Lifeline

by Susan X Meagher

  A gentle knock on the door just before nine o’clock brought Martin to his feet and caused Ryan to look up like a trapped animal. "Who is it?" he asked.

  "Leslie King," a female voice said. "Senator Evans asked me to come. I’m with Rosenberg, Kelly and Martini." Martin had no idea what that meant, but Ryan got to her feet and opened the door.

  "Ryan O’Flaherty," she said, extending one hand, while the other shielded her eyes from the glare of the lights trained upon the door.

  The woman slipped past her, then spent a moment smoothing her hair back into place. "Quiet a gauntlet out there," she said.

  "We had to come in through the back," Ryan said. "It pays to live in a neighborhood for thirty years. The neighbors don’t try to shoot you when you traipse through their back yards."

  "Well," Leslie said. "It’s good to meet you, Ryan, even though the circumstances aren’t ideal. I’m here to see if we can’t help get you and Jamie a little peace."

  "Anything you can do will be much appreciated," Ryan sighed, heading back into the living room. "Honey?" she called up the stairs.

  Jamie came down, and after introductions were made, Leslie got down to business. "Senator Evans tells me that you’re both unwilling to make any type of statement," she began

  "Correct," Ryan said, her eyes blazing with determination. "At this point, it’s a test of wills."

  Looking up into those slate blue eyes, Leslie decided that this resolute young woman probably didn’t lose many such tests.

  "Okay, I can see that’s a dead issue," she said. "That wouldn’t be my recommendation, but I can understand it."

  "What is your recommendation, Leslie?" Jamie asked, feeling her lover tense noticeably.

  "I think this would die down if you just made a statement saying that you won’t address the incident, or your personal lives. If they could see you, and let America hear you, I think it would go away."

  "Think, or know?" the blonde asked.

  "Well, I have 20 years of experience in the field, and I can assure you that the one thing the press loves is a recluse. You two have been wonderful for them. If you had just made a statement the first night, this would have been over immediately."

  "Too bad," Ryan said, jutting her jaw out defiantly. "I’m not going to talk, because it’s no one’s business.

  "Of course it isn’t," the woman said. "But sometimes you have to be pragmatic."

  "No, I don’t," Ryan said, her eyes burning hot.

  "Okay," Leslie said. "Pragmatism is out."

  "I don’t mean to be rigid," Ryan said, "but I will be very upset with myself if I let the press make me do things that I don’t think are right. It might take the immediate problem away, but it will create a bigger internal problem for me."

  "I can understand that," the older woman said, lightly patting Ryan’s arm, seeing the young woman jerk noticeably. "So the question remains, what do we do now?"

  "Not a clue," Jamie said.

  "What about having another family member make the statement?" Leslie asked.

  "No," Ryan said, her eyes not blinking.

  "Okay, then I guess it’s up to me. I’ll write up a speech, and you two can approve it, of course. I’ll call a press conference, and try to get all of the media outlets to send someone."

  "What do you plan on saying?" Ryan asked, her eyes narrowing.

  "Nothing," she said. "Absolutely nothing. I want every person who leaves that room to be cursing my name. I want to give them plenty of nothing, Ryan. After a while, they’ll realize that they’re wasting their time."

  "That I can live with," Ryan said for the first time since they left the plane.

  As soon as Leslie left, Jamie got on the phone with her father. "Thanks so much for sending a pro to help us out, Dad. I’m not sure her plan will work, but at least it’s a step.’’

  "We discussed what she was going to suggest," he said. "Are you going to let her make a statement?"

  "Yeah, we are, but we want her to make it. We’re just not up to it, Daddy."

  "Is there any way we can see each other, honey? I have to leave for Washington tomorrow, you know."

  "No, I didn’t know," she sighed. "I want to see you, too, Dad, but we don’t have a lot of options. Either you come over here, or I sneak out. Are you being followed?"

  "Like a fox at the hunt," he growled. "But I won’t let that stop me, Jamie. If you want to get together, I’ll be there."

  "It’s up to you, Dad. If you don’t mind braving the hordes, I’d love to see you."

