by Sarah Price
“Lititz?” She wondered how he had known she was from Lititz. Had she told him? If so, she certainly didn’t remember doing so. He sat in the chair by her bed, his chin resting on the back of his hand, watching her. The way his eyes sparkled as he waited for her to continue intrigued her. He was a complete stranger, yet she felt as though she knew him. There was something familiar about him in a comforting sort of way. “It’s in Lancaster County,” she replied. Then, a hint of a smile crossed her lips as she added, “Certainly you’ve heard of it.”
When he laughed this time, he leaned backward in the chair and put his hands behind his neck. His face lit up, and he seemed to be enjoying their conversation. “Touché!” he said. “You are a worthy opponent, Ms. Beiler.”
“Opponent?” she asked.
“In verbal sparring. One of my favorite pastimes.”
Amanda narrowed her eyes and studied him. He was a handsome man, that was for sure and certain. Even by Amish standards, she could tell that his good looks would attract many women. Yet it was his personality that made her feel so comfortable. He seemed quite respectful and proper. His very presence commanded respect, which was something she was not familiar with when it came to any Englischer. Maybe these cubanos are different from regular Englischers, she thought.
“Alejandro,” she said slowly. He lifted his eyes to look at her and waited for her to speak. “Could you tell me what happened? I cannot quite remember.”
His expression changed as though a dark cloud were passing overhead. Sitting straight in the chair again, he sobered at her question. “That is the question, isn’t it?” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. He seemed to be studying her, trying to select his words carefully. But he never once broke his gaze, his blue eyes sparkling as he watched her. There was something mesmerizing about the way he stared at her. “I can’t say that I know, Ms. Beiler, anything more than the streets were crowded and somehow you were in front of my limousine . . . the right place just at the wrong time.”
“What is a limousine?” she asked. “Is it like a car?”
“Sí,” he said. “Only a longer one.”
She frowned, her eyebrows arching on her forehead. “Why would anyone need a longer car?”
“Ms. Beiler—” he started.
“Please,” she said softly. “It’s just Amanda. Amish don’t go by formalities like you Englischers.”
“Ah, the Amish thing,” he said. He was studying her again. “I searched on the Internet to learn more about the Amish thing.” He smiled again. “And I realized that you were quite a long way from home, yes?”
“I was visiting family in Ohio.” At the mention of Ohio, her heart jumped in her throat. The nurse had said that her family had been taken care of, but, as Amanda’s head began to clear, she realized she hadn’t asked how. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “My family! They must be very worried!”
The man seated before her held up his hands as if to calm her down. “I have contacted your family, Amanda. I’ve made certain to have my people keep them apprised of your situation. And I have arranged for transportation for your return to Lititz when the hospital releases you.” She wanted to ask him how he had found her parents, but before she could speak, he stood up and reached down to gently touch her hand. “Now, no more questions tonight, Princesa. I will return in the morning.” He squeezed her hand lightly. “Besides, you should rest some more. It’s late at night, sí? The more you sleep, the sooner you will heal, Amanda. If you push yourself, you’ll find yourself more weary than you would imagine.”
He started to turn to the door, but Amanda called out, “Alejandro, if you don’t mind, I have one question, please.”
His hand was on the door handle as he turned to look over his shoulder at her. “¿Sí?”
“Why?” she asked, staring at him, her dark-brown doe eyes full of unanswered questions. With her hair hanging down her left shoulder in long, loose waves, she was a picture of beauty that he had never seen. Purity and beauty and innocence. The image struck him, and he blinked his eyes to see whether it was the product of his imagination or if she was for real. “Why?” she repeated softly. When she asked the question, he was taken aback. It was too simple, yet too difficult to answer.
He raised one eyebrow in a perfect arch. “Why what?”
“Does it really matter? Why do you care?” she said.
This time when he smiled, the corner of his mouth lifted and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his pair of sunglasses. It didn’t make a difference that it was nighttime. He pushed them over the bridge of his nose, tossing a casual wink at her before his eyes disappeared behind the dark lenses. “You get some sleep, and I’ll stop by in the morning, Princesa.” And with that, he slipped through the door, smiling at the nurse who paused to let him pass, looking back at him with awe.
“So your special visitor was back again, I see,” the nurse said as she walked in with two cups in her hands. She handed Amanda the smaller of the two. “Painkillers. You’ll need them. Trust me.”
“Who is that man?” Amanda asked, obediently taking the little cup, which held two blue pills. The other cup, larger in size, was filled with water.
The nurse shook her head. “I forgot that you wouldn’t possibly know,” she said. “That’s Alejandro Diaz, otherwise known as Viper. I’m told he’s one of the most popular music stars these days. The other nurses have been going crazy, fighting to take your case so that they could have a chance to meet him. Can’t say that I know his music personally, but I sure do know that he’s one of the most polite and gentlemanly celebrities that I’ve ever met.” She smiled at Amanda. “He’s certainly been concerned about you.” The nurse waited until Amanda swallowed the medicine before she took both cups from her. “Now get some sleep, dear. It’s going to be a long day for you tomorrow, and with any luck, the doctor will give you the green light to go home soon.”
