Don't Tell The Paparazzi

Chapter 2

"How exactly do you spell your name?"
The hotel receptionist scrutinized her with suspicion, but she found it understandable. Her hair tied back had seen better days. The faded jeans didn't exactly give her the best appearance either. It was a worn-out backpack hanging from her shoulder, not a sophisticated Louis Vuitton. Nothing about her matched the surroundings: a hotel classified as five stars when it deserved an entire constellation.
"It's Stella Reis," she repeated, forcing a smile.
"Alright... Found your reservation," the man spoke politely, not taking his eyes off the computer screen. "Please excuse us for making your entrance difficult, but we thought you might be one of the band's fans."
"No problem," Stella said, her tone friendly. She pretended not to care about almost being knocked over by the hotel's troglodyte security guard. She didn't want to make a scene, not near those impeccably coiffed ladies with shoes worth more than her annual tuition.
Outside, the security guards were still trying to contain the crowd of girls and boys threatening to invade the place. They held posters and CD covers against their chests. Some screamed compulsively.
"Here's your card, Miss Reis. The room is on the seventh floor. Breakfast is served between six and ten-thirty. Luggage?"
The receptionist's hand hovered a few inches from the bell for a response. His nails were incredibly polished for a man. At another point in the reception, the messenger turned his face, alert. He was a young boy wearing gloves. Stella thought they only dressed like that in movies.
"Just this one," the girl indicated the backpack with a quick glance. "But I'll take it myself, thank you."
It was a joke for her to be in that lobby that could reflect her aura as so brilliant. The joke would be even bigger if her backpack went up to the room on a golden luggage carrier.
No way. Better to avoid.
The receptionist withdrew his hand behind the counter and smiled, his eyes narrowing behind bifocal lenses in a rounded frame:
"We wish you an excellent stay."
She packed lightly for the two days in Prague. Only essentials according to a backpacker blog's recommendations. T-shirts in sober colors: a sensible match for the two pairs of jeans, a loose sweatshirt (which would soon be sliding off her arms and onto the carpeted floor of the room). A pair of boots, besides the Converse on her feet. There was also a makeup bag for when all that talk of practicality started to annoy her.
She left the luggage in a corner of the room. Her back thanked her. She made a little scene before turning on the lights. She wanted to make sure the interior was as grand as the Booking photos suggested.
No, it was much better than the booking site made her believe.
"Wow, I can't believe I did this crazy thing," she said to herself, forgiving herself. After all, it was just one night. The price was inviting, a last-minute deal. And she had saved so much on those hostels with communal bathrooms that she saw extravagance as a good investment, a kind of investment. Her whole body agreed when her limbs slid across the satin sheet of the bed.
Well... You only live once.
She had the whole day ahead, free from Master's commitments. And she didn't want to hear about more museums, or churches. All she wanted was comfort. Lying on the bed until another idea came up seemed like the best option.
The idea came four hours later.
She got up still groggy. She opened the blinds and found a breathtaking view. Like one of those paintings she had seen earlier in the museum. The streetlights twinkled against a purple twilight. Below, at the hotel entrance, she stared at the crowd that seemed to have tripled. She didn't understand why some people would ruin their feet and calves just to catch a quick glimpse of celebrities. Her idols were Newton, Gauss, and Turing. All mathematicians, all dead, and who definitely contributed much more to humanity than rock singers could dream of doing. She rolled her eyes before letting the blind slip deliberately from her hands and went to look for something to eat.
On the front of the backpack was a half-empty bag of Doritos. She took out a Coke from the minibar. If her mother were there, the improvised dinner would come with a sermon on good eating habits. The Doritos were still crispy. Blessed chemical additives. She had almost finished the bag when her eyes found the hotel's menu by chance.
Hotel Maxence thanks you for your preference. To make your stay comfortable and unforgettable, we have a gym, a lounge, as well as a sauna and heated pool...
Heated pool.
The words danced before her eyes. Her muscles tired from long walks through Prague's steep streets stretching out in the hot water...
She sighed softly. She could almost feel her legs begging for it. And it was already included in the room rate. So why think twice?
