I tried to remember the exact question I asked him while we were fishing - was he seeing someone. He said no, and to answer the question I

wasn’t asking - months. The question that remained in my mind was who was the lucky recipient of the used condom?

The front of his suitcase was lumpy, so I unzipped it and pulled out the contents. There were a few boarding pass stubs and luggage receipts

mixed in with some used napkins and empty gum wrappers. Mixed in that were a few pairs of dirty socks. I slid my hand back inside the large

pocket to make sure I had gotten everything when I felt my fingers bump into something stiff.

In my hand was an ordinary greeting card with the words “I Miss You” printed on the front above a picture of a setting sun. I opened the card;

inside was a picture of Ryan cuddling with an actress I recognized immediately, Lauren Delaney. Long, silky brown hair with a stunning face and

figure – it made me cringe to think he was with her once. Inside the card was a hand-written sentiment:

I stuck my hand back into the large pocket to see if there was an envelope, but the pocket was empty. I flipped the picture over; there was the

answer I was looking for – February 9th of this year. I laughed to myself from the irony; that was right around the same time I found Thomas in bed

with that girl.

I quickly shoved the card and picture back down in the pocket and stuffed the pieces of ticket stubs and paper remnants on top of it. Even

though I could hear him with Jason out in the living room, the last thing I wanted to do was get caught rummaging through his things.

I picked up the strip of condoms and shoved them back in his empty duffle bag.

That action led to another thought - every time Ryan made love to me, not once did he use protection. He never even attempted to put a condom

on - ever. He knew I was taking birth control pills, but yet he was still taking chances. He obviously used condoms before with other women – but

why not with me? Why was I different?

Our lovemaking had always been spontaneous and unrestricted, and we certainly didn’t hold a lot of conversations during our moments to talk

about birth control. Why did neither one of us seem concerned with whether or not I got pregnant?

“Tar, where are you going?” Ryan asked as I opened my apartment door.

I looked at him with the thoughts of unprotected lovemaking still in my mind.

“I’m going to see if the mail came,” I quickly answered. He sprang to my side in a few quick steps.

“You’re not going outside, are you?” he muttered under his breath.

“No. Mail slot is in the front door. The mail gets delivered at three thirty.”

“Phew,” he sighed. “Please don’t go out unless you absolutely must. There are too many fans out there right now.”

Inside my door, I saw a larger pile of mail than normal. Lying on top of my mail were cards simply addressed to Ryan Christensen. I shook my

head in disbelief.

He smiled quickly at me when I returned, then resumed his actions with the controller. He and Jason were playing the ninja game, both of them

were swinging and punching their controllers in the air. It was slightly amusing watching them play.

“This is like a freaking workout!” Ryan groaned.

I sorted through the mail; Electric bill, two credit card solicitations, new clothing magazine, and a few other random pieces of junk mail were

mixed in with his fan mail.

I held up the envelopes that were addressed to Ryan and waved them in the air.

“What’s that?” he asked, swinging his arm to kill the pretend bad guy on the television screen.

“Ryan Christensen fan mail,” I announced.

“You’re kidding!” he scoffed. “Just throw them in the trash.”

I was dying of curiosity to see what his fans were writing to him about. “Can I open one?”

He grimaced at me. “Why the hell would you want to do that? Honey, you really don’t want to see that. Just throw them away.” He laughed. “Good

hit, Jay!”

I figured he really didn’t care, so I ripped open the top envelope. Inside was a card with hearts drawn on it and the girl who sent it even

conveniently enclosed her picture with a phone number. He was right; these women were beyond delusional.

“What do you think, Honey? Is that psychotic fan the one for me?” He laughed, eyeing me as I looked at the girl’s picture.

“Maybe! She looks sort of desperate!” I teased.

“Can I see?” Jason reached for the picture. “Dude, look at this chick!” He handed the picture to Shawn.

“Damn!” Shawn choked. “She’s a two bagger!”

Ryan started laughing. “Okay, let me see.” He put the game on pause and pulled the picture out of Shawn’s hand.

“What’s a two bagger?” I asked.

Jason was laughing too hard to respond.

“A two bagger is where the chick is so ugly that you both have to wear bags over your heads. That way if her bag falls off while you’re doing her,

you don’t get blinded by the ugly,” Shawn explained.

“Are there any more pictures?” Jason asked.

I pulled the envelopes out of the trash can and opened them one by one. I didn’t bother to pull the cards out; I just looked inside for pictures.

There were four pictures altogether. One of the fans was gracious enough to show her breasts in her picture. I handed them all over to the boys. I

looked in the last envelope to make sure I didn’t miss an enclosure when I noticed that a picture of some girl was glued to the inside of the card.

Oh my God. I gasped and pulled the entire card out of the envelope. There she was, the curly-haired, gap-toothed, psycho fan. The card was

covered in glossy snippets of Ryan’s face that she obviously cut out of many different magazines. She had included her face in some of the pictures

next to his face, replacing Suzanne’s face with her own. Scribbled all around their pictures were “I Love You” and “I Love Charles” sentiments. Her

name was Angel.

Visions of this whacko taking the time to cut out Ryan’s face and glue each piece to this card freaked me out. It felt hard to swallow. I couldn’t

get the card out of my hand quick enough; my fingers fumbled it into the garbage can and I ran to the bathroom to wash my hands. Fear and panic

struck me; this was beyond admiration, and this particular psycho fan was just outside my front door.

I was shaking slightly as I folded Ryan’s clothing that I gathered from the dryer. I could clearly see why he was terrified. For a moment, I was

terrified too. I placed his clean clothing on the bed while my emotions did a slow boil. How dare they, all of them, do this to him… to us!

I grabbed my cell phone and marched to the front window. There were so many people down on the street you would have thought we were

having a street fair.

“Yes, this is Taryn Mitchell. I’m calling from 114 South Fourth Street, Mitchell’s Pub. I’d like to report a large crowd blocking street traffic. There

are also a lot of people loitering in front of my business. I’d like them to be told to leave. Thank you.”

Ryan chuckled to himself. “Calling the cops doesn’t help, but if it made you feel better, then I guess it’s worth a try.”

“How about a high pressure fire hose?” I muttered, peeking out behind the blind.

“I can get you some stink bombs,” Jason offered. Ryan grimaced at him. “No, I’m serious. The special effects trailer is loaded with cool shit.”

Jason’s comment about the movie set reminded me of another phone call I had to make. I called Cory.

Not only did I want him to cover my absence while Ryan’s parents were in town, but having a man working in the bar suddenly sounded very

reassuring.

“Dude, we’re gonna roll,” Jason said on his way to the door, slapping his hand into Ryan’s.