Deeper illusion updated Ch9 & Ch10 on pg 3-4 - Page 2

Deeper Illusion
Chapter - 4
Naughty-Girl
Part-I

Deeper Illusion
Chapter - 4
Naughty-Girl
Part-II

Originally posted by: rima4ever

amazing 😃

Deeper illusion
Chapter - 5
Television Story
Part-1

It was on the seventh day of our honeymoon when it happened. I casually flicked on the television, looking for something to watch. Stretching and yawning, feeling sated after another night of love-making with my gorgeous husband, I flipped around the television.
"Beautiful! Come back up here!" Ryan was calling me. "I'm not done with you yet!"
Smiling, I tossed the remote aside, and started to head upstairs.
However, hearing my name on the television set stopped me cold. I spun around, turning the set up. A world famous attorney was talking to a generic blonde anchorwoman on one of the 24 hour news channels.
My blood turned to ice when I heard what he was saying.
Blonde anchorwoman was asking him "But wasn't Ms.
Anderson caught in the act?"
"By her now-husband. He's clearly lying. Besides, he's a drug addict. He just got out of rehab, for the third time." I was shaking. "Ryan! Ryan!" I screamed.
Ryan heard my tone, and came running out of the bedroom, completely naked. "What's going on?" he asked.
I said nothing. I could just point at the television. The attorney continued on. "He's a drug addict, he got her involved in drugs. He couldn't tell her parents that, so he cooked up this absurd story about her being kidnapped by Ms. Anderson." Both of us watched, horrified.
"But she had all those marks on her body. Cigarette burns, whiplashes, deep gashes where she was slashed with a knife."

"The woman is a self-mutilator from way back. She was hospitalized three times for that. She obviously did those things to herself."
I could feel Ryan's eyes now on me, boring into me. I was shaking. I couldn't look at him. I could feel my face burning, red hot.
Ryan didn't say a word.
Blondie continued. "But why would they accuse Ms.
Anderson of this? She is a very well-known socialite, with a lot of connections. Why not just get some random person involved in this, instead of somebody like Ms. Anderson?"
"Mr. Gallagher and Ms. Anderson had an affair when Mr. Gallagher was very young. It didn't end well. Mr. Gallagher apparently saw an opportunity for revenge, and he took it. She is nothing but a scapegoat for Mrs. Gallagher's self-mutilation and accidental overdose. Or, who knows, maybe it was an intentional overdose. Wouldn't be the first time with her."
Again, I felt my face flush hot. I felt nauseated. Ryan was still staring at me, I could feel it. But I refused to look at him.
"I understand that he was only 14 when he got involved with her."
"Right."
"Isn't that a crime that she can be charged with?"
"Statute of limitations has long since run on that one. There is no crime there to charge her with at this point."
"So let me get this straight. The theory is, as you understand it, that Ms. Gallagher mutilated herself, and overdosed on heroin. When Ms. Gallagher ended up in the hospital with an overdose, Mr. Gallagher cooked up this story to cover up the fact that she overdosed, because he got her involved with drugs. He implicated Ms. Anderson because he wanted revenge on her for seducing him when he was only 14?"

"That's exactly what I understand happened."
Blondie shook her head. "What a wild story." Then, looking at the camera, blondie said "We will have further updates for you as the story progresses. Now, for the top story..."
Ryan and I sat in silence, staring at the television. Neither of us said a word. My mind was surprisingly blank, and I had a preternatural calm, like when I was first kidnapped by Rochelle, and I thought that I would die. The enormity of what was about to happen didn't yet enter my mind.
Finally, after what seemed like days, Ryan spoke. "Iris, is all that true?"
I nodded.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

I shrugged. Words couldn't come out of my mouth. However, I could feel hot tears coming out of my eyes. The thing that I sought to bury, that I tried so hard to forget, was now on the international news, and god knows where else. If that station has it, then the possibility exists that this story is going to blow up. Then, I would never be able to get away from it. Ever.
I comforted myself a little bit, though, thinking that nobody died. Therefore, the story couldn't possibly blow up too big. Maybe it will be just a little story.
No, this story is going to be big. A socialite being accused of heinous things - torture, kidnapping, attempted murder. This was just too juicy.

