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“What the fu..!” Marie gasped. “Where the hell did they all come from?”
“The street, where else!” I breathed back.
“Taryn!” She shook her head at me. “This is effed up! What are we going to do?”
I had no idea what to say to her. I was also worried about serving minors accidentally. We only had this size of a crowd on weekends, and life was manageable when Pete carded everyone before they stepped foot into the bar.
“They all need to be carded and labeled somehow,” I said. “Cory, card everyone before you serve them. I’m going to see if I still have those paper wristbands.”
I hurried to the office and dug through my dad’s old desk. I found the pack of wristbands but the glue was so old on them they didn’t stick together anymore. In another drawer I found a stamp pad and a date stamper. That would have to do.
I went table by table, checking driver's licenses. I was glad that I did because there were a few that were underage. They were requested to leave immediately. It felt good to kick a few of his fans out.
Women packed my bar; it was indescribable. All ages, shapes, and sizes forced their way in. For what? For the hopes of getting a glimpse of my boyfriend? The man who loves me with all his heart? It reminded me of the time his car was surrounded out in L.A. by screaming, hysterical fans. My mood instantly morphed from stressed to pissed.
Marie approached a table of four women who were just sitting in anticipation. “If you’re not going to order something you have to leave!” I heard her tell them. “No, water is not an order. We serve alcohol here. This is a bar.”
She slapped her serving tray on top of the bar. I could see she was just as pissed as I was. “This is freaking ridiculous, Taryn!”
“I know. I don’t know what to do,” I muttered in defeat. “I don’t know what I can do, besides stand up on this bar and tell them all that he’s not here.”
I really wanted to tell them all that he was mine and they were delusional, crazy bitches; maybe end my rant with an “everyone get the hell out,”
but I couldn’t.
I was so busy carding people that I completely lost track of the time. My pocket started singing to me.
“Hi,” I breathed out, running for cover in the kitchen.
“Hey, everything all right?” Ryan asked.
“No. My bar is inundated with female fans. I don’t know what to do.” I felt like a panic attack was coming on. “If they see you,” I gasped. It was getting harder to breathe.
“Shit, I was afraid of this. Okay, just stay calm. I’ll fix this. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Take care of your business. Stay out in the bar. Things will be a little hectic, but once they get what they came for they’ll leave.” He was in business mode.
I nervously paced behind the bar, mixing drink orders to occupy my brain. I had no idea what he was talking about, and I had just about my fill of dirty looks for one night. I knew what each one of them were thinking - why her? What was so special about me that caught his attention? I even heard a few of them say that I wasn’t pretty enough to be his girlfriend. I felt like the neighbor’s dog just snuck into my house and peed all over my carpets just for spite.
A black sedan pulled up out front and parked. I saw Ryan’s bodyguard open his car door and they walked to the front door of the pub. The minute Ryan’s foot hit the carpeting the women started screaming. My shoulders instantly hunched up and I covered my ears with my hands to muffle the sounds. Cameras were clicking everywhere. Girls even stood up on some of my chairs.
Ryan smiled and waved to the adoring fans while his guardian ushered him safely into the poolroom. I noticed one of the paparazzi also followed them. Just then my cell phone played my favorite tune.
“I didn’t know what else to do. Don’t be mad,” he whispered. “I love you.”
“Ladies, ladies,” his bodyguard, Mike, called out. “Mr. Christensen will be signing autographs and providing photo opportunities for one hour.
One photo per guest only please.”
“It’s brilliant! I love you too!” I answered him.
In an instant, a line was formed. Actually the line started forming before Mike even spoke. I looked at my watch, it was almost seven. I filled a large glass with soda and took it over to the poolroom.
“Ms. Mitchell,” Mike greeted me with a partial smile. He had his bulky arms folded across his chest to look even more intimidating.
“Hi Mike! Would you please give this to him for me? Can I get you something to drink too?”
