'. Hate to see you lose your stuff if they lock ya out."

"Can they do that?"

He grinned. Nodded. "Oh hell yeah."

w

Dean tossed empty beer bottles into a trash bag and groaned. "Will she be payin' part of the rent?"

"Shh," Russ hissed, glancing toward the closed bedroom door. "She'll hear you. She's outta work just like me right now. Just helping a friend. When she can, she will."

"Uh-huh," Dean lit a cigarette as Russ carried the trash outside. "Sure she will." But he wasn't so against having a pretty sheila as a roommate … bumbling as the sweet thing was. She'd already accidentally broken a lamp in the lounge and cut her finger trying to pick up the mess. Sweet was kind of an understatement. For a Yank, Charlene was something like the lovely milk maids you hear about; the kind who was probably raised on a farm under her preacher daddy's thumb. He even wondered if she was a virgin, wondered if he'd be the first to find out. But then again, it was always Russ that got the girls. Dean got his fair share too, but if his mate brought the sheila home, she was off limits. Pity that. He could clearly imagine turning that lovely girl into a wild, orgasmic animal.

"What the bloody hell you grinning at?" Russ grunted, sweeping crumbs from the table and looking around. The place didn't look so bad, for a poor musician's bachelor pad that is.

"Nothin'. We playin' tonight?"

A nod.

"The Cross?"

"Ah, no. Taking Charlene with us. Not such a safe place for a girl like her."

"And," Dean's eyes twinkled, "what kinda girl is our little Yank?"

"The kind we ain't taken to the Cross."

They took a bus to their favorite corner and managed to set up just as people poured into the street from the big buildings after work. With a grin and a wink, Russ nodded to Dean and they began the evening, playing and singing their hearts out. Coins jingled and dropped into the guitar case and Charlene stood apart, smiling and watching everything. Then as the crowd thinned, Russ thought it was as good a time as any to hear what his little friend could do.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," he announced with a flourish. "The lovely Charlene Witcom is gonna sing for us. Give her a hand will ya, encourage this pretty Yank to give us a song."

The small gathering clapped and looked around. Charlene had stepped back, her hand over her mouth and shock in her eyes. She shook her head. She had no idea how good Russ and his buddy were until they started performing. Russell had a way of making people feel wonderful and happy and generous all at once. She'd seen him do it a hundred times at the restaurant and shouldn't have been surprised that he could bring out real support and emotion on a street corner … but she had been. She was suddenly terribly insecure.

Dean had been correct, Charlene was a minister's daughter and she was the star of her choir back in Minnesota. But she sang far more than spiritual hymns. She sang blues, she sang ballads, she sang some classic rock and roll and had even sung with a small group back home … completely without her dad's knowledge of course. She thought she was good, but facing this all new challenge, she wasn't so sure anymore.

"Come on, love," Russ grinned and reached out his hand but it was Dean who caught her as she tripped over the heavy guitar case.

"Easy darlin'," he teased, holding her waist as she stepped over carefully then brushed her knees and pushed back her yellow curls.

She drew in a deep breath, turned to Russ and sighed. If she did well, the new coins in the case would be her contribution to the rent and she'd feel much better about staying with him. One more deep breath and the people all around watched silently. She had no clue what they were expecting and had no clue what she'd sing. She closed her eyes and permitted the lyrics to flow forward. It was an old Meatloaf song she'd always loved. The first few words were so quiet everyone, including Russ and Dean leaned closer to hear.

Heaven can wait
And a band of angels wrapped up in my heart
Will take me through the lonely night
Through the cold of the day

Dean had picked up on the melody by the second bar to accompany her but Russ was enthralled, listening to the voice of an angel sing with a clear, gentle strains that seemed to make even the traffic quiet to listen.

And I know
Heaven can wait
And all the gods come down here just to sing for me
And the melody's gonna make me fly
Without pain
Without fear

Give me all of your dreams
And let me go along your way
Give me all of your prayers to sing
And I'll turn the night into the day
I got a taste of paradise
I'm never gonna let it slip away
I got a taste of paradise
It's all I really need to make me stay
Just like a child again

She turned to Russ and looked into his eyes, her own eyes sparkling in the streetlamp, her words and voice rolling over him like magic.

