Illusions Complete Series (40 page)

“I hate to ask this….”

“Rielle wants a divorce, of course. She’s not happy about any of this.”

“How much does she know?”

“Enough. Put it that way. But, the divorce was a long-time coming. This was just the final straw, that’s all.”

“What about the kids?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s gonna be a problem too.”

“I’m so sorry about this.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. It’s that psycho’s fault. By the way, how is the new Mrs. Gallagher?”

He looked over at me. I simply raised an eyebrow.

“As well as can be expected,” Ryan said.

“Well, come home. Don’t keep dodging the issue. It’s not going away. Every day that you don’t get on top of this is another day that the lies are out there unanswered.”

Ryan nodded his head. He knew that was true. I knew it was true, too. We were both running, trying to buy time, trying to have some kind of a happy life together. But we weren’t living in reality. I knew this.

“Right,” Ryan said. “Well, I wanted to check in.”

“K. Talk later.”

He got off the phone and came over to sit next to me. He took my hand. “We have to address this. He’s right.”

I nodded. It sucked that we had to do it, but there was nothing more that could be done.

Now it was just a matter of figuring out to whom we would tell our story.

Chapter Eight

The very next day, we met with a reporter from
People
magazine. They would be running a cover story on us. The reporter, Darlene Goode, came to Nate and Nat’s apartment to meet with us. We decided that
People
would be the best magazine to give our story, because it had such a wide readership, and had a better reputation than any of the other pop culture magazines.

Darlene seemed eager to talk to us.

It seemed that our story was a real scoop.

She was exactly on time, arriving at the apartment at noon on the dot. She was very professional, her dark hair loosely knotted, and glasses perched on her nose. Shaking our hands, we all sat down to talk in the den.

“Do you mind if I record this?” she asked.

“No, no, of course not,” Ryan spoke. We had decided that Ryan would give his side of the story, and I would chime in when appropriate.

Darlene began. “I don’t really want to beat around the bush here. I wanted to get your side of the story.”

“Rochelle Anderson was my lover when I was 14 years old, and she was 34,” Ryan began, then proceeded to tell the reporter the gist of what happened to me. He told her about Rochelle kidnapping me, torturing me, and shooting me up with black tar heroine. He told her about how I was in a coma for two months because of it, and my PTSD. He told her about how Rochelle was obsessed with him, and how she followed him.

Darlene turned to me. “Mrs. Gallagher, tell me something. I don’t understand. You visited Ms. Anderson in jail, did you not?”

I shook my head. “We already tried to get tape of that meeting. They don’t have it. They don’t keep it for very long. Trust me, I wish that weren’t so, because that bitch –“ I composed myself. I couldn’t afford to come off unsympathetic. “Sorry, that woman confessed all to me when I saw her in jail.”

The interview went on from there. As we talked, though, I could feel my anxiety welling up. I had felt that I was over Rochelle’s attack, but all of this was bringing it back up. By the end of the interview, I was shaking. Ryan held my hand tight, then put his arm around me protectively. We had laid it all on the table. Ryan’s affair with Nick, Ryan’s sexual abuse, my cutting, everything. We knew that this was the only way to get our side of the story out there.

It was completely draining, yet liberating at the same time.

After about four hours, the interview was finally over. We then made an appointment to get our photos taken for the cover. I would imagine we would look odd together – his stunning beauty, and me.

I tried to set that aside.

Darlene looked at me before leaving. With a wry smile, she said “It sounds like you’re living a dystopian Cinderella story.”

To this, I smiled. I never thought of it that way, but it was true – a dystopian Cinderella story was exactly what I was living. I was just the average girl, looking for love in all the wrong places, finding nothing but toads, until Ryan. Ryan, the sweet, handsome, rich guy who worshiped me, for whatever reason. Turns out that he was not only my savior, but the cause of my personal hell.

It occurred to me that if I never knew him, I would have been able to escape my past for the rest of my life.

