by Sarah Price
Amanda couldn’t respond, the humiliation of the moment far too great for any words to form on her lips. She merely nodded her head, her eyes still on that horrible photo. It was just like an advertisement; she saw that right away. Swallowing hard, she tried to accept the fact that he had used her Amish upbringing as a promotional tool to help build his image. Her frustration turned to fury, and she crumpled the paper in her hand, not needing to read the article that accompanied the photographs.
The bishop cleared his throat once again. This was uncharted territory for him. Amanda regretted that his discomfort was caused by choices she had made in her life. “Amanda,” he finally said, shuffling his hat in his hands. “If you need some counseling . . .” He did not finish the sentence.
“Counseling?” She looked up upon hearing the word.
“Spiritual, of course,” the bishop added.
“I see,” she replied. She was disappointed. She hadn’t lost faith in God, only in Alejandro. She wasn’t certain how spiritual guidance would help with that. “Danke, Bishop.”
“I trust the camera people will lose interest and disappear soon, ja?”
Ah, she thought bitterly. “Ja,” Amanda said, knowing that it was what he wanted to hear. With Christmas just a week away, the last thing that the Amish community wanted was photographers interfering with such a holy celebration. “They will, I’m sure,” she added.
“Gut,” he said, satisfied with her answer. “Now, I should like to visit with Elias. Is he in the haus?”
Anna directed him toward the barn and watched as the bishop bade them both good-bye before leaving to walk through the chilled air to the dairy. For a few long moments, the kitchen remained silent, Amanda staring at the crumpled piece of paper in her hand while Anna stared at her.
“Schwester,” Anna started, moving to the table where Amanda sat. “If you want to talk, I am here.”
Forcing a smile that she didn’t feel, Amanda reached out and touched her hand. “Danke, Anna,” she said, genuinely touched by her schwester’s concern. “But there is nothing to talk about.” She stood up and walked to the wood-burning stove in the corner of the kitchen. Opening the front door to it, she tossed the paper inside and watched as it immediately caught fire. “Nothing at all,” she whispered, staring at the blaze until the flames began to die out, the paper now nothing more than a pile of fluttering black ashes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“How good of you to join us,” Mike sneered, glancing at the clock on the wall as Alejandro walked through the door into the recording studio. He wore a simple pair of black slacks and a black short-sleeved polo. He flipped his sunglasses up so that they rested atop his head. There was a carefree manner about his gait, despite being greeted by a visibly angry manager. “You’re two hours late, Alex! We’ve got people on the clock waiting for you!”
Alejandro glared at him. “They’ll get paid!” He knew he sounded testy, and he didn’t care. Ever since his return to Miami, when Amanda did not show up and continued to refuse his calls, Alejandro’s temper was increasingly short with Mike. His manager’s lack of empathy and compassion grated on his nerves.
“That’s not the point,” Mike snapped back.
“That is the point. It’s always the point. The money is what matters, sí?”
“Aw, Jesus,” Mike said, running his fingers through his hair and turning around. “What is this? I mean, come on, Alex! We have songs to record and people on payroll. All you can do is mope around and bark at people.”
Alejandro ignored him, walking over to the mixing board, leaning down to speak to the producer, Joel, seated before it. “What have you got so far?”
“Backing tracks were recorded last week, but I may want to re-record the drums. Just need your vocals, and we can begin tweaking it,” he replied. “Need to capture your levels when you’re ready.”
“Bueno.” Alejandro strolled past Mike and opened the door that led to the iso booth, the soundproof room where vocals were recorded. Once inside, he reached for a bottle of water that was waiting for him on the stool near the microphone. “Play me the track so far,” he called out.
Within seconds, music filled the iso booth and Alejandro listened intently, his head bobbing in time to the beat. He ignored Mike, who stood behind the glass window, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. When the music ended, Alejandro nodded his head. “Not bad,” he called out. “Now let’s get the demo rolling. You can start recording whenever.”
He set the bottle of water down on the stool and reached for his sunglasses, folding them up to hang on the front of his shirt before reaching for the earphones. Once he put them on, all noise was drowned out except for what was piped through them.
For the next hour, he sang into the large diaphragm microphone that was hidden behind the pop filter. Several times, Joel played it back for Alejandro, who would give it a thumbs-up or thumbs-down, depending on how he felt the vocals sounded. During the entire time, Mike continued to stand there, scowling. Not once did Alejandro acknowledge the man’s presence, nor did he ask for any input from his manager, a fact that continued to visibly infuriate him.
They took a short break, and Alejandro reached into his pocket for his smartphone. He glanced down at the screen after typing in his passcode. It was blank. Clenching his jaw, he rolled his eyes to look up at the ceiling for a moment. He had texted Amanda earlier in the morning. Still no response. It had been days since Dali had given him the message that Amanda was refusing to leave Pennsylvania to meet him in Miami.
In the meantime, Mike had booked his days with appointment after appointment: meetings with producers, corporate executives, interviewers, radio shows. He had signed on to endorse an energy drink that was popular with the upper- and middle-class Caucasian teenage population. The marketing team wanted to break into the Latino market, and Viper would be the face for their product line.