My suspicions were confirmed when I switched the channel to another 24-hour news channel, and they, too, were talking about it. This time it was a dark-haired woman, and a different attorney who was discussing the "facts" of the case. A new detail this time. "Mr. Gallagher was obsessed with Ms. Anderson. He was stalking her for years. When he couldn't have her, he decided to get back at her."
I looked over, and Ryan was on the phone, talking to Sheldon. "You need to do something about this. Slap them all with a cease and desist letter. They can't get away with these lies."
He paused. "What? She's an involuntary public figure? What does that mean?...That's ridiculous...I know, that will be the argument. But what the hell? What about the lies?" He shook his head furiously. "Rochelle hired who? Why did she do that?...Get on it. Do what you can. This is getting ridiculous." At that, he got off the phone.
"Sit down," he commanded, motioning me to a chair. I dutifully obeyed.
"There's trouble," he said, stating the brutally obvious. "Rochelle was none too happy when O'Donnell withdrew from her case. So, she hired Greg Schultz as her attorney."
"Greg Schultz? The Greg Schultz?" I asked. Greg Schultz was, to my mind, the most famous attorney in America. Well, next to Gerry Spence and possibly Alan Dershowitz. He was right up there with Geoffrey Feiger.

"Yes, the Greg Schultz. So, now Schultz has his minions out there fanning the stories on all the 24-hour news stations. They're wanting the public opinion to be on Rochelle's side, for the purposes of tainting the jury, and the only way to do that is to spread absolute lies on these stations."
"But we can sue them for libel and slander, right? Right?"
"Of course. But how do we prove it? It's her word against ours."
"I don't understand. You were there. You know what happened."
"Yes, but who else knew that I was there except Rochelle herself?"
"You called the cops, they came and picked me up at her house. They arrested her at her house, too."
"Yeah, but the lawyer is saying it was all a setup. I dragged you over to Rochelle's house after you overdosed yourself, then had her arrested, because I wanted revenge on her for leaving me. Or some such ridiculous story." He sighed and put his head in his hands. "The problem is that I was in rehab just recently. Rochelle doesn't have a spot on her record. She also owns the Kansas City social scene. I look like the derelict with a bone to pick. She's involved with every charity in the world, too. This is going to be tough."
"But Ryan, the story of your relationship with her when you were 14 is also out. Doesn't that tarnish her?"
"Of course. She's going to spin that, too, though. You just wait."

"How can she spin that? That's child molestation, plain and simple." I was dumbfounded by all of it. Just when I thought that I was safe, and my ordeal was behind me...
I continued "what's this about my being an involuntary public figure?"

I knew something about invasion of privacy laws, and knew that facts may be disclosed if they are a matter of legitimate public concern. Therefore, most people in the public eye can have their private lives exposed. I didn't feel that I was a public figure, so I wasn't sure how my hospitalizations could be a matter of legitimate public concern.

"Sheldon just told me that, because you were a part of a crime that is a matter of public significance, your participation makes you an involuntary public figure. Because of this, the details of your life is considered to be legitimately newsworthy. That's why the stations can broadcast that information about you."
"But what about the lies? They can't just go on repeating falsehoods like they are."
"Let me talk to Sheldon again," he said. "I'll see what can be done."
He came back. "Sheldon is already on it. He is threatening them all with slander suits. He is also pressing an invasion of privacy issue with them, on the chance that a court won't find that you and I are public figures because of our involuntary participation in Rochelle's crime."

I sighed. It really didn't matter. The damage was done. So we win millions against them - so what? We had millions in the bank, more than we could ever hope to spend in our lifetime. What was a few million more? The point was that everybody now knew all of my deep, dark secrets. Plus, everyone now knew all the dirt in mine and Ryan's relationship.

Deeper illusion
Chapter - 5
Television Story
Part-2

He looked at me. "There is something else." I nodded. Of course there was something else. There was always something else, it seemed.
"Rochelle is out on bail."
My breath quickened, and I felt my legs buckle as I collapsed on the floor. I realized that I was hyperventilating, and Ryan was rushing to my side. He picked me up, and laid me gently on the couch.
I finally found my voice. "How is she out? She was a flight risk because of her private jet and her house in Monaco. How could the judge let her out?"
"They don't call Schultz the miracle worker for nothing."
"I bet money changed hands. Who is the judge?" I hadn't asked that question before, surprisingly.
"Judge Reingold."
"He has a stellar reputation. I can't imagine him taking a bribe. So, how did Schultz convince a judge to let her out, I wonder. Also, how is Schultz taking this job? He isn't licensed in
Missouri, I don't think."
Ryan raised his brow. "You know, the pro hac vice thing."

I nodded. Out of state attorneys can practice anywhere they wish, as long as they have local counsel overseeing them. I wondered which of my cohorts was willing to do that. Probably any one of them, if the money was right.

"Let me call Sheldon again. He might be able to fill in more of the details." At that, he went into the other room to call Sheldon. I could hear him talking through the door.

