by Price, Sarah
Dali hadn’t been in the apartment for more than ten minutes and already she had a dissatisfied look on her face. Her stern expression seemed to peer through Amanda. While Dali had never really been a warm and fuzzy type of person—more of a get-down-to-business woman—she now seemed even more indifferent to Amanda. The blank expression on her face indicated as much.
“Your unexpected departure from the tour cost me a lot, Amanda,” Dali said slowly. “People were counting on you to show up for interviews, to make appearances. When you backed out, I lost a lot of credibility from people in the business. You need to give a little back in order to receive, I’m afraid.”
Amanda pursed her lips and read through the itinerary once again. If she had hoped to surprise Alejandro, it was clearly not part of Dali’s plan. Certainly someone would hear that she was arriving in London. The paparazzi would be tipped off, for sure and certain. She’d be alone in the airport to deal with them, a few airport security guards possibly assigned to escort her to a waiting car. The first stop was a morning radio show where she would be interviewed live during morning rush hour. The second stop was a women’s TV talk show. The third stop was a lunch meeting with a children’s hospital. Her final meetings were back-to-back interviews at the hotel with two reporters. By the time she would finally catch up with Alejandro, it would be just before the evening concert—if she was lucky. That was not the ideal timing for a heart-to-heart discussion.
“Can’t any of these be pushed back, Dali?” She tapped her fingers against the paper on the table. “I mean . . . that’s a long day and with the travel and time delay . . .”
“Take it or leave it, Amanda.”
Startled by the sternness of Dali’s voice, Amanda looked up and studied her once again.
“You said you’d do anything and everything that I put on the itinerary.” Dali leaned forward and tapped her finger on the paper. “You owe me this much.”
“He’ll know I’m coming,” Amanda said.
“He’ll find out anyway.” Dali brushed some imaginary lint from her sleeve. Clearly, she did not empathize with Amanda’s concerns. “They always do. There are no secrets in this business.”
With a sigh, Amanda studied the itinerary one more time. She would leave that evening at five o’clock on British Airways and arrive in London a little before seven in the morning with VIP access to customs so that she could make her first interview at eight o’clock. With no sleep and no way to freshen up, Amanda would get off the plane and her day would begin. From the looks of it, Dali had ensured it wouldn’t stop until after the concert.
“How did you schedule all of these so quickly?” Amanda flipped over the page and gasped. “And you have more meetings for the following day? More interviews?” She looked up and stared at Dali. “Shouldn’t I be concentrating on my marriage, not publicity?”
Dali looked as if she might roll her eyes. “Amanda,” she said in a soft voice. “Publicity is what will save your marriage.”
“Publicity.” Amanda merely repeated the word. She had no idea what Dali meant by that statement.
“Yes, publicity.”
A promise was a promise, Amanda told herself. “Well, I see that my time in London will be busy. And Cardiff? Where is that?”
“Same. United Kingdom.”
“Ah.” She felt ignorant for not having known that. “Right. And Manchester?”
“Same.”
“Birmingham?”
“Amanda . . . please.” The exasperation in Dali’s voice caused Amanda to ask no further questions regarding the itinerary.
Since she could only presume that Birmingham was also in the United Kingdom, she accepted it as a positive note: at least there would be less travel, which meant more time for Amanda to be alone with Alejandro and time to work through their problems and come to a better understanding of what changes needed to be addressed.
“How on earth did you make all of these appointments, Dali?” Not even twenty-four hours had passed since Amanda had called Dali. Now she stood before her with a complete itinerary: times, appointments, transportation. Everything was arranged as if Dali had planned this trip for months.
In typical Dali fashion, she gave her an exasperated look. “Really, Amanda?” This time, she did roll her eyes. “This is what I do, Amanda. I have my contacts.”
“And they will get me into the venue that night? To see Alejandro?”
Dali nodded. “Sí, Amanda. And I have spoken to several people who will try to keep him from learning of your arrival.”
Amanda’s heart lifted.
In her mind, she saw the scene unfold: she would walk into the Meet and Greet session that he did with his fans, waiting in the back. She knew that he would be too busy greeting the people who lined up, waiting for that moment, those few seconds in his presence, to give him a hug and take a photo with him. Hundreds of dollars spent for one photo with Viper. The waste of money boggled her mind, but she knew that the fans did not mind spending it. Afterward, they would share the memory with their friends and family, and they would live on a mental high about how they had, for just those few seconds, been in Viper’s arms. And for Alejandro, he would secure lifelong Viper fans who would talk about him for years to come and purchase all of his music.
Alejandro had once told her giving away free photos cost dearly. Now she understood better what he meant.
“Now,” Dali said, clapping her hands together. “We need to get you packed. You’ll need a lot of outfits, Amanda, and we need you looking your sharpest for these interviews. Without Jeremy, we’ll need to shift through your current wardrobe. Once there, I’m sure someone will help you. But in the meantime we have to work with what you have.”
