by Reber, Tina
“Phil, that’s very sweet of you to offer, but I’m already seeing someone. I’m sorry.” My candy-coated lie sounded so convincing I almost believed it myself.
“So who are you dating these days? Your right hand or your left?” Marie jeered when Phil walked away.
I couldn’t help it – some juvenile instinct made me react. I stuck my tongue out at her.
“You know what your problem is? You need to get laid,” she mumbled under her breath. “And I’m not talking about the do-it-yourself kind of laid either. Just pick one of these guys and go have meaningless, mind-altering, sweaty sex already!”
I retaliated her snide remark by snapping her in the butt with my damp bar rag.
“So is that what you would do if you weren’t already married?” I laughed. “I just want to be clear with this wonderful advice you’re giving me because I don’t recall you selecting Gary from the masses here.”
“Ah…” She waved a disgruntled hand at me. “You’re hopeless.”
I left out a loud, agreeing sigh.
“Why don’t you go over there and be nice to him? I heard the Fire Department was called out to the movie set this morning. Maybe he could get us in?” Marie shrugged, a glimmer of hope infused her voice.
I wrinkled my nose at her and countered her suggestion with one of my own. “Why don’t you go be nice to him then? I have no desire to go flock around some movie set like a pathetic groupie.”
“Speaking of groupies, did you hear that the police had to escort his limo to his hotel last night?” she asked, tapping one of her long fingernails on Ryan Christensen’s picture in today’s newspaper. “Article says there was a mob of women there; they had his hotel surrounded again.”
I rolled my eyes and continued wiping the bar with a towel. I really could not be bothered with the trivial, but it was hard to ignore. Everyone wanted to know the most miniscule details about him and his fellow actors and their glamorous lives. The photographers and reporters hunted them down daily.
Every day the news reports had something to say about the actors, the movie, the set locations, or the disruptions caused by the hundreds of crazed fans that followed them here. It was all too absurd for my taste, but Ryan Christensen was a drug that everyone seemed hopelessly addicted to.
“Girls have been trying to sleep out on the sidewalk and everything… cops had to tell them to leave,” Marie babbled to a few female customers sitting at the bar as she shuffled the newspaper into a neat pile.
I shook my head while trying to imagine what the payoff would be to even consider sleeping on cold concrete in 50-degree weather. It was still nice out during the day, but it was the last day of September and the evenings were chilly.
“That’s ridiculous,” I muttered.
“They’ll have to sleep down on the beach now,” Sandy, our local beautician, chimed in. She took another sip of her martini while everyone waited in anticipation for her to explain.
“One of the girls who work at the Lexington Hotel was in the salon this afternoon,” Sandy babbled, like the information she had was no big deal.
“She said it was all hush-hush, but the hotel staff was informed that all of the actors were being relocated there today. Apparently the Lexington has better security and private garage entrances. I don’t know - whatever. Anyway, it sounds like they’re going to be right down the street from us now.”
“No shit!” Marie screeched excitedly. “You mean to tell me that Ryan and the entire cast are going to be only three teeny blocks down that street?” She pointed out the window in the direction of Mulberry Street.
Her exuberance about this entire topic was bordering on annoying.
“I still can’t believe they are filming the second Seaside movie right here in our town. This one is going to be even better than the first!” Marie gushed.
“Okay, that’s like the hundredth time you’ve said that,” I teased.
“Well maybe if you bothered to watch the first movie you’d know what all of us are so excited about,” she snapped back.
“I read in one of the magazines at the salon that he is sleeping with the girl who starred in his last movie… what’s her name, Suzette, Suzanne something?” Sandy commented.
“No Sandy, that’s not true,” Marie shot back, shaking her head in disagreement. “He was dating Lauren Delaney from that TV show Modern Times, but they broke up.”
Marie’s tone was almost sympathetic. She tossed her long chocolate-brown hair off her shoulders, looking like she felt sorry for this man she didn’t know personally.
“I heard that someone stole some of his clothes from the hotel last week and tried to sell them on eBay,” Traci added.
“Oh, that’s just wrong,” I blurted out, trying to imagine what type of sick-o would buy some guy’s used shorts. The thought made me shudder. “Why on Earth would someone do that? Well, whoever did it, I hope they got arrested.”
My mind could not rationalize the actions. “It sure is a twisted world we live in.”
“If I had the chance, I’d twist on him several times!” Marie growled. I laughed when she wiggled her hips.
“Why don’t you twist your way over to the big table with this pitcher for me? Please? Our fire department looks like they still have fires to put out.”
I felt bad for turning Phil down, so I was trying to make it up to him with a free pitcher of beer. Secretly though I didn’t want to go anywhere near him.
“Why don’t you take it over and at least talk to him? He’s a really nice guy, Taryn.”
“Marie, I’m not interested, okay?”
“Well, since you seem to have sworn off men…” she muttered, “here, I’ve got something for you. It’s not porn, but it’s close enough.” She laughed while rummaging in her huge purse.
She held out another gossip magazine with a big, glossy picture of Ryan Christensen on the cover. The caption under his picture read:
The truth about Ryan:
His Ex-girlfriend tells ALL!
