Plain Fame

by Sarah Price

  “You live here now, yes?”

  He smiled at Sue. “Sí, sí. But I still have plenty of family back in Cuba.” He paused, more for effect than because he meant it. “Leaving family behind and not being able to share your life with them is hard, Sue. And I think many Americans can relate to this. If they are not immigrants themselves, then they are likely to be first- or second-generation Americans. They grow up on their own, juggling a lot to survive.”

  “Are you a survivor?”

  He laughed. “I’d like to think so.”

  “You recently survived a harrowing experience in New York.”

  Alejandro tried to remain emotionless. He didn’t respond. The transition from Cuba to New York suddenly seemed too obvious. How hadn’t he caught that?

  “Do you want to talk about the car accident?” she asked.

  He shifted his weight and leaned forward, his eyes meeting hers. “Not particularly.” Silence. “There isn’t much to tell.”

  “Your car ran into a girl, an Amish girl,” Sue said. “That’s some story, Viper.”

  “Seems clear-cut to me.” No response. The silence was awkward, so he added, “It was an accident, and she is fine.”

  Sue smiled. “But you spent time in her community back in Pennsylvania. What was that like? Living on an Amish farm?”

  He took a deep breath, trying to calm his beating heart. Had Mike told her to avoid these questions after all? Sue Jarrell had an impeccable reputation. She always followed the rules that were set forth by the manager. That was one of the reasons he had granted her the interview. Besides being brilliant and well versed on current events, she was kind and fair. Immediately, Alejandro knew. Certainly Mike had done this to him on purpose.

  “I stayed there, sí,” he began cautiously. “But only to make certain that she was situated and fine before I left for my European shows.”

  “There’s been a lot of talk in the media about this Amish girl,” Sue continued. “Is it true that you are secretly dating her?”

  Alejandro clenched his jaw and caught his breath. “She’s Amish,” he said. “That’s ridiculous sensationalism.”

  “So, no songs coming out in the near future about your stay at the farm?”

  Despite his best effort to remain expressionless and neutral, he knew that he was frowning. “I’m more focused on my current songs, the ones on my new album. You know that I’m touring the West Coast, promoting this album. In fact, next week, our concert tour opens in Los Angeles.” Why won’t she get off the Amanda track? he asked himself. “It’s the first album where the non-Latino crowd has responded so positively, too. While we are sold out in Los Angeles,” he continued, “I heard that our San Francisco, Seattle, and Phoenix concerts sold out in record time, too.”

  “Should we expect a surprise visit from this Amish girl on the tour?”

  Control your temper, he told himself as he rubbed at his face. Why so many questions? he wondered. “I can’t imagine an Amish girl would be interested in such a thing.”

  “Well.” Sue laughed. “You are Viper.”

  “Amish don’t listen to music. They don’t know my songs. And I’m fairly certain that they don’t travel,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless. “The media made a much bigger deal out of it than was necessary, no?”

  “Maybe,” Sue said nonchalantly. “But it isn’t every day that a major music icon spends so much time with an Amish woman. I suppose the public gets curious. Seems like such an unlikely friendship.” The way she said friendship made him cringe. It rolled off her tongue, dripping in sarcasm.

  He remained silent, keeping a cool demeanor on the outside while cursing Mike on the inside. There was no doubt about it now. Clearly, Mike hadn’t given them the rules of engagement. In fact, Alejandro imagined that Mike had encouraged it.

  “The interesting thing,” Sue continued, leaning forward. “The Amish are a very close-knit community. From what I understand, they don’t let outsiders break into their world. Yet you stayed on a family farm and, from what I have read, went to worship with them and even courted the young woman.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I think it is better if we stick to discussing my upcoming tour, sí?”

  Sue laughed. “That sounds like a man deflecting the question, Viper.”

  Silence.

  “You know that the media has not left the community, and it has been over a month,” Sue continued. “A month.” She made it sound like it was years. “Such a long time, don’t you think?”

  Alejandro inhaled deeply and stared at her. “About my West Coast tour, Sue . . .”

  She shifted her weight again so that she was staring directly into the camera. “There you have it, an exclusive interview with Viper about his weeklong stint as an Amish man. While we have no admission of wedding bells, clearly there are sparks flying under these buggy wheels.” The red light over the cameras blinked to black, and everyone began moving around. The segment was over.

  Alejandro ripped the microphone off his lapel. “Dios mío,” he shouted. “What was that?”

  Sue Jarrell blinked and looked at him. “Excuse me?”

  He stood up and glared at her. “Those questions. They had nothing to do with my tour or music.”

  Coolly, Sue leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs at the ankle. “No, they didn’t.”

  “What was that about?”

  Sue raised an eyebrow. “It was about your fans, Alejandro,” she said sternly. It surprised him that she used his given name. Most talk-show hosts and media personnel called him Viper.

  “Get off your broom, Jarrell,” he snapped. “That was about your ratings!”

