Love Unscripted

  “She was,” he chuckled. “Fortunately she can be quite professional when the cameras are rolling.”

  “Did you say anything to her about yesterday?” I asked, wondering if he confronted her.

  “No,” he admitted. “Tar, I didn’t want to start anything. I hope you’re okay with that.”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I’m perfectly fine with it actually. It’s not worth the tension.”

  “That’s what I thought. Besides, you know how I feel about you,” he whispered.

  I smiled. “Yeah, I suppose I do!”

  “Speaking of which… what are you up to?”

  “I’m just sitting here playing my guitar and listening to music,” I said as I played a few chords.

  “Want some company?” Ryan asked.

  “Race you to the back door?” I joked. He never even said goodbye. I heard a faint click when he hung up on me.

  I waited by the back door for him. The Lexington Hotel was only three blocks away. I smiled when I saw him finally turn the corner.

  “Phew,” he sighed. “I’m out of shape!” His breathing was slightly labored from jogging. “I had to take the long way because the paparazzi are camped out by the hotel.”

  “Which way did you go?” I asked.

  “I snuck out the door by the swimming pool and went down the boardwalk a block. I told one of the hotel workers that I wanted to go for a jog, so he gave me a key to get back through the door to the indoor pool.” He grinned, showing me the key. “Only cost me one autographed poster!”

  I laughed at him. “I wondered what took you so long.”

  “Hug me, I’m all sweaty,” Ryan joked, wrapping his arms around me.

  Ryan tossed his jacket onto the living room chair and immediately picked up my guitar. “So, what were you playing?” he asked.

  “Nothing really,” I admitted.

  He started to play a little bluesy tune. “I miss my guitar. I wish I had it with me, but I had it sent to my mom and dad’s after the last press tour. I’m always afraid it’s going to get damaged or stolen.”

  “Why don’t you have you parents send it out here?” I shrugged.

  “I thought about it but it can stay with the rest of my stuff. All my worldly possessions are in boxes in my parent’s basement.”

  “I remember you telling me that you used to have an apartment out in L.A. So you don’t have a place there anymore?” I asked.

  “No. I packed up all my stuff before I started filming the first Seaside. I figured I’d be on location for seven-eight months… between filming Seaside and then Reparation right after that, what was the point to keep it all there. Besides, I have no desire to live in California anymore. I was planning on moving back to the East Coast anyway,” he stated. “I told you that, didn’t I?”

  I was glad to hear him say that he wanted to live on this side of the country again.

  “Yeah, you did.” I nodded.

  “Hey, isn’t there supposed to be a music store around here somewhere? One of the PAs said they saw a sign on one of the buildings nearby.”

  “There used to be, but it has been closed for a while now. There’s a big music store about thirty minutes away though. Why? You want to go there sometime?”

  “I was thinking I’d just buy a new guitar,” he said casually. “One of these days if I can ever get there.” He grinned. “Or I can just steal this one from you.” He strummed my guitar with more force. “It has a great sound.”

  “I have a better idea - why don’t we just keep it here where it is safe and you can visit it whenever you’d like. How does that sound?” I joked.

  He wrinkled his nose at me.

  “So, what’s a PA?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s short for production assistant,” he said, like I was supposed to know what their job was.

  “And they do what?”

  “All sorts of things.” He shrugged.

  “That clears it up perfectly,” I said sarcastically.

  “They work for the ADs.” He grinned, knowing he was messing with me.

  “Oh. So they must NBC the BFFs on HBO with LOLs, right?”

  He started laughing hard. “Exactly!”

  “Got it. It’s all clear as mud now.”

  “Okay,” he retreated. “Are you ready for your next lesson, Ms. Mitchell?”

