Plain Return (The Plain Fame Series Book 4)

by Price, Sarah

  “¡Vamos!” Alejandro snapped over his shoulder at the driver.

  He reached out for Amanda, gently pulling her across the seat and tucking her against his body.

  “They are so . . .” She didn’t have a word to use that could describe the women.

  “Sí, I know,” he mumbled. “These ones that wait out here are the worst. Dangerous, no?”

  She could only imagine what the women would do if Alejandro actually stopped the car and got out. The thought caused her to shudder. How could they be so consumed by him, a man they only knew from the stage and would never meet? They didn’t know him as a person, only as a presence. Yet if he was to get out and stand before them, she knew that the mob would crush them both.

  Amanda turned her head from the window and rested it against his shoulder. No wonder idolization is a sin, she thought. It’s an obsession that can destroy.

  A security team met them at the underground entrance to the arena and led them through a series of corridors to their dressing rooms. Alejandro pressed a soft kiss against her forehead and left her at her door. He needed to meet with his team and check the equipment. Amanda watched him leave. A swarm of people surrounded him. Some she knew from the other concerts, while others had been hired just for the South American tour. When she couldn’t see him anymore, she opened the door to her dressing room and slipped inside.

  It was just a room. Nothing fancy: a dressing table, a rack of dresses, and a small sitting area. There was a linen-covered table along the back wall that held a tray of fruit and several bottles of water. On the dressing table stood a vase filled with white roses. She walked over to them, smelling their delicate scent even before she could lower her nose to inhale. A card poked out from the rear of the arrangement, and she reached for it.

  Princesa,

  The world awaits you.

  V.

  She smiled and leaned over once more to smell the flowers. His thoughtfulness warmed her heart.

  “Amanda!”

  Startled, she spun around as the door opened and Dali stormed into the room.

  “You’re late. What kept you?”

  Amanda placed her hand over her heart. “You scared me half to death!”

  Dali shut the door and hurried over to the rack of clothing. “As you did me! I expected you more than an hour ago! You have to change right now, Amanda. You have an interview with the newspaper. The reporter’s been waiting for fifteen minutes.”

  Amanda watched as Dali pushed through the clothes until she found what she was looking for. “I had no idea, Dali.” Amanda took the simple black dress that was thrust in her direction. “The show ran late, I reckon.”

  “Well, don’t delay anymore!” Dali snapped, pointing to a screened-off section of the room. “Go on now. I’ll fetch the makeup girl and have her fix up your face while you change.”

  Clutching the dress, Amanda watched as Dali stormed out of the room and called for someone in the hallway.

  Interview? No one had mentioned that to her before. She still didn’t understand why the media wanted to interview her at all. Especially here. Why would anyone in Colombia want to interview her? She didn’t even speak the language.

  Sighing, she turned around. “And so it begins . . .” she said out loud to herself. She walked over to the dressing area, saying a quick prayer to God that she would have the strength to survive the next five weeks.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the end of the first week, Amanda felt as if she didn’t even know what country she was in—never mind which city!—and by the middle of the second, she was exhausted. The fast-paced schedule, so jam-packed with appointments, interviews, and travel, made the days and nights blur together. Often they flew into a city under the cloak of early-morning darkness and left again less than twenty-four hours later.

  Arriving at such an early hour meant little time to sleep in the hotels. Amanda would crawl into bed, her burning and bloodshot eyes shutting even before she lay down, and immediately fall into a deep slumber. Alejandro, however, often went to an adjourning room to work on the EP songs before taking time to sleep. By the time she felt his hand on her shoulder, gently nudging her awake, he’d be showered and dressed, ready to down a hot cup of coffee and start the day.

  She was amazed at Alejandro’s ability to remain energetic and alert despite his lack of sleep. The less sleep he got, the less sleep he seemed to need. He changed his wardrobe at least three times a day and always looked refreshed, and he kept his mood upbeat and his smile sincere. Amanda tried to keep up with him, but this was a nearly impossible feat given the fact that she did not speak the language. Often, she found herself alone with just her thoughts while Alejandro was out conversing with the various people they had met. Wherever they went, a crowd of people met them and Alejandro would step into his role as Viper, smiling and greeting as many fans as he could, posing for selfies and shaking their hands.

  South American countries were very different from US cities, that was for sure and certain. When the people here did something, they seemed to do it big. The bigger, the better. Even Viper was bigger and better here than he was in the States. His wardrobe changed; instead of the all-black slacks and shirts that he tended to wear in Miami and Los Angeles, he now wore more colors: bright blue or pink shirts with white slacks, and shoes that reflected the South American style. During the shows, he might go back to his black outfits, but he always wore them with the South American white jacket and white shoes.

  And the fans adored him even more for his sense of style.

  The women in South America stunned Amanda. Unlike in the States, women in these countries appeared more cosmopolitan, both in physique and in fashion. Now she understood why Jeremy had been so fastidious about her wardrobe. Wherever they went they saw tall, thin, and tanned women wearing tight dresses or short skirts with low-cut blouses and very high heels. It wasn’t long before Amanda began to feel out of place and inadequate.

