Love Unrehearsed
Page 25
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“Marla and I are done,” Ryan informed her quickly.
“What? Um . . . I . . . ,” she stammered.
Ryan signed a few more autographs in between smiling, posing, and greeting his fans.
“You want a job?” he asked her privately, seizing my hand in his.
“Mr. Christensen, this way please,” some man in a suit instructed, ushering us to follow him.
“Trish, I need a publicist—now,” Ryan said, maintaining his focus amid all the chaos that surrounded us.
Trish’s mouth opened but no words followed. Much to my relief, it only took her several seconds to finally nod and switch to full-on business mode, handling Ryan’s appearance skillfully.
Ryan held me at his side, always within inches of him, even when he stopped to greet more adoring fans.
“Ryan, we have Access Hollywood and the ReelzChannel up first,” Trish informed.
“Taryn, you stay back here. Focus on Ryan as he speaks because you will be on camera. I need extra security right here.” She pulled Ryan along by the elbow to keep him moving.
I stood off to the side, proudly beaming at my fiancé as he gave brief interviews. His smile, charm, and humbled enthusiasm never faltered even when Trish guided him from microphone to microphone.
Time and time again each reporter asked when we were getting married, to which he happily and repeatedly replied, “I don’t know. We just got engaged. We haven’t discussed it yet.”
Just like that, with three simple sentences, our engagement became officially confirmed news.
After congratulating us on our pending nuptials, the Entertainment Tonight interviewer asked for my thoughts about the film.
The intimidating microphone tilted in my direction and somehow my mouth turned into the Sahara and all of the saliva inconveniently disappeared from my mouth. I felt Ryan reassuringly squeeze my hand.
“I haven’t had an opportunity to see it yet.
Tonight will be my first screening,” I answered with a smile, relieved that I didn’t sound like an idiot.
“And I’m just looking forward to seeing her reaction.” Ryan beamed proudly at me.
Fortunately that was the only question she asked before we had to move on to the next microphone.
As we walked the gauntlet of reporters, it became blatantly obvious why Ryan had freaked out earlier. Stand, pose, smile, turn, look, interview, sign this—all accompanied by excited screams and shrieks from thousands of enamored fans.
Seeing Ryan interact with his fans was both fascinating and scary. I feared for his safety as one after another reached for him.
A moment of reprieve couldn’t have come sooner. I was escorted by two hulking bodyguards over to Ryan’s family, where I waited while he conducted more interviews and posed for photographers. The VIP area, where I tried to look like I belonged while a few very well-known celebrities passed through, seemed to be a safe place. It was also the place where I was able to catch up with some other familiar faces, namely Call Reynolds and his wife, Kelly Gael. I was so happy to see that they came out to support Ryan’s premiere.
While we were talking, a well-dressed woman with stick-straight, shoulder-length brown hair approached me. She looked to be in her forties, very fit, but true age was deceiving in ll.A. As I took in the sight of her, I noticed that she had the most fetching smile and the rosiest cheeks I had ever seen.
“Excuse me. Hi! You must be Taryn?” she asked.
“Yes! Hello!” I returned her cheery greeting.
She held out her hand. “I’m Anna—Anna Garrett. I’m one of the film’s executive producers. A bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes it is!” I said, glancing around.
“And spectacular and amazing as well.”
“I’ve heard so much about you; it’s nice to finally meet you. Oh, I believe you’ve already met my husband?” she said in a very distinct British accent. One tiny tinge of panic crept up my throat as I hoped not to get falsely accused of anything. She tugged on a man’s suit coat and the moment he turned around I immediately recognized him. He was the only film director I knew personally.
“Oh, yes! Yes of course. Mr. Follweiler. It’s so nice to see you again!”
“Taryn my dear!” Jonathan Follweiler smiled, hugging me awkwardly. His rough gray beard pricked my cheek. “Oh, it’s good to see you, too! How have you been? Well, I hope?”
I nodded quickly.
“You look absolutely radiant,” he complimented, admiring me sincerely.