And I know that I've been released
But I don't know to where
Nobody's gonna tell me now
And I don't really care
I got a taste of paradise
That's all I really need to make me stay
I got a taste of paradise
If I had it any sooner you know
You know I never would have run away
From my home

Heaven can wait
And all I got is time until the end of time
I won't look back
I won't look back
Let the alter shine.

He didn't know he was going to do it, didn't plan for it and was completely surprised at the force of his entire body. Russell reached out, took Charlene into his arms and lowered a kiss, soft and luscious on her lips. It was a long one but when he came up for air, he could still hear the crowd cheering … and the clink, clink, clink of coins dropping into the guitar case.

"Beauty, love. Absolutely grand. Fuck all, you can really sing, Charlene."

Dean tugged her from Russ to give her a hug. "Bloody delicious voice ya got there, little Yank." He glanced up at Russ. "Think maybe it's time to see Barley, mate?"

Late that night as Charlene slept alone in Russ' bedroom; he and Dean sat outside on the stoop and talked. Barley was a mate with a makeshift sound studio he and Dean had helped build and Russ agreed, it was most certainly time to see the bloke … he just wanted to make sure of the reason Dean made the suggestion.

"She's bloody good, isn't she?" He took a drag from his fag and blew out a stream of smoke.

"Fantastic, hey listen mate. I know we were kinda holding on to that favor Barley owes us for when we're ready for our own demo, but …" Dean shrugged. "Charlene, she's fuckin' special. She can really make it, don't ya think?"

"I do, I sure as fuck do. Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page."

Dean tossed his cigarette out into the sidewalk. "Yeah, yeah, your bloody do-good shit is rubbin' off on me."

"No," Russ looked at his glowing fag. "More like you rubbin' off on me, mate."

Dean sighed. There was a good reason he and Russell were best mates, something real similar about them.

"Oh hey, Pukki Joe told me today that the Rocky Horror Picture Show production is lookin' for someone." Russ turned, his eyes sparkling with how much fun that would be.

"Yeah, maybe I can get a part too?"

"Sure, why don't ya come with me for the audition tomorrow?"

"Nah, scheduled at the Mission tomorrow." Dean groaned to his feet and stretched his arms high. He could just see Russ doing a part in the quirky play, singin' his heart out and having a bonzer time with it. There was something magic about his friend, something extraordinary and Dean wasn't the only one who could see it. Russ was gonna go far, he just knew it and often he'd imagine singing on a real stage with him, making big money and sitting pretty. But somehow, Dean Cochran knew that singing wasn't where his best mate was going. It was gonna be bigger, massive. What it was though escaped him, he'd just have to wait and see. "I'm knackered, see ya in the morning," he sighed and headed for the door.

"Ah, Billy Dean?" Russ called from the step.

"What?"

"Off fuckin' limits."

"Bloody hell," he heard Dean hiss.

Russ grinned, shook his head and watched the stars twinkle over Sydney.

w

The fire was an accident, nobody's fault actually. Barley had given the tape of the rough cut to Charlene, promising to tighten the mix on it before giving her a master and bestowing several sterling compliments as they said their farewells. Russ was heading for rehearsal and Charlene was off to find a job. That evening, when they heard that the studio was in cinders and ash, she cried bitterly.

"See," she sobbed, pacing in front of Russell and tossing her hands in the air. "It's me! Everything I touch goes up in flames."

"Charlene," he groaned, rubbed his eyes and wondered where he'd be putting Barley now that the bloke had no place to sleep. "Could just as easily be my and Dean's fault. We helped with the electricity in that place ya know. The fire department said it was a short somewhere. Not your fault at all."

"Yes, it was. I just know it. I'm doomed, Russ! I will never get home, never get anywhere. If you're smart you'd toss me out of here right now before a fucking earthquake hits!"

Despite his distress, he chuckled. "Did you just say 'fuck'?"

"Yes! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I am so completely fucked!"

"There ya go," he stood, a broad smile brightening his face. "You just broke your bad luck, love. Say it again."

