by Reber, Tina
I looked out my front window; most of the street seemed clear, except for the normal traffic. Maybe Ryan was seen leaving this morning and the paparazzi and obsessed fans followed him?
I took a shower and spent extra time fixing my hair and makeup, just in case. I took my time, fighting the urge to stay holed up in my apartment instead of going outside… out there. I could understand why Ryan hid in his hotel room.
I put on my best jeans and my black low ankle boots with the chunkier two-inch heel – just in case I needed to run – and my black leather jacket and sunglasses. I counted the money Ryan had left for me - one hundred and twenty dollars – and put it in my purse. Grocery list, purse, bank deposit, keys, cell phone… bravery? Where did I leave my guts? Don’t let them decide for you, you can do this.
I paused by the back door, fixed the alarm, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the alley. That’s when the cameras began to click. About five paparazzi followed me, asking me questions the entire way down the alley. I didn’t answer; I kept my focus on getting to my car. At one point I found that I was almost able to tune out their questions by thinking about something else.
I made sure to look like the love notes that were stuffed under my windshield wiper for Ryan didn’t bother me. I even think I smiled once. I patted them into a nice pile and placed them on the passenger seat of my car.
Did these freaking women actually think that his girlfriend would be considerate enough to pass their love notes on to him? Surely they had to know this was my car and not his!
Maybe they hoped that if we ever got into a fight that he might pick the first love note in the pile and go running to their arms? Like these notes were somehow entry tickets to the Ryan Christensen lottery and the lucky winner would be chosen randomly from the stack? What the hell was in all of their heads?
I knew exactly why he broke down yesterday; these people were loose on the streets. My mind flashed back to the old zombie movies and I pictured that Ryan and I were the only ones not turned into monsters - yet. I took a moment to program my music selection. Ah, there it is – I knew I had it, “Zombie” by The Cranberries. I smiled, turned the volume up, and put my car into reverse. Take a picture of that.
Since I had a large amount of cash on me from my profits at the bar, the bank was the first stop on my agenda. I stood in the small bank line waiting for the next available teller; my options narrowed when one of the two tellers working placed her ‘window closed’ sign on the countertop. Just my luck I would have to do my banking with someone I went to high school with - Michele Weeks, another downside to living in a small town.
She noticed me standing in line and suddenly she was smiling at me from ear to ear. Great! This girl never said more than two words to me all through high school and now she was grinning at me like we were long-lost friends. Why would she talk to me back in those days? I wasn’t part of that crowd; I hung out with the normal kids who didn’t think they were better than everyone else.
Back then she was the head cheerleader, dating one of the three most popular guys in school, who just happened to get her pregnant right after graduation. Now she was the head teller at my bank. I laughed inside; funny how she always had the term “head” associated to her name.
“Hi Taryn!” she greeted me. “How are you?”
Like you really care.
“Good, thanks! Deposit please,” I said, sliding the rubber banded stack of cash and my deposit slip toward her.
She took my money below the counter and typed onto her computer. She was still smiling and looking me over and I knew at any moment she was going to ask her burning question.
“Taryn, please tell me. Is it true?” she whispered her plea to me. Her eyes scanned back and forth for eavesdroppers. “Are you really dating Ryan Christensen?”
Wonderful, another freaking nosey fan. A few smart-ass answers ripped through my brain like ‘no, he’s just living with me and having as much sex as one man is humanly capable of without dehydrating,’ but I kept my composure and stared at her blankly.
“Come on!” she urged. “I won’t say anything!”
“That’s good to know.” I leaned into the counter a few inches further, my eyes glanced from side to side to pique her interest, and then I dropped the bomb. “Neither will I.”
Her smile morphed into a frown in an instant, and she shifted her focus to angrily count my deposit. She slid the deposit receipt towards me.
“Have a nice day,” she droned. I could tell she didn’t really mean it.
I decided to drive out of Seaport and into the next town to do my grocery shopping. Why? I didn’t know. Something about putting distance between me and the zombies perhaps?
I drove past one of the large hardware store chains and another thought dawned on me. I turned around and parked in the large lot. I wanted to get copies of my keys made so I could give Ryan his own set. I hoped he’d get a better understanding of just how much I wanted him with me.
I was just on my way into the Super CostMart when Ryan called.
“Hey you! What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m on a top secret mission,” I joked with him as I set my purse in an empty wire cart. I stopped for a moment; it felt like I had something stuck to my shoe. I crossed my foot up on my knee to take a closer look. That’s when I noticed the older Plymouth drive slowly past me. It almost stopped right next to where I stood.
“Oh my God,” I breathed out, ripping the gum off my heel. I dashed with the cart towards the doors.
“What?” He panicked with me.
It looked like the curly-haired, gap-toothed girl but I wasn’t absolutely sure. Who ever it was had large sunglasses on. There was no sense in making him worry unnecessarily.
“I had some gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe.”
“Oh, you scared me for a minute!” he admitted. “Hey, do they sell socks in the grocery store? I just ripped another pair.”
