Plain Fame
Authors: Sarah Price
Praise for Sarah Price
“Sarah Price once again engages her readers in a tender drama that leaves you wondering if two very different worlds . . . the Amish and the English can collide and still leave us with beauty. After Alejandro Diaz, a famous Cuban singer, crosses paths with Amanda Beiler, an Amish girl in the middle of NYC, the beauty begins. Alejandro’s world becomes Amanda’s, and Amanda seeks her own path in the light of Alejandro. Fantastic and well written . . . mostly beautiful.”
—Dianna Bupp, founder of All Things Amish on Facebook
“
Plain Fame
has a unique story line that will keep you up late at night hiding under your blanket with a flashlight, trying to squeeze in one last page before you head into La La Land. Yes, it’s that good! I love that I loved these characters so much. They are as different as night and day . . . an Amish girl and a famous pop star brought together by an unfortunate accident involving a limo. Or was it unfortunate? Some may say it was fate pulling these two together like a magnet to metal. The only thing for certain is that their lives are about to be forever altered . . .”
—Destination Amish
“Once again Sarah Price does not disappoint. I have enjoyed every book that I have read by her.
Plain Fame
is a little different from your normal “Amish” novel. Readers who don’t normally read Amish novels will like this one, as it, in my opinion, is more about how fame affects someone rather than being just an Amish novel.”
—Debbie Curto, book reviewer from
Debbie’s Dusty Deliberations
“Amish Christian romance like none other—Sarah Price opens both her characters and her readers to new worlds. This love story could easily become a classic as two lives from opposite cultures collide, creating intense conflict and romance.
Plain Fame
was my introduction to Sarah Price and the beginning of my Price addiction.”
—Lisa Bull, blogger of
Captured by My Thoughts
ALSO BY SARAH PRICE
An Empty Cup
An Amish Buggy Ride
The Plain Fame Series
Plain Fame
Plain Change
Plain Again
Plain Return
Plain Choice
The Amish of Lancaster Series
Fields of Corn
Hills of Wheat
Pastures of Faith
Valley of Hope
The Amish of Ephrata Series
The Tomato Patch
The Quilting Bee
The Hope Chest
The Clothes Line
The Amish Classic Series
First Impressions
(Realms)
The Matchmaker
(Realms)
Second Chances
(Realms)
For a complete listing of books, please visit the author’s website at
www.sarahpriceauthor.com
.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Price Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Waterfall Press, Grand Haven, MI
www.brilliancepublishing.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Waterfall Press are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503945371
ISBN-10: 1503945375
Cover design by Kerri Resnick
Fame is a strange thing.
Some people work their entire lives to acquire it, willing to give up their privacy and personal lives in order to satisfy the curiosity and fantasies of their fans.
Still others find themselves unwillingly in the center of the limelight, despite wishing to remain anonymous. Their privacy and rights are stripped because they become celebrities.
This book is dedicated to the people who fall into both of those categories: the singers, performers, artists, and entertainers who give so much of themselves for our own enjoyment.
They change our lives. But we also change theirs.
Contents
Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.
Ecclesiastes 11:9 (KJV)
About the Vocabulary
The Amish speak Pennsylvania Dutch (also called Amish German or Amish Dutch). This is a verbal language with variations in spelling among communities throughout the United States. For example, in some regions, a grandfather is
grossdaadi
, while in other regions he is known as
grossdawdi
. Some dialects refer to the mother as
maem
, and others simply as
mother
or
mammi
.
In addition, there are words and expressions, such as
mayhaps
, or the use of the word
then
at the end of sentences, and, my favorite,
for sure and certain
, that are not necessarily from the Pennsylvania Dutch language/dialect but are unique to the Amish.
The use of these words comes from my own experience living among the Amish in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.