After about 45 minutes, he came out. "Ok, here's the deal. Rochelle has an electronic monitoring device. Sheldon thinks that she got bail because she now has a plausible story for what happened. That wasn't true before."
"And? Isn't it funny that she's now changing her story?
"One would think. She's spinning, though. Get this - she says that she didn't tell her story before, because she wanted to protect me, because she loves me. Then, when I got married to you, she made the decision not to protect me anymore."
"Geez. Who's going to buy that?"
"That's the reason for the PR blitz. This story was buried before she got Schultz involved. Now it's exploded because of all the surrogates out there telling the story."
"And the tales grow taller on down the line."
"Right."
"And this story has all the elements of a juicy tale. The socialite, the son of a prominent billionaire, obsession, jealousy, drugs, suicide attempts, self-mutilation, child molestation. No wonder it's blown up."
"About that." Ryan looked at me expectantly.
"I don't want to talk about that right now."
He put his hand on my face, and tenderly stroked my cheek. "You can talk to me. You know all about my past. It sounds like you've had similar experiences."
"Maybe later. Right now, all I can think of is that woman is on the loose." I shivered. "I know that we're thousands of miles away from her right now, but her Monaco house isn't that far away from here."

"She has on a monitoring device. I don't see her coming this way."
I looked out the window. Press people with cameras and microphones were hanging around outside, just beyond the gate. "Whatever. Everybody knows that we're here, now, so Rochelle knows, too."
Ryan joined me at the window. "Looks like we'll be camping out here for a while." He didn't look entirely unhappy. "Well, we might as well make the best of it, Mrs.Gallagher."
"Dude, not now. I'm sorry, but sex is the very last thing on my mind." At that, I ran into the bathroom and heaved my breakfast into the toilet. Ryan was kneeling on the floor next to me, stroking my back.
"It's going to be okay," Ryan said soothingly, stroking my back and playing with my hair. This was usually such a loving, comforting gesture to me, but, right now, his hands just felt like thorns on my back. Scraping my skin. I didn't want him near me.

"How can you say that? How're we going to get out of here? What am I going to tell people? God, all those people who know me, and nobody ever knew about my cutting and suicide attempt. Including you."

The tears were burning in my eyes now. I couldn't look at him. I was so ashamed of him now knowing my secrets.
Now he was sitting next to me, still naked, his hands on his knees, his knees curled up to his chest. Still meltingly handsome, and I felt more inferior to him than ever. It was bad enough feeling that I didn't measure up to him when he didn't know these awful things about me. Now that he knew them, he had to think that I was some sort of a nut. He probably wanted an annulment, I thought, miserably.

Deeper illusion
Chapter - 5
Television Story
Part-3

He just watched me, silently, my head still in the toilet. Nothing was coming out anymore, and I knew that nothing else would. But I still couldn't face him. I hoped that if I stared at the toilet long enough that he eventually would get up and just leave me alone. That was all that I wanted at that point, was to be left alone. But, still, he remained, watching me without a word coming out of his mouth.
I wondered why he wasn't getting the hint.
Finally, I spoke. "Hon, why don't you go and get dressed. Get me some clothes, too, please." And take your time about it. I am in no hurry for you to come back.
He got up without a word, and returned not five minutes later wearing a pair of shorts and a button down. He wordlessly handed me a pair of shorts and a tank top, along with some underwear. I looked up at his pained eyes, then immediately looked away. I couldn't take those eyes, not now. I felt myself hating him for loving me so much.
At the same time, I wondered if he did still love me. His eyes said that he did, but how could he? I did awful things to myself, and now the whole world knew about it. Everybody. And it would be a matter of time before all the sordid secrets of our life together was out for public consumption - Ryan's affair with Nick, all those sex parties where he was the guest of honor, his dad...his mother, for that matter. On and on and on, it was all going to come out, and how would I ever face anyone ever again? These kinds of things were fine behind closed doors, men having oral sex with men, but what happened when everyone I know thought that I married a gay guy? I suddenly hated the world for being so judgmental about it all, just assuming that there were no bisexual men. They were all going to think that I was some sort of beard, because Ryan would never want to be with somebody like me otherwise.

Nobody was going to understand it.
Why did I care? I guess because I thought that I had finally attained respectability in the world. I had finally, after all my years of wanting and not having, found somebody who validated me as a special person. And everybody assuming that it was all a lie was more than I could bear.
And, at the same time, the whole world would now know that I was some kind of a nut, a person who did things to herself to escape the mental anguish of being an outcast, a nobody, a misfit in society. The emotional pain of being invisible was always more than I could ever bear, so I cut myself to feel the physical pain, because the physical pain was so better than the emotional pain. So much better - when I sliced myself, the emotional pain went away. Even for just that short period of time, then it became like an addiction. I felt embarrassed for doing all of that to myself for my piddly little shitty problems, when there were people like Ryan in the world dealing with real shit. Yet he didn't hate himself nearly as much as I hated myself. He had the emotional resiliency that I could only dream about. People loved him. Everybody loved him. He was the golden boy that I never thought would be attainable.
And there was another problem - there was something else that I had never told him about, and it was something for which I still felt a deep well of shame. It occurred to me that my cutting problems and suicide attempt were mainly due to this incident, even more than the invisibility issue. But I couldn't tell him about this. I prayed that the media never picked up on it and ran with it. I would be absolutely devastated if it got out.