When the nurse left the room, Amanda turned her head to look out the window again. The lights were twinkling in the tall buildings, and she could hear the noise from the streets. New York City, she thought. She couldn’t believe that she was lying in a hospital bed in Manhattan with a broken leg. What bad luck, she told herself. But to have been hit by a famous music star who was now visiting her! That certainly offered an interesting twist to the accident.
She had never heard of anyone named Viper. In fact, she had never heard rock music. She knew that other Amish youth liked to meet in school yards at night, listening to battery-operated music boxes or iPods, but she had never been interested in that. Her time was spent with her family, helping her mamm and daed. She liked to work in the fields, to tend to the cows, and to work the garden. She didn’t mind the lengthy church services or the singings afterward. But she was perfectly content to be at home and to follow the Ordnung. Her rumschpringe was not anything worthy of talking about, she thought. Not like some other Amish youth who went to movies or dated Mennonites or even drove cars for a year or more before deciding whether to join through baptism. Taking one’s vows was a very serious decision. It involved renouncing anything that had to do with the Englischers’ way of life and deciding to abide by the Ordnung forever.
The medicine must have started to kick in as she began to feel drowsy. It was a sensation she was not used to, and she certainly was not comfortable with the feeling. New York City, the accident, this mysterious man . . . She let her mind wander more. She’d sort all this out in the morning, she thought. Figure out exactly what had happened and how to get home. But, for now, she wanted to sleep. Despite feeling uncomfortable because of the cast on her leg and the even more uncomfortable surroundings, she shut her eyes and allowed herself to drift into sleep.
Chapter Three
“What do you mean you’re taking the girl back to Lee-tatz?”
The man’s voice boomed, loud and clear, as he shouted at Alejandro. Several people glanced over their shoulders at
the two men who were sitting at a large round table, enjoying lunch at an outdoor restaurant in Bryant Park. Both were dressed in suits, one in gray and the other in black. Clearly, they were businessmen and the lunch was not a social one. In fact, the men looked out of place among the other people in short-sleeved shirts and Bermuda shorts. After all, it was perfect early summer weather. No one could ask for a better day in New York City. Not too hot and not humid at all. The sun was shining in a sky gloriously blue.
Standing nearby were two larger men, their backs to Alejandro and his companion.
They seemed to be keeping an eye on the people who were milling about the entrance. The more people who gathered, the more curious others became, stopping to see what everyone was staring at inside the restaurant area. Wherever Alejandro went, a contagion followed him, an epidemic of interest from inquisitive bystanders. And he had become quite immune to it.
Good-naturedly, Alejandro laughed as he raised the glass of red wine to his lips. It was a cabernet, the perfect match for his meal. “It’s Lititz,” he corrected his companion before he tasted the wine. He swirled it gently in the glass. “Lititz, Pennsylvania.”
“Lititz, schmititz!” the other man said with a disgruntled wave of his hand, looking away and shaking his head. He pushed a lock of graying hair back from his forehead that became stray again with the motion.
Alejandro kept his dark sunglasses on, shielding his eyes from the bright summer sun as well as hiding them from the photographs that were inevitably being taken by the gawking fans. After several years of high-pressure fame, he was used to it. There was absolutely no privacy in the world of the music industry. To have privacy meant that there was no fame. It came with the territory. Fame and privacy didn’t mix. It was the trade-off for living the life.
“You should look it up, Mike,” he finally said. “Lititz is a quaint little Amish farming town in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.”
Mike snapped his head back to glare at his companion. His eyes were sharp and narrow as he hissed, “Lancaster County?” The words rolled off his tongue as if they tasted bad. “Farmers don’t buy no music and quaint don’t make no money, my friend,” he said, his voice dry and serious. He was an older man, short in stature, with thinning hair. In his youth, he had been considered a good-looking man. Now, the only thing good looking about him was the fact that he was seated before Alejandro. Indeed, Alejandro made everyone seem subpar, what with his powerful presence, magnetic charisma, and contagious charm. “Neither does taking this Amish girl back to that no-money-making town.”
Money. It was always about the money with Mike. Alejandro took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm. They had been working together for years, ever since Alejandro’s second album had dropped five years ago. With Mike’s help, Alejandro had crossed the chasm from a mediocre local hit to national superstar to today’s brass ring of being an international sensation. During those years, Alejandro had learned how to work with Mike: give-and-take becoming the required modus operandi, with a lot of patience thrown into the mix. Slow and steady wins the race, he reminded himself.
“Fans aren’t interested in a farming town!” Mike continued, emphasizing the word farming. The way Mike said it, it almost sounded like a dirty word. A place to be avoided, not embraced. “I don’t think your sponsors would be too interested in this farming town, either! Or in this Amish girl, for that matter!”
A frown crossed Alejandro’s face. He leaned forward and shifted his sunglasses so that his blue eyes peered over the top. “Have you been monitoring any of the social media?” Alejandro asked, lowering his voice so that they couldn’t be overheard. Despite his hired team of security, Alejandro knew that there was no such thing as being safe from eavesdropping people. He had learned how to be discreet years ago. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced around at the people who were staring at them. He paused to smile and wave to one group, letting them take their photo, a photo that would certainly be posted on the social media networks within minutes, if not sooner.