Chapter One
New York City was as crowded as ever, and traffic was backed up for miles. Alejandro leaned his head against the plush headrest of his private limousine and shut his eyes for a few moments. After weeks of traveling, he was tired. Tired of living out of quickly packed suitcases, tired of hotels, tired of the lack of privacy. He missed the heartwarming sun, the long sandy beaches, and the quiet of his own home in beautiful Miami. He made a mental note to remind his assistant to stop scheduling these trips for a while. He just needed some time to recuperate, to take a step back, to reexamine his life, and to recharge his batteries.
“Ay, mi madre,”
he said to himself. Then, leaning forward, he tapped on the glass that separated him from his driver.
“¿Qué está pasando? ¿Por qué hay tanto tráfico?”
He couldn’t imagine why there was so much traffic at this hour. It wasn’t even noon, but it was well past the morning rush hour. Yet the streets were packed, bumper to bumper. Even more frustrating were the pedestrians, ignoring traffic signals and crossing when they shouldn’t. That was adding to the traffic. Alejandro sighed. He was going to be late.
The driver glanced back and shrugged his shoulders in the casual manner of a typical New Yorker. “Traffic, my man. It’s just traffic.”
“
Dios
mío,”
Alejandro complained under his breath. “We are going to make it in time,
sí
?” His voice was deep and husky but thick with a Spanish accent. To the knowing linguist, he was Cuban. To the average American, he was just another Hispanic.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t sweat it,” the driver said.
Don’t sweat it, Alejandro repeated to himself and shook his head. Spoken by a man who drives a limousine for a living, he thought. “If I’m late . . .” he said but chose not to complete the sentence. In reality, so what if he was late? It was only a meeting with Richard Gray, the largest music producer in America. But it was Richard Gray who had contacted him, Alejandro Diaz. It was Richard Gray who had requested the meeting, a lunch meeting, and that took all of the pressure off Alejandro’s shoulders. He was in control of this one. He was being sought after by the big man.
The stretch limousine lurched forward, and the driver started to finally regain some speed. The traffic seemed to be breaking up somewhat, permitting the driver to make up some time, and Alejandro began to relax. They’d get there on time. It was only twenty blocks from the hotel to the restaurant where the meeting was to take place. But they still had to pass through Times Square and Seventh Avenue by Madison Square Garden.
“Don’t these people work?” Alejandro grumbled as he began fiddling with his cell phone. Three texts from his manager, and two from his agent. He was lucky. It was usually triple that amount. A slow day. Must be a Tuesday, he thought grimly. The only slow day of the week. And still, he had meetings and appointments and e-mails and text messages. When had life started to get so crazy? he asked himself.
He heard the crash before he actually recognized the jolt for what it was. The driver had slammed on his brakes, the car screeching to a halt, but not before the thud on the hood of the car made it apparent that something had been hit. Alejandro fell forward, despite the fact that the limo had not been driving over twenty miles an hour, if that. When he picked himself up from the floor and sat back on the black leather seat, he tried to assess what had happened.
“You all right back there?” the driver asked, his voice shaking and his face pale.
“Sí, sí,”
Alejandro said, trying to calm himself. An accident. What were the odds of that? And why today of all days? He glanced around but didn’t see another vehicle in front of the limousine. “What happened?”
“Hit someone. A jaywalker,” the driver replied before picking up his cell phone and dialing 911.
The crowd was already gathering around the front of the car. People. There were always crowds of people around when he wanted them, but especially when he didn’t. This was one of those moments. Alejandro exhaled loudly. Now he’d definitely be late. There was no way that he could get out of the limousine in this crowd without being recognized, and that would be the kiss of death. He could see the headlines already: “Viper Strikes Pedestrian in Manhattan.”
He tried to do a quick calculation of how the next hour or two would pan out. The police would come and want to interview him. The crowd would gather, the traffic would be thick, and it would become a mob scene. He’d have no choice but to get out. Alejandro sighed, reaching into his suit pocket for his black sunglasses. If he had to get out and face the crowd, better to do it early on rather than look like he was avoiding it. And when the inevitable lawsuit happened, it would look better if he had seemed concerned. With that, the decision was made.