*
Hotel pools should be deserted. They only existed so that the establishment could guarantee another golden star in hotel guides. At least that's what Stella had been trying to believe as the elevator ascended, since, as she hadn't thought of swimming in the European cold, she hadn't brought any swimwear. Not even a tiny Brazilian bikini. And that was definitely a problem at that moment.When the doors opened, she was relieved to see no one. She could put her plan into action quickly.The hotel's robe was soft and smelled amazing, not the kind that reminded you of fabric softener, but real roses. The Maxence network's name had been embroidered with golden threads just above the chest. She left it close to the stairs and redid her hair bun before entering. For this trip, she had the good sense to bring some bras that matched the panties, thank God. And it was a set of black microfiber lingerie. If seen in passing, it could very well be mistaken for a bikini.The pool was on the rooftop. It was a logical consequence that the walls on that floor were replaced by glass: the view was a spectacle in itself and advised those who suffered from vertigo not to approach. The environment was dimly lit. It had a galactic air with all those violet LEDs on the walls and inside the pool, as if the water were an incandescent mixture resulting from some chemical experiment. From the speakers, an instrumental lounge escaped, providing the perfect backdrop for her to enjoy the isolation of that artificial paradise.Stella leaned against the navy blue tile wall and submerged her body in the water. If she hadn't been so sure of the theory she had created in the elevator, she might have heard the creak of the metal door before the footsteps got closer and closer in the direction of the pool.Towards her.Shit... She didn't dare to look. It would be better to avoid as much eye contact as possible in case she had to run away.Whoever it was, dove in a rather undiplomatic manner, splashing water everywhere and shattering the harmonious atmosphere of the place. Great. It was her chance to get out of there. When the guest raised his face out of the water, she would already be halfway to the entrance, her body well protected inside the robe.But when her feet reached the third step, when the sensation of running away had already caused a small adrenaline rush in her body, she heard the voice of the intruder: deep, firm, yet charming, as if he had just made her an irresistible invitation."I hope you're not leaving because of me."She descended again, stepping on a wrong step and sinking into the water. Great. The hair that shouldn't get wet escaped from the bun. But now that didn't matter."What?""The pool. There's enough space for both of us," the guest continued."I... wasn't leaving. I was just... pushing my robe away from the edge."The man moved, stepping out of the shaded area, his features coming into focus. And... Wow. Maybe the setting helped: pool, dim lighting, those things. But the plain truth was, the guy was really handsome and the other elements were just minor contributors to the context. Because of the neon light, Stella couldn't say for sure, but maybe his eyes were light. As if he needed another advantage.Oh, believe me, he didn't need one.She blinked hard, trying to disguise the gaze he was probably receiving from her at that moment, something that probably came close to what should be an eleven-year-old girl seeing a cute boy for the first time."Oh. I'm sorry about that," he smiled. It was the kind of smile that formed symmetrical dimples beneath his cheekbones and made Stella forget about bikini and lingerie-related issues."It's okay..." She returned the gesture, still feeling like a high schooler in the throes of puberty.Suddenly the guy frowned, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed as if he were forcing himself to unravel some mystery."Hey, you know something? You look familiar to me."She stared at him. No, that wasn't possible. Not even if she were suffering from severe amnesia would she forget a face like that."I don't think so..." Stella didn't even finish the sentence when she had a flash: put a cap and sunglasses on him and then... Oh, my God.It was the guy from the museum.She blushed at the same time she wished: please, don't remember. Please, please, please."Oh, it was you at the museum earlier today, wasn't it?" he said."Yeah... I was just passing by."Damn it. Please don't remember the bronze penis incident. Please. Plea..."Admiring the genitals of a statue," he bit his lip, containing the smile.Shit."I..." Stella stuttered. "I was admiring the whole statue.""Of course you were. It was just a joke." He raised his arms as if to establish a truce, there were tattoos scattered on them. Then he extended his right hand to her, approaching. "Let's start over. Pleasure, Brian.""Stella." She returned the handshake. "British?""Does the accent give it away?""It sure does.""And yours, where are you from?""Brazil."The man looked at her, suggestive."Oh. Beautiful beaches, great weather... Pretty girls."She blushed. Again."Yeah... people really like the beaches."Brian gave an even wider smile. He submerged his face, then resurfaced, pushing his long hair back. Good Lord... Better than that, only if the whole sequence of events had happened in slow motion."Are you in Prague for leisure?"Stella sat on one of the steps in the water, the cold metal bar cooled against her back. Through the panoramic view of the rooftop, the lights of a plane blinked synchronously in the night sky."Leisure, work, study. I'm combining business with pleasure.""And what do you do when you're not seeing Renaissance genitals in museums?" Brian asked.The girl rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless:"I've been studying in Frankfurt for almost three months, finishing my master's degree. And I took advantage of the weekend off to relax. I've always wanted to visit Prague, so I found an amazing deal to come here. And... that's it."Oh my goodness, Stella, shut your mouth before you start telling how you lost two of your baby teeth at age seven.It was already more words exchanged with someone than any local there. Too much information provided to a total stranger. Charming, but still, a stranger."Cool. Master's in what?""Mathematics.""Mathematics?" Brian raised an eyebrow, amazed. "Wow, I confess I hardly ever meet many people in that field.""It's true, we're not many." She smiled, agreeing. "And you? What do you do when you're not crashing private pool baths?"First he laughed, thinking the girl was joking. But when she remained serious, waiting for an answer, he saw that she really had no idea who he was. So he said:"I... work