Love Unscripted
Page 7
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“Sure,” I whispered back. “Take as long as you need.”
“Not the back door, I take it?” he barely uttered, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the door behind him.
“Ah, no. That’s the door to my apartment.”
I wanted to give him some privacy, so I started to back up out of the doorway.
“Are they down there?” His trembling fingers covered his eyes, his palms pressed into his cheeks.
I looked back up at him. “No. There’s no one here.” I had to take another deep breath; my heart was still pounding from the surge of adrenaline.
“I threw everyone out and I locked the door. All the blinds are down too - no one can see in. It’s okay, you’re safe here. I’m, um, going to leave you alone now.”
I quickly shut the door and returned to the bar to continue stocking the coolers with bottled beer. I needed to calm myself down. I needed a distraction.
A few minutes later, the stairwell door creaked and I saw him glance around the wall to see if the bar was truly empty. This poor man looked absolutely terrified.
Slowly he walked to the edge of the bar.
“Do you mind if I just sit here for a while?” Ryan was speaking so softly I almost couldn’t hear him.
“Yeah, sure. Please, have a seat,” I whispered, matching his tone. “Can I get you something to drink? Soda, or a beer… maybe even a shot or two?”
He was holding his head in his hands, his elbows rested on the bar.
“Can I, um, have a beer?” he breathed out.
He looked shaken and in no condition to decide what kind of beer to drink, so I quickly grabbed a mug and tapped him a draft. He started to fumble through his pockets; his hands were still trembling.
“That’s okay. Please, don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”
“Are you sure?” he asked timidly. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“No, it’s all right. It’s my pub. I’m the owner,” I said, shrugging slightly.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed on me. “Thanks. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.” He pushed out a big, relieving sigh. A little smile appeared on his lips.
“It’s no problem. Please, just sit and relax, and don’t worry, I promise I won’t bother you,” I said softly. I held up my hands briefly to let him know that I’d be keeping my distance.
I grabbed another six-pack of beer out of the cardboard case and opened the cooler again. My nervousness caused me to almost drop the pack, knocking over more bottles inside the cooler in the process. I had to lean far in to reach the bottles that had tipped over and out of the holder, and for a moment I almost fell into the cooler myself.
I felt so uneasy by my careless fumbling, knowing that he must have just seen my feet come up off the floor, that I started to become flush.
Fortunately the cold temperature in the cooler counterbalanced the heat rising to my cheeks. Perhaps if I stay in here I won’t have to look at him?
Just then I heard a phone ring. I popped my head out of the cooler and felt my pocket for my cell phone, but it wasn’t mine that was ringing.
“Hey, Mike. Yeah, I’m safe. I’m at some bar,” Ryan muttered, trying to sound like he was fine. The hand that rubbed his forehead was still shaking. He wasn’t fine.
He looked at me as he held his phone away from his face. He was blinking rapidly and he looked confused for a moment. “Ahh, what’s the name of this place?”
“Mitchell’s Pub.” I slid a new napkin with our family name on it to him.
“A place called Mitchell’s Pub. Listen, I’ll call you when I’m ready. I’m just having a beer.”
“My driver,” he stated, like he could read the question in my mind. “I suppose he thinks he might get fired by the studio for losing track of me.”
I had no idea what to say, so I gave him a brief smile and darted away into the kitchen. I figured he wanted to be left alone anyway; distracting myself by stocking the coolers sounded like a good idea. I took my time to load up two cases of beer onto the metal cart and wheeled them back into the bar.
He was still sitting there as I unloaded the cases by the bar refrigerators. I tried not to look at him. He’s probably so sick of people bugging him.
As soon as he finishes that beer, he’ll call his driver. What would be the point of talking to him? Just leave him alone.
He stared at me while I emptied the cases of beer into the coolers. I could see out of the corner of my eye that his head turned and his eyes followed me when I took the empty boxes back to the kitchen. I still couldn’t make myself look at him.
“Not the back door, I take it?” he barely uttered, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the door behind him.
“Ah, no. That’s the door to my apartment.”
I wanted to give him some privacy, so I started to back up out of the doorway.
“Are they down there?” His trembling fingers covered his eyes, his palms pressed into his cheeks.
I looked back up at him. “No. There’s no one here.” I had to take another deep breath; my heart was still pounding from the surge of adrenaline.
“I threw everyone out and I locked the door. All the blinds are down too - no one can see in. It’s okay, you’re safe here. I’m, um, going to leave you alone now.”
I quickly shut the door and returned to the bar to continue stocking the coolers with bottled beer. I needed to calm myself down. I needed a distraction.
A few minutes later, the stairwell door creaked and I saw him glance around the wall to see if the bar was truly empty. This poor man looked absolutely terrified.
Slowly he walked to the edge of the bar.
“Do you mind if I just sit here for a while?” Ryan was speaking so softly I almost couldn’t hear him.
“Yeah, sure. Please, have a seat,” I whispered, matching his tone. “Can I get you something to drink? Soda, or a beer… maybe even a shot or two?”
He was holding his head in his hands, his elbows rested on the bar.
“Can I, um, have a beer?” he breathed out.
He looked shaken and in no condition to decide what kind of beer to drink, so I quickly grabbed a mug and tapped him a draft. He started to fumble through his pockets; his hands were still trembling.
“That’s okay. Please, don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”
“Are you sure?” he asked timidly. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“No, it’s all right. It’s my pub. I’m the owner,” I said, shrugging slightly.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed on me. “Thanks. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.” He pushed out a big, relieving sigh. A little smile appeared on his lips.
“It’s no problem. Please, just sit and relax, and don’t worry, I promise I won’t bother you,” I said softly. I held up my hands briefly to let him know that I’d be keeping my distance.
I grabbed another six-pack of beer out of the cardboard case and opened the cooler again. My nervousness caused me to almost drop the pack, knocking over more bottles inside the cooler in the process. I had to lean far in to reach the bottles that had tipped over and out of the holder, and for a moment I almost fell into the cooler myself.
I felt so uneasy by my careless fumbling, knowing that he must have just seen my feet come up off the floor, that I started to become flush.
Fortunately the cold temperature in the cooler counterbalanced the heat rising to my cheeks. Perhaps if I stay in here I won’t have to look at him?
Just then I heard a phone ring. I popped my head out of the cooler and felt my pocket for my cell phone, but it wasn’t mine that was ringing.
“Hey, Mike. Yeah, I’m safe. I’m at some bar,” Ryan muttered, trying to sound like he was fine. The hand that rubbed his forehead was still shaking. He wasn’t fine.
He looked at me as he held his phone away from his face. He was blinking rapidly and he looked confused for a moment. “Ahh, what’s the name of this place?”
“Mitchell’s Pub.” I slid a new napkin with our family name on it to him.
“A place called Mitchell’s Pub. Listen, I’ll call you when I’m ready. I’m just having a beer.”
“My driver,” he stated, like he could read the question in my mind. “I suppose he thinks he might get fired by the studio for losing track of me.”
I had no idea what to say, so I gave him a brief smile and darted away into the kitchen. I figured he wanted to be left alone anyway; distracting myself by stocking the coolers sounded like a good idea. I took my time to load up two cases of beer onto the metal cart and wheeled them back into the bar.
He was still sitting there as I unloaded the cases by the bar refrigerators. I tried not to look at him. He’s probably so sick of people bugging him.
As soon as he finishes that beer, he’ll call his driver. What would be the point of talking to him? Just leave him alone.
He stared at me while I emptied the cases of beer into the coolers. I could see out of the corner of my eye that his head turned and his eyes followed me when I took the empty boxes back to the kitchen. I still couldn’t make myself look at him.