The driver turned around, just about to say something when he noticed Alejandro reaching for the door handle. “What are you doing, sir?” There was panic in his voice. “You can’t get out, sir. They’ll notice you. There will be a mob!”
Alejandro nodded. “Exactly. But if I don’t, that will be even worse than if I get out now.” It would be a different headline then: “Viper Indifferent to Struck Pedestrian in Manhattan.” That would never do; so, ignoring the concern of his driver, he pulled at the door handle and flung the door back, careful to not hit anyone who was standing nearby.
It took a second, maybe two, for the beginning of the murmuring to trickle through the crowd. He heard it, the gentle hum of recognition. Whispers, looks, people pointing, and then the name: Viper. They were already talking about him. Out of the corner of his eye, Alejandro could see the cell phones lifted above the crowd so that people could take photos. He knew better than to react. Instead, he ignored it and hurried to the front of the car. He pushed past several people, making certain to say, “Excuse me” as he did so. Manners, his mother had always taught him. No matter what the situation, a man had to be civilized and mannerly. He wondered where running over pedestrians in New York City ranked in Alecia’s list of mannerly behavior.
When he finally made his way to the front of the limousine, he noticed two men leaning over a woman.
“Is she all right?” Alejandro asked, pulling at his pants as he knelt down beside them.
“She’s hurt bad,” one man said, glancing over his shoulder at Alejandro. He frowned as if recognizing him but returned his attention to the woman.
“But is she responding?” Alejandro asked. He reached out for the woman’s hand. Holding it in his, he was glad to feel her fingers twitch and clutch at his hand. He looked at her quickly. Her face was rolled to the side, and her eyes were closed. The color had drained from her cheeks, so her brown hair, pulled back from her face, gave a sharp contrast to her pale skin. There was no blood, and for that, he gave a quick prayer of gratitude to God. But she was lying in a crumpled heap, one of her legs twisted in a crooked fashion underneath her light-blue dress, over which she wore a black apron. “My driver called for an ambulance. I wouldn’t recommend moving her until they get here.”
The driver was standing on the other side of the woman. “They said five minutes.” He looked around at the traffic. It was even worse now since the limousine was blocking the intersection. “Like to see how they’ll manage that.”
As Alejandro continued to hold the woman’s hand, he became well aware that people were beginning to take photographs. He frowned and motioned toward the driver. “Give me your jacket.”
“What?”
“Your jacket! To cover her. They’re starting to take photos,” Alejandro snapped, trying to keep his voice down so that he was not overheard.
The driver quickly shook his black jacket off his shoulders and handed it to Alejandro. Carefully, he laid it over the woman, hiding her face from the people who were taking pictures with their cell phones.
“Is she dressed in a costume?” the driver asked.
Alejandro looked up, caught off guard by the question. “Costume?”
“She looks like Dorothy from
The Wizard of Oz
.”
“She’s Amish, you idiot,” someone said from the crowd that was now forming on the sidewalk.
Alejandro wanted to ask what “Amish” was but didn’t want to draw further attention to himself or to the situation than what was needed. Right now, all the media could say was that his driver hit the woman and he, Alejandro Diaz, had stayed by her side until the ambulance came. The police would soon arrive, question him, and then he’d be on his merry way to his meeting with Richard Gray. The worse thing that could happen was some minor damage to his bad-boy image.
The woman fluttered her eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening as she began to awaken. The color started to return to her cheeks. Her chocolate-brown eyes tried to make sense of all the people staring at her from above. “Where am I?” she asked.
“Oz, according to that guy!” someone from the crowd quipped.
Alejandro glared over his shoulder at the man who was laughing, then looked back at the woman from behind his dark sunglasses. “You’ve been hit by a car,” he said gently. “Don’t try to move. Help is on the way, Princesa.”
But she didn’t listen. When she tried to lift herself, she winced and fell back down to the street. “My leg,” she whimpered, collapsing against Alejandro’s body. He was still holding her hand, and she clung to it, her head buried against his leg.