  He stopped playing my guitar for a moment. “AD stands for Assistant Director. They’re responsible for stuff like the shooting schedule, you know, what we’re doing for the day. They also track our daily progress, making sure that we’re keeping up with the overall production schedule. Some of the ADs make sure the cast and crew is where they’re supposed to be - stuff like that. The PAs, or Production Assistants, really do all sorts of stuff. Some work with the film crew, others are running stuff around the set, delivering paperwork or telling me to get out of my trailer. I couldn’t even begin to tell you how many ADs and PAs we have on this film - loads.”

  “So when is the quiz?” I asked jokingly. “I’d like some advanced warning so I have time to study first.”

  “Soon! Very soon!” he stated, strumming over the strings to croon his words. “I haven’t decided whether it will be oral or written though.” I definitely picked up on his hints.

  The more he continued to play my guitar, the more I was willing to go along with just about anything he suggested. I liked the little facial expressions he made when he played; how his eyes would scrunch closed or his lips would twitch to the beat.

  My eyes traveled down the tendon in his neck; how tasty it looked connecting to his collarbone. His gray T-shirt obscured the rest of the view. I just about lost my mind when he licked his own lips.

  “Here you go,” he said, handing me the guitar. “Your turn.”

  I was so dazed by my own thoughts that I just sat their like a lump for a few seconds.

  “What?” he asked, looking at me funny. I knew I was supposed to reach for the guitar but my arms didn’t respond.

  “Here… play,” he kindly urged.

  When I regained the use of my limbs, I played a favorite song of mine, but my fingers messed up. I tried to start over, getting the chords right the second time.

  Ryan wrapped his fingers around the neck of my guitar and removed it from my lap. He carried it over to its stand. Talk about a subtle hint! I guess I really butchered the song.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered, abashed by his actions. “Was I that bad?”

  He shook his head and pulled me up from the couch by my hands. Without saying a word he scooped me up in his arms and kissed me as he carried me down the hallway.

  It was still dark in my bedroom when Ryan’s cell phone alarm beeped. I felt him stir, rolling over to stop its chime. I opened my sleepy eyes and looked at the time; my alarm clock displayed 5:30.

  Ryan let out a groan and sat up on the edge of the bed, retrieving his clothing from my bedroom floor.

  I ran my fingertips down his spine to let him know I was awake.

  “Morning sweetheart,” he uttered quietly. He leaned back on me and kissed my lips softly, sweeping my hair off my cheek.

  I brushed my hand over his defined chest.

  “I have to get going,” he said with a frown.

  “I know,” I whispered, saddened by the thought.

  I turned the security alarm off and peered both ways down the darkened alleyway. Each end of the narrow road was illuminated by streetlights. It appeared that the entire town, including the birds, was still sleeping. “I don’t see anyone out there. The coast looks clear.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you later.” He hugged and kissed me goodbye.

  I crawled back into bed and pulled his pillow to my chest, enjoying the soft scent of his cologne that still lingered on the pillowcase.

  “You’re whistling,” Marie said as she tapped a pitcher of beer for a waiting customer.

  “Sorry. I’ll stop,” I apologized to her, fearing it was annoying. “That will be two dollars, sir.” I smiled at
the older gentleman that I just served.

  Marie’s eyes glared at me. “Whistling? Extremely good mood? He was here last night, wasn’t he?” she accused.

  I couldn’t hide my smile. “Maybe!”

  “No wonder you turned me down when I offered to come over.” Marie nudged me in the shoulder.

  “It wasn’t planned, believe me!”

  “When he calls, ask him what he did with all the cobwebs. We need to make more hats for the needy,” she said dryly. “Or did he call you already today?”

  I smirked, secretly acknowledging that I spoke to him earlier at lunchtime and again mid afternoon.

  Marie grabbed my elbow and uttered her words privately. “If you screw this relationship up I swear I will kill you myself!”

  “Believe me, I’m trying not to!” I confirmed, returning to washing a few dirty glasses in the sink.

  “So are you seeing him later? I could close for you if we’re not that busy,” Marie offered.

  I wished I could take her up on that, but Ryan had other obligations.