“I don’t know about the grocery store, but I’m walking into the Super CostMart right now. Can I buy them here or do famous movie stars require expensive designer socks?” I teased him.
“Let me ask Cal,” he joked. “Just get me some plain white crew socks, preferably ones without holes in them. You know the kind that I wear.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Duct tape and a shovel?” he requested.
I sighed. I could only imagine the hell Suzanne was putting him through on set. “How bad is she today?”
“She’s being difficult,” he muttered. “Taryn, you know I’m making this movie, right? So please don’t be jealous when I tell you this, but we had to do a kissing scene this morning and she complained that I had coffee breath and she made a big freaking ordeal about it. It was embarrassing.”
I knew how he felt about her; jealousy was low on my list of emotions. “Ryan, I know it’s pretend. She’s nothing for me to be jealous over. I’m more worried about your relationship with the director. Did you get it filmed?”
“Yeah. We had to do several takes until the playback looked good enough to be believable. Kenneth was happy with the fourth take. If you remember, pick up a bunch of spearmint gum too. Then I have something to take the bad taste of her out of my mouth.”
I had to banish the thoughts of them kissing. “How long are you going to be on set today?”
“The call sheet says till seven for me but you never know. We shot two scenes already. I was just going over my lines for the next one, which is coming up in about fifteen minutes.” He yawned. “Fortunately she’s not in that scene. I should be there close to seven, eight at the latest.”
“I’ll leave the back door unlocked for you; hopefully there won’t be too many hairy leeches back there waiting.”
“Did you smile for the cameras this morning yourself?” he uttered amusingly.
“Wasn’t too bad. I made sure to smile when I retrieved today’s selection of love notes off my car though. I kept them in a nice pile in case you need ba
throom reading later.”
“I was hoping for softer toilet paper than that!” he laughed out.
By this time, I had walked through the store and was staring at a wide variety of men’s socks. I tossed three packs of socks into the cart. “I’m getting you three bags, all of your holy socks are going in the garbage tonight.”
“Hey, pick up a bag of nacho chips and some salsa. I’ve been hungry for some Mexican food lately.”
“You want tacos for dinner tonight?” I figured that sounded good too.
“Promise? Don’t toy with my emotions, Ms. Mitchell!”
“You’re bad! I’ll see you tonight. I have to go pick out some manly scented stuff for my boyfriend now.” It warmed my insides to say that word again - out loud.
“Okay, Peaches!” He laughed.
I snapped my phone shut and turned the corner into the soap aisle. Our conversation had me smiling. I found the men’s body soap section and started opening and sniffing all the bottles. I smirked to myself, taking the mental picture of Ryan naked, wet, and all soapy into my mind. It was one hell of a private thought.
He asked for new razors so I wheeled my cart down the next aisle to check that item off the list. I was looking over the different brands of men’s shaving cream when I saw her out of the corner of my eye – the curly-haired, gap-toothed girl. She was at the end of the same aisle pretending to be looking at some product on the shelf while watching what I was doing. I felt a jolt of terror sting into my spine. It was her I saw in the parking lot!
Don’t panic, we’re in a public place. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.
I selected the rest of Ryan’s toiletries and hurried away to the shampoo aisle. I was on a mission to get what I came for and then go hide in another part of the store.
By the time I was finished shopping, my cart was loaded to the brim; I was no longer shopping for one. Even though I was mostly focused on my list, I still nervously looked over my shoulder every now and then. Was the curly-haired girl following me? I was slightly relieved that I never saw her again.
The cart was heavy and hard to push through the parking lot. The front wheel of the cart was wobbling and I had to use two hands to keep it going in a straight line.
Sounds of tires squealing on the macadam captured my attention; instinctively I looked for the source of the noise. That’s when I saw the old blue Plymouth coming straight at me from the end of the line of cars.
Thoughts of me dying in a parking lot, just like my mother, flashed through my mind.
Some deep down impulse forced me to release the grocery cart and leave it where it was; my body jumped in between two parked cars. If the psycho bitch was going to take me out, she’d have to take a few cars out with me. But instead, she drove right past me. She didn’t even glance in my direction.
I watched as she drove off out of the parking lot. She hadn’t aimed for me at all. I felt quite silly for letting my imagination get away like that. I shook my head to get my mind back to the task at hand, and pushed my cart to the trunk of my car to transfer my bags.
When I pulled down my alley, the paparazzi were there, waiting for me. I wish they would stop taking my picture and help me, I thought to myself as the cameras clicked around me. Wow, exciting news… Ryan Christensen’s girlfriend grocery shops! Stop the damn presses!
People are starving all around the globe, the pollutants we pump in the air are destroying the ozone, the global economy is in the toilet, but yet the most exciting news at this moment was to capture me digitally as I unloaded my groceries.
I transferred all the bags from the trunk to the kitchen and then drove off to park my car. I hit the key fob to lock my car doors and was just about to cross over Mulberry Street when I saw the old blue Plymouth turn the corner two blocks away. She keeps this shit up and I’m getting a restraining order.
