It was late afternoon when I finally managed to finish up my work in the prop department. To unwind, I decided to wander around the set looking for something that would make a good picture for my scrapbook.

I stopped in front of the bordello set thinking my boss had probably placed a Ren and Stimpy animation cell in one of the rooms for a lark. He was the biggest prankster I had ever worked with, so I slipped inside to see if I was right.

I ran upstairs and stumbled upon Russell Crowe sitting quietly in an old chair. Above him on the tile wall was a painting depicting a Victorian dinner party inappropriately named "The Last Supper", which was obliviously out of place and therefore one of my boss' larks.

I took a step backward hoping to leave quietly since Russ appeared to be sleeping, but my foot hit a squeaky board under the dark carpet. The sound was loud in the hallway. It caused his head to snap up.

With an impatience gesture, he flipped his long hair out of his face and I found myself trapped by his bluish-green stare.

"Who are you?" he asked. His voice was a baritone with a hint of an accent. I knew he was from Australia, but today was the first time I heard the accent. He really must have been exhausted and I felt like a heel for having disturbed him.

"Lexi," I stammered. "I work in the prop department."

"I remember you now," he murmured. "I was hoping to run into you."

"Why?" I asked, curious. I studied him under my lashes noting that he was dressed all in black and unshaven, which had me thinking some very unladylike thoughts.

"The blokes say you grill a mean steak."

"I can," I admitted, shyly. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm an Aussie, luv," he said with a delightful chuckle. "We're always hungry."

w

Hours later, I found myself still in Russ' company wondering where the time had gone. Our conversation ran the gambit of topics and it was a refreshing change from the camp humor of the film crew.

"Thanks for dinner," he said as he rose to leave.

"You're welcome," I said. "Maybe we can do this again tomorrow?"

He nodded and then bid me a good night.

w

The next day, I went back to the bordello set on a last minute errand. Russ was there relaxing between takes.

"Souvenir hunting?" he inquired as he pointed to the camera slung over my shoulder.

It was such a part of me that I had forgotten that I had it with me. "Not really," I remarked. "I'm just finishing up for the day."

"Oh," he sighed.

"You sound disappointed," I teased. "Do you want me to take your picture?"

He shrugged.

"Okay," I told him. "Make it worth my while."

Seeing this as a challenge, he kicked the chair up on its back legs and shot me a look that spoke volumes.