for a band."Stella's eyes widened in surprise."The band that's staying at the hotel?"Brian nodded."That's right.""Wow! And what are you? Some kind of public relations?"He took a moment to respond, controlling the urge to laugh."Yeah. You could say that. Kind of do the business card part.""Hmm... you have style for it.""I'll take that as a compliment." He changed the subject before she noticed anything. It was fun. "What kind of music do you like?"She thought for a moment and Brian focused on how she twisted her lips, imagining what it would be like to kiss her. Stella didn't notice."I like a specific style from my country," she replied. "We call it MPB.""Uh-huh. I know Girl from Ipanema, of course. Soft notes, calm vocals. Very cool," he said and Stella found that boy to be a box of surprises. "And rock? Do you like it?""Well... let's say the closest thing to rock I have on my playlist is a jazz version of Sweet Child o' Mine."The guy smiled at her."So you don't know the band staying at the hotel?""Never even heard of them," she confessed, her expression sincere."And would you be interested in meeting them? I can get you a ticket to the show.""Wow..." she hesitated for a moment, then dismissed it like the responsible girl she was, "thanks, but no thanks. I still have to revise an article for tomorrow, otherwise, I might consider watching tattooed guys breaking guitars."Brian chuckled at the response, but Stella was almost sure she noticed a hint of disappointment in his eyes."Breaking guitars is so seventies. No band nowadays does that," he said. "At least not if they're sober.""And what are the guys you work for like?"He thought for a moment before replying:"They can be kind of crazy sometimes," he raised his index finger and warned, "but they don't break guitars. Those babies are practically family. In fact, you'd be surprised how much they're just like any regular person you know rather than untouchable celebrities."As he spoke, Stella couldn't stop staring at those lips. Tempting. The kind you can't look at for too long without wanting to put your mouth on them. It was better to blink if she didn't want Brian to get the wrong impression. Hm... maybe it would be better if Brian got the wrong impression, whatever that meant.Suddenly, the music changed to a lounge with whispered vocals and an erotic vibe, and the girl wondered if that was the work of some hidden prankster to make her even more embarrassed.The words disappeared. In the next instant, Carter approached. His eyes seemed to be made of some liquefied material, blending with the colors of the pool. With the water covering him up to his neck, he said:"It was quite a coincidence, don't you think?"Stella blinked, finally."What?""First the museum... then here..."Such a terrible time for more people to show up on the rooftop.The dragging sound of the metal door was followed by heavy footsteps. They were dress shoes. And by the way they echoed on the floor, heavy and demanding, they assured that whoever owned them shouldn't be in a good mood."This must be a joke..." Brian muttered quietly and half-buried his face in the pool, hiding."Oh! Look who it is! Hello, Brian!"It didn't work."Having fun?" The man spoke mockingly, raising his arms as if all the dissatisfaction in the world could fit in that gesture. Short, stocky, a thick mustache that contrasted with the few curly hairs tied in a ridiculous ponytail: this was Robert Barlet."Hi, Robert," Brian said, with no energy in his voice."I knew we were looking for you everywhere! Dominic even suggested we call the police! I even imagined what excuses I should come up with for the media."Brian Carter rolled his eyes and shrugged before replying:"Dom is an exaggerator, just like you.""Exaggerator? Me?" The man pointed to himself, in a space between the pockets of his button-up shirt and a thick gold chain. "You disappear for the damn whole day, with all those damn interviews scheduled, and I'm the exaggerator?""Okay, Barlet. I got it and I'm leaving. Just needed some privacy before the show."The man glanced at the girl next to Brian; it was as if he had only just realized there was another person there."Oh, is this how you call your pretty fans now? Privacy?""Fans?" The word was crystal clear in Stella's mind. Her ears understood well, but nothing came out of her lips. She was confused.Brian looked at her. It was a quick and embarrassed look. Things seen from that perspective... It seemed like Stella was responsible for encouraging the guy to kick whatever was important to that intruder. Oh, yeah, interviews. That certainly weren't job interviews.The guy turned to the man who insisted on keeping a sour face:"Robert, remind me to find a manager who doesn't nag me so much when we finish the tour, okay?""Very funny," Robert made a noise of pure discontentment. "I'll mark that in my agenda, along with another note: 'look for a more committed band to manage'."Stella wished for a hole to sink her head into (but the pool was already big enough). How stupid of me! Now it was very obvious to her: a man like that could only be famous. She replayed the dialogue several times, trying to feel less stupid."Sorry for that, Stella. Anyway, it was nice to meet you. Good luck with your Master's."The girl's heart raced. She was still digesting the fact that she had talked to a rock star and treated him like an ordinary mortal."T-Thank you..." Her voice came out quietly.And when Brian got out of the pool, she risked one last glance. (Who wouldn't?) He ran his hands through his dark hair. Water dripped from the tattoos on his arms. All those divisions in his abdomen... the guy took care of himself. He was the perfect stereotype of what a celebrity should be."Can you throw me the towel, daddy?" Brian spoke presumptuously to the man.Robert Barlet rolled his eyes before throwing the towel in Brian's direction:"If you were my son, believe me, I would be very happy to give you a good beating."Stella remained stunned, even after they left, and the only organic sound in the room became her breath, much more erratic, by the way. Swimming in underwear suddenly lost its importance. It wasn't even a real problem."Damn... I talked to a rock star..." She said aloud, ecstatic. Just to make sure she remembered that feeling when reality pushed her back into her mediocre world.Newton, Gauss, and Turing were amazing. And they would continue to be. But that... that was sensational.Damn it.She sank her body into the pool and screamed, water bubbles bursting on the surface. Why the hell did she refuse the invitation to the show? Stupid, stupid, stupid!She hated herself for the second time that day.

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