I pursed my lips and turned away, slightly disgusted that anyone’s ex-girlfriend would have the audacity to “tell all.” He was probably better off without her.
“Hey, let me see that!” Traci yelled, reaching for the magazine.
“What’s your problem, Taryn?” Marie grumbled and stamped her foot. “Don’t you think he’s hot? I mean, look at him!”
“It doesn’t matter,” I dismissed. “He is just another guy who is all full of himself. Besides, I have better things to think about - like why George and Ted look mad because I’m not bringing their drinks fast enough.”
“Yeah, like those two old farts are in a hurry. The only place they’re going to is their next alcohol-induced coma,” she declared.
I gave her my most dramatic, horrified look. “Who are you all going to gossip about once the celebrities leave town? You’ll need to find someone else to talk about.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“We’ll just talk about you, Tar. We’ll sit around and reminisce about how much fun you used to be while using the cobwebs growing between your legs to knit hats for the poor!” Marie nudged me.
“You’re such a bitch!” I snickered at her.
“Yep!” She grinned, pretending like she was going to spray me with the soda wand. “But you’ll never fire me because I’m your best friend and you love me!”
Damn her for being right.
The next day I woke to the sun beaming brightly through my window. I yawned while my fingers carelessly fumbled to shut off the alarm clock. I contemplated going back to sleep but it was already nine o’clock and there were things I wanted to get done today.
With a groan, I tossed the covers off and landed my bare feet on the cold wooden floor of my bedroom. “Brr,” I muttered out loud. The frigid oak planks sent a shiver through my body.
Outside my window, truck brakes screeched very loudly, causing me to flinch and duck reflexively. Curiosity made me tiptoe across the floor to find the source of the
noise.
Ah, Maggie is getting a delivery, I noticed, peering out the window at the back alleyway behind my building.
I lingered in the hot shower next, primping for a few extra minutes, while my mind was mentally distracted creating my agenda. The longer I thought about it the longer my to-do list got.
I picked my favorite jeans out of the clean laundry basket and slipped a white T-shirt over my head, tussling my fingers through my long blond hair to separate the waves.
After adding the final touches of makeup and mascara, I skipped down my stairs and through the door that led directly into the pub.
“Good afternoon, my lovely bar,” I said out loud to no one. “Time to wake up and greet a new day.”
I opened each of the window blinds, watching the microscopic dust motes float in the sunlight. I thought about cleaning the windows again - they were looking a bit dirty. I’d have to remember to ask my friend Pete if I could borrow his extension ladder.
That would have to wait. It was Wednesday already and I still hadn’t updated my entertainment sign for the weekend. First things first.
I dropped the piece of chalk back into the box and carried the updated slate board sign out to the sidewalk.
I had to squint; the sun was bright – even more so since I just emerged from a darkened pub. Wow! It’s beautiful out here!
I leaned back on my open door, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes for a moment to feel the warm sunlight on my cheeks. Even the air smelled better today.
Perhaps if I open late today I could enjoy this nice weather up on the rooftop with a good book in hand? Oh, that thought was very tempting. Reasons to goof off were starting to outnumber my to-do list, but the responsible part of my conscious quickly snuffed that. No, I have a lot to do inside. Better get at it… in a minute… the sun feels so nice…
My reluctant eyes instantly popped open when I heard the frantic sounds of women screaming. My vision was blurred by the bright sun and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the pandemonium headed straight for me.
That’s when I caught sight of him - what appeared to be Ryan Christensen - running full speed down the sidewalk. His body was on a direct collision course with mine.
“Back door?” he asked in a panic as he almost knocked me to the ground. I stumbled backwards awkwardly into the open doorway, grabbing the frame to keep myself from falling down.
“Door,” I quickly answered, my shaky hand pointed to the direction, but he was already running through the pub.
Instead of escaping through the kitchen door around the corner, he flew through the first door he saw.
“No, not that door!” I breathed out, tripping over my own feet as I followed him inside. It was too late; he disappeared through the door that led up to my apartment.
“Damn it!” I cussed out loud.
A split second after he vanished from view, the front door flew open and smacked loudly into the wall. A small group of women barged in; behind them were men with cameras, but oddly they stayed outside.
“Whoa, hold on there! Wait! Oh no, no!” The words were just spilling out of my mouth as I ran towards the door. Instinct told me I had to stop them before they got too far into the bar. It was obvious that they were what he was running from.
“We saw him come in here,” one of the crazed looking women barked as she tried to press past me.
“No, he’s not in here - he ran out the back door,” I shrilled, blocking her advance with my arms. “If you run down the street you might catch him.” I hoped my lie sounded convincing.
“You all have to get out of here. NOW! Don’t make me call the police!” I yelled as I herded them back to the door.
The instant they were out, I locked the door behind them and hit the light switch. Shit, what do I do? I started to panic. There was a large crowd of photographers and people starting to pile up on the sidewalk. Many of them were already mashing their faces to the glass, trying to look in my windows.