Together they went upstairs and entered the bedroom adjacent to Alejandro’s, the room that she had slept in when she first arrived in Miami before they were married. Now she used it mostly as a dressing room. After having spent three weeks on her parents’ farm, where there were only simple hooks on the wall for hanging clothes, the large walk-in closet felt even bigger to Amanda. The bright lights and rows of skirts, blouses, dresses, and shoes overwhelmed her. Dali, however, merely exhaled and shook her head.
Once again, Amanda wondered about Dali’s personal life. The rows upon rows of clothing and shoes probably seemed as excessive to her as they did to Amanda, but in the life of a celebrity, it was necessary.
“Well,” Dali said after walking along one row, pausing to touch a piece of clothing every few feet. “At least some of these still have their tags on.”
“Is that good?”
Dali glanced at her over her shoulder. “Yes, that means you haven’t worn them yet. We can’t have you showing up in the same outfits, can we now?”
That never made sense to Amanda, especially when Alejandro usually wore black slacks and a black silk shirt. Still, he, too, had a closetful of clothing, most of it black and, in Amanda’s opinion, too similar in style. She never understood why he needed such a large wardrobe; everything looked the same.
“If you say so,” Amanda said meekly. She sat down on the settee in the middle of the room, watching as Dali pulled out outfits to assess them. A few she set aside while the rest she put back.
When a pile of clothing hung on the dressing rack, Dali stepped back and surveyed it. “That should get you through the first two days.”
“Two days?” Amanda almost laughed. “That’s enough for a week!”
Again, Dali cast a disapproving look at Amanda. “Everything and anything, remember?”
Amanda sighed and slouched on the settee. “Everything and anything, ja.”
Security had to escort Amanda through the airport in Miami because too many people had recognized her. Given that few people knew she had arrived in Miami the previous day, Amanda could only wonder if Dali had tipped off the media. It had been a while since she’d encountered a mob scene of paparazzi of such magnitude, and while she knew too well that crowds begat crowds, her suspicions remained tha
t Dali’s hand was behind the enormity of it.
“Step aside!” one of the security guards said, sticking out his arm to push someone away. The young woman stumbled and fell into another person, who immediately shoved back. When a security guard started to grab the woman, Amanda stopped walking and reached for his arm.
“Don’t,” she said. “It wasn’t her fault.”
The flash of cameras blinded her, but Amanda spent a moment talking to the woman.
“Are you all right, then?”
The young woman, who looked to be no more than seventeen, had dirty blonde hair in a loose bun on the top of her head and a white T-shirt with a band’s name on it. She nodded her head as if starstruck.
Quickly, Amanda tried to think what Alejandro would do. All too well she remembered being chastised in Miami when she paused to take a photo with a young man outside of the dance studio. No one was around to reprimand her this time. So, with a soft smile, Amanda heard herself asking, “Would you like a photo?”
The reaction from the girl startled Amanda. She began to cry, tears filling her eyes and falling down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands and could barely move to stand next to Amanda.
“Thank you. Oh, thank you!” the young woman gushed, reaching for Amanda’s hands. “You have no idea how much I love you!”
Placing her arm around the girl’s waist, Amanda posed while she took a selfie. Then Amanda gave her a soft hug and whispered, “Be careful” into her ear.
“I will. Thank you, Amanda.”
The glow on the girl’s face lit up Amanda’s heart.
“Are you going to Europe?” someone called out.
“Are you meeting up with Viper?”
“Is it true you are getting divorced?”
Amanda ignored the questions, waved to the gathered crowd, and let the security guards whisk her through the TSA security checkpoint without having to wait in line.
Long after she passed through the body scanner and had been escorted to the gate, she found herself still thinking about that young woman and how easily she had told Amanda that she loved her. In America, Viper’s fans (and even people who didn’t care for him) were so quick to express their emotions. Amanda was not from a world where the word love rolled so easily off anyone’s tongue. Fans loved Viper. Fans loved Amanda. Fans seemed to love just about anyone who stood in the spotlight.
Yet her experience in South America had been completely different. The South American women cared little for Amanda. Their focus was on one thing and only one thing: Viper. In fact, while the US fans practically demanded Amanda’s presence at the VIP Meet and Greets, Amanda merely stood in the shadows in South America. It made Amanda wonder what that said about the cultures of the different countries. It also made her wonder what she would face in Europe.
After clearing security, Amanda was escorted onto the British Airways flight by the guards so that she wouldn’t have to wait with the other passengers. She wasn’t surprised to find herself seated by the window in first class. She left on her sunglasses so that she could avoid the curious eyes of the passengers boarding. To her relief, the passengers in business and economy class entered the plane through another door toward the middle of the aircraft.
It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to speak to people. She needed to focus on what was in store for her over the next few days. She felt as if her nerves were on fire, pulsating throughout her body. If a year ago anyone had told her that she would be sitting on a plane by herself, about to fly across the Atlantic Ocean to a country she had barely heard about to reconcile with her husband, she’d never have believed them.
And then there was that: reconciliation.
Just thinking the word stung more than anything else.
