While I listened to his voice I allowed my imagination to run free as I pictured what it would be like to have him lying next to me - so close that I could touch him, soothe him, protect him from the insanity. Ugh! What am I thinking? I had to stop myself from thinking those thoughts.
We talked for almost three hours; the birds were already starting to wake up and chirp outside my window. We started opening up to each other and our conversation became more personal. He told me that he grew up in a small town in western Pennsylvania and that his parents still lived in the same house to this day. How he once had a Jack Russell Terrier named Bailey who used to dig holes in the yard.
I told him about the job offer I had accepted at a large brokerage firm in Manhattan, and why I had to turn it down when my father died suddenly. I was a week away from moving.
Ryan told me about the lead actress that he has to work with on these movies and how she sometimes behaved like a spoiled brat. He called her “BB,” as all the tabloids referred to her as the British Bombshell, but she was better known as Suzanne Strass. She was a former child actress from London who recently turned twenty-one.
Even though they were friends, she sometimes annoyed the heck out of him, and it ticked him off that all the gossip magazines were spreading lies about them being romantically linked. She had tagged along with him the night he came into my pub.
Throughout our conversation, we laughed and teased. He was so easy to talk to. But he always seemed hesitant to talk about what was truly bothering him. I could sense there were underlying issues, however he never went into details and I didn’t want to pry. I could hear it in his voice that there were things that he wasn’t sharing.
It was Thursday, early evening, when Marie flipped through the channels on the pub television. Ryan had given a brief interview with one of the evening entertainment news shows and it was being broadcasted today.
It was strange watching him on television. Even though the voice was the same, the celebrity image on the screen was disconnected from the man I was trying so desperately not to fall for over the telephone. But some things were the same; he was charming and shy and slightly uncomfortable with all the attention during the interview. I noticed his nervous twitches and mannerisms when they asked questions that he was uncomfortable with. Still, he was humble and very adorable.
And then my heart lodged into my throat when I saw the additional footage of him being swept through a hysterical crowd by six bulky security guards. At one point I wasn’t sure if he was even walking on his own or if the security team was just carrying him.
The fans were reaching for him – holding cameras over their heads for just the random chance that they might get his photo. Others were holding pictures of him hoping to get his autograph. A few women were crying and hyperventilating just from getting a glimpse of him.
The security team practically hurled him into the awaiting car; his fans were screaming and blocking his car in the road. Mobs of paparazzi were everywhere. I gripped the edge of the bar as my knees started to buckle. He was the prey being stalked by the wolves.
At that moment, I realized the magnitude of what he was sparing me from. It wasn’t that he was the superstar adored by millions that made me weak. It was the feeling that I wanted to throw myself in their path to protect him that was most powerful.
An hour later my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. Ryan was texting me:
“Hi I’m back”
I quickly sent him a reply: “Hi r u ok?”
“Yeah why u ask?”
“Nothing glad to hear ur back safe” I couldn’t tell him why I was worried.
“We r shootn night scenes gonna b a late one”
I smiled when I saw the sad smiley face. “dont work too hard have fun”
“I’ll try to call u soon ok?”
“Ok”
I was relieved to know he was back in Rhode Island, away from that California craziness, although it appeared that some of that craziness followed him wherever he went.
We were very busy for a weeknight. It seemed that his huge female fan base that swarmed my pub had attracted a new selection of male customers – everyone was on the hunt – and the odds were better if you were a man.
“It’s like freaking mating season!” I yelled over to Marie.
She snorted at me. “I know! It’s sick, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know if I should be appalled or thankful,” I laughed back to her.
“I’m extremely thankful!” She bobbed her head back and forth and stuffed a few more dollars into our tip jar. “Go! Find a mate!” she teased me.