But I tamped down my feelings and decided not to bring it up.
He was still staring at me. I finally got up the courage to look at him right in the eye, and not look away. I knew what he was thinking, without him even saying a word. He wasn't thinking about the horror that had befallen us - the paparazzi and reporters outside on the street, the world knowing his secrets at last, the fact that Rochelle was on the loose. He was thinking about me, about why I would never tell him how much I really hated myself. All that time, when he confessed one horrible thing after another, and I never said a word.
I simply stared back at him, willing him to speak.
Finally I spoke. "How're we going to get out of here?"
"I called John. He has a helicopter, and he's going to take us from the roof."
"To where?"
"To the plane. Then onto...somewhere. We could stay with Nate for a few days. Nick wouldn't be safe. I talked to him, and the pap are swarming him as well. They are being very careful not to be on his property, but are on the public street, waiting for him every day." He stared at the ceiling. "Whatta mess."
"The plane. You don't think that the pap and reporters are going to be there as well?"
"Yeah, I thought about that. I'm going to have to call Giovanni, a friend from Harvard, to see if he doesn't mind taking us the next time he heads to New York. He makes business trips there all the time. That would probably be our best bet." He looked at me. "In the meantime, we have plenty of food and drinks here. But it looks like the honeymoon is literally over."

I nodded. "In the meantime, let's not watch any of those stupid news channels, huh?"
That night, I woke up in a start. Was it all a bad dream? I nudged Ryan awake. We had gone to bed that night without making love, wearing pajamas. Neither of us reached for the other in bed. I was on one side of the enormous, king-sized bed, he on the other. The distance between us was engulfing me. We were so close before.
Ryan awoke with a start after I nudged him.
"I can't sleep," I told him. I was shaking.
He immediately put his arms around me, and I felt comforted. I hoped that we could fight this together, and not let it tear us apart. We were, after all, in this mess together - both of us were going to be humiliated, so we might as well lean on each other. If we could get through this, we could get through anything.
It was then, when I finally accepted his touch, his affection, that I was able to let loose with the tears that were threatening all day. I cried for hours in his arms, and he held me silently. We were at the point in our relationship when each knew instinctively what the other needed at any given moment. And he knew that, right now, I just needed to be held, so this is what he did.

Deeper Illusion
Chapter - 6
Finding Safety
Part-1

The next day, we both knew that it was time to act. We had wasted the previous day with our shock and grief of what had intruded into our world. There would be plenty of time for crying when we figured out how to get out of this house and into a place that was safe for us. So, Ryan called Nate that morning to ask if we could stay with him for a little while. Nate agreed, so the plans were set, as soon as Giovanni would be heading to New York. Giovanni agreed to take us there, so that end was set as well.

I sighed. "So what's the long-term plan? We're just going to be trapped at Nate's indefinitely?"

And Nat's. Nat, who was in love with Ryan and didn't even try to hide that fact. Nat, with her perfect body and face, and sweet demeanor. I suddenly felt insecure, which was an odd feeling for me in our relationship. I always felt insecure about myself, but I never felt insecure about how he felt about me. But that was changing with yesterday's devastating revelation.

"No, obviously that is not a viable plan. But I hope that we can think more clearly once we get to safety. I don't think that either of us is going to think clearly with those wolves outside the door."

Taking a deep breath, I said "Well, I might as well turn on my phone. God, I dread this."
And I turned on the phone to see that it had, indeed, blown up. 166 missed calls in one day, 25 of them from my mother alone. I looked at the voice mails, and saw increasingly frantic messages from her. Also messages from my friends. But mainly the calls were from various news stations around the globe, and people calling for comments for the tabloids.

What was I going to tell everybody?
I called my mother. "Hey. Listen, and don't talk. I just wanted to let you know that I'm ok. I don't want to talk about it so please don't ask me to."
"Well, I'm glad that you are alright. That's all I really wanted to know."
"Thanks. Ryan and I are going to New York for an indefinite period of time."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, we won't be there too long. We're staying with one of Ryan's best friends, who's a Goldman banker. So, obviously we can't move in there. We just need to stay there to figure out what to do."
"What is all this talk about you hurting yourself? I never knew about that."
"Nobody did. Listen, I don't want to talk about it, please."