She knew Alejandro loved her. There was no denying the intensity of the passion that they felt. At least on her part. It was simply inconceivable that Alejandro might feel differently now. Which brought her to the problem: If two people loved each other, why were they apart to begin with?
In her world, marriage was forever. Wives supported and obeyed their husbands, and husbands simply did not walk out on their wives. Yet Alejandro was not from her world, a world that she had voluntarily left to be with him. She had much to learn about living in the Englische world, and she realized that she had taken much for granted, not least of all marriage. But did adopting his Englische lifestyle mean she had to forgo her Amish values? It was a thought she had not considered before the South American tour.
Alejandro had warned her that it would be much different from the US tour. He had mentioned that there was a stronger emphasis on sexuality in South America, whereas the US fans, although sometimes flirtatious, were more interested in a quick hug and a selfie photo.
Despite his warnings, Amanda had not been properly prepared for his reaction to those South American women. After all, there was no denying the fact that the women were beautiful . . . stunning . . . and dripping with desire for her husband. To see her husband whisper in their ears or pose with his hands on their bodies had not helped matters.
In hindsight, she knew that he had only been playing a part, giving the fans what they wanted and letting them believe what they thought they knew. Keeping my eye on the goal, he once told her. Amanda knew that she should have been more attuned to the role that he was playing as Viper instead of feeling personally inferior to the women.
Then, of course, there had been that disastrous vacation at the house in Argentina. If only Enrique and his entourage of scantily clad women in bikinis with overly tanned bodies had stayed away. That time was meant for Alejandro and Amanda to reconnect and rekindle the passion that had bought them together. Even with Isadora as a new addition to their family, Amanda had felt strongly that the time alone would have been the balm to soothe the open wounds.
Only they didn’t get that time.
Now she was going to do everything in her power to make time so that she and Alejandro could be a team once more.
She shut her eyes and imagined dancing on the stage with him, all of Stedman’s hard work having paid off, enough so that she could keep up with Alejandro when he serenaded her for the fans. She thought of the dressing rooms with racks of clothing, most of them sparkling and beautiful, garments that she hadn’t even known existed before she met Alejandro. And she remembered the VIP Meet and Greets when they were able to interact with the fans before the show. Just the look of joy on their faces as they stood next to Viper was enough for Amanda to realize how much he touched their lives. She tried to not think about how she felt when the attention was on her. To do so would be vain, and she still felt uncomfortable being alone in the limelight.
As Dali had promised, someone was waiting for Amanda when she departed the plane. A woman wearing a navy-blue dress with a simple gold belt and a friendly smile walked up to Amanda and introduced herself as Charlotte.
“Mrs. Diaz,” she said. Her straight blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face and made her dark eyes appear doe-like. “I trust your flight was uneventful?”
It took a moment for Amanda to decipher what Charlotte had said. Her accent sounded strange, with each word perfectly enunciated and clipped at the end.
“The flight?” Amanda nodded. “Ja, it was good. Long but good.”
“Brilliant,” Charlotte said, reaching out to take Amanda’s carry-on suitcase. “We have a tight schedule today.” The way she said schedule required Amanda to translate the word in her head. “So we best carry on, hadn’t we? They’ll be time for you to freshen up at the radio station, but I’d prefer to get you there in case we get caught up in traffic. Follow me, please.”
Without another word, she began to walk away from Amanda. Not knowing what else to do, Amanda followed her.
“I’ve received your itinerary and have the logistics worked out, Mrs. Diaz, but it’s going to be a bit on the hectic side.”
As Amanda followed the woman, she noticed that, unlike the airports in South America or even in th
e United States, there were no crowds or mob scenes. A few younger people did double takes, nudging the person beside them, but no one approached or followed her.
“Come, let’s get you through customs so we can get to the car,” Charlotte said as she led Amanda to the front of a special line in customs. “You have quite the busy day, don’t you?”
Amanda felt more comfortable with Charlotte helping to guide her. Being in a foreign country without knowing anyone felt daunting. Although the people dressed similarly to the Englischers in America, there was still something different about them. As she walked past the long line at customs, she wasn’t certain whether the individuals were American or English. What she did recognize was the look of disdain from many of them, apparently unhappy that she was able to bypass the line and hurry through the process of having her passport stamped.
Less than forty minutes later, Amanda found herself being led into a seven-story building with the words “Capital Radio London” emblazoned on it.
“Here we are,” Charlotte said as she signed in with security. “Do you need to use the loo before we go upstairs?”
“The what?”
“The loo.” Charlotte tried to explain with a soft smile. “The water closet?”
“I don’t need water, thank you,” Amanda replied.
Charlotte laughed. “The toilet, Amanda. To freshen up a bit. They’ll want to take photos of you.”
Amanda bit her lower lip and nodded. She felt naive and unsophisticated in this strange country where cars drove on the wrong side of the road and people spoke with a peculiar accent that, at times, she simply did not understand. They even had different words for things. If she could only get to Alejandro, she knew she’d feel better . . . safer.