  "I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, honey," he said.

  Jim proved to be accurate in his prediction, and a cab dropped him off not long after they had finished speaking. Soon after he arrived, Martin and Maeve went to their room, to give Jamie and Ryan some time alone with him. Ryan was grumpy and irritable, so Jamie excused her after just a few minutes.

  Father and daughter stared at each other for a few minutes, then Jim reached across the kitchen table and grasped his child’s hand. "I’ll do anything … anything to make your life more comfortable, Jamie. I’m more than happy to hire a driver for you, so they can’t see you get into cars; I’ll get a security team to clear the area for you before you leave a place – anything."

  "I really do appreciate that, Daddy, but I don’t think that would help. I think going through that kind of thing every time we leave the house will drive Ryan mad."

  He gazed at her for a moment, then asked, "I’m not criticizing you, Jamie, but so far every decision you’ve mentioned has been made by Ryan and for Ryan. Is that how you want it to be?"

  She started to defend her partner, then paused and realized that her father had a valid concern. "I have let her take the lead, Daddy, but for a good reason." She sighed and said, "Being the focus of attention is driving her mad. It’s not that bad for me, for some reason. I’d just go to the Berkeley house and ignore them – but she’s not able to. Since she’s having such a hard time, I’m trying to let her make the decisions. I’m just trying to support her," she said quietly.

  "You’re being a very good … uhm …"

  "Partner," she said, giving him a wry smile.

  "Right," he said, nodding. "You’re being a very good partner, honey. But are you sure that your needs are being met?"

  "Yes, they are. My biggest need right now is making sure that Ryan gets through this. Once I’m sure she’s okay, everything will be fine."

  "Okay," he said, letting the issue drop. "I just want you to know that I’ll get as involved as you want me to. I’ll do anything to fix this for you."

  "Daddy," she said softly, placing a hand on his tensed arm, "sometimes you can’t fix things. This will go away in time, and I really don’t think there’s much you can do to make it stop. I appreciate that you want to try, but I think you need to just go back to Washington, and let this die out on its own."

  He looked down at the table, "I don’t know if I can do that, honey. I can’t stand to feel that powerless."

  "This time we are powerless, Dad. We need to calm down and wait until it blows over."

  After her father left, Jamie went into the living room and spent a few moments watching her partner. She seemed to have been hypnotized by the television and remained oblivious to Jamie’s presence. "Can I convince you to come to bed?"

  "Ehh … I don’t know," Ryan said. "I think I’m too keyed up to relax."

  "This isn’t helping, Ryan. It’s just making you angrier. I can tell by your face."

  "Yeah … angry … that’s about it," she snapped. "I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been this angry." She let out a humorless laugh and said, "I keep saying that, and then some bastard makes me hit a new high."

  Jamie came around the front of the sofa to take a better look at her partner. The tall woman’s hands were curled into fists, and every muscle looked like it was coiled to strike. Jamie placed her hands on her belly, and just as she thought, the muscles were rigid with tension. "Honey, please turn it off. It’s mak
ing you crazy."

  "I want vengeance," Ryan said quietly, her flashing eyes glowing in the blue light of the television.

  "Oh, honey," Jamie sighed. She sat down next to her and tried to draw her attention away from the television. "Ryan, that’s not like you. Come on, now. You’ve got to put this in perspective."

  The dark head finally turned towards her, Ryan’s face showing a mixture of incredulity and indignation. "Perspective? I’ll give you perspective! One of your former friends, a woman who sponged off your generosity for three years, a woman whose mother was your mother’s best friend for 15 years, decides, out of nothing but spite and vindictiveness, to throw us to the wolves. I’ve seen our faces plastered on every news show, with the skuzzy ones asking if I’m the hero I’m purported to be, or just an opportunist who’s taking advantage of my wealthy, inexperienced lover. Even the shows that claim to take the high ground are covering the story in nearly the same way – they just use the subterfuge of talking about how wrong it is to know all of these nasty things, and how little privacy we all have." Her eyes burned in their intensity as she growled, "There’s your perspective!"