  She smiled, a nonchalant and cool smile. “I beg to differ. It was about what is on everyone’s mind in America . . . everyone who cares about Viper, Viper the Latino Lover with the sharp sting, and his sweet, innocent Amish girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend!” he exclaimed, lifting a hand to his forehead in frustration.

  “Maybe not in your eyes,” Sue smirked. “But America wants to believe that she is, and that’s what this was about, my friend.” She leaned back, obviously enjoying watching Alejandro try to control his temper. “Maybe you’ll find that the American public knows you better than you know yourself. Maybe you’ll realize that I just did you a favor.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he snapped, waving away a young man who approached him with a bottle of Perrier water. Instead, he pointed his finger at Sue Jarrell. “You people are the reason she’s suffering right now. You need to just leave her alone!” He threw the microphone onto the ground and stormed away, reaching into his pants pocket for his cell phone.

  Already there were five text messages from Mike, each one telling him that other entertainment shows had called, demanding equal airtime. Furious, he threw the phone against the wall, ignoring the fact that it shattered into pieces. How could Mike have done that to him? No, he thought bitterly. To Amanda.

  For a moment, he hesitated. No one was around to see him stop walking. He stared at nothing, and his mind raced everywhere. It had been a long time since he had cared about someone else more than about himself. Years, he realized. And that had most likely been about his own mother when he had labored to help her improve her life in America. After all of her sacrifices, he wanted to set her up in a nice living arrangement in Miami. She had fought him, stating that she preferred the small apartment in Miami, to stay near her friends and relatives who also had emigrated from Cuba to Florida. But Alejandro had foreseen the future and knew that, eventually, when fame hit, she wouldn’t be safe there. It was because he cared that he fought so hard to protect her and prevailed.

  Now he found himself in the same situation with Amanda, fighting to protect her, but it was only making it worse. The more he fought it, the more she was exposed. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have looked bac
k . . . merely moved along. But there was something about Amanda that clung to him, deep within his heart and soul.

  And then it dawned on him.

  Dios mío, he thought to himself. Could Sue Jarrell have been right?

  Chapter Eighteen

  His car, a black Escalade with tinted windows, pulled into the farm, the tires grinding against the macadam and gravel. The police had let him through, despite their instructions to block everyone. It was obvious that he was there on important business, and the local police weren’t about to argue, especially when he rolled down the window, ignoring the paparazzi that crowded around the car. The police questioned him, recognized him, and, after making a brief call back to the dispatcher, permitted him through their small blockade. Anything to stop the paparazzi and get them to move out of town. Even the police wanted to get on with their lives.

  Alejandro ignored the throng of camera people who took photos of him in the black SUV as it was driven down the driveway. The rocks crumbled under the weight of the vehicle that looked so out of place pulling into the farm. He knew they had telephoto lenses and were taking pictures of him exiting the car, adjusting his sunglasses, and approaching the house. This was, after all, the moment for which they had been camping out near the farm for almost a month. They had known that, with enough pressure, it was likely that Alejandro would return.

  Indeed, he thought. They had won.

  One of his security guards opened the passenger door and quickly blocked the photographers from approaching the car as the driver hurried around to open his door. Alejandro took a deep breath before stepping out of the car. His dark sunglasses hid his eyes from the photographers, and he tilted his head so that they couldn’t see his expression. He was annoyed that he had to take the trip from California to Pennsylvania, even more annoyed that he had to take her away with him. Yet there was a part of him that pulsed with new life, an excitement over the unknown that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  He could hear the cameras clicking as he walked up the path to the porch. He glanced around, knowing all too well that every movement he made was being recorded and photographed. This was, after all, what they had wanted all along. In fact, he realized, they had orchestrated it by making Amanda Beiler the most famous Amish woman in America. No, he corrected himself. In the world.

  The paparazzi and media had forced his hand toward this very moment, the moment when he stood on the porch, straightening his black suit jacket before reaching his hand out to knock at the door. He took a step backward, his back to the paparazzi, as he waited for what seemed like an eternity.

  And then, the door opened.

  It had been just two days ago when he had watched the news report about Amanda. It was Rodriego who had alerted him to the story. Alejandro had been in Los Angeles, recording a new song that he had just written. He was still steaming about the interview with Sue Jarrell, refusing to watch it when it aired the evening before last. All of a sudden, he had been interrupted by a simple text message that flashed across his phone: Channel 7 News. Now! If it came from Rodriego, Alejandro had thought, it had to be something important.

  Quickly, he had waved his hand to stop the recording session. As the noise died down, everyone stared at him expectantly. If he was at the mercy of his manager and fans while on the road, he was the boss inside the studio.

  “Let’s take a break,” he announced, reaching for a towel to wipe the sweat off his neck. “Got a call I have to take.”

  He found a television in the lounge and flipped it on to channel 7. It was an entertainment program, one that followed immediately after the evening news. The anchor was talking about the recent breakup of two popular movie stars. With a sigh, Alejandro leaned against the back of the sofa and kept watching, wondering why Rodriego wanted him to see this. Certainly it was about his repeated appearances with Maria. At least he hoped it was. He had made certain to be seen with her repeatedly while in Miami the past week. He had even flown her out to Los Angeles so that the photographers would see her near him both before and after his interview with Sue Jarrell.