I hurried down the alley; again in a strange way I was actually relieved that there were other people around, even if they were the pesky paparazzi. They only wanted to take my picture; somehow they were not threatening. And now that I had seen them several days in a row, their faces were becoming familiar to me.
The one photographer I recognized was a small Italian-looking man with short, peppered dark gray hair and a scruffy beard. He was the nicest of them all so far. He didn’t ask annoying questions; he just asked me how my day was going. I wondered if these leeches actually had a heart when it came to their chosen profession.
Another one of the photographers that I recognized was taller, maybe six-two or six-three, with a well-pronounced nose and dark, olive skin. He also was somewhat nice, complimenting me on my clothing all the time. Today he liked my jacket. I pondered when the fact that I didn’t always wear designer clothes would come into play.
As I unlocked my back door, the short Italian man wished me a blessed evening. “Thank you, sir! You too!” I replied with a cheerful smile.
After I carried all the groceries upstairs and had most of them put away, I called Tammy.
“Hey, I need you to ask Tony a question for me.” Tammy’s brother was a police officer in Providence. “I think I have a fan problem. Can you ask him what the criteria is for getting a restraining order?”
Tammy gasped. “Is it that bad already?”
“I don’t know. This one girl just keeps showing up. I’m not sure if it was a coincidence or not, but I just saw her in CostMart over in South Hampton. And she just drove down the street after I unloaded my car. I’m a bit freaked out actually!”
“I’ll ask him. Maybe you should consider not opening the bar by yourself? Can you wait until someone else is there with you?”
She had a point. “That’s a good suggestion. I can wait until Cory gets here. He’ll be in at four. It’s not like I make a hell of a lot of money in the afternoon anyway.”
“Rather be safe than sorry,” Tammy said.
“You’re right. Please ask Tony for me; see if he has any suggestions.”
I put all the groceries away then placed a small pack of hamburger meat in a skillet on the stove. I thought I’d start dinner now so when he got home we could eat together.
Home? Wait… did my brain just say “home”? I walked around my apartment, observing that there were little bits of Ryan in every room. All his clothing was stowed away in my bedroom, pants from yesterday laying on my chair, his expensive watch and cufflinks were on my dresser next to his bottle of cologne, a new script and a book were setting out on the coffee table, and his toothbrush was hanging in the bathroom next to mine.
Blending my life with his seemed so effortless. I tried to recall how and when it all happened.
It was almost four o’clock – time to turn the bar lights on and open for business. I was comforted knowing that Cory would be here soon. I turned the television on for background noise and adjusted my business hours sign to reflect the new opening time.
I had expected to see Cory as the first person through my door, but instead a few female patrons came in - no doubt here to see sights of Ryan Christensen. The three girls sat down at the bar; they looked quite young.
“Good evening, ladies,” I greeted them. “What can I get you?”
One of them was sort of glaring at me; I didn’t care for the vibe she was emanating.
“I’ll have a rum and coke,” she stated.
“Sure. May I see some identification first, please?” I asked politely. If you’re not twenty-one you’re not staying.
One of them was barely twenty-one and the other two were only twenty-two years old; none of them were from Rhode Island. All three of the girls were from Massachusetts, which was a forty minute drive from here just to the border.
I was so relieved to see Cory walk through the door that I couldn’t suppress my smile. One of the girls whipped her head around to see who I was smiling at.
“Hey boss. Sorry I’m a few minutes late,” Cory apologized. In actuality he was only four minutes late. Certainly not a big deal, especially since I had changed
his schedule from part-time to almost full-time.
“No worries, Cory. I’m just happy you could work.” I patted him on his shoulder. Secretly I was thanking my lucky stars that I wasn’t working alone.
“Limes?” Cory asked, looking around. I hadn’t cut any yet.
“I’ll go get some,” I said cheerfully, trotting back to the kitchen.
I had several limes and lemons in my hand when I came through the kitchen door. At that very moment, curly-haired, gap-toothed girl walked through the front door of my pub. I sucked in a quick breath from the shock, almost dumping my arm-full of fruit on the floor. I scurried behind the bar, getting as close to Cory and my baseball bat as I possibly could.
I knew her name was Angel, but she was turning out to be more like the devil in my book. She looked around the inside of the pub before hesitantly making her way to the far end of the bar. I was glad she sat at the opposite end from where the kitchen would be visible from the long bar. Ryan would be coming through the back door eventually.
She reached into her little clutch purse and I felt the adrenaline start to release into my bloodstream. This girl absolutely terrified me; there was no way of knowing what she had hidden in that purse. I kept some distance between us until I could be sure of what she was up to. Eventually she placed some money on the bar and folded her hands on top of it.
Slowly I made my approach. “Good Evening. What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a whiskey sour,” she whispered. It was weird; she never made eye contact.
“May I see some ID please?” I wanted to know who she was and where she came from.
She reached back into that ominous little bag of hers and pulled out a small wallet. Her fingers fumbled for her driver’s license.
ANGELICA STAUNTON, DOB 2/17/1978