"Fuck!"

"Again!"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Now, let's see what we can do about that rough cut tape. Give it here, love. Made a few friends on the cast and maybe we can push this thing the final mile."

Whether she'd broken her bad luck or just aligned herself with the stars was wholly unclear, but suddenly the world shifted in Charlene's favor. Russ had given the cassette to his mate who gave it to the director who completely fell in love with Charlene's voice. He forwarded the tape to an associate in the Big Apple who passed it on. Within a week, Charlene had her ticket to the States, compliments of Warner Records and was packing her meager belongings.

Russ sat on the bed and watched, feeling her excitement but also a sudden sense of loss he wasn't about to show no matter how bad it hurt. Barley was out searching for a new studio location; the bloke was thankfully smart enough to have insurance that would rebuild his studio, this time professionally, thank bloody God. Russ had just returned from rehearsal and Dean was off doing what he did for the Sydney City Mission.

He sighed, finally reached out and caught her hand, stopping the happy flow of disconnected thoughts she'd been spewing for nearly an hour. "I'm so bloody happy for ya, love."

"It's all because of you, you know."

"Real proud of you."

She sat beside him on the mattress and sighed. "Come with me, Russ. I know, can just feel it that someone in America is going to discover you. See what an amazing performer you are."

"Not the time for that, Charlene. Not for me, but it is for you. Hey, ya never told me how ya got to be here in Australia."

"It's a stupid story, really. I told my father I was coming down with some church friends to work in the same mission Dean works for. But when we got here, not only did my friends take a powder and head off to travel and explore the country, they left me high and dry. The Mission had no paying positions and I had very limited funds … almost nothing. We were all supposed to share a place, stay at a hostel and they told me all the arrangements were made! They didn't fess up until we got off the plane. When I said I couldn't afford to do what they wanted to do, they just … left me here. Said I was a coward," she shrugged. "Maybe I am, I don't know."

"You are no coward, Charlene."

"Anyway, there was no way I could tell my dad what happened, so I …"

"Ya lied."

"Yeah. I didn't want to disappoint him. I seem to do that a lot and I wanted him to be proud of me. Stupid, huh?"

"Not really," his hand slid through her pretty curls and he sighed. "Nobody wants to let their parents down, love."

"Well, even if I was willing to tell him the truth, he could never afford to get me back home. Not on what a minister makes. We'd bought one way tickets down here, my friends told me the return flights would come from the Sydney City Mission. I couldn't figure out how a charity could afford to pay all that money, but I was so blinded, Russ. I just wanted to see some of the world, you know? I was a fool and nothing had gone right after I stepped off that plane. Well … almost nothing."

"Now everything's gonna go right for ya, Char. Everything."

"Thanks to you. Ah … Russ … I … ah …"

His finger was trailing her soft lip and his eyes were deep in hers. "Just say what you wanna say, love. It's okay, whatever it is."

"Okay," she drew in a deep breath. "Russell, would it be okay if I … if I thanked you?"

"Ya already have," he smiled.

"No, really thanked you."

Her mouth slowly met his. She kissed tenderly, her soft palm on his face and her breath warm against his mouth. Her tongue played at his lips and he held her close, but then he felt the tingles right before that firework display that always took control. He pulled away. Well hell, this wasn't what he was expecting at all. Oh he wanted it, but this was a surprise, just like everything about her. "Charlene, you sure 'bout this?"

Her eyes twinkled and she grinned. "Do you think I'm a virgin or something?"

"No, no, of course not," he lied. "I just, I don't want you thinking you gotta do this just because I let you stay here or anything."

"I want to do this because I … I …" a blush flared on her fair cheeks. "I … want to feel you … inside of me. Just once before I leave. Is that terrible?"

"Bloody hell, Char. I wanna feel myself inside of you too. Why the fuck did it take us so long to get here?" he gasped between passionate kisses.

"I thought I wasn't your type."

He pulled away and grinned. "I didn't know what my bloody type really was until you, darlin'. My type is a woman who lives in a state of grace … like you do, sweetheart. You're my type. And now you're fucking leaving."