  The headline for the news segment flashed and, immediately, he caught his breath: “The World’s Most Famous Amish Girl.” The reporter began speaking, slowly summarizing the past weeks of what was being called “Viper’s Romance with the Amish.” There were photos of Maria on Viper’s arm, but the reporter was stating that a source close to Team Viper confirmed that the relationship was a sham to distract the media and public away from the real story, the one that, according to the reporter, was waiting patiently in Lititz, Pennsylvania, on an Amish farm.

  And then he saw her.

  Staring into the camera was Amanda, her dark eyes flashing and her face pale. Her dark hair framed her face, and the hint of her prayer kapp looked like an angelic halo around her head. Plain, yes. He swallowed and glanced around the room, glad that he was alone. Yes, it was Amanda, so beautiful, with those high cheekbones and plump lips. He had almost forgotten how lovely she really was. Yet there was stress about her. He could see that she looked weary. Her expression was tense, and there were dark circles under those beautiful eyes. Something was wrong, very wrong indeed.

  The reporter was talking about Viper’s interview with Sue Jarrell, the one that aired just two days before. There was a clip of Alejandro ripping off his microphone and pointing his finger at Sue Jarrell when he had raised his voice and said, “You need to just leave her alone!”

  He had groaned, furious that he had fallen for that trick. The cameras had still been rolling, and as usual, the media had taken his statement out of context. The way that it played on the news made it look as though Alejandro was defensive and angry, protective of Amanda. And he had known that it would only fuel the interest in the Amish girl.

  The report had then switched to a film clip from the farm. His heart pounding and pulse racing, he had leaned forward to watch the scene unfold before him. He recognized the barn and the fields behind it. Then the camera had closed in on her. Amanda. When she had looked straight into the camera, not trying to hide her face, she spoke slowly and directly. “If you don’t leave, I am being sent away,” she had said.

  Clearly, she had been speaking to the paparazzi. But as Alejandro had watched, he realized something else was being said. She was sending him a message: she was going to be sent away because of the media attention. Because of me, he thought.

  He had spent the next two hours on the phone, trying to get a message through to her. It had taken that long to finally locate a police officer who was willing to approach the house in order to find her and hand her a cell phone. Lizzie and Elias were apparently in the barn, milking the cows for the evening chores while Amanda was still trapped inside the house. The police officer had knocked on the door, and when she answered, he merely handed her the phone.

  “Hello?” she had said into the small contraption in her hand as she pressed it against her ear.

  “Princesa,” he had said. Hearing her soft, sweet voice had made his heart swell. “I am so terribly sorry.” He had thought he heard her sob, and she was silent for just a few minutes. He let her collect herself. “What is happening out there? Dígame.”

  It had taken her a moment to compose herself. The relief of hearing his voice made her feel safe for the first time in weeks. She had shut her eyes and, after taking a deep breath, finally whispered into the phone: “They just won’t leave me alone, Alejandro. And now the bishop and my daed want to send me away.” She paused. “I don’t want to go to Ohio, Alejandro. It will be just like here. It will hurt more people.”

  He had rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. What to do, what to do? he thought. “I’m sorry, Princesa.”

  She had paused, and for just a moment Alejandro had thought the call had been lost. Finally, there was a noise, and he knew that she had turned away from the police officer and was trying to hide her voice. “I won’t go to Ohio. I can’
t ruin my sister’s life, too. And they have made it clear that they won’t let me stay here, Alejandro. My parents will be shunned, and then their lives will be ruined.” She hesitated before she asked the final question. “Where am I to go?”

  It dawned on him what she was truly saying. “Amanda,” he said slowly. “Are you asking me to come for you?”

  Silence.

  “Is that why you spoke to the reporters?” No answer. “Do your parents know that you did that?” This time, he had waited, letting the silence grow. He could wait all day. It was time for her to answer his questions.

  He had heard her shuffle the cell phone in her hand. “Yes,” she had breathed into the receiver. “I cannot stay here. It will ruin my parents. I cannot go to Ohio. It will ruin my sister. I have nowhere else to go.” She repeated her argument as though trying to convince herself. “My life is ruined no matter what happens. Do I have to drag them with me?”

  That had been two days ago. He had spoken on the phone with her for another fifteen minutes before they finally hung up. He was glad that no one else was in the room with him. Sitting alone on the sofa, he leaned against the side and rested his chin on the back of his hand. His mind had cycled through several different scenarios until he finally decided on the only path that the journey could take. And that led him back to the Beiler farm in Lititz, Pennsylvania, just two days after that media story aired on the entertainment channel.

  The greeting he received differed tremendously from the first time he had arrived at the farm. Unlike when he had returned Amanda from the city after her accident, this time there was a heavy tension in the house. He could feel it even before he entered. Lizzie looked relieved, while Elias seemed disturbed. He couldn’t see Amanda from the doorway.