  “He’s catching the redeye to Newark tonight. He has an interview and a dinner meeting in Manhattan tomorrow.”

  Marie gave me a questioning look.

  “He’s doing a little press for his last film,” I muttered.

  I saw the light bulb go off in her head. “Oh, Reparation, right?”

  I laughed lightly from the absurdity of her knowing so many details about my boyfriend’s life.

  Ryan, of course, called me later that evening.

  So, are you all packed for your trip?” I asked.

  “Almost. I’m packing right now. I wish I didn’t have to go to Manhattan, but at least it’s a short flight from here. You found my schedule, right?”

  I smiled. Ryan cared for me to the point that he wanted me to know his entire schedule, and this was the second time he asked me if I had it.

  “Yes, I have it on the refrigerator. Hopefully you can slip through the airport unnoticed.”

  “That’s the plan!” he stated exuberantly.

  I grabbed his schedule to review it again. Wednesday morning he had an appearance on an early morning show at seven. At one p.m. he had a photo shoot, and then last on his agenda was a dinner meeting with his manager and some producer later that evening.

  He had an early flight back to Rhode Island Thursday morning.

  “This schedule says you have to be back on set on Thursday. Jeez, did they even factor in a bathroom break here anywhere?” I groaned. I wondered how he could stand living such a hectic life.

  He laughed. “No. I have to hold it!”

  “According to this schedule, it looks like you can go to the bathroom on Saturday around eight p.m.”

  “I’ll have to reschedule that. I’m hoping to have other plans,” Ryan stated, like we were having a business meeting.

  “The interview on Wednesday is really early in the morning,” he groaned. “That’s going to be the killer.”

  “Do you know what questions they are going to ask, or do they just spring their questions on you?” I wondered. I pictured him having to answer on the fly and how nerve racking that must be to come up with coherent replies.

  “Sometimes they give you an idea of what they’re going to ask, but most of the time it’s just unscripted banter. Every one of these interviews is pretty much the same. Tell us about the movie, what’s it about, how does it feel to be playing that character. It’s all quite mundane.”

  “That is until they ask you those uncomfortable, personal questions,” I joked. “I noticed you rub your forehead when you don’t like the question.”

  “I do what?” he asked inquisitively.

  “You rub your forehead. When you get uncomfortable or upset you rub your forehead. You probably don’t even realize you’re doing it.” I couldn’t help but tease him.

  “So tell us, Ryan…” I started, using my best fake talk-show host voice. “All the women in the audience want to know what type of underwear you’re wearing right now. Or… everyone wants to know if you are dating someone. You squirm in your chair and then you rub your forehead. It’s your tell.”

  “My what?” he laughed.

  “Your tell, you know? Like when you’re playing poker? It’s that unconscious movement or action that lets everyone know you’re bluffing.”

  “Oh, tell. Yeah, I know what that means. Great, now I’m really going to be self-conscious on stage. Not only do I have to worry about the stupid questions and my mumbling answers, I’ll be worrying about touching my face and giving my secrets away.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it worse.” It was hard to plead and suppress a laugh at the same time.

  “I suppose I need a new gesture then, huh?”

  “Why don’t you rub your middle finger across your eyebrow if you don’t like his question? That ought to be good for ratings.”

  He was laughing too hard to reply.

  “See, you like my ideas!” I laughed with him.

  “Yeah, I do! But I also recall you did the same gesture to me once!”

  “Well, pick another one then. But you’ll have to let me know what your new gesture is so I can watch for it.”

  “Let me think about that for a minute. There are so many subtle movements I could make that no one would notice. I like this! It’s so evil! Okay, let me think…

  “All right, I got one. I’ll scratch my chin if I really want to tell him to go to Hell. How does that sound?”

  I laughed. “Sounds good! No one will even notice. So what does the rubbing your forehead and scratching your chin at the same time mean?”