"Come with me." She assisted as he tugged off her blouse, buried his face in her cleavage and breathed in her scent.

"Can't."

"Why?" her body arched to receive his tongue, it slithered at the lace edges of her bra until his nimble fingers loosened and removed it.

"Dunno. I just know … not now, not yet." He looked up into her eyes. "I don't know why, but I got this feeling I have a lot to do first. But someday, I'm gonna make it too, I know it."

"So do I," she sighed, tugging his tee shirt over his head.

Russ was good at this, carried all the ego and generosity of youth but as all young men, he'd created a system for making love. A method that worked clean and efficiently, satisfied him and the sheila and helped them reach their goal as many times as possible in any given night. But he'd never made love to the likes of Charlene before. When her bad luck ended, her quirky surprising mishaps seemed to feel they had a right to stick around as long as possible.

Deep in his tee shirt, his face buried and eyes blind, he thought he knew exactly where they were at the edge of the mattress. He held her close, teasing with a muffled voice and leaned back … all the way to the floor. It was a loud thud but she was protected by his body so, attempting chivalry, he stifled a groan.

"Well, that didn't bloody work too well," he chuckled, struggling from the fabric. He looked around. How did they get to the foot of the bed? No worries, a slight adjustment and everything would be back on track. It wasn't that he loved his routine; he was just familiar with it. Shockers like dropping to the hard floor never happened when he was riding the wave of comfortable practiced habit. He rolled, lifted her to the bed and tried again, suspecting no further problems and ready to dive for those perky nipples.

"Ow!" Charlene cried and wriggled from his grasp. In the frantic tussle to expose flesh, Russell's lighter had dropped from his pocket and she was pushing it from the softest part of her behind.

"Oh, ah … sorry, love." Damn, looking at the lighter and feeling a wave of frustration … he'd loved to have had a few drags from a fag right that moment. Maybe it would be better to look at her bruised behind. "Ahh, come here Char," he sighed and lowered a tender kiss on the red mark.

As she rolled to touch him, he awkwardly rose to kiss her. How it happened he'd never really know, but her finger poked painfully into is eye. "Argghhhh!" He bounced back to the pillow and rolled to his back.

"I'm sorry, oh God I'm so sorry, Russ!" She pushed his hand away and gently placed a soft kiss on his eyelid.

He grinned, blinked the offended eye several times. "S'okay, no harm. It's fine." And it was, his vision was clear and it didn't hurt all that much at all.

Now, he drew in a breath … show time. He took in everything around them one more time just to make sure it was safe passage. Were they in the center of the bed? Check. Was the mattress cleared of dangerous debris? Check. Hard on? Double check. Lovely naked girl at his side? Triple check. All go for advance …

But Russell found himself even at that moment breaking protocol and doing something that didn't fit at that point in the performance. Something he usually saved until after, until the panting and sweating and grunting was all over. Instead of moving directly to step one and taking in a nipple until the appointed lover rocked and rolled beneath him … he looked into Charlene's eyes.

He was lost there for several moments, inside his head; he heard her sweet voice singing Heaven Can Wait and his heart thumped. But then she slowly lowered her eyes, a sadness in her expression that made his heart ache. "What is it, love?"

Charlene shrugged, blinked a warm tear that trickled toward her ear. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not perfect."

"What are ya talkin' about? You are perfect, love." His eyes lowered to breasts that made his mouth water. "Trust me … trust him," he pointed to his aching, straining cock. "You're perfect. You're beautiful, Charlene."

Another sigh, another tear and he sat up, tugging her hand with him. He stood her in front of him at the dresser, the mirror old and crackled but reflecting her lovely body. "Bloody hell, look," his voice was soft, tender. "Who told you you're not perfect?"

Her eyes lowered again and he kissed the top of her head. "Listen to me and look at yourself. Charlene you are beautiful. Amazing. Perfect. Here," his hand settled on the crown of thick golden curls. "Here," his fingers slid to her lips. "Here," a warm palm smoothed down her neck. "Here," he set a sweet kiss on her shoulder. "Here," Both hands cupped her young breasts then his hand pressed between them. "Your bloody heart is good, everything about you is good." Then the fingers of one hand slowly trailed to the yellow curls below her belly. They swirled and tangled there before dipping into the honey as she melted back against him. Warm, flesh to flesh and Russ let his eyes close. He whispered against her ear. "And you're perfect here. Let me show you how perfect."