She persisted in asking. She was always like that, can never leave well enough alone. I finally ended up hanging up on her.
I didn't call anybody else back who called me. I was drained enough talking to her.
Meanwhile, Giovanni contacted Ryan. He would be heading to New York in a week. A week! A week here, with them outside the door like hungry wolves. That seemed unbearable. And I could not avoid Ryan's eyes. Imploring me to open up to him. That has always been the problem in our relationship - I was always so guarded with him, and it took a long time for me to trust and break down the walls. Now, I was expected to bare my soul to him, something that I had, thus far, not been willing to do. But I knew that it was going to come out while we were here in this beautiful home, which had become our prison, because there was no escaping it.

We headed to the kitchen, and Ryan opened up a bottle of his wine. Pouring me a glass, he said "let's build a fire and drink this wine."
I nodded. The implication was clear - he wanted answers from me, although he didn't want to come right out and ask me for them.
We took our wine in front of the fire, and Ryan laid down on the blanket. I fingered my glass lightly, then gulped down the wine. I gave him the glass to refill, and he did so. I sipped this.

Taking a huge breath, I started. "Well, I guess you want answers."
"Only as much as you're willing to tell."
"Uh. Well, I have always had an issue with myself," I started. Then I thought better of it.

"This is so embarrassing. I mean, you - you had real problems. Me, I don't have anything like that in my past. No sexual abuse, no schizophrenic mother, none of that."

"So, what does that mean? Just because you didn't have tragic circumstances doesn't mean that you don't have a reason to have issues."
He stroked my arm lightly. "So, please, stop being embarrassed. I'm your husband. I love you more than I've ever loved anybody. Nothing that you can say to me will make me think any less of you."

I looked at my red diamond, and felt reassured. The red diamond was symbolic of how deeply this man felt for me. The very rarest diamond in the world, and Ryan made sure that this was the stone that was set in the ring that he gave to me.

I knew that he loved me, so why was this so hard?
I gulped down the rest of the wine, and held out the glass expectantly. Ryan was still on his first glass.
I sighed.

"Well, there really wasn't that much to it. I was pretty much invisible my whole life to just about everybody. No, that wasn't true. I was invisible to most everybody, yet was bullied as well. I just never fit in."

Ryan was still looking at me, still stroking my arm lovingly, so I felt encouraged to go on.

"I never fit in," I repeated. "And the hard thing was, I wanted to fit in. I tried out for cheerleader, but was humiliated. The school play - humiliated. Always the last to be picked in gym class, the last to be asked to dance in gym class. God, on the day that everybody was finding dance partners in gym class, I made sure that I looked as good as I could. I'll never forget the look on the face of the guy who was stuck with me - he was stuck with me, because I was literally the last one picked. His look of revulsion..."

I took a deep breath. "Never got invited to a party, never got invited to a dance, never had a date, missed my prom because nobody ever asked. A social zero."
I smiled at Ryan. "Somebody like you, in high school, I could only dream about."

Deeper Illusion
Chapter - 6
Finding Safety
Part-2

He was looking at me, his eyes penetrating. I still saw vast reservoirs of love in those eyes. He didn't seem revolted or horrified that he had ended up with such a misfit. So, I decided to keep going.

"I got to college, and things changed. I had freedom, and I took it. I drank myself into a stupor every night, and slept with way too many men. That's the way that it was - the alcohol gave me courage and self-esteem, which I didn't have sober. And it made me way too easy. I was always craving love, always wanting somebody to validate me, to make me feel that I existed, that I was not invisible. But all these men ever wanted was an easy lay. So, you see, there was a bit of cross-purposes there."

I smiled ruefully. Then I suddenly remembered that this was, ironically, how I met Ryan - I went up and talked to him, liquid courage guiding the way, and we ended up in bed together that night.
So, the drunken one-night stand strategy finally paid off.
Ryan sipped his wine, then put his hand in my hair, smoothing back my bangs. He kissed me lightly on the forehead.
I continued.

"So, I got depressed. I felt hopeless, and my depression became this deep well. The only thing that brought me out of it was cutting myself."

I looked at my hand, which was shaking violently.
"Uh, maybe we should switch to white wine. I'm afraid I'm going to spill this wine on the rug."
At that, Ryan nodded, and was on his feet. He appeared in a few minutes, a bottle of Pinot Grigio in his hand. He poured me a glass and laid back down.

I continued. "I cut myself, and the physical pain took away the mental pain. The emotional pain. It felt - liberating. Freeing. For that period of time when the physical pain was excruciating, I forgot about how bad I felt inside. It became an addiction."

Finally, he spoke. "How did you end up in the hospital?"
"I, uh, slashed my wrists in my bathtub. My roommate found me when I was near death. I ended up in the hospital, of course, and I had all these other marks on me. There were cut marks everywhere on my body - fresh ones, older ones. Burns, too. I flicked Bic lighters on my skin."