I moved as quickly as I could, sliding on my knees across the wooden bench seat at the first booth by the door. I felt like the hapless human, the last survivor, who has to fend off the attacking zombies all by herself. My heart was pounding in my chest when I dropped the blinds down on their intruding faces.
My thoughts spun in circles as I ran from window to window. I was so preoccupied with obscuring their view that I hadn’t even noticed where he was.
I tried to replay the last sixty seconds over again in my mind. Was he still inside or did he manage to make it out of the building after all?
Did he slip out the back door when I was distracted?
Chapter 2 – Open Doors
I slowly cracked the door leading upstairs to my apartment, my eyes straining to see if I could spot him. There he was, sitting huddled up on the top landing with his face buried in his arms. His hands were shaking ever so slightly.
I could see that his shirt had been ripped; part of his stomach was visible through the large, frayed tear. Oh my God! What happened to this poor guy?
I felt a little more courageous since he was obviously in distress, so I opened the door wider and cleared my throat so he would know I was standing there. I had no idea what to say.
“Sorry,” he pleaded, cautioning me with open hands. “I’m not some crazy maniac. Please, please don’t scream.”
“It’s fine… it’s fine. I know who you are,” I said in my softest voice, trying to calm him down. “Um, are you okay?”
“Not really,” he whispered. He was gasping for air, his hand covered his heart. “Can you give me a minute?”
“Sure,” I whispered back. “Take as long as you need.”
“Not the back door, I take it?” he barely uttered, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the door behind him.
“Ah, no. That’s the door to my apartment.”
I wanted to give him some privacy, so I started to back up out of the doorway.
“Are they down there?” His trembling fingers covered his eyes, his palms pressed into his cheeks.
I looked back up at him. “No. There’s no one here.” I had to take another deep breath; my heart was still pounding from the surge of adrenaline.
“I threw everyone out and I locked the door. All the blinds are down too - no one can see in. It’s okay, you’re safe here. I’m, um, going to leave you alone now.”
I quickly shut the door and returned to the bar to continue stocking the coolers with bottled beer. I needed to calm myself down. I needed a distraction.
A few minutes later, the stairwell door creaked and I saw him glance around the wall to see if the bar was truly empty. This poor man looked absolutely terrified.
Slowly he walked to the edge of the bar.
“Do you mind if I just sit here for a while?” Ryan was speaking so softly I almost couldn’t hear him.
“Yeah, sure. Please, have a seat,” I whispered, matching his tone. “Can I get you something to drink? Soda, or a beer… maybe even a shot or two?”
He was holding his head in his hands, his elbows rested on the bar.
“Can I, um, have a beer?” he breathed out.
He looked shaken and in no condition to decide what kind of beer to drink, so I quickly grabbed a mug and tapped him a draft. He started to fumble through his pockets; his hands were still trembling.
“That’s okay. Please, don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”
“Are you sure?” he asked timidly. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“No, it’s all right. It’s my pub. I’m the owner,” I said, shrugging slightly.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed on me. “Thanks. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.” He pushed out a big, relieving sigh. A little smile appeared on his lips.
“It’s no problem. Please, just sit and relax, and don’t worry, I promise I won’t bother you,” I said softly. I held up my hands briefly to let him know that I’d be keeping my distance.
I
grabbed another six-pack of beer out of the cardboard case and opened the cooler again. My nervousness caused me to almost drop the pack, knocking over more bottles inside the cooler in the process. I had to lean far in to reach the bottles that had tipped over and out of the holder, and for a moment I almost fell into the cooler myself.
I felt so uneasy by my careless fumbling, knowing that he must have just seen my feet come up off the floor, that I started to become flush. Fortunately the cold temperature in the cooler counterbalanced the heat rising to my cheeks. Perhaps if I stay in here I won’t have to look at him?
Just then I heard a phone ring. I popped my head out of the cooler and felt my pocket for my cell phone, but it wasn’t mine that was ringing.
“Hey, Mike. Yeah, I’m safe. I’m at some bar,” Ryan muttered, trying to sound like he was fine. The hand that rubbed his forehead was still shaking. He wasn’t fine.
He looked at me as he held his phone away from his face. He was blinking rapidly and he looked confused for a moment. “Ahh, what’s the name of this place?”
“Mitchell’s Pub.” I slid a new napkin with our family name on it to him.
“A place called Mitchell’s Pub. Listen, I’ll call you when I’m ready. I’m just having a beer.”
“My driver,” he stated, like he could read the question in my mind. “I suppose he thinks he might get fired by the studio for losing track of me.”
I had no idea what to say, so I gave him a brief smile and darted away into the kitchen. I figured he wanted to be left alone anyway; distracting myself by stocking the coolers sounded like a good idea. I took my time to load up two cases of beer onto the metal cart and wheeled them back into the bar.
He was still sitting there as I unloaded the cases by the bar refrigerators. I tried not to look at him. He’s probably so sick of people bugging him. As soon as he finishes that beer, he’ll call his driver. What would be the point of talking to him? Just leave him alone.
He stared at me while I emptied the cases of beer into the coolers. I could see out of the corner of my eye that his head turned and his eyes followed me when I took the empty boxes back to the kitchen. I still couldn’t make myself look at him.