Did You Know That John Cleese can Speak Russian?

Chapter 2

After a few days of being on the set and familiarizing with the rest of the crew Morgan had begun to make friends. Many of the other cameramen and women were quite impressed with the way Morgan was so aptly able to capture the characterization of the actors and point the camera in the perfect spot. Although, to her disappointment, John hadn't come around since the first day she had seen him. Running around the set directing plus the task of acting was beginning to take up more and more of his time and Morgan began to fear she wouldn't have the chance to speak to him very much at all during the production of Wanda. But no matter how busy john was, Morgan's eyes were sure to be glued tight to whatever he was currently doing.

Her gaze traced over his face's adorable and handsome profile, taking note of the way his nose came to a cute point at the end. As John would walk from one end of the set to the other Morgan would scrutinize the way his legs would move, the look on his face as he heavily contemplated some aspect of the shooting, and the way in which he would converse with other actors or crewmembers. Sometimes it would seem as though he was headed straight for her—this would cause Morgan's heart to leap right out of her chest—only to walk straight past her or change his direction.

I've never seen a more adorable man in my entire life. Just look at his smile. And he's in his forties! Why the hell am I so attracted to the bastard?

After another hard day of work starring at the curve of John Cleese's bottom, a few of Morgan's co-workers announce they were all going out for dinner and would be delighted if she would join them. Not knowing the full attendance of the dinner Morgan jovially agreed anyway; happy for the chance to get to know the people she was working with and the hope of forging some new friendships out of the college setting.

At half past 6 Morgan arrived at the restaurant and took a look at the front of the building, noting the more English feel of the building rivalling the normal American feel she got from edifices at home. Anyway, she slung her purse up higher on her shoulder as it began to slip for the hundredth time and walked to the front door. For dinner out with some co-workers Morgan had chosen a beautiful soft blue conservative dress that was visually stunning and becoming on her but also perfectly fit the occasion.

Morgan confidentially strolled into the restaurant and found a group of about 6 or 7 of her co-workers waving at her. Just as she was about to wave back in acknowledgement, a sight greeted her eyes like a sledgehammer: John Cleese sat right at the opposite end of the chair they had reserved for her.

Immediately Morgan's eyes began to widen and her knees became a little shaky. After a few seconds in order to master her faculties she finally came to her senses, walked over, and joined the company, giving a shy giggle as they teased her about why she had gotten so nervous all of the sudden.

Everyone greeted Morgan's arrival jovially and they began to order drinks and food all around. Morgan accidentally fumbled some of the words for her order due to the presence of two penetrating blue eyes. As she laughed the insignificant incident off, the waiter disappeared and the crew jumped eagerly into conversation. Morgan was all too happy to join in—to try to keep her mind off the fact that John fucking Cleese was sitting at the same dinner table she was. She hadn't dared glance in his direction once, but she had seen out of the corner of her eyes that he had cast his eyes towards her a number of times.

Why is he looking at me like that? Does he think I'm being dumb? Is my dress ok? Is he mad at my camera work for some reason?

Suddenly a proper English voice spoke out in the tone befitting someone of a serious mien and not of the incomprehensibly silly person it belonged to.