Ryan's face remained impassive, although I saw a flicker of pain flash through his eyes. I could tell that he was trying very hard to conceal his emotions.
Taking another gulp of the Pinot, I continued.
"The doctors wanted to know about all of these marks, of course. It wasn't like I could claim that I was accident-prone. And I couldn't very well claim that somebody else was hurting me - that would have gotten an innocent person in trouble. So, I told them what I was doing."
"Did you get help?"
"No, actually. I was a poor college student without insurance. Nobody wanted to bother with me. So, I was discharged after my suicide attempt without any help for me at all."
Ryan looked away. He looked angry.

I furled my brows. "What's wrong?" I asked.
Shaking his head, he said "That's such bullshit, how people are treated in this country. If you don't have money, you don't exist. I just can't believe that nobody tried to help you, even when you obviously desperately needed it."
"Yeah, I know." I paused. "Anyhow, I kept cutting and was hospitalized for it two more times. The other times were not suicide attempts, but I was hospitalized because it just got so bad that my roommates had no choice but to take me in."

"What finally changed? How did you stop?"

I shook my head. "I don't really know. It just got to the point where I didn't really want to do it anymore. I never got over my issues, I just stopped physically destroying myself."

He nodded. He looked pensive, sipping his wine. He wasn't looking at me, but was staring at the coffee table across the room.
I stroked his cheek. "What are you thinking?" I felt worried. He now knew that he was with a total loser. I faked my way into his life with just enough air of confidence that he could not imagine just how much of a misfit I was.
Now he knew. Would he stay?
He looked at me. Those eyes...

"I don't want you to think that I feel one iota differently about you because of what you just told me. If anything, I love you more than ever."
At that, I realized that I was holding my breath, because I let out a long tendril of air after he told me that.

What was I worried about?
He continued. "I just wish that you had the confidence in my feelings for you to have told me about this. I wish that it didn't take a news anchor to get you to open up to me."

He looked hurt.

"I know," I said. "All that time, with you at Beverly Hills, and confessing to me all of your secrets, and I never said anything."
I looked at him for a long time, then continued - "I just didn't want you to know how much of an outcast I am. I was afraid that you wouldn't love me if you knew."

I couldn't read those eyes. There were too many mixed emotions hidden behind them - anger, disappointment, hurt, mixed in with love and respect. They all seemed jumbled up, so I couldn't tell how he was feeling.

Finally, he sighed. "I guess I'll never convince you the depths of my feelings for you. Even now, after we're married. You never opened your heart to me, except now, when you're forced to. And that's what hurts."

I looked at my wine glass. "I suppose you want an annulment now."

He looked horrified.

"What? Why would you ever, ever, ever, ever, ever think that?"

His face changed to horror and then to pure mystification.

"Well, you know me, now. You know that I'm not good enough."

"Oh, hell no. Hell to the f**king no. You're not going to go back to that. I won't let you. That's bullshit, and you know that's bullshit. I don't give a rat's ass about your social standing. All that I know is that you are a beautiful, intelligent, fun and kind woman with compassionate depths that I could only dream of with my previous girlfriends, and wife. You aren't getting rid of me that easily."

"But, honey, everybody now knows that you're married to a self-mutilator who attempted suicide."

"And everybody now knows that you're married to a bisexual drug addict who was forced to participate in sex parties at the age of 13. As I see it, you have the shorter end of the stick here."

We sat in silence for a while, both of us drinking our wine. Could we possibly see the humor in all of this? Maybe after a while, but, for now, we were simply too much in shock to say much of anything.

Finally, I spoke "Yeah, but you have money and beauty. Society will give you a pass much more than they will me."

"Don't be so sure. It's schadenfreude to bring people like me to heel. No, trust me, the media will be harder on me."

I brooded a little about this. He was right, of course. People like Ryan - wealthy, handsome, educated -were the very people who the media always sought to bring down. They wouldn't give a frog's fat ass about me, except that I had the standing of being his wife.
However, I knew that both of us would be in for this humiliation. We already were. Maybe the public, as a whole, would care more about the titillating details of Ryan's background, but the people I knew were sure to be snickering at me, and gossiping about me, behind my back.
It would be high school, writ large.

That night, we didn't make love. We didn't even sleep naked. Both of us put on formal pajamas before getting into bed.
However, I did seek his body in the bed, as I moved towards him to snuggle with him. He reciprocated by taking my arm, and holding against his body.
I felt his warmth, and this was what I needed right then.
The week that we spent in our prison was tense like this. We couldn't go outside, because the media was surrounding us. It seemed that, with every passing day, more and more people descended on our street. We would never give them the satisfaction of a shot of us, not even a shot of us stating that we had "no comment" as we passed through the phalanx of reporters and paparazzi who were camped out. I used to think that those people who muttered "no comment" felt like they were pretty cool. After all, they were getting media attention.
I didn't think that anymore.