Alejandro lowered his voice. “You’re going to be fine, but wait for the medical people. You can’t move, Princesa.” He stared at her face, tanned with some freckles over the tops of her cheeks. She was fresh looking, like a country girl. The driver was right. She did resemble Dorothy with her blue dress. Except she had a white heart-shaped covering for her head that had been knocked off and lay in the middle of the street, a tourist stepping on one of the strings.
When she looked at him again, her dark eyes trying to make sense of what was happening to her, he felt a jolt. For as young and fresh as she was, she was also remarkably beautiful in a natural way that completely took him by surprise. Her tan skin glowed in the sun rays that trickled through the skyscrapers. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, a few loose strands curling down her neck. No makeup or fancy hairstyle. Just a plain beauty that caught him off guard.
“My family,” she whispered, moisture at the corner of her eyes.
“May I call someone for you?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper so that the people surrounding them couldn’t hear, as he tightened his grasp on her hand. He was surprised when she clasped it, her grip strong, and he found himself staring into her face, once again amazed at how beautiful she looked.
Despite the clear pain that she was in, the young woman was still stoic and dignified, hiding her discomfort. Yet when she tried to shake her head, a single tear trickled down her cheek. “We don’t have a phone. They need to know,” she said, her voice trailing off.
No phone? Not even a cell phone? He frowned but didn’t inquire further. He could hear the sirens in the distance. He imagined the police would arrive first, and from that point on, he’d be questioned, then able to leave. Another thirty minutes, he thought. Forty-five, tops.
“What is your name, Princesa?”
“Amanda,” she whispered. “Amanda Beiler.”
Alejandro nodded, aware that she had a slight accent. He couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t European, and it certainly wasn’t from South America. But it was different from the other American accents. “If you tell me your address, I’ll make certain that a message gets to your family.”
She clutched his hand, and he leaned forward. “Creek Road in Lititz, Pennsylvania.” She paused, shutting her eyes as tears started to well at the corners. “They think I’ll be home tonight for my chores.”
He laughed softly and caressed her hand with his thumb. “You won’t be home for chores tonight, Amanda Beiler. But you’ll be just fine.” He paused before adding, “I’ll make sure of it.” She was the image of innocence and clearly a long way from home. While he knew nothing about Lititz, Pennsylvania, he suspected it was far from Philadelphia or Pittsburgh. And certainly not close to New York City. “I promise,” he heard himself say.
He could hear the mumbling behind him. The crowd was beginning to liven up. If people hadn’t recognized him before, he knew the word was now floating through the flock. He could sense the energy as more people began to peer over the heads of others, trying to see him, trying to take a photograph of him. The cell phones were in the air snapping shots of Alejandro kneeling beside the Amish woman on the streets of Manhattan. No, he corrected himself. Photos of Viper with the Amish woman. Alejandro wondered which one would wind up on the entertainment channels and the tabloids later on this evening.
The police arrived moments later, their cars making a way through the crowded streets, avoiding the pedestrians who didn’t seem to care that they were breaking the law by darting across the road. Once the police had parked their cars, ignoring the other drivers who began honking their horns at being blocked and delayed, two policemen began to push the crowd back, creating a buffer so that the ambulance would be able to get through when it arrived. Another police officer approached Alejandro, quickly assessing that he was a good person to start interviewing.
“What happened here, sir?”
Alejandro glanced up, peering at the officer from behind his dark sunglasses. He tried to pick his words carefully, knowing that too many people were probably recording the scene. What he said now would most likely be replayed over and over again, on television, on interviews, and in court when the young woman sued for having been hit by his driver.
“I’m not exactly certain,” Alejandro said. “I just know that she was hit by the limousine.”
The officer peered at him for a moment. It was the moment of recognition. “Aren’t you . . . ?”
And so it begins, he thought wistfully. Avoiding the question, Alejandro glanced at the woman. “No disrespect,” he said. “But she’s in a lot of pain, Officer. Do you have any idea when the ambulance will get here?”