And then there had been meetings with the choreographers, who had put together new dance routines for the dancers, some moves that would appeal more to the South American market when that leg of the tour began.
Through all of this, Alejandro barely listened in the meetings, relying on Mike to summarize everything afterward. Instead of paying attention to the talking heads in suits seated around conference tables, Alejandro was fighting the pain in his heart, knowing that Amanda had somehow seen the tabloids’ fodder about Maria staying at their condo in Los Angeles after the Jingle Ball. Her abrupt shunning was all the evidence that he needed to know that she knew the truth.
“We need to talk,” Mike said behind him.
Alejandro held up his hand. “Not now,” he snapped.
“What is wrong with you?” Mike demanded, the frustration more than apparent in his voice.
Ignoring him, Alejandro pushed a few buttons on his phone and then held it to his ear. He waited a few seconds, the line ringing on the other end, until someone picked it up. “Dali? Have you heard from her?”
“I have not, Viper,” she said apologetically.
“Keep trying.”
When he ended the call, he turned around, surprised to see Mike still standing there. There was a look of contempt in his eyes as he stared at his manager. It was a look that was returned in kind. “Alex,” Mike began. “Don’t forget you are showcasing at the Liv Nightclub. You have to snap out of this mood.”
“I’m not in a mood,” he retorted.
“Really?” Mike snorted. “Then what would you call this?”
Alejandro shook his head, refusing to answer Mike’s question. “Just send a car to get me after the shows. I’m not hanging out there afterward.”
Mike grimaced, clearly annoyed with Alejandro’s announcement. “Are you trying to kill your career?”
“What does it matter at this point?” He didn’t wait for a response before he grabbed the bottle of water and left the iso booth. With the door open, he knew that Mike could hear him as he said, “Joel, I’m done for the day. See what you
can use from that, and if you need it, we’ll schedule another session.” Slipping his sunglasses on, he turned and passed through the door, unfazed by the furious look on his manager’s face as he watched his client walk away from the recording session.
Sitting under the cabana, he absentmindedly spun his smartphone on the table with two fingers as his mind wandered. Ever since Dali had delivered Amanda’s message, he had barely been able to concentrate. His concert in Atlanta had been the first after the Jingle Ball, and he had done his best to appear nonchalant about the situation, despite the stares and whispers from the people who surrounded him.
“Señor Diaz?”
He looked up and saw Señora Perez walking toward him, a strained look on her face. Since his return from Atlanta, her avoidance of him had not gone unnoticed. Just one more disappointed person, he thought as he responded with a weary “¿Sí?”
“Tu madre está aquí,” she said.
His mother was here? That was a surprise and, knowing his mother, not necessarily a pleasant one. While he wanted to tell Señora Perez to inform his mother that he was busy, he knew that he couldn’t put off the inevitable. “Bueno,” he said with a sigh. “Traiga mi madre aquí, por favor.” He took a deep breath, trying to brace himself for the storm known as Alecia Diaz. He was, however, curious as to why she had shown up at all. He wasn’t even certain that she knew he was in Miami.
“Alejandro,” she said by way of a greeting.
He stood up as she crossed the patio. She wore a simple floral dress and had her beige handbag hanging over her arm. “Mami,” he said as he leaned forward and embraced her. “I’m surprised to see you here, sí?”
Alecia lifted an eyebrow but did not respond.
“Sit, please?” He pulled out a chair for his mother, but she made no move to take a seat.
“What is this that I hear about you and Amanda?” She exhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring. “Or, rather, I read about in the tabloids. God forbid I hear anything from you directly.”
Inwardly, he groaned. He should have known better. Of course, he thought wryly. Not only was this about Amanda but also about how infrequently he contacted her. “Mami . . .” he started, shaking his head as he began to attempt to defend himself, but she held up her hand and stopped him before he could speak.
“I will not see this happen again,” she said, her tone completely devoid of emotion. “It was bad enough with that girl and your daughter.”
He felt his spine stiffen, and he clenched his teeth. It was the one topic, the only topic that seemed to always come between them. “Don’t go there, Mami.”
“That is my granddaughter, Alejandro, and your daughter! Need I remind you of that? You have nothing to do with her. You tossed her away!”
He raised his hand to his head and tried to keep his temper in check. How dare she bring this up! “It was a one-night stand, Mami! And you know that I send money to care for the child!”
“She has a name.”
Alejandro shook his head. How many years ago had that happened? He had paid his dues many times over for that mistake. More important, he had made certain that it never happened again. While he didn’t want the child to suffer or live in poverty, he had never felt compelled to be involved in her life. “What does that have to do with Amanda, anyway?”
She lifted her hand and pointed her finger at him. “You have a habit, Alejandro, of walking away instead of fighting.”
“That’s not true, Mami!” He was angered by her words. “I’m giving her space.”
Alecia made a face and waved her hand at him in disgust. “Space? No. You are going about your business and not fighting for that woman!” She lifted her chin and leveled her eyes at him. “You make this right, Alejandro! Whatever you did with that other woman, you make this right with Amanda! She is special. She deserves better.”
