Love Unscripted

“You need help, Miss Taryn?” Jimmy asked me. His camera was slung over his shoulder instead of taking my photo. He was sincerely

concerned.

“No thank you, Jimmy. Cory’s battery is dead,” I nicely replied. “I think we have it under control.”

“Okay. How’s Mister Ryan?” Jimmy’s wrinkled face curled with his question.

“He’s good, Jimmy.” I smiled. “He is nice and warm in Florida. How are you?”

“Oh my hands hurt,” he moaned. “I guess you can’t tell me when Mister Ryan is coming back? This cold…” Jimmy shivered and tossed his lit

cigarette into the street.

“Jimmy,” I whined lightly, “you know I can’t say.”

“I know.” Jimmy came closer to me. His eyes sca

“Be careful when you’re outside,” he whispered, cautioning me with his eyes. “You know what I tell you?”

“Yes, Jimmy.” I nodded.

“Then go back inside, quickly Miss Taryn,” Jimmy advised.

“Okay, I will. If you ever want to warm up, you’re always welcome inside my pub,” I whispered back to him.

“Bless you, dear! Now go, quickly,” Jimmy sighed.

Four days after Ryan flew back to Florida, it was reported in the tabloids that Ryan ended our relationship and moved out. Pictures of Ryan

looking a

The reason Ryan supposedly ended our relationship was captured in pictures as well: The unfaithful Taryn Mitchell – holding hands and

frolicking in the snow with the cute bartender who works for her.

I was glad that I told Ryan about Cory staying over on the same night that it happened so he knew exactly why there were photographs of Cory

and me together. It still didn’t prevent the lies from being written:

Love on the Rocks

Ryan’s rep may be denying the breakup, but there was no denying what we saw going on at the heartthrob’s secret Seaport, Rhode Island

hideaway over the weekend!

Ryan Christensen and his bodyguard were seen leaving at 7PM on Sunday, stepping out with several pieces of luggage and personal items.

They then headed directly to the airport, where Ryan quickly departed back to Miami. “Ryan didn’t stay long after personally collecting his

things.”

So does this confirm the breakup? Sure seems that way, since Ryan has been seen secretly hooking up with his newly single co-star, Lauren

Delaney, in Miami. Looks like Ryan and Lauren’s relationship is back on!

“Guess we won’t see Ryan Christensen here in Seaport anymore. He broke up with her,” the unfamiliar female customer sitting at the bar

whispered to her friend, nodded in my direction.

I tapped a pitcher of beer for another customer, trying to ignore their conversation, but it was difficult.

“How could she be so stupid? I mean if she let that slip through her fingers, then she doesn’t deserve him,” the other girl whispered back.

I finally had enough. “Excuse me? We didn’t break up. When are you people going to realize that those tabloids publish nothing but lies?”

“Tar, leave it go,” Marie quickly interrupted my rant.

“No! I’m sick of this! I’m sick of people whispering about me in my own bar!” I looked directly at the two girls who started my tirade.

“My boyfriend, who I am still with, is filming in Florida! He is working fourteen hour days, seven days a week without a break to make a movie for

all of you ungrateful people to enjoy!” I raised my voice. “And this is the thanks he gets?”

“Tar,” Marie grabbed my arm, “you don’t owe anyone an explanation about your personal life.” Marie said that loud enough for most to hear.

“Where are your boyfriends, huh?” I asked the two girls. “Did you have sex with them last night? Do you have pictures? Come on - tell me… I

have a right to know. It’s only fair! You know my life; I want to know yours. If you’re going to be out in public, then your life is no longer private either.”

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to upset you,” the one girl apologized.

“Ryan and I are people, just like you,” I retorted. “Just because he makes a living being a working actor does not mean he gave up having a

private life. You’re entitled to privacy – so are we.”

Between the false accusations, Kyle’s questionable behavior, the lurking paparazzi, and being separated from Ryan, I was just about ready to

go out of my mind. I couldn’t wait to get on that plane and head to Florida for some fun in the sun with my love.

Only eight more hours and two flights to endure before I finally get to see him. I pulled my white cotton shirt over my head and debated over what

coat to wear. It was a balmy twenty-seven degrees outside my window but it would be in the seventies when I land in Miami. I put a thin top over my

T-shirt – deciding it would be best to dress in layers.

I stopped to make sure the back door was locked before I rolled my suitcase down the alley. Of course when I stepped outside Jimmy Pop and

two other photographers were staked out, waiting to catch me doing something wrong. That’s all I needed; one more photograph to set the gossip

magazines ablaze with their lies.

If these magazines only knew how many lives they almost tear apart with their fabricated stories and false accusations. What a pathetic way to

make a buck. I hated all of them and everyone who worked for them.

“You have a nice, safe trip, Miss Taryn!” Jimmy Pop wished me well.

“Thank you Jimmy,” I softly said, giving him a brief smile for his kindness. He had his camera pointing down; he was the only photographer to

leave me a moment of peace. Since I was leaving, the three photographers departed in the opposite direction. They had no reason to hang around

my door any longer.

I rolled my suitcase down the slushy asphalt, pausing at the mouth of the alley where the snowplow had made mounds of dirty, watery snow. I

wanted to keep my suitcase clean and dry and this small trek down the alley was not helping. I took my time walking the last few feet that would put

me in the street; the cold February air had caused some of the melting snow to refreeze and I didn’t want to have my picture taken slipping on the

ice and falling down. That would be embarrassing for sure.

I lifted my suitcase over a small pile of snow and glanced up and down Mulberry Street for traffic.

Terror - absolute terror - blazed through me from the sight that my eyes took in. I froze in place, stifling the urge to scream.

Adrenaline coursed into my veins when I saw her, Angelica, sitting in her old, blue Plymouth Gran Fury not more than sixty feet from where I

stood. The fear she incited slid through me like a hot knife in warm butter; she was out of prison and waiting for me.

Our eyes made contact; I could feel her hatred for me blast through the air and strike me where I stood, gluing my feet to the ground. This would

be her moment, the time that she’d been waiting for, to finally take me out of the picture.

I saw her hand reach up and pull the gear shifter down to put her car in drive. So much for slicing me into pieces. The thick steel bumper and

crushing weight of her old car would flatten me like a steamroller. She pulled the old Plymouth away from the curb; her car slowly rolled to the stop

sign. My mind did the quick mental calculation to determine whether I could make it across the slushy, icy street dragging my suitcase before she

could run me down. I was not safe on the sidewalk either and I was too far away from my back door to run; besides, I had a plane to catch. I had no

choice; my car across the street in the lot would be my only sanctuary.

My eyes were locked on hers as I stepped out into the street; I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of looking away if she was going to run me