He stepped them back together then bent, placing her hands at the edge of the dresser. It was a slow, hot, smooth slide until he reached her core and released a hiss of delight. But again, he shifted his approach. Instead of thrusting again and again, he stilled, savored the sensations and massaged her soft breasts.

Realizing that this was gonna be different, he chose to flow with it; let their bodies tell him what to do next and how to do it. Slowly moving his cock from her path, the scent of her rose, nearly driving him mental. He slid out and scooped her into his arms. Setting her at the edge of the mattress he knelt between her opened knees and dropped a desperate kiss at her soft core. Everything a man could want was right there. Heat, flavor, passion. His tongue dove deep then slithered, finally focused on the trigger and he pushed her knees over his shoulders. Yes, this was what he really wanted, had always wanted. Not that he hadn't tasted a woman before, he'd never tasted one when their bodies were ripe and wanting at the same moment. It was a revelation that would change him forever.

Fingers joined tongue and he worked a slow, easy thrum, a rhythm pulsing in his heart that took Charlene one step higher then held her there. It was exhilarating, amazing. As she tightened, cried out his name and writhed in his grasp, he gobbled and lapped at the flood of her coming.

Sliding them both onto the bed and holding her trembling form close, he squelched the feeling that he was soon to lose something he'd just found. Where had this kinda magic been all his life? Why didn't he even know it existed before?

With a smooth shift and easy thrust he was again inside of her, giving Charlene and himself what they wanted. The connection, the sensations of being one. It lasted and lasted and sweat dripped from his face onto her lips. She lapped it into her mouth and moaned, arching her hips up for more and spurring him into the animal he always controlled. He never wanted to hurt a sheila, never wanted to scare her … and unfortunately … had probably never really found heaven with one before.

Lightening flashed behind his eyelids and he buried his face in the pillow at her shoulder. "Bloody hell!" he gasped. "Ahhh Char … Jesus!"

Her path had quivered, tightened and throbbed, sucking at him and pulling more from Russ than he thought he had. Everything seemed to explode at once and as Charlene again cried out his name, his final drops of offering spilled into her and he collapsed.

Time stood still and for a moment neither breathed but as he felt his body go totally limp, he realized she was squirming to free herself from his weight. Damn, he wanted to be noble, to lift himself from her and soothe her but nothing functioned and all he could do was laugh. Charlene too was giggling, wiggling until she could finally take in a full breath.

"Bloody hell!" he chuckled. "Sorry. I think ya almost killed me there."

"Me? I think you almost killed me," her laughter intensified until she scurried from the bed for the bathroom. He sighed and waited for her to return, wondering what else was in store for them before she had to leave him forever.

"When's your flight, love?" he called.

She was standing at the doorway, naked and beautiful but sadness in her bright eyes. "I need to be at the airport in twenty minutes."

"Ah … well," his heart had fallen all the way to the floor. "Best we get moving then." Reluctantly he stood and helped her dress, careful to release the sensations still bussing beneath his flesh and trying to be as encouraging as possible. "You are gonna do great. You got my number. If ya keep in touch, I'll let you know where I am. Dean and me … we'll probably move soon. Get a nicer place. I've got good income from the show so we can -"

"Come with me," her voice was soft, painful.

"Can't, love."

"Then maybe I should stay here."

He grasped her shoulders, looked down into her fathomless eyes and sighed. "No fuckin' way. You have lots to do." He grinned. "Hey, listen. When I get up to the States, I'll look you up. Maybe we can do this gain?"

Her arms wrapped around his neck and he felt the heat of her tears.

"No cryin' love. This is a happy time. You're goin' home. You're gonna make records. And," he kissed her soft, pouting lips, "you're gonna have a piece of my heart forever, Charlene Witcom. Now don't you forget about me when you're big and famous. Russell Crowe. Someday I'll be callin' you for a date."