“She won’t answer my texts or respond to my phone calls,” he said, the excuse sounding lame as the words slipped past his lips.
Once again, Alecia raised an eyebrow as she stared at him. He had seen that look many times during his youth, especially during his days on the streets of Miami. She had never liked the crowd that he hung around with, and she certainly didn’t care for the number of times the police had shown up on their doorstep. “You seem to be able to fly around the country for interviews and other appointments, no? Are you suggesting that those are more important than your marriage?”
He shut his eyes and exhaled loudly. How could he explain to his mother that Amanda simply didn’t want to see him? “She doesn’t want me there,” he replied.
“Do you blame her?”
“¡Ay, Dios, Mami!” He shook his head, lifting his hand to his forehead.
Once again, Alecia leveled her gaze at him, narrowing her eyes as she studied his face. “You have done many things wrong in your life, mi hijo. Now, you do something right, Alejandro.” She took a step backward, a clear indication that the conversation was over, staring at him with a steely coldness that felt all too familiar to him. “Do something right for once,” she repeated.
And with that, she turned and walked back toward the sliding doors that led into the kitchen.
He watched her disappear, his heart pounding. Out of respect, he would never tell his mother what he wanted to say. Still, after she had disappeared, he sank back into the seat and seethed, knowing all too well that, in many ways, his mother was right.
Despite the fame and the money, he had done many things wrong in his life. The one bright spot had been falling in love with Amanda. He had thought that his wild days were over when he had found her. He had been only too happy to say good-bye to his years of sleeping with strange women and loving no one but himself and his career. Amanda changed all of that: the one person who wanted nothing from him. But she had expectations, one of which was certainly fidelity.
He held his head in his hands, too strong to cry but too weak to do anything more than feel sorry for himself. He had always known who he was: a young, wild, and strong man with his eyes on the prize. Nothing ever got in the way of success. He had contemplated that prior to deciding on marrying Amanda. She would support him as well as contribute to the goals that he had in mind for himself. He was strong enough to balance both his success and Amanda. At least that was what he had thought.
Now, after what had happened in Los Angeles, he didn’t know who he was anymore. He had lost faith in himself and that broke his heart almost as much as losing Amanda. The heavy feeling in his chest seemed to grow with each passing day that she refused to take his phone calls, respond to his texts, or return to Miami to be with him for the holidays.
“Where’ve you been, man?”
Alejandro ignored the stage manager, who was walking behind him. He was dressed all in black and wore his sunglasses, even though the Liv Nightclub was dark enough, despite the colored lights that surrounded the main floor. From where he stood, Alejandro could see the people crammed into the pit, arms in the air, laughing and dancing to the music on the stage.
Viper’s appearance had not been advertised. There were moments, whenever he had downtime in Miami, when he liked to perform at the Liv or other well-known clubs. The club owners welcomed his appearance as it always added to the popularity of the venue in the subsequent weeks.
“Paolo’s set is almost done,” said the scrawny man with the clipboard in his hands and wire hanging from his ear. “You’re up next, Viper.”
He remained silent as people crowded around him, their hands moving quickly as they hooked up his earpiece while an artist touched up his makeup. Alejandro didn’t move or interact with them. He focused his gaze on the back wall, paying attention to nothing that was going on around him. Instead, he sank deeper into despair. His mother’s words haunted him, and he knew that, once again, he had proved incapable of doing the right thing when it came to the women in his life. Only this time, he realized, it was about one special woman . . . it was about Amanda.
“Time, Viper!”
He took a deep breath and walked onto the stage, trying to put on his game face. He smiled at the audience and lifted his arm in the air, acknowledging their cheers. The music began, and Alejandro grabbed the microphone, moving his hips and feet in time to the beat. For a moment, he felt as if he might escape the feelings of self-pity that had been drowning him since he had left Los Angeles.
The crowd was responding to him, apparently not caring that he was torn apart on the inside. They only cared about the music and the partying. As always, they were standing and dancing as Viper performed for them, the mood in the club full of energy and life.
And then, in the middle of the song, he stopped singing.
The music continued to play, the band members looking at each other as they repeated the beat, waiting for Viper to continue singing.
But he didn’t.
He stood there, the microphone in his hand as he stared into the audience. After a few long moments, the band stopped playing and the audience quieted. They watched as Viper stood there, almost in a trance.
“I can’t do this,” he said and placed the microphone back into the stand before walking off the stage.
For a long moment, the audience stopped dancing and a silence fell upon the club. Then, after the realization hit them that Viper was not returning to the stage, people began to boo and shout, angry that he had abandoned them.
Alejandro heard them but didn’t care as he passed the stunned faces of the backstage crew at the club, heading toward the dressing room.
“What just happened out there?”
It didn’t surprise Alejandro that Mike was on his heels, his face red with rage as he screamed at him. As his business manager, of course Mike would be enraged by watching his client walk offstage in the middle of a set. But Alejandro didn’t care. Not anymore.
“Are you out of your mind? Have you completely lost it?”
“Leave me alone,” Alejandro snapped. He felt a hold on his arm as Mike grabbed him. The shock of the gesture caused Alejandro to spin around and face his manager. “I’m finished! Cancel everything.”