But, then again, perhaps it worked out the way that it was supposed to. My past was brought to light, and I would have to examine myself once more to find out why I was filled with self-loathing for so long. At the same time, I was not only in love, but loved back, perhaps for the very first time in my life. Our life together was never perfect, and it wasn’t even real – real people didn’t experience the problems that we were experiencing. Real people generally don’t have their dirty laundry aired in front of the entire world. Yet, somehow, we were sticking with each other through this, supporting each other, helping each other through. It heartened me to know that we were in this together. I never in my life had a man who would stick by me through the crap that happened in my life prior to this.

Darlene finally left. I felt like a deflated balloon. I looked at Ryan, who was paler than I had ever seen him. He was very quiet.

“That was awful,” I began.

“Yeah, but it’s out there now.”

“I guess we can probably go home now, huh?”

“Might as well,” he said. “But I would like to see my sister before we leave.”

At that he called her. After getting off the phone, he announced that we would be leaving in the morning to see Sarah on the Vineyard.

“We’re going to have to fly there, huh?”

“Yeah. My plane is at La Guardia.”

I felt a little disappointed. For some reason, I was thinking that Ryan and I would get the chance to fly like normal people for once. It didn’t occur to me that he would have somebody fly his plane here to New York.

That night, we had one last dinner with Nate and Nat. Nat was doing her usual googly-eyes at Ryan. I felt badly for her, having such strong feelings for my husband. She was as vulnerable as anybody, and couldn’t help the way that she felt. I knew that.

I felt nervous about seeing Sarah again. She was never all that warm to me, and I knew why – she thought I was a gold-digger, and could never accept that wasn’t the case.

Nevertheless, I had to steel myself to see her again. Because it was about to happen.

Chapter Nine

Sarah’s house on the Vineyard was just how I pictured it. It was a neo-Classical mansion, with four columns on the front porch. The home was made up of a light colored coral stone, with enormous windows and a gorgeous, and enormously solid, door. The garden out front of the house was perfectly manicured, with five different varieties of roses and African daisies. A circle drive was out front, and there was a six-car garage.

Ryan had explained that Sarah’s husband, Gil, was a collector of classic cars. But the classic cars that he collected were unlike any other. For one, he owned a very rare Aston Martin and a Bentley. Gil also had a Duesenberg, which was among the very rarest of all classic cars. They were handmade, and sold for around $6,500 in the 1920s, and now sold for around a million dollars. That particular car was in mint condition, with white-walled tires, and was enormous, shiny and black. I somehow pictured Gil as a guy with a cigarette on the end of a long cigarette holder, like FDR.

Sarah and Cori appeared on the lawn. Gil appeared next to her. He was a fortyish hedge fund operator, with greying temples and tan skin. He wore his dark hair slicked back, and he was just a little bit taller than Sarah, who was 5’7”. Her two children, Alice and Henry, were at their private day school at the moment, but would be meeting us after school.

Sarah greeted us with a “Well, well, well. You two sure did get yourselves into a pickle, didn’t you?”

“Great to see you too, Sarah,” Ryan said.

Sarah’s blonde hair was different than the last time I saw her. Before, she was a platinum blonde. Now she sported a darker blonde hairdo with highlights and lowlights. She was gorgeous as ever.

Genetics definitely favored this family.

“Well, come on in. How long are you staying?” she asked. Gil was mute, so far.

“For just a few days,” Ryan said. “We have to get home and face reality.”

She addressed me. “How you holding up there, kid?”

I smiled a little at her calling me “kid.” Ryan was “peanut” and I guess I was now “kid.”

“I’ve been better.”

“You mean you don’t like having all your personal problems aired for the world to hear?”

“Surprisingly not,” I said. I was finding it easier every day to face the issues, though.

Then, addressing Ryan, Sarah said “You and me gotta talk. Alone.”

At that, they went into the sun room and shut the door.

I looked at Gil. He raised his eyebrows.

“What’s going on?”

“Sarah has to talk to Ryan about seeing their father.”

Chapter Ten

“See Benjamin? What the hell? Why would Sarah want that?”