  Not once did she complain, at least not out loud. She did her best to remain by Alejandro’s side, following Jeremy’s strict schedule of what to wear when and letting the tour’s stylists fix her hair and makeup. When she was asked, she’d pose for the photographers, knowing exactly how to hold her head and how to smile after working with Stedman for all of those weeks. But inside, those feelings of inadequacy took root.

  It didn’t help, she realized, that she wasn’t pregnant. While she had never been truly regular, she suspected that the constant travel and changes in her eating habits had negatively affected her periods.

  “Amanda!” Someone banged at the dressing room door. “Let’s go!”

  Stedman.

  She groaned and rolled her eyes.

  Stedman’s role on the tour was to oversee the dancers’ warm-ups, to critique each one’s performance after the concert, and to give them tips and tricks to help them step up the dance routines and increase crowd response. Or, as Amanda saw it, to give them a lot of extra work based on what he viewed as being intensely flawed performances.

  Amanda managed to escape much of the criticism since Alejandro whisked her away after the concerts. And, unlike the other dancers, she didn’t have to attend all of the practices, a fact that irritated Stedman, who insisted on perfection from his dancers. She would accompany him to the arena to watch him during his sound check. Usually, from somewhere in the back of the arena she’d sit mesmerized, pretending for just a moment that she was not his wife but one of his adoring fans. It was a game that they played. He would sing a song to test the sound system. Then, when he realized that Amanda wasn’t where he could see her, he would stop and look out into the mass of empty seats before him, his arm covering his eyes as he searched for her.

  When he found her, he’d say her name into the microphone, calling out to her with a teasing, “Amanda! Come back to me, Amanda!” Usually someone working on the lighting equipment would m
ake a comment in Spanish, something that made Alejandro and several other men laugh. She realized at those times that her inability to understand his native language was most likely a blessing.

  “You are too far away, Princesa, and I want to sing you a song!”

  She couldn’t help herself. At these times, he triggered that addictive need within her, the one that caused her to eagerly make her way down the steps and onto the main floor, practically running to get to the stage. In just hours, these empty seats would be filled with screaming people, mostly women but also some men, and they would cheer for her husband as he sang. But first, she wanted to savor his attention and love and listen to him sing her a song. As he did so, she would lean against the barrier like a starstruck fangirl and gaze up at him, kneeling before her on the stage. Time stood still during these moments, and she forgot where they were.

  Today, he had jumped off the stage and onto the main floor. She had laughed with delight, her hands clutched together as he placed the microphone down and grabbed her, pulling her by the waist into his arms, even though the security barrier still separated them. With the music still blaring, she could barely hear him as he nuzzled her neck and said something into her ear. When she didn’t respond, Alejandro lifted his arm into the air, signaling for the music to stop.

  Within seconds, someone had turned it off.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “I asked if you’d be interested in coming backstage with me, little fangirl.”

  She looked over his shoulder and bit her lower lip. “Um, that might not be such a great idea. You see, I don’t have a backstage pass,” she said, keeping her expression serious. She blinked her eyes, feigning the innocence that she knew would feed his love of the game. “And those security guards . . . I’d hate to get thrown out before the show starts. I hear there’s a wonderful performance tonight. Some Cuban singer named after a snake . . .”

  “Hmm, I think I have some pull to get you back in,” he mumbled. “Come with me, and let me introduce you to the band.” He raised her arms so that they were around his neck. Then he lifted her up, slipping one hand under her legs so that he could carry her over the barrier and place her onstage. Quick as a flash, he jumped up beside her and reached down for her hand to help her to her feet. “See? No one will bother you, little fangirl.”

  He placed his arm around her waist and guided her off the stage, teasing her even more by pulling at the bobby pins in her bun so that she panicked when she realized her hair began to loosen. Laughing, he grabbed one more pin, and she gave up the fight, letting her brown hair fall down her back, still twisted together.

  “You win,” she said, lifting her eyes to gaze into his.

  “Umm. I think we both win,” he had whispered back, gently touching her hair and unwinding it as he walked backward, pulling her along with him toward his dressing room. “Let me show you . . .”

  The banging at the door started again, interrupting the memory. Now, as she sat in her own dressing room, she felt irritated, especially since, of all people, it was Stedman who had interrupted her thoughts. How she wanted to stay in the memory of that afternoon and how Alejandro had pulled her into his dressing room so that, for just a few long minutes, he could escape into his own world, the one that he shared only with Amanda. With his hands clutching her hair, he had pushed her against the closed door and kissed her in a way that spoke of how much he needed her love. She had been only too happy to reciprocate, her hands slipping over his shoulders and wrapping around his neck.

  But the show must go on, and a thump on the door spoke of Stedman’s increasing frustration.

  Reluctantly, Amanda stood up and glanced in the mirror. She wore a long black dress with sequins on the not-very-modest bodice. The top half fit her like a second skin, and the bottom half was slit to her hips on both sides. As she crossed the room, the skirt swished against her legs, and she knew without looking that her legs were exposed.

  “What exactly were you waiting for?” Stedman snapped when she opened the door.

