The horse has a hard-on. A big, curling, reverse-banana hard-on that bobs itself into existence just as they saddle the big slug. We’re twelve minutes from post, and I’m thinking three words: can’t be good. There’s three of us, betting the horses at Longchamp, that arbored and beatific Parisian racetrack, on a Sunday afternoon. Mike the horse guy, him in his expensive tie and mud-brown coat, concurs. He shrugs, gulps, twists in his shoes, hisses. “That doesn’t bode well for us, boys,” Mike the horse guy says. And I figure, Good. All bets are off.
Clive Owen, however, is genuinely nonplussed. He appears a kind of lookout, squinting over the top of his sunglasses, muttering a bit, lifting his lip, mouthing a single, silent word. He’s mulling this fabulously ill-timed erection, which dips so far as to touch the ground. There’s a Stella clamped in his left hand, racing form folded under his arm. He’s got that Clive Owen stare going, a brooding glower, a sinister peek, the pointy end of the handsomeness spear. [Read more…] about New Clive Owen Esquire Interview