Gil just shrugged. “Something about Benjamin wanting to see them about what’s going on in the media. He’s really getting a lot of bad press, and he’s losing all his friends. He’s retired, so there isn’t a job to worry about, though.”

“Cry me a fucking river,” I said. “Why would Ryan want to see that guy?”

“Well, there’s something else.”

“What?”

“Sarah and Ryan will tell you about it.”

I could hear shouting coming from the den.

“Like hell. I don’t care if he is sick, I’m not going.” Ryan.

A muffled voice. Sarah.

“Not doing it,” Ryan shouted.

The yelling continued for a bit. Then it stopped. However, the brother and sister remained in the den for the next hour.

Finally, they came out. He looked cowed. Sarah didn’t exactly look happy, either.

“We need to talk,” Ryan said to me.

At that, we mounted the winding staircase into the guest bedroom.

I looked at Ryan, who was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. I sat down next to him, putting my arm around him, and holding his hand with my other hand. I stroked his hair for what seemed like a long time. He didn’t react, just sat there with his head in his hands. I eventually put his head on my lap, as I continued to tousle his hair lightly. To my surprise, he started crying. This was the first time I had ever seen him cry. He grabbed onto my leg tightly, sobbing, his face in my lap, his entire body spasming. I just continued to rub his head and his back silently.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, he stopped crying. But he still had his head on my lap, clutching my legs desperately. He was breathing hard, in and out, in and out, and started hiccupping. I just sat still, a perfect marble statue, except I continued to massage his back and shoulders. I buried my fingers into his neck, trying to ease his tension with my touch.

He finally lifted his head, and looked me in the eye. “I have to see Benjamin,” was all he said.

I nodded. I knew that was coming. “When?” I asked.

“We’re going to leave from here.”

“I’m going, too, right?”

“Of course. I need you there with me, to keep me sane.”

I sighed. “I hate to ask this, but why?”

“Benjamin has Stage Four lung cancer. He only has a matter of weeks to live.”

“I see.” I waited for him to say more. I knew him so well now that I knew just how to react to every situation. Sometimes it helped if I talked. Sometimes it helped if I was silent, and let him do all the talking.

This seemed to be the latter situation.

“So….I told Sarah that I didn’t care that he was dying. I don’t want to see him.” He ran his hands through his hair, and started patting his legs nervously. “But she made the point that I would need closure. Otherwise I would regret it for the rest of my life.” He paused for a long time, and tears came to his eyes once more. “I have to admit that she has a point.”

I nodded. “I agree. You only have one chance to say your piece with him. I think it’s wonderful that you’re doing this.”

“Maybe he’ll finally tell me why he did what he did to me. That’s my hope, anyhow. Deathbed confession and all that, you know.”

“That would be perfect,” I began. “But Ryan, don’t expect it. I’d hate to see you get your heart broken if it doesn’t come through.”

He said nothing, just nodded.

I felt for him so strongly, especially at that moment. Once again, I saw him as a little boy, terrified of his father. At this moment, he wasn’t a 33-year-old bank president. He was an 8-year-old boy who was terrified of being beat for the smallest transgressions, while he watched his mother slowly slip into oblivion. It must have been so hard for him, so very, very hard. I put my arm around him, and could feel him shaking all over.

I kissed his forehead. Then we were kissing, slowly, tenderly. We hadn’t been physical like that since the day we found out that our story was breaking all over the world. There had just been way too much tension. There was still a lot of tension, but it was time to overcome that and give comfort to one another in the form of lovemaking.

He put his hand on my thigh, and I felt the familiar shivers. Somehow, his touch never got old. It always felt like the first time with him, no matter how many times we made love. His lips on my lips felt like they were touching for the first time. His strong, yet gentle, hand on my skin felt like it had never been on my skin before. As he ran his fingers through my hair, softly entangling his smooth hands in my rather thick mane, it was like he had never done this before to me. It was always the first time for me. I felt just as giddy inside as I did in our first meeting - my stomach doing cartwheels, my heart beating like a timpani, and my hands shaking a tiny bit.

I wondered if it would ever get old, feeling him touch me like this.