  Jamie didn’t respond, knowing there was nothing she could say at this point to soothe her partner. Looking into troubled blue eyes she made a decision and said, "We’re leaving tomorrow. I’m taking you someplace warm … where we can snorkel to our heart’s content." Narrowing her eyes, she said, "Don’t even think about arguing with me. I will not allow this to torture you, Ryan, and the only solution I can think of is to leave until it’s over."

  In the blink of an eye, Ryan’s expression changed from rage to wide-eyed worry. "What if it’s never over?"

  "Every news story has a life-cycle. When something else happens, we’ll fade back into anonymity."

  "Is this really the best idea, Jamie? Is it really wise to just run away?" She pursed her lips together and said, "I’ve never run from anything in my life."

  Jamie stroked her face with the tips of her fingers. "I don’t see any other way. We’ll be trapped here as long as the press is in front of both of our homes. It will eat you alive to be trapped here in the house. We have options. Let’s use them."

  Ryan cocked her head and asked, "How about Pebble Beach? We could hide out there and not be that bothered if the press was outside the gates. You can’t see a darned thing from the street."

  "That’s an option," she said. "I just thought you’d prefer to be in Mexico or Belize. I’m sure we’d be completely anonymous there."

  "Yeah, we would," Ryan said. "But if we went to Pebble Beach, we could have my family come down for the weekend. That would really help. I need them close."

  "You’ve got a deal," Jamie said, smoothing the hair from her forehead. "We just have to figure out a way to get the Boxster out of the garage."

  "That’s impossible," Ryan said, shaking her head. "We’ll either have to rent a car or borrow Rory’s."

  "Let’s rent," Jamie said. "I don’t want the parasites to know our license number."

  Ryan looked over at her partner. "Now all we have to do is get some clothes smuggled out."

  "Nope. We’re traveling with the clothes on our backs," Jamie said. "We can stop and buy a few things on the way down. I don’t want to alert anyone that we’re taking off again."

  "Are you sure this isn’t an elaborate scheme to be able to buy me clothes?" Ryan asked, her face gentling into a surprisingly warm smile.

  "No, but it’s a nice side benefit."

  "Hey, Con," Ryan said when her brother picked up the phone.

  "Yeah?" he asked sleepily. In just a moment he was wide awake, asking, "What’s wrong?"

  "Nothing. We just decided we have to get out of here. The walls are closing in on me, bro," she said with a shaky voice.

  "I can lend you a mask," he said, trying to be helpful. Maeve had entertained the young women earlier in the evening with her story of Conor’s exploits with the press. Always creative, he had paid a visit to a costume shop and purchased several rubber masks of former presidents, bloody ghouls and even a Monica Lewinski mask. Maeve claimed that seeing the huge man walk to his truck wearing that mask with a big cigar stuck in his mouth was the funniest thing she’d ever seen in her life.

  "No, we thought we’d go down to Pebble Beach. We just have one problem," she said. "We’d really like to take Jamie’s dad’s BMW, but it’s in Berkeley. Interested in a reconnaissance mission?"

  "Sure," he said, sounding brighter by the minute. "Now?"

  "Yeah, if you don’t mind. Are you being followed?"

  "No. They perk up when I leave, but they don’t even take my picture any longer. Want me to swing by and pick you up?"

  "No, meet me at 24th and Noe. Can you leave soon?"

  "Yep. Gimme five."

  A few minutes later the siblings were headed to Berkeley. Ryan had prevailed upon her partner to stay home, and after a half-hearted argument, the exhausted woman agreed. Conor hatched the plan on the way over. "It’s late enough that they’re gonna be inattentive," he said. "Drop me off a block away. I’ll just stroll down the street, and make a run for the car. I should be able to evade them, since I assume I’ll catch them unawares."

  "What if they catch you?" Ryan asked. "I don’t want you to do anything too risky."

  "If they catch me, they catch me. It’s still worth a try."

  "Okay," Ryan said. "Now remember to leave it by Mr. Regan’s house. Just leave the keys under the mat."

