to questions like that?
Some of their questions were down right aggravating. One of the photographers asked Ryan if Suzanne knew that I met his parents and how
does she feel about that? Did it make her jealous? I wanted to tell them all to go to Hell, but I kept focused on getting the car emptied.
“New door is in,” Ryan muttered. He was straining to keep his mind on other things and he tried to get me to focus with him.
I saw that we had a new steel door installed a few feet away from the existing kitchen door. We were so distracted by the paparazzi that I didn’t
even have time to see all the progress Pete made on the new wall inside.
We drove down the alley and crossed over Mulberry Street into the open parking lot. We were just about parked when Ryan abruptly slammed
on the brakes and put the car in reverse.
“Ryan? What’s wrong?”
It took me no time at all to follow his stare. There she was – Angelica – sitting in her freaking blue Plymouth parked cattycorner to the lot on
Mulberry Street. Ryan gunned the engine and drove back out onto the street.
“Blue Gran Fury. We’re going to take care of this shit right now. Which way to the police station?”
Ten minutes later we walked into the Seaport Police Station. The officer informed us that they would investigate the matter, but we had to go to
the county courthouse to apply for a protection from abuse order. That was not handled by the police.
We walked swiftly down the sidewalk to the courthouse doors. Ryan was wearing dark sunglasses and tried to look inconspicuous but he
couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized. Two flustered women stopped us on the sidewalk and asked him for his autograph. Ryan
momentarily slipped into his people-pleasing mode and even stood and waited for these two annoyances to find something for him to write on. He
was so gracious.
We took the elevator up to the third floor of the courthouse and found the office that was supposed to help us. Fortunately the office was empty –
all except for the two women who worked there. There was an older woman with bleached blond hair sitting at a tan metal desk busy typing away on
a computer. She looked up at us for a second and then quickly returned to what she was doing. We didn’t even qualify as a distraction for her.
The other woman sitting behind the counter however, who was younger than the first, recognized Ryan immediately. I could tell – she looked up
and blinked rapidly in astonishment. Her mouth popped open and for a moment I thought she was going to scream.
It’s amazing how quickly people jump for you when you’re a celebrity. I never knew the power that came with it until moments like these
happened. Ryan could have asked the lady behind the counter to eat road kill and she probably would have obliged. If you could bottle Ryan’s fame
and charm into one container, you’d have the recipe for a lethal weapon. We completed the paperwork in no time and within minutes we met with
the judge.
“I had her investigated,” I informed the judge. Ryan was surprised by this revelation, but maintained his composure. I squeezed his hand.
“There’s a restraining order against her in the state of California for stalking another celebrity. She was also charged with breaking and entering
into the celebrity’s home. She has physically placed her hands on Mr. Christensen on our way into our home, and she has been sleeping in her car
outside our place of business, which is also where our home is. She has followed me all the way to South Hampton and repeatedly leaves
messages for him on our vehicle and in our mail.”
A temporary Restraining Order was granted immediately, and, after one brief three minute telephone conversation between Ryan and the
judge’s fourteen year old daughter (who happens to be a huge Ryan Christensen fan), we received the rest of the royal treatment.
We were informed that a Deputy Sheriff would serve the order to Angelica. A hearing for the permanent restraining order was scheduled for next
Wednesday. Ryan and I would both have to appear for the hearing. We left the courthouse armed with two copies of the order - one for each of us,
and we even received a police escort home.
Ryan parked my car in the lot and we sat and watched as two police cruisers descended on Angelica, blocking her from leaving the spot where
she was parked, while the Deputy served her the order.
“What’s happening?” I asked out loud. One police officer had removed her from her car and she was being handcuffed.
“I don’t know,” Ryan answered. “Looks like she is getting arrested.”
The paparazzi had a field day taking her picture and ours as we waited in the car. She was placed in the back seat of one of the police cars
while two officers searched her Plymouth.
The photographers, autographers, filmers, and fans swarmed around us. Ryan and I hurried for the back door of the pub.
I just didn’t get it anymore. What was the purpose of all of this attention? Ryan didn’t stop to give out any autographs and it wasn’t like our
appearance changed one bit from when we had our picture taken unloading the car earlier. It was getting ridiculous and downright annoying. Is this
the way our life would be forever?
I closed the steel kitchen door behind us and punched in the security code. Ryan had turned the light on, illuminating the new wall and door that
spanned the length of the kitchen.
“Wow!” I breathed out. The new thirty foot wall was definitely a distraction for my thoughts. I noticed Pete had even painted the new wall white.
“This looks really good!” Ryan beamed.
I was glad to see that the new interior door had a lock on it, but Ryan was able to open it. Mounted on the wall inside the hallway was a new light
switch. Next to it a keypad for the new security system glowed in the dark. Pete had even installed an ornate wooden railing where the original wall
used to be.
Ryan pulled the note that was taped next to the keypad off the wall. “Call security co. to program new code – new keys are on kitchen counter
upstairs,” he read aloud.
“It’s one o’clock out on the West Coast. Don’t forget you have to call Follweiler’s office today.” I tossed my car keys onto the kitchen table.
“Thanks for reminding me. What would I do without you?” He kissed me quickly.
“I don’t know? Forget shit?” I teased him.
He gave me a light shove. “Call the security company, get us hooked up. I’ll call Follweiler.”
We went our separate ways to make our phone calls. I programmed the new code into the panel to activate it. Ryan had made our dinner plans
with Mr. Follweiler’s assistant and when he came back into the kitchen he was on the phone with his agent.
It was almost humorous how many phone calls we both made. Ryan was due back on set first thing in the morning; he called Mike to arrange
safe transportation. I called Marie to check in on how they were holding up. They had just gotten home a half-hour ago and cancelled on playing
poker tonight.
Ryan was on the phone with Pete, yapping away on everything from construction to fishing.
My last call was to Cory to see if he’d be able to start at four, since I had no valid reason not to be open tomorrow. I was glad that he was willing
to work any hours I was able to give him. I even hired his roommate, Trevor, over the phone. I needed someone to card people at the door during
the week. I wasn’t going to allow what happened last Tuesday to repeat itself.
I ran downstairs to the get the mail and removed my makeshift cardboard closed sign from the window. There was a huge pile of mail on my pub
floor. There was also a FedEx package and several boxes sitting on the bar. I opened a garbage bag and stuffed it with all the mail and deliveries