“You look quite dashing yourself, sir,” I replied. His sapphire hankie and necktie suited him well.
“What? Um . . . I . . . ,” she stammered.
Ryan signed a few more autographs in between smiling, posing, and greeting his fans.
“You want a job?” he asked her privately, seizing my hand in his.
“Mr. Christensen, this way please,” some man in a suit instructed, ushering us to follow him.
“Trish, I need a publicist—now,” Ryan said, maintaining his focus amid all the chaos that surrounded us.
Trish’s mouth opened but no words followed. Much to my relief, it only took her several seconds to finally nod and switch to full-on business mode, handling Ryan’s appearance skillfully.
Ryan held me at his side, always within inches of him, even when he stopped to greet more adoring fans.
“Ryan, we have Access Hollywood and the ReelzChannel up first,” Trish informed.
“Taryn, you stay back here. Focus on Ryan as he speaks because you will be on camera. I need extra security right here.” She pulled Ryan along by the elbow to keep him moving.
I stood off to the side, proudly beaming at my fiancé as he gave brief interviews. His smile, charm, and humbled enthusiasm never faltered even when Trish guided him from microphone to microphone.
Time and time again each reporter asked when we were getting married, to which he happily and repeatedly replied, “I don’t know. We just got engaged. We haven’t discussed it yet.”
Just like that, with three simple sentences, our engagement became officially confirmed news.
After congratulating us on our pending nuptials, the Entertainment Tonight interviewer asked for my thoughts about the film.
The intimidating microphone tilted in my direction and somehow my mouth turned into the Sahara and all of the saliva inconveniently disappeared from my mouth. I felt Ryan reassuringly squeeze my hand.
“I haven’t had an opportunity to see it yet.
Tonight will be my first screening,” I answered with a smile, relieved that I didn’t sound like an idiot.
“And I’m just looking forward to seeing her reaction.” Ryan beamed proudly at me.
Fortunately that was the only question she asked before we had to move on to the next microphone.
As we walked the gauntlet of reporters, it became blatantly obvious why Ryan had freaked out earlier. Stand, pose, smile, turn, look, interview, sign this—all accompanied by excited screams and shrieks from thousands of enamored fans.
Seeing Ryan interact with his fans was both fascinating and scary. I feared for his safety as one after another reached for him.
A moment of reprieve couldn’t have come sooner. I was escorted by two hulking bodyguards over to Ryan’s family, where I waited while he conducted more interviews and posed for photographers. The VIP area, where I tried to look like I belonged while a few very well-known celebrities passed through, seemed to be a safe place. It was also the place where I was able to catch up with some other familiar faces, namely Call Reynolds and his wife, Kelly Gael. I was so happy to see that they came out to support Ryan’s premiere.
While we were talking, a well-dressed woman with stick-straight, shoulder-length brown hair approached me. She looked to be in her forties, very fit, but true age was deceiving in ll.A. As I took in the sight of her, I noticed that she had the most fetching smile and the rosiest cheeks I had ever seen.
“Excuse me. Hi! You must be Taryn?” she asked.
“Yes! Hello!” I returned her cheery greeting.
She held out her hand. “I’m Anna—Anna Garrett. I’m one of the film’s executive producers. A bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes it is!” I said, glancing around.
“And spectacular and amazing as well.”
“I’ve heard so much about you; it’s nice to finally meet you. Oh, I believe you’ve already met my husband?” she said in a very distinct British accent. One tiny tinge of panic crept up my throat as I hoped not to get falsely accused of anything. She tugged on a man’s suit coat and the moment he turned around I immediately recognized him. He was the only film director I knew personally.
“Oh, yes! Yes of course. Mr. Follweiler. It’s so nice to see you again!”
“Taryn my dear!” Jonathan Follweiler smiled, hugging me awkwardly. His rough gray beard pricked my cheek. “Oh, it’s good to see you, too! How have you been? Well, I hope?”
I nodded quickly.
“You look absolutely radiant,” he complimented, admiring me sincerely.
“You look quite dashing yourself, sir,” I replied. His sapphire hankie and necktie suited him well.
