Off The Rails

Camille Poole sits slowly back with a deep shuddery sigh and stares off into some inner vision that causes her face to slowly morph into sleepy satisfaction.

Richard Poole, sitting erect in his hard wooden TV chair, crosses his arms and throws her a miffed look. Oh, yes, I recognize that expression. That expression is meant for me and me alone, her lawful wedded husband! No man else is ever to see that expression... but... he groans and covers his eyes because... there IS another man, isn't there?... a man I can't reach... a man I have no control over... and it tasks me, it tasks me mightily. He drops his hand, sighs, "Camille, are we done? Can we go to bed now?"

She turns dreamy eyes onto him and his blood boils just the tiniest bit. "Mmm? What?"

He presses his lips together, "It's almost two hours past my bedtime and I've got a 9 am meeting at Government House in the morning. I need my rest."

She comes to with a little shake, stands, "Oh, sorry, I lost track of the time."

As she straightens the cushions, he stands and mutters, "I wish you'd lose track of HIM."

She stills, a cushion caught mid-fluff in her hands, "What was that?"

He takes the cushion, plumps it up, lays it down, "I said I wish you'd get over this fascination that, well, quite frankly, that I don't understand. I don't see what the attraction is! I mean, he's adequate in his occupation but he's no big movie star, is he?"

She turns to face him. "He's been in lots of movies..."

He nods, "Many of which aren't well known outside the UK. He's certainly not famous."

She bridles, "Success and fame don't always go hand in hand. I mean, look at you!"

He stiffens, "And what do you mean by that?"

She waves a hand, "I mean, you're a complete success yet hardly anyone knows you."

His face hardens, "The prisons are full of people who know who I am, as do the 'powers that be'! I never sought fame... or fortune... only the satisfaction of justice served."

She waves the other hand, "Yeah, well, you've had proper training and succeeded through determination, dedication, and drive, not to mention one of the finest forensic brains I've ever met. What's he got, hey? He's just a poor starving actor doing whatever it takes to keep food on the table and a roof over his head and..."

"Yes," he growls, "and that includes parading around in the nude, does it?"

Her eyes widen. She gulps. "Um... what?"

He shakes a finger at her, "Oh, don't play the innocent with ME! I know all about 'Nude Vets' and 'Bad Week' and 'My Wife's Back'! The man has no shame and I just wasted an evening watching him play a gigolo and get paid for it. Tsk."

Her rush to defend honest thespians everywhere dies unspoken as she gawps then yelps, "What? He played a WHAT?!"

He nods smugly, "You heard me, a GIGOLO! Strumming love ballads in a venue of randy tourists soused in cheap wine? Wearing tight pants and a butter-soft leather jacket and driving a black stud-bike? Approaching a table of four strange women with an come-on line like that? I mean, really? Nine inches? What normal man has the temerity to do any of that? Oh, yes, he's 'a man of the hour' alright, available at easy rates - or by the week if he strikes it rich with some woman who isn't that choosy."

Having vented his jealousy, he lifts his chin and marches out, leaving his wife staring after him. She spends a minute going over the entire English conversation and reaches a French conclusion. Still insecure after all this time? Doesn't know WHY I'm enamored with this actor? Can't understand his doppelganger's appeal? She takes a deep breath and growls, "Well, I guess I need to explain things, once and for all, in small words... or maybe no words at all."

She strides to the doorway, turns out the lights, and looks down the hall to where she can hear him readying for bed. She sets out with determined step, "OK, mister, you can forget about getting a solid night's sleep. I'll need at least an hour to change your thinking... and I want to know how you found out about those nude scenes! Yes, I do."

When she opens the bedroom door, he looks up from buttoning his pyjama top with wounded dignity that swiftly turns to anxiety as she closes the door and faces him. Before she can say anything, he holds up a hand, "I know what you're going to say, and you're right, I shouldn't let my feelings get the better of me. I'm sorry for losing my temper like that, far be it from me to deny you your entertainments, just don't ask me to share it, OK?"

She nods, begins shedding her clothes, "OK, I won't ask you to watch with me anymore... but I really hope you don't mean it about not wanting to share my entertainments."

He backs up as she glides towards him, splendid in her cloak of feminine charms. "Oh? Why not?" His back hits the wall and he swallows convulsively as she snugs herself up against him.

"Because, my beloved, you ARE my entertainment, my sweet SECRET entertainment. I don't want anyone else to know about you and what you're capable of. That's a fame that will never be known, not by anyone else, just me. Agreed?"

His eyes relax as his hands go around her waist, slipping down to caress svelte curves. "Oh, thank heaven, I thought you were going to read me the riot act, jab your finger into my chest again, and make me sleep on the sofa. I agree, of course I agree. What exists between us is private and not to be bandied about. After all, I'm no needy actor type who depends on the adulation of strangers to keep body and soul together."

As she draws him towards the bed, she murmurs, "No, dear, of course not. You're so much more than that. So much more... and I'm going to show you just how much more right now. Sorry but you might be a bit tired for tomorrow's meeting."

As he lay back, pulling her down, as his buttons magically undo themselves, he chuckles, "Ah, well, so be it. The looks the Ministers give me sometimes, they must wonder how I manage to come to work at all!"

END