“Of course I have!” Mike snapped. He looked insulted that Alejandro would even ask such a question. “I’m your manager! That’s my job!” He pointed a finger at Alejandro and lowered his voice. “That, and keeping an eye on your image, Alex.”
Alejandro returned his attention to his manager. “Then you know that this situation has now gone viral. And viral means people are talking, and what, my dear manager, does people talking mean?”
Mike made a huffing noise. It was the sound of defeat. Still, he shook his head defiantly. “You’re preaching to the choir, Alex. I’m the one who always told you that if people are talking, that means music is selling.” He picked up his fork and waved it at Alejandro. “We got your career launched on that philosophy, my friend. Let’s not forget that it was at my urging.”
Alejandro looked around at the crowd. It was getting deeper, and he knew he’d have to get his other security guards from the car in order to leave in any type of orderly fashion. “I stopped by the hospital this morning, Mike. The paparazzi are camped outside, just waiting for more photos. I saw tents, Mike. They are sleeping there, literally at the hospital’s entrance!”
“So what?” Mike said, his expression showing a complete lack of interest. “They camp out at stores to meet you, they swamp box offices to buy your tickets, and your hotels are always surrounded by a mob screaming when you leave. What else is new? I fail to see the point, Alex.”
He leaned forward. “She’s Amish. That’s the point.”
Shaking his head, Mike frowned. “Why are you working that angle, Alex?” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. It was evident that the conversation was exhausting him.
“It’s different,” Alejandro said simply. “They like it.”
“Alex,” Mike sighed. “You should be visiting fans, the paying fans who support your lifestyle . . . not spending so much time with some farm girl who doesn’t even listen to the radio and certainly doesn’t buy music.” He looked exasperated. “She probably doesn’t even know what iTunes is!”
It was unusual that Alejandro had to explain things in such detail to Mike. Strange indeed, he thought. After all, one of the magical aspects of their relationship was their ability to understand each other. An ability that did not involve lengthy explanations or overcommunicating. Clearly, that was missing from this particular dialogue. “You don’t get it!” Alejandro said sharply, exasperation apparent in his tone of voice.
After a late night at the clubs, Alejandro was tired and didn’t feel like arguing with Mike. Being in New York City meant full days and nights. In the music business, impromptu appearances at the hottest clubs in town were mandatory: a causa sine qua non for maintaining one’s popularity. Alejandro would show up, usually surrounded by a small entourage of friends and always with several bodyguards. It was the only way to control the crowds, something that was needed more often than not.
On this trip, he was joined by a few of his local friends. They made their rounds, sang some songs, and danced with the ladies before they were whisked off to another club where the same routine was followed. Some nights they visited as many as four clubs, and there were the private parties, too. The pictures would be posted on social media, and immediately there was a definite increase in the online sales of his songs. It was just the way the music industry worked.
Those types of evenings were typical and usually resulted in returning to the hotel suite close to sunrise. Alejandro had forced himself to get up early and down two cups of black coffee before visiting a local radio show for a thirty-minute interview with the DJs. It was more like banter, really: casual conversation back and forth. If it hadn’t been so early, he would have actually called it fun.
Afterward, he had hurried to the hospital to visit Amanda. He spent an hour talking with her and even received an update from the doctors. The nurses had encouraged her to practice walking with crutches. Alejandro had insiste
d on helping her, walking by her side with his arm protectively encircling her waist. He had been too aware of the nurses who stole quick pictures with their cell phones. He didn’t mind. He knew the photos would make their way to the Internet, and from there, they would be on the entertainment news programs and tabloids. It would just continue to fuel the fire. Así es mi vida, he thought. Such is my life.
“No,” Mike snapped back. “You don’t get it, Alex! The image we have created is being torn apart as we speak. You are missing prime-time real estate on the entertainment news channels. Viper cares about partying, about clubbing, about making a splash wherever he goes. Viper doesn’t care about . . . some little Amish girl lying in a hospital bed with a broken leg!”
“Woman,” Alejandro corrected.
“Whatever.” Mike waved his hand at Alejandro dismissively. “People talk about Viper because of his bad-boy image, not because he’s a good little religious boy who is concerned about this Amish woman! Leave that image to the teenybopper wannabe stars with their screaming ten-year-old fan base!”
The bad-boy image, Alejandro thought. It always came down to that. He took a deep breath. He had hated those years, years of clubbing and fighting, surrounded by beautiful ladies who wore very little clothing and had even less intelligence—anything to hit the tabloids. Mike was right. Getting people to talk was indeed the reason why his career had skyrocketed. Alejandro was quite the master at making certain he was constantly in the news.
“Well, maybe it’s time to move on to something new, Mike,” Alejandro said. “The bad-boy image has too much competition these days.” He lifted the wineglass to his lips and sipped at it, his eyes meeting Mike’s over the rim of the glass. “And, to tell you the truth, it’s starting to get boring, really!”
