A temporary Restraining Order was granted immediately, and, after one brief three minute telephone conversation between Ryan and the judge’s fourteen year old daughter (who happens to be a huge Ryan Christensen fan), we received the rest of the royal treatment.

We were informed that a Deputy Sheriff would serve the order to Angelica. A hearing for the permanent restraining order was scheduled for next Wednesday. Ryan and I would both have to appear for the hearing. We left the courthouse armed with two copies of the order - one for each of us, and we even received a police escort home.

Ryan parked my car in the lot and we sat and watched as two police cruisers descended on Angelica, blocking her from leaving the spot where she was parked, while the Deputy served her the order.

“What’s happening?” I asked out loud. One police officer had removed her from her car and she was being handcuffed.

“I don’t know,” Ryan answered. “Looks like she is getting arrested.”

The paparazzi had a field day taking her picture and ours as we waited in the car. She was placed in the back seat of one of the police cars while two officers searched her Plymouth.

The photographers, autographers, filmers, and fans swarmed around us. Ryan and I hurried for the back door of the pub.

I just didn’t get it anymore. What was the purpose of all of this attention? Ryan didn’t stop to give out any autographs and it wasn’t like our appearance changed one bit from when we had our picture taken unloading the car earlier. It was getting ridiculous and downright annoying. Is this the way our life would be forever?

I closed the steel kitchen door behind us and punched in the security code. Ryan had turned the light on, illuminating the new wall and door that spanned the length of the kitchen.

“Wow!” I breathed out. The new thirty foot wall was definitely a distraction for my thoughts. I noticed Pete had even painted the new wall white.

“This looks really good!” Ryan beamed.

I was glad to see that the new interior door had a lock on it, but Ryan was able to open it. Mounted on the wall inside the hallway was a new light switch. Next to it a keypad for the new security system glowed in the dark. Pete had even installed an ornate wooden railing where the original wall used to be.

Ryan pulled the note that was taped next to the keypad off the wall. “Call security co. to program new code – new keys are on kitchen counter upstairs,” he read aloud.

“It’s one o’clock out on the West Coast. Don’t forget you have to call Follweiler’s office today.” I tossed my car keys onto the kitchen table.

“Thanks for reminding me. What would I do without you?” He kissed me quickly.

“I don’t know? Forget shit?” I teased him.

He gave me a light shove. “Call the security company, get us hooked up. I’ll call Follweiler.”

We went our separate ways to make our phone calls. I programmed the new code into the panel to activate it. Ryan had made our dinner plans with Mr. Follweiler’s assistant and when he came back into the kitchen he was on the phone with his agent.

It was almost humorous how many phone calls we both made. Ryan was due back on set first thing in the morning; he called Mike to arrange safe transportation. I called Marie to check in on how they were holding up. They had just gotten home a half-hour ago and cancelled on playing poker tonight.

Ryan was on the phone with Pete, yapping away on everything from construction to fishing.

My last call was to Cory to see if he’d be able to start at four, since I had no valid reason not to be open tomorrow. I was glad that he was willing to work any hours I was able to give him. I even hired his roommate, Trevor, over the phone. I needed someone to card people at the door during the week. I wasn’t going to allow what happened last Tuesday to repeat itself.

I ran downstairs to the get the mail and removed my makeshift cardboard closed sign from the window. There was a huge pile of mail on my pub

floor. There was also a FedEx package and several boxes sitting on the bar. I opened a garbage bag and stuffed it with all the mail and deliveries so I could carry it upstairs.

“Ryan?” I called out, setting the bag on the floor.

“Bathroom,” he yelled. I knew him and his daily routine well enough to know that at this time of the day, he’d be gone for a while.

I grabbed his cell phone off the kitchen table and quickly toggled through his stored numbers looking for listings for Matt and Scott. He had quite a few girls’ names in his phone, which bothered me to see. Amy, Brandy, Cheryl, Gina, Heather; the list went on and on. The twinge of jealously worsened when I passed Lauren Delaney’s cell number.

I was hoping that he’d never want or need to call any of those numbers ever again. It would be so easy for me to delete them all, but that would be wrong. Back to the task at hand… there were a few choices for the name Scott but only one listing for Matt. I quickly wrote his number down on a piece of paper and shoved it in my purse.

I looked at the FedEx package. It was overnighted from California and addressed to William Bailey, c/o Mitchell’s Pub. I noticed that Pete wrote a note on the back to let us know he signed for the package.

“Do you know a William Bailey?” I asked, handing the package to Ryan.

“Yep. That’s me.”

I must have looked confused.

“What’s my middle name?” he asked.

“William.”

“What was my dog’s name?”

“Bailey.” It made sense now. “Okay, I get the connection but why the alias? What’s that about?”

“It’s my secret name. Well, one of them,” he admitted. “I can’t use my real name on anything. If fans or whoever see Ryan Christensen printed on things - it disappears or becomes public knowledge. It’s also one of the names I use when I check into hotels and stuff.”

“I noticed your luggage had ‘Shell-B Enterprises’ on it. Is that an alias too?”

“Yeah, well, that’s my company name,” he sighed, scratching his forehead. “You have no idea the lengths people go through to dig up private information.” He pulled out his wallet and showed me his credit card.

“This has my real name on it ‘cause that’s who I am, but see – underneath my name – there’s my company name. My credit card bills, my cell phone number, are all listed under my company name. It’s the way things have to be to keep records private. If my luggage gets lost, no one knows it’s mine. My bags would get shipped to California to my manager.”