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There was my face and his, less than two feet away from where I stood. I slipped my sunglasses out of my purse and put them on. I nudged his mother; she had already noticed the pictures herself. She took a deep breath and sighed. I could tell she was disgusted.
I wanted to pick up the magazine and see what else it had to say but I fought off the urge. I knew it would upset me if they printed lies. Besides, I didn’t need to read a magazine to tell me what was happening in my life. I was living it.
Ryan and his father were still out on the lake fishing when we returned. I could see them from the back of the cabin. We waved to each other when he saw me on the embankment.
Ellen and I unloaded the car and spread the food out on the kitchen island. She was specific with the items we purchased at the store; she wanted to show me how she makes Ryan’s favorite meal.
“He asks for this every time he comes home,” she said while browning beef tips on the stove.
Ryan and his father carried their fishing poles and gear into the house and he gave me a quick kiss before going to wash up.
“Mom, what are you making?” he asked, even though I think he knew what she was up to. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Your mom is showing me the secret family recipe.” I uncorked one of the bottles of wine that I had packed.
Ryan warned me, “Now you know you can never divulge this information to anyone. This recipe was my grandmother’s. It can only be passed down.”
“I’m under contract, remember? Sworn to secrecy.” I twisted my fingers over my lips.
We were enjoying the bottle of wine when Ryan decided to check his messages. He turned his cell phone on and soon after that he looked perturbed.
“Twenty missed calls,” he groaned. He scanned through his messages, deleting one after the other.
“Holy shit!” he said excitedly. “Honey, pen, paper!” He was grasping at the air.
“You know that script I read a few weeks ago? They want me for the lead!” he said confidently. Ryan grabbed me by the waist and spun me around in the air. He was elated.
“Honey, that’s fantastic!” I hugged him as he twirled me in a circle. Just as I had suspected all along, these studios and movie moguls were all going to strike while Ryan was hot. His parents were thrilled.
“Hey Aaron.” Ryan called his agent. “I’m taking some time off with my family this weekend,” he informed.
Ryan’s mouth hung open as he wrote the number nine on the paper and drew circles around it several times. “Hell yeah I’m in! David assured me that I could make the schedule dates. I’ll see you in L.A. in a couple of weeks.” He ended his call and looked around at all of us.
“They’re offering me nine million to do Slipknot,” Ryan said proudly.
“My God, Son! This is truly a weekend full of celebrations!” His father pulled him in for a hug and a manly pat on the back. I was so happy for him, for his success, for the joy this news brought to him.
I walked outside for some wood to start a fire. Ryan, of course, followed me. I had two logs in my arms when Ryan stopped me with his body. He took the logs out of my arms and set them on the ground. He was holding his phone to his ear.
“Hey David! Yes, I got the call from Follweiler. I already talked to Aaron. I’m clear on the dates in April, right? Thanks, David! It’s great news! All right, I’ll talk to you soon.
“I want you here when I make this next call,” he said, touching my cheek. “Stay.”
“Mr. Follweiler, it’s Ryan Christensen. Yes, sir. I just got your message. Thank you for this opportunity! I’m looking forward to working with you too. It’s an honor.” Ryan was ecstatic.
“I’m still in Rhode Island; we’re almost wrapped on the second film and then I’ll be in Scotland for ten days in the beginning of December for final scenes. No, I’m living in Rhode Island now. Yes, that’s correct, with Ms. Mitchell. No, she’s not an actress. No, she’s not a model either!” Ryan laughed briefly.
“Oh? Yes, of course!” Ryan glanced up at me with a surprised look on his face. “We’d love to meet you for dinner. I’ll be in L.A. the third week of December for the Seaside wrap party.
“I have the script. Yes sir, I’ll call your office on Monday to coordinate a meeting. Thank you so much!” He beamed at me.
“Mr. Follweiler has invited us to dinner!”
I couldn’t believe that some director even knew Ryan’s personal business. Hollywood was worse than the NSA. There were no secrets.