Deeper illusion
Chapter - 7
New - York

Finally, at long last, Giovanni was ready to fly to New York. John, the helicopter pilot that Ryan knew, landed on the roof of Nick's estate, and we got in. As we ascended above the clouds, I couldn't help but give those reporters the bird. They were on the ground, hundreds of them, watching us fly away, as helplessly as the Vietnamese who watched when the last chopper from Saigon flew away from the American Embassy. I could see them down there, and I got some satisfaction in their helpless expressions.
They deserved not to get the story, if they were going to ruin our honeymoon by making us prisoners.
The chopper landed at the Malpensa airport in Milan, and it was there that we met Giovanni. Giovanni was a slight man, about 5'7", with tightly wound curly black hair and an olive complexion. He grinned as we approached.

"Ryan, my boy!" he shouted exuberantly. "How have you been?"

His English was accented but otherwise perfect.
He and Ryan embraced.
"Well, Giovanni, to be honest, I've been better. But I have my Iris with me, so nothing can ever be all that bad."
Giovanni looked at him sympathetically.
"Yes, I heard all about the story. It's all over the news here."
"Yeah, Giovanni, I'm afraid that we are embroiled in some intrigue here."
Giovanni raised his eyebrows. "That true about you? That you like the boys?"
"No, that's not true. I like one particular boy, but I do not like 'the boys.'"

Giovanni lightly punched Ryan on the arm.
"Well, you know, it's no big deal."
"I know, it shouldn't be a big deal, but, somehow it is. I mean, who cares? I really don't know why this is even a story."
"Well, you know," Giovanni said. "You are one of the beautiful people. People are fascinated by people like you."

I was standing aside, feeling uncomfortable. I was the one who the story focused upon - it was my kidnapping, my assault, my false imprisonment at the hands of a very unbalanced woman. Yet Ryan was the one whose name was being dragged through the mud, because he was the one who had the most to lose.
It didn't seem fair.

"Anyhow," Giovanni said. "Welcome to my plane. Where's yours, by the way? I forgot to ask."
"It's here, and that's where it'll stay for now. I'd imagine that the paparazzi are swarming that plane, just like they were swarming Nick's home for the past week or so."
"Oh, okay. Well, welcome aboard."

Giovanni's plane was nice, but not as nice as Ryan's. It was about half the size, and did not have the same luxurious appointments. Nevertheless, I was happy to be on the aircraft, because it would mean that I would be getting out of the hell-hole.
We spent the next 8 hours chatting. Giovanni did not pilot the plane, of course, so he was able to converse with us in the back. I snoozed part of the way there. And, it could be just my imagination, but Giovanni seemed rather intrigued with Ryan. He was downright flirtatious, but Ryan showed no interest. I long knew that Ryan's bisexual leanings only extended towards Nick, which made me think that most of the reason why Ryan was interested in Nick was because Nick helped him so much in so many ways. I supposed that it was true all over, that it was the person that bisexuals were interested in, not the sex. In this case, Ryan was in love with me, and with Nick. In different ways, of course. But any guy is not going to interest him, anymore than just any woman would interest him.

So Giovanni was wasting his time
Three movies, and one long snooze later, we arrived at La Guardia airport. I half expected the pap to be there, waiting for us, but they weren't. I was relieved.
Nate was the only person there to greet us.

"Buddy! Just couldn't stay away, huh?" Nate said, taking my luggage.
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Trust me, Nate, I wish that we didn't have to meet like this."
"Man, you guys are really in it, huh? The media has been on this story like flies on shit."
"Oh? I didn't know. Iris and I have refused to watch the rags on TV."
"Well, let's just say that they think that this has become a major story."
I piped up - "How can that be? Nobody died here."
"No, but you got that cray cray bitch out there making both of you look like you are just this side of being committed to the nut house. I feel for both of you."

I just bet you do. Why was I feeling this way about Nate? I liked him so much the first time I met him at the ice skating rink. Now he was just annoying me with his glib comments.
We got to Nate and Nat's place on the Upper West Side. Their apartment was a pre-war four bedroom place, with 20-foot-tall ceilings, crown molding, huge arched windows, hardwood floors, and a beautiful view of Central Park. I knew something about real estate in Manhattan in general, and the Upper West Side in particular, and figured that his place was worth about $4 million.

"Where's Nat?" Ryan asked, looking around the apartment.

"Working. She'll be home soon enough to see her great love."

I sighed. Nat was in love with Ryan, and everyone, unfortunately, knew this. I wondered if there was going to be a problem with that while we were here. I hoped not.
Nat did return home around midnight, after working late at her job as an investment banker at Goldman's. Her eyes got wide upon seeing Ryan and me. She made a beeline for Ryan.

"Oh, honey, I heard about what's happening to you guys. I'm so sorry."
"Not a prob, Nat. I just am glad that you guys are letting us crash here while we figure out our next move."
She looked at me. I looked down. I could almost feel what she was thinking. To my surprise, she grabbed my hand, and stroked it tenderly.

