Author's Note : I know nothing about Lisa Edelstein's personal life. Everything written here is a work of fiction - I do not intend to offend Lisa, Robert Russell or his family. I do not intend to imply he might be violent - again, it's for the story. This fanfiction contains smut, dark subjects, mild violence. Viewer discretion is adviced.
Two of the scenes are inspired by Grey's Anatomy.
The songs featured are Roxanne (from the Motion Picture Mouline Rouge), 'I Like' and 'Tonight We Fly' by the Divine Comedy.
Happiness is so hard to find
- I love you.
- But you're married. Which makes none of this acceptable, pretty or as charming as you want to make it sound. It makes me a home wrecker and I hate the fact that I'm a home wrecker.
- Lisa, I'm not going to pressure you. Take all the time you need. But my home was wrecked way before you came into the picture. I am just now done trying to rebuild it.
- You're done.
- I'm done.
- You have said this before.
- I know but this time I mean it. I'm gonna come clean just as soon as I see her.
The door closed shut. She turned off the lights, picked up a glass of wine, filled it, and sat on her armchair.
I can’t take it anymore. You have to make a choice. It’s been three months Hugh and you, you haven’t - you said you would - people talk. To me. You made me this….this girl who runs after a married man. You did this and you told me you wouldn’t-
I can’t. You know I can’t, not now…just give me more time.
You’ve had your time. I think we’re through.
Just like that?
Just like that.
He had left, without a word. No more hiding, no more lying, no more sneaking around and giving up her dreams – a family, a child, Hanukkah spent with your loved ones. She was free.
She drinks her wine, protecting herself with her arms.
Freedom tastes like loneliness.
She meets him at a Art Shower in New York. It’s dirty, and loathsome, in a tiny toilet cube. When she comes, she feels repelled by herself and wonders if, sometimes, she lives on self-disgust as if it was coffee, or cigarettes. Maybe she needs wrong in her life.
Ten days later she finds out he’s married, with three children. The irony of it all makes her laugh, while she opens her door to him, but there’s no humor in that sound.
She had no intention to keep it going. At first. She needed a hot body to forget, to punish; she needed to hurt – his wife, herself, Hugh, every fucking one. She hasn’t spoken to him since that October night – they meet on set, she does her scene, she lets him touch her and tries not to think of times when those hands were oh so deliciously inappropriate, taking, pretending, marking her as his. When the scene is over, she puts her robe on and leaves without a second glance. His eyes burning throughout her back to her chest.
She finds Robert on her threshold.
- I’ve left my wife. She didn’t understand me, she wanted to keep me mediocre, in that hole she calls home.
- You shouldn’t have.
- Yet I did. I love you.
She doesn’t reply and lets him in. Apparently, he’s someone who was willing to do what Hugh couldn’t. She would laugh again at the irony, but she has a grip on her heart that won’t let her breath. She doesn’t say ‘I love you back’ that night.
The party makes her melancholic. It reminds her of those she lost to AIDS, of friends she left behind, past memories of crazy night that should be forgotten. Those were the days that are no more.
Robert sits with her. It’s been a month, and today she’s nostalgic. She glances at the door and tries to remind herself that a love gone is a love lost. Hugh is in New Orleans again for his CD, and she’s not thinking about this – him, them. Her smile is sad while the camera flashes, freezing it forever.
- Come, let’s take a picture together. Let’s scream it to the world. We love each other and we don’t fucking care.
He grabs her wrist and drags her away, looking for a photographer. It hurts, but she doesn’t care. When he puts his calloused hand on her butt and asks the camera-guy to take that picture, she knows what the world will say. She’s become what she feared, and she hates herself for it.
The party is quiet, with chit chats all around, Christmukkah decorations and free booze. What a Jolly Holly Holiday, she thinks, while Robert asks her if she wants another egg-nog.
Hugh is in the corner of the room, opposite to her, talking to David. They fought as soon as he found out about Robert. He had no right to be angry, no right to talk to her, no rights. They haven’t spoken since. He’s staring at her shamelessy now, his eyes burning into her skin, under her skin. She finishes her drink in one gulp.
- Yes, Robert, I’d like another one of these. Thanks honey.
He’s still looking at her when he excuses from David and leaves the room. She glances quickly at Robert, who’s struggling to get to the bar counter, and follows Hugh, attracted to him like a magnet. No, she muses, more like a meteorite to the ground - ready to crash and burn, and yet careless, aware of the damage she will cause.
She finds him in the prop room, fake body pieces and pill bottles all around. It’s gloomy, the dim light of the moon illuminates his strong features.
- Leave me alone.
- Just leave me alone. Please. Please.
- I just want to make sure you're alright.
- No! I'm not alright? Okay? Are you satisfied? I'm not alright. Because you have a wife, and you call me a whore, and now you're looking at me again. Stop looking at me.
- I am not looking at you. I am not looking at you.
- You are looking at me. And you watch me. And I'm really trying here to be happy, and I feel like I can't breathe. I can't breathe with you looking at me like that so just stop!
- You think I want to look at you? That I wouldn't rather be looking at my wife? I'm married. I have responsibilities. She, she doesn't drive me crazy. She doesn't make it impossible for me to feel normal. She doesn't make me sick to my stomach thinking about that unwashed Jesus touching her with his hands! Gee, I would give anything to not be looking at you.
- You’re drunk.
- I am.
When he kisses her she can taste the bitterness of the scotch he’d been drinking. She can feel his rough tongue caressing her own, battling.