  "Will do."

  "Well, let’s give it a go. If it doesn’t work, we’ll just rent a car."

  "Oh, it’ll work," he said, his blue eyes flashing with excitement.

  Ryan parked just far enough away to be able to watch her brother lope down the street, one of her Cal caps on his head to disguise his appearance. It looked as though the press was caught napping, because he reached the car and took off before anyone could scramble to his car or van. As the BMW flew past the truck, Ryan could hear Conor’s demonic laugh, broadcast to all over the car’s public address system. He’s having altogether too much fun with this, she thought as a fond grin settled onto her face.

  Ryan slept very little, her newly developed claustrophobia kicking in with a vengeance. Knowing that the reporters were right outside of her father’s house felt like another invasion, and her imagination began to work overtime. Unable to shake the feeling of being trapped, she finally got up and put on her warm-ups. She hunted around in Kevin’s old room and found a bandana, then tied it around her head, hiding her distinctive mane. Leaving a note upon her pillow for Jamie, she snuck out of the back door, crossing through every yard that she knew didn’t house a dog.

  She circled around the block and peered down at the reporters, the crowd now dwindled to a pair. They were obviously chilled, as the night was cold and foggy, and she took some solace in that fact, hoping they were as uncomfortable as she.

  Feeling a bit better now that she was outdoors, she walked the two blocks to her own home, just to see what was going on. A small pack of men was standing on the street corner, also looking chilled and bored. They were drinking coffee, and she smiled when she realized that all of the decent coffee shops in the neighborhood were long-closed. I hope you choke on the swill, she thought, with venom filling her heart.

  Bored, anxious, and filled with rage, she made the only choice available to her. She started to walk, then when her muscles limbered up, she broke into a slow jog, then a quicker one. It didn’t take too long, and just after 3 a.m. she walked up to the front counter of Castro Fitness. Luckily, the person at the front desk knew her, and after a few minutes of murmuring sympathetic words for her plight, he waved her in.

  Her bandana changed her look just enough so that hardly anyone recognized her. There were only six people working out at that early hour, and the one sharp-eyed man who did manage to place her just walked by and muttered, "Don’t let the bastards get you down, girl."

  She smiled at him and nodded, "I’m trying not to."

>   Deciding that what she most needed was a focus for her anger, she slipped on some lightweight hand-protectors and started to work on the speed bag, getting a nice rhythm going, imagining that the bag bore the image of a certain blonde traitor that she was certain to wreak disaster upon.

  After working the speed bag until her arms were heavy, Ryan had the trainer on duty lace her hands into a pair of boxing gloves, and she gave the heavy bag such a workout that the sturdy hooks holding it into the ceiling groaned. By the time she was finished, every person in the gym was casting curious glances at her – but this time it wasn’t because they recognized her. Every person there was actually glad that they didn’t know her – and relieved that they weren’t the ones that the darkly beautiful woman was cursing under her breath while she whaled upon the leather of the innocent bag.

  Tiptoeing into the bedroom, Ryan shucked her clothing as quickly as possible. She didn’t have a change of clothes, so she had been forced to run home just to keep from freezing once the cold night air hit her sodden warm-ups.

  They had left their suitcases at Niall’s, since they had to sneak into the house, so she didn’t have another thing to put on. Wrapping herself in a sheet, she took her wet clothing and put it in the dryer so she could wear it until she could send someone to her house for a fresh supply. She dropped the sheet and slipped into bed, her body a dichotomy of ice cold and steaming hot. Regrettably, Jamie automatically cuddled up to her as soon as she slipped beneath the covers, and her nice warm thighs pressed against the freezing cold flesh of Ryan’s butt.

  "Mmm …" she mumbled, then blinked her eyes open. Ryan turned over and looked at her, and when Jamie focused on the alert, haunted blue eyes staring at her, she knew something was awry. "Why are you so wide awake?" Her warm hands touched various parts of Ryan’s body, then she sat up. Reaching up to touch Ryan’s hair she said, "You’re dripping wet and freezing cold. Were you outside? Is it raining?"