  She stared at him.

  “And I noticed that, once again, you missed practice.”

  His emphasis on the words once again did not go unnoticed. Instead of taking the bait, Amanda responded by changing the subject. “I hate this dress.” She swirled around. “It’s so long. I’m going to fall down those stairs.”

  Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “You hate everything.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she made a noise of protest. “That’s not true!”

  Stedman crossed his arms, completely indifferent to her words. “It is true. And I don’t care. Let’s go.”

  He turned and started walking down the corridor. As she hurried after him, Amanda stepped on the bottom of the skirt and almost tripped. She gathered the fabric in her hands and ran after him. “Stedman! I don’t hate everything!”

  He didn’t look back as he replied in a singsong voice that said how little he cared, one way or another. “Yes, you do.”

  She reached out and grabbed his arm, and when he finally stopped, she turned him around to face her. “Stedman!”

  He pursed his lips and stared at her as if assessing her. “Look, Amanda, I know you hate the dancing, the dresses, the travel, and me. But you still must dance onstage, wear the dresses, travel on the tour, and deal with me. So get over it, and let’s get you warmed up!” Without waiting for her to respond, he reached out and grabbed her by the arm. Without further warning, he placed his hand on her back and began to dance the cha-cha. She fell in step with him and did as he had taught her and as he continued to remind her to do, each night before the show: focusing on her posture and making sure that her gestures were big so that the audience could see them.

  The music from the stage switched to another Viper song, this one with a fast Cuban beat.

  “Merengue!” Stedman said and immediately began dancing in time with the music, his hips rolling as he moved his feet and knees at the same time. “Come on, Amanda. Swirl that skirt. Give it a shake, and let it catch the light so that it blinds every one of those front-row women dreaming about taking away your Viper!”

  She laughed when he said that and stopped dancing.

  Stedman danced over to where she had stopped and continued the smooth movements of his feet and hips. “That’s funny? That makes you laugh?” He shook his head. “You’re as crazy as he is,” he mumbled, which only made her laugh harder.

  Ten minutes later, Amanda stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for her cue. She knew it by heart: Viper would finish one song, and as he lifted his arm in the air, the lights would flash on him and then fall dark. Immediately, Amanda would step through a doorway at the top of the platform and stand in the darkness as she waited for the spotlight to find Viper, who had by then moved to a different spot on the stage. He usually took this time to address the crowd, thanking them for having attended the concert. The audience would then respond by screaming as loud as they could, and Viper would laugh.

  Despite the repetitive nature of the performance—for that’s what it truly was—Amanda smiled as she listened to his speech. Right after the screams of the fans, he would laugh. How he made it sound so natural truly mystified her. He was the master at making each laugh sound genuine and his interest in each fan seem sincere. In fact, it had taken Amanda a while to realize exactly what he was doing and why.

  “They have to leave knowing that they matter,” he had explained when she’d commented about his upbeat attitude and the scripted laughter. “People need to feel important in their lives. If I made them feel anything less, I fail to deliver on the promise, sí?”

  At the time, Amanda hadn’t fully understood what he meant by that. But as time went on, and especially during the past few concerts, she began to get a clearer picture of what he was saying. His job was not just to move people wi
th his music but also to touch their souls with his performance, both on and off the stage.

  His brand image, she thought wryly as she stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for the lights.

  As the song ended and the crowd screamed in appreciation, the lights flashed and the stage went black. Amanda slipped through the opening and waited. The audience watched as the spotlight shone down, focusing just on Viper. He talked into the microphone, commenting about the amazing crowd and how he felt honored to perform in front of so many enthusiastic fans. She knew the speech by heart, even though he delivered it in Spanish.

  Another roar from the crowd, a laugh into the microphone, and the music began once again.

  She stood ready, waiting for the lights to flash on and illuminate the stage as the dancers rejoined Viper, their outfits changed since the last song. It would take a few seconds for the crowd to see her standing at the top of the staircase in the middle of the stage. Just as she had done in Kansas City, when she surprised Alejandro on tour, she would slowly descend until he turned around, pretending to have been unaware that she was onstage.

  For a moment, the lights blinded her and Amanda paused to let her eyes adjust. With the lights on her, she walked down the staircase, knowing that Stedman was in the wings watching her. Walk slow, he always told her, and don’t be afraid to let them see those legs. Just the thought of Stedman and his earlier comments made her start to laugh. She tried to find him in the wings, and when she caught his eye, she deliberately did as he instructed, exaggerating a slow, catlike prowl down the stairs.

  The exaggerated movements were not lost on Stedman. Nor were they lost on Dali, who stood beside him watching. Dali frowned at this new, dramatic entrance by Amanda. When Amanda reached the bottom of the stairs, before Viper could approach her to take her hand, she spun so that her skirt flew out from both sides, the sequins catching the lights and reflecting them into the audience. When she stopped spinning, the skirt wrapped around her legs and Amanda snapped her head back as she quickly shifted her body into a promenade position directed toward Viper. She tried to glance over his shoulder at Stedman, who still stood in the wings, shaking his head and laughing while Dali glared at him.