"Iris, let's talk a little in the den, ok?"
I nodded, and she led me into the den. She lit a fire in the fireplace.
"Sit down," she said, patting the floor next to her.
I hesitantly took a seat next to her. Was she hitting on me?
"Uh, Iris, I heard about your, uh, problems. I wanted to see if there was anything that I could do to help you."
I looked at her quizzically. What could she do?
"That's all in the past. I'm better now."
She shook her head. "I know what it's like to self-destruct. I never hurt myself with a knife or anything like that, but I hurt myself in other ways." Then she mimed putting two fingers down her throat and nodded.

Nat was a bulimic? But why? She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
"Why were you a bulimic?"
"For the same reason you cut yourself, I would imagine. I didn't like myself very much."
At that, I felt completely dumbfounded. Nat was indescribably gorgeous, Harvard educated, intelligent and sweet. Why was she filled with self-loathing?
"I don't understand."
"My sister died when I was 14. My parents always made me feel that they wanted it to be me, not her. She was so perfect - athletic, musical, always got straight As. She was always the good daughter. I never quite measured up to that."
"In what way did you not measure up?"
"I was rebellious, kinda a Goth kid when I was 14. Black eyeliner, black nail polish, black clothing, black hair. Everything was just - black. Not her, though. She was blonde, petite and perfect. Never caused trouble."
"Uh, how did she die?"
"Leukemia." She had little tears in her eyes. "When she died, I felt that my parents looked at me and found me lacking. I was far from perfect. I was smoking pot, getting drunk, and sleeping with boys. So, I always felt that my parents thought that the wrong daughter died."
She shrugged.
"I was filled with self-loathing, so I puked my way through middle school and high school. Nobody ever knew except my dentist." She looked at me.
"So, I guess I'm saying that I know from self-loathing. If there is anything I could do to help you, I would love that."

I put my hand on hers sympathetically. Yet I couldn't open to her like she had just opened up to me. I admired her for being able to tell me these things. I wished that I could be an open book as well, but I had always been pretty closed-off. That was probably a lot of my problem.
Nat continued. "Nate doesn't know about this. Ryan neither. So, please don't say anything to the boys. I'm only telling you this because I see a kindred spirit."
"Ryan has been through a lot, too, in his life. He used to also self-destruct. He would probably understand what you were going through."
She kept quiet for a bit. Then she finally said "Yes, but I never want Ryan to see me in that light."
The words that she said left words also unspoken. The unspoken words were that she was still in love with Ryan, and she never wanted him to see her as anything but perfect.
It occurred to me that this house was a vortex of dysfunction, three of us recovering from destructive tendencies. Me a recovering self-mutilator, Nat a recovering bulimic and Ryan a recovering drug addict. I couldn't help but wonder if Nate had a similar dark secret.
I smiled. "Well, we certainly are a group of people in this apartment, huh?"
Nat laughed. "It seems that way."
I once again was reminded of the need to get beyond the faade of beauty and wealth. You pull it back, and they are more vulnerable than anybody else. More vulnerable because they are expected by society to uphold their end of the bargain, as it were - they are given much, so they should be almost god-like. Then, when they fall, people like to pounce. Schadenfreude as Ryan says - that is what drives the media coverage about the beautiful people doing bad things. It's like the famous F. Scott Fitzgerald quote, where he said that he had never been able to forgive the rich for being rich. This was how society looked at the rich, a lot of times, and this was why people like Ryan and Natalie were vulnerable.
Ryan presently came into the den.
"Honey, Nate and I have been talking. We can stay here for as long as we need to. I don't think that the media is going to figure out that we're here. But I want to get in touch with Nick back home, to see how he's holding up. I'd imagine that he's getting it as much as we are. Alexis, too."
"Call him, and put him on speaker phone, if you don't mind," I said.
So, he did.
"Buddy," Ryan said when Nick answered the phone.
"It's about f**king time. Where the hell are you?" Nick asked.
"I'm so sorry about all this."
"What the hell? What's going on? My phone has been blowing up, and I have media people camped out on my doorstep, trying to get information about you two."
"What do you tell them?"
"No comment, of course. They won't go away, though."
"What about Alexis? You heard from her?"
"Of course. She's been calling non-stop, because she can't get ahold of you guys. She's pretty sick of her private life blowing up on TV as well."
Ryan sighed. "The chickens have finally come home to roost. I knew that they would, eventually. Now they have."
"When are you coming home?"
"I'm not sure."
"I really don't know why your job puts up with your constant absences." Nick seemed incredulous about this.
"Never mind about that. I have to figure out how to address this."

"Tackle it head-on. Talk to the media, give them your story."
"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.