Their teeth crashing, lips burning and scratching - it’s uncoordinated, ugly, mean. She’s never been so turned on in her life.
He cups her butt and raises her, letting her embrace him with her legs. He carries her to an operating table and leans her there unceremoniously. His mouth is on her jugular, biting, sucking, while his hand gets hold of her breast, pinching her nipple through the thin material of her top. She moans, and this is enough for Hugh to work her skirt up, tearing her black panties open. One hand is on her center, finding her moist and hot for him. She can feel the smirk of his mouth, kissing his way between her breasts, and she hates him for it, and loves his hands, and his tongue, oh definitely his tongue.
His finger is suddenly in her, making her jump in ecstasy and surprise, hitting just that spot; like a blind man remembering every inch of his house, he belongs there. His thumb is circling her clit, slowly, and his lips are on hers again, not quite touching. Her breathing is ragged, irregular.
- Say it.
- Don’t stop, not now.
- Say it. Say you’re mine.
She bites his lips, and she feels the blood on her tongue. - I’m yours - she whispers, while she grabs his manhood, guiding him into her core.
She wishes he would be punishing, fucking her, hurting her. But he’s deliberately slow, hands and mouth worshipping her, hitting deep, with a perfect angle. Making love, feeling every inch of skin. He grabs her ass, so that she’s closer, higher, and lies his damp forehead on her sternum. The orgasm hits her hard, and shaking she rides him to his own climax.
- What does this mean?
His eyes are still closed, and he’s still in her. She slides away, feeling cold and void all of a sudden. She adjusts her blouse, hoping her face doesn’t look too flushed, too fucked.
- What does this mean?
He repeats, zipping up his pants. She turns around, her eyes cold again.
- It means you’re drunk. It means I was stupid. It won’t happen again. Nothing’s changed.
Lisa gets out of the room before hearing his reply. Back at the party she spots Robert, with her drink in his hands. He smiles at her, and she reaches him wondering if he can smell Hugh on her like she can.
An hour later the party is almost over. She’s about to leave when a visibly drunk Hugh Laurie gets on the stage where the band was playing, grabbing the mike.
- Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. As you know, later tonight I have a concert with my dear friends of The Band From TV. But before, I’d like to tell - sing - you a story.
Uncertain claps follow his blurred speech.
- First there is desire. Then... passion! Then... suspicion! Jealousy! Anger! Betrayal! Where love is for the highest bidder, there can be no trust. Without trust, there is no love! Jealousy. Yes, jealousy...Will drive you... will drive you... will drive you... mad!
His voice is rasp, as the tune of Roxanne grows louder, the passionate notes of this tango capturing the attention of the crowd.
- Roxanne, you don't have to wear that dress tonight. Roxanne, you don’t care if it’s wrong or if it is right.
She asks Robert to get her coat, turning her back to the stage.
- His eyes upon your face.
He helps her with her coat, and hands her the purse. She wonders how she’ll explain her missing panties.
- His hand upon your hand.
She waves her goodbies, while Robert guides her out with his hand on the small of her back.
- His lips caress your skin.
She steps out in the cold, hearing him no more.
- It's more than I can stand.
Screams. Regrets, recriminations. Jealousy. Tiredness. Anger.
I don’t love you.
His hands are strong on her, and a slap throws her off balance, causing her to hit her cheekbone on the kitchen counter.
Robert leaves. She makes him find his stuff on the porch a few hours later.
When Hugh finds out, God knows how, he gets on a plane and flies to LA. His hands are shaking.
Her whole family chats loudly in the other room. She’s alone, looking at the snow falling out of her window. New Jersey weather chills her, while she thinks of the last few months, and doesn’t know if it’s for the cold or for her memories. She hasn’t seen or spoken to Hugh since the party. She remembers the Summer spent together, full of hope and promises.
Dreams, like a quicksilver drizzle, have always slipped through her fingers.
A laughter comes from the adjoining room. It’s snowing outside.
It’s raining on New York. Old tabloids - wondering why Hugh Laurie sports a black eye, why Lisa Edelstein is single again, why her ex-boyfriend is back with his wife and with a broken arm, speculating, accusing, implying - lie scattered on the roads, the ink melting away. All’s forgotten.
Dec. 31 - Jan. 1
Hugh is at her door. He doesn’t ring, he just stands there. Waiting.
Eighteen minutes later her dog scratches against the door, smelling him through it.
She opens it, and finds herself smiling.
- I love your nose, I love your hair. I love your wild spontaneous dances. I love the way you drive me insane morning, noon and night. I love the way you make me laugh. I love your brain, both left and right half. I love when you sit next to me, and whisper sexy things. I even love your vegan cooking, I love you. I love the songs you sing when you're bathing. I love your dogs when they're behaving. I love the way we kiss and we make up after a fight. I love you cause you're crazy. I love the way you do whatever you like. I love you.
- You’ve been listening to the Divine Comedy.
- I love your CDs, too.
- You’re an idiot.
- I know. I’ve filed for divorce.
- I haven’t asked you this, I didn’t want to fall in love with you. I…
- I know. Let me in.
She kisses him. The world is quiet. Tomorrow is a brand new day.
Over the houses
The streets and the trees
Over the dogs down below
They'll bark at our shadows
As we float by on the breeze
Tonight we fly
Over the chimney tops
Skylights and slates -
Looking into all your lives
And wondering why
Happiness is so hard to find