Russell Crowe: In Print

Sirens For Scandal
By Nancy Jo Sales
Photo: Richard Young
Vanity Fair, May, 2002

Eva Simpson and Jessica Callan, the brash young team behind The Mirror (UK) "3 A.M." gossip column, have become London's must-read tabloid stars. Their nightly mission? Close encounters with the likes of Tom Cruise, Russell Crowe, and Jude Law -- and woe to those celebrities that don't play ball.

(The following is an excerpt from the article)

0n another soggy night in London, the 3 A.M. girls are marching, umbrellas bouncing, toward their target: the opening of an Emporio Armani store on New Bond Street.

They have not been invited.

But, perhaps because they're looking so sharp tonight -- outfitted in their usual Sex and the City -- inspired gear --the security guards let them sail right in.

Inside, the bright space is crowded with models, fashion writers, nightlife habitués, and even a member of the royal family the Lady Helen Windsor, in studded white leather jeans -- all waiting for the appearance of a star. A big star. He's late.

The 3 A.M. girls confer with their photographer. "Stay close," one whispers. They grab champagne off trays.

Giorgio Armani himself waits opposite the door. The man who's coming, he says, is "mi amigo. "

Word buzzes around that Russell Crowe's plane from Australia has been "delayed." "Fat minger," Jessica says with a frown. "It'll be fucking hell getting him to talk to us."

A wave of excitement passes through the crowd. A limousine is pulling up.

Crowe, squinting, enters the store. He is floppy-haired, with a scruffy beard, ashing a cigarette. "Good to see you back in London, Russell!" a photographer shouts.

"Yeah," Crowe snarls, sarcastic. "Good to see you too,"

Crowe hugs Armani. Armani looks relieved. The star doesn't seem to know quite what's expected of him, so he does a grumpy walk through the store, a bear crashing through the woods, A curious train of people hustle behind him.

"Now, he doesn't want any of that," says one of Crowe's security guards, spotting the 3 A.M. girls.

"Go, go, go!" says Jessica. Crowe's just out of reach -- he's getting away.

Near the front door, Jessica and Eva leap to either side of him, like Special Air Service agents. Their photographer snaps a picture of the trio.

"Good luck at the BAFTAS, Russell!" Jessica twitters.

Crowe looks bemused. "Yeah," he says, "thanks."

Later, at the after-party at Hakkasan, Londor's hot new sushi restaurant, Jessica says delightedly, "Now we'll just wait until he's good and drunk, then he'll start acting up."

The 3 A.M. girls look very pleased-- they got into this party by saying they worked for a well-known American magazine.

They've planted themselves in the dark, just behind the wraparound couch where Crowe is sitting with Armani and an entourage of well-dressed Italian men and giraffish girls.

They can peek in the star through a large, carved Oriental screen. "He can't help himself," says Jessica. "He'll start snogging someone, have a fight."

I break out into a cold sweat! -- the D.J. is playing James Brown.

Mick Hucknall, the redheaded singer from Simply Red, arrives.

Crowe stands up and gives him a hug.

"Oh, Mick Hucknall, bless him," says Jessica. "He's so scared of us."

Armani and the Italians move off the couch.

"Once you have a celebrity in front of you without a P.R. or agent, they don't know how to act," Jessica said earlier. "When they're at parties and they're not surrounded by those people and they confront people like us ... something clicks. and they're usually drunk or on drugs or whatever and they lose it. and it's brilliant."

But Crowe seems relaxed. He drinks cocktails and smokes cigarettes and laughs. A bosomy girl kneels down before him, murmuring something. Crowe nods to his bodyguards, who escort her away.

"Oh, there's his girlfriend!" says Jessica.

The Australian soap star Danielle Spencer arrives.

Spencer -- small and blonde and dressed like a teen -- snuggles down next to Crowe on the couch.

"Oh, no, she'll have her eye on him. Australian women are really feisty," Jessica says.

Jessica's starting to look a bit worried. She has to file something in the morning.

She perks up. "Oh, look, Sting!"

Sting and his wife, Trudie Styler, have arrived.

Crowe bolts up and gives Sting a bear hug.

"Can you imagine, that Tantric sex thing Sting and Trudie do?" Jessica muses, having more champagne. "I'd think that would get a bit boring." She mimes writing a shopping list: "'Milk, orange juice . . . "'

Now Eva is sitting, with half-closed eyes, on another couch. Her feet hurt, she says.

But the party has become increasingly animated. Girls are dancing sexily; British men are dancing awkwardly.

Everyone appears to be keeping an eye on Crowe.

But it doesn't look as if " 3 A.M." will fulfill its mission tonight -- "stars behaving badly."

Jessica sits down next to Eva, her eyes glazing over, too.

And then something odd does happen. Sting and Crowe, followed by Crowe's bodyguards, get up together and take a walk around the restaurant, leaving Styler and Spencer chatting on the couch. The two men wander around until they find the kitchen. They disappear through the doors, leaving a bodyguard posted outside.

And then two young women, party guests, both quite pretty, also glide into the kitchen.

They stay in there a good 20 minutes.

And when they all come out together, they are laughing and talking.

I ask Russell Crowe what was going on in there. He tells me they were having a conversation.

The 3 A.M. girls are nowhere around.

"Uch, he was really boring," says Jessica, happily, careening through London, on her way home in a cab. At the end of the night, she finally got her chat with Crowe.

"I was 'Great to see you, what are you doing in London -- we know you like to party,' and he laughed with a pervy laugh. I said, 'How's the band?' and he said, 'It's like a delicacy -- you don't play that often.' 'Oh, you don't want to spoil us with your music, do you, Russell?"' Jessica laughs. "He said, 'We sold out the Borderline in 15 minutes -- there were 60 girls in the corner singing all the words.' 'Well, what do you expect, you're Russell Crowe ...

Eva yawns.

It's after three A.M..

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