  “Don’t be a smart ass!” he bantered back. “And if he asks me if I have a girlfriend, of course I have to deny it to keep my private life a secret, but how about I’ll touch my nose with my finger so you know I’m lying?”

  I felt my heart skip a beat when he said the word girlfriend.

  “So, you have a girlfriend? Do I know her?” I asked, fooling with him.

  “Don’t make me hang up on you!” he threatened.

  “No, I really want to know. Is she hot?” I joked.

  “No, she’s not hot.” He paused before changing his tone. “I’d say she’s more… irresistibly beautiful and incredibly sexy - than hot. And I’m insanely crazy about her so watch what you say.”

  “Wow,” I breathed out as I felt the blood rush from my head. “Good thing I don’t know her. I’m getting really jealous.”

  “Well, if you really feel the need to confront her, go look in the mirror. I’ll wait.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I was completely astonished. My mouth was hanging open like a fish out of water.

  “Why, Ms. Mitchell! Are you speechless?” he teased.

  “Yes. Completely.”

  “Good. Now while you’re stunned into silence, I’m gonna get going. I want to try and sleep for two hours before I have to fly.”

  “Okay, have fun and be careful in New York.”

  “I’ll try. I have off Sunday and Monday, if I read the schedule right,” he yawned. “I’m freaking tired. It won’t take me long to fall asleep, even though I don’t have my favorite pillow to wrap my arm around. But this weekend, I’m really looking forward to fixing that! I’ll call you from New York when I get a break, okay? Good night, sweetheart. Pleasant dreams.”

  The sunrays were just starting to beam through my window when my alarm clock chimed. 6:55 a.m. flashed in large red numbers as my eyes adjusted to the light. Part of me wanted to hit the snooze button and enjoy ten more minutes of sleep, but the other part wanted desperately to see him again.

  I felt I needed to connect with his celebrity life. I wanted to know what his life was like when he wasn’t walking around barefoot in my apartment. If I was going to love him honestly, fully, and completely, I had to know all the facets of who he was and embrace them all equally.

  I curled up on the couch and rapidly flipped through the channels until I found the right ne
twork for the morning show. I frowned when I had to endure several minutes of commercials.

  As tired as I was I could only imagine that Ryan was just as tired, if not more. I had the luxury of just waking up and lounging in my pajamas. He, no doubt, had already been up for an hour or so and was probably stuck in some makeup chair having a team of stylists fuss over his wardrobe and hair while powdering his face to hide his sheen.

  You poor bastard, I thought to myself as a smile broke on my face. He’s probably squirming in the chair right now.

  Of course they waited until the last ten minutes of the show to bring him out. The other forty minutes were coated in teasing pictures, video clips, and a few hundred “later on in the show” lead-ins.

  Ryan smiled and waved to the audience as he made his way to the open chair on the stage. He was so freaking handsome in a dark tweed jacket over a dark gray button down shirt that hung out over his pants. He had stubble growing on his face and he grimaced when the female audience screamed for him. A few women yelled “I love you” as he was taking his seat, and just like on cue, he rubbed his forehead.

  The host rolled right into asking those standard questions about his latest movie and I laughed when he asked Ryan to tell everyone what the movie is about. He shook his head as he smiled and I could, as clear as a bell, hear the comments that were being made in his subconscious. He was right - every one of these talk shows was identical.

  It was after the first commercial break when the host got to the million-dollar question – was he dating anyone. I flew off the couch and stood right in front of the TV, dying to know how he would handle answering.

  Ryan’s eyes looked down for a second and he chuckled a bit to himself. As he looked up at the camera he shook his head and stated with a dead-on poker face, “No, I’m not seeing anyone. I really don’t have time to even talk to anyone.”

  And then he did it. With a cocky smirk on his lips, he raised his right hand and rubbed his fingers down his nose. His fingers then completed the motion by rubbing and scratching his chin.

  Just then I broke out into my own private hysterics.