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

so I could carry it upstairs.

“Ryan?” I called out, setting the bag on the floor.

“Bathroom,” he yelled. I knew him and his daily routine well enough to know that at this time of the day, he’d be gone for a while.

I grabbed his cell phone off the kitchen table and quickly toggled through his stored numbers looking for listings for Matt and Scott. He had quite

a few girls’ names in his phone, which bothered me to see. Amy, Brandy, Cheryl, Gina, Heather; the list went on and on. The twinge of jealously

worsened when I passed Lauren Delaney’s cell number.

I was hoping that he’d never want or need to call any of those numbers ever again. It would be so easy for me to delete them all, but that would

be wrong. Back to the task at hand… there were a few choices for the name Scott but only one listing for Matt. I quickly wrote his number down on a

piece of paper and shoved it in my purse.

I looked at the FedEx package. It was overnighted from California and addressed to William Bailey, c/o Mitchell’s Pub. I noticed that Pete wrote

a note on the back to let us know he signed for the package.

“Do you know a William Bailey?” I asked, handing the package to Ryan.

“Yep. That’s me.”

I must have looked confused.

“What’s my middle name?” he asked.

“William.”

“What was my dog’s name?”

“Bailey.” It made sense now. “Okay, I get the connection but why the alias? What’s that about?”

“It’s my secret name. Well, one of them,” he admitted. “I can’t use my real name on anything. If fans or whoever see Ryan Christensen printed on

things - it disappears or becomes public knowledge. It’s also one of the names I use when I check into hotels and stuff.”

“I noticed your luggage had ‘Shell-B Enterprises’ on it. Is that an alias too?”

“Yeah, well, that’s my company name,” he sighed, scratching his forehead. “You have no idea the lengths people go through to dig up private

information.” He pulled out his wallet and showed me his credit card.

“This has my real name on it ‘cause that’s who I am, but see – underneath my name – there’s my company name. My credit card bills, my cell

phone number, are all listed under my company name. It’s the way things have to be to keep records private. If my luggage gets lost, no one knows

it’s mine. My bags would get shipped to California to my manager.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” I said, but still curious. “Shell-B? Where did that come from?”

He laughed. “That’s a mixture of a couple of things. First of all it was my dream car, which I now own. Sitting in my dad’s garage is a 2008

Shelby GT500 KR. Blue with silver stripes. Two hundred and eight original miles on her. The other reason for the name, well, do you remember our

conversation about the shell game?”

I nodded, remembering that time in the shower fondly.

“Why not make finding me a shell game too?” His face glowed with his secret. “Whenever you travel now, you’ll have a fake name on your

luggage. We’ll have to take a look at what you have your name on. People can hack into shit on the Internet like you wouldn’t believe.”

I was twirling my cell phone under my fingers while we were talking. I was curious about something completely different from what we were

talking about. I punched a few buttons and waited.

Ryan’s phone started to play. The music was familiar, but I didn’t know the artist.

“Why are you calling me?” He laughed.

“Just curious,” I admitted. “That’s my ringtone? Who is that?”

He twitched his lips and smiled. “It’s an oldie. Did you ever hear of Cream?”

I nodded. He picked his phone up but I stopped him.

“No, wait! Just let it play. I want to hear it! Sunshine of your love? Is that the name of the song?”

“Yep. It’s a cool song, but I never get to hear it ‘cause somebody you and I know has issues about calling me.” He gently kicked my foot under

the table.

Ryan ripped open the tab on the FedEx package and pulled out three packs of paper. Each pack was an inch or two thick.

“What’s all that?” I asked while I dumped the mail out of the garbage bag onto the table.