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As with everything else, Cruise works hard at being a father. When son Connor and daughter Isabella are in his charge, their schedule takes precedence over his. During a series of interviews last week, he was never interrupted, except by them. When an assistant appears to tell him "The kids are on Line 1," he stops and takes the call, kneeling close to the ground and whispering so the reporter can't hear.
He is still adjusting to the role of ex-husband. He is not amused when reminded of Kidman's talk-show zing after the split. "Well," she told David Letterman, "I can wear heels now." He seems a little surprised that such a thing has been brought up, but after a moment says calmly, "I don't care about that. She always wore heels. Truly, I like her in heels. That's never been a problem for me." And how are things going with Kidman? "It's going well. I love Nic. I will always love her. That hasn't changed."
When he's not working, Cruise isn't on the Hollywood scene. He keeps to himself or a small group of intimates. Asked to name his best friends, he pauses. "My family," says Cruise, who is close to his mother and three sisters. "Cameron Crowe, Steven Spielberg. And some people that I work with. Penelope, of course." He's referring to Penelope Cruz, his current girlfriend. The romance has been met with equal parts skepticism and speculation. "If you believe the media," says Cruise, "she's pregnant, we've broken up three times, and we've been married already." For the record, he says they have no plans to marry. "She's a lovely person," he says, and leaves it at that.
At the very least, she should feel at home at Cruise's place. Before he moved in, the imposing stone mansion was used in the movie Blow, in which Cruz appeared with Johnny Depp. Walking across the front lawn, which is shielded by a line of trees and dotted with picnic tables, Cruise calls the estate "a great space for the kids."
Sword training is over. The conversation has wound down. Cruise seems ready to get back to work. Standing at the foot of the driveway, he waves to the guard's station, and the gates slowly swing open. He doesn't shake hands--he hugs you goodbye and laughs when you bend the sunglasses he has hooked to his collar. He has been a perfect host, a forthcoming interview, unfailingly cordial. As you are driving away, you feel that you know him; that you have seen at least some of the man behind the curtain. But as the guard closes the gate behind you, and the house recedes into the distance, you realize that he never invited you inside. --With reporting by Benjamin Nugent