Don't Tell The Paparazzi

Chapter 3

 Stella was untangling her hair when the excitement began. She rushed to the balcony railing and no longer judged those people down there. (Especially the women). If all rock stars were like that, she wouldn't think twice before replacing her MPB collection with Metal vinyl records.
Seen from the seventh floor, they were nothing but dots. Those leading the way, like a procession, could be the security guards. The predictable repetition of dark suits made this deduction almost certain. Brian would be among the other four: the ones scattered among the arms of frenzied fans whom the black dots couldn't contain.A silver SUV opened its doors, and two guys fulfilled the only honorable duty of closing them after the band members got in. The hysterical screams declined along with the flash of cameras when the driver dodged the crowd of human flesh and left at a measured speed to avoid an accident. That was it: hours of waiting in exchange for seconds of a view obstructed by heads and shoulders of those with the genetic advantage of being taller.When she descended to the reception, the crowd had already dispersed. One of the hotel staff was picking up cigarette butts and other trash left by unruly fans. Stella turned to the bellhop who was sorting large tip bills with his little commercial-like gloves.— Do you happen to know the name of the band that just left?— Of course. — The guy laughed, finding her an alien for not knowing something supposedly so obvious. — It's Dark Paradise, miss.The girl thanked him and went in search of something to eat. She avoided the fast-food chains and had a quick street snack, all to make her experience in Prague more authentic, like a true local. On her way back, she stopped at a convenience store and bought a can of Coke. She put it in the empty space left by the previous one in the minibar before burying herself under two layers of blankets.She knew that if she lay down at that moment, she would have the exact eight hours of sleep she needed. Eight hours before having a decent coffee and revising the article. But anxiety never cared much about physiological needs (nor about last-minute Master's papers). She really wanted to make new discoveries. And they had nothing to do with the exotic streets of Prague or the sandwich she would later find out was Greek (there went the item: try local cuisine), but rather with a certain rock star staying at her hotel.She placed the laptop on her crossed legs. Google's search bar gave her the option as soon as she typed the letter P for Paradise. She discovered that Brian's band was already on their fifth successful album and wondered where she had been all this time. Maybe she was really an alien. She searched for Brian Carter's name among the members, about to discover the guy's role in the band. Then, surprise.The son of a gun was simply the lead singer.— No.way. — She pronounced each syllable very slowly, haunted. Already imagining a conversation with her friends: who would believe that the lead singer of a world-famous band delayed the show to chat with a simple nobody?Not even she believed it.The next obvious step was to access YouTube and discover that the songs had more views than the population of a small country. Their videos were bold, and Brian Carter played the same role in all of them: the irresistible bad boy with a psychotic and overwhelming gaze. Inspiring for the guys and a temptation for the girls.Then his voice. Heavens. She wasn't expecting that. Of course, it had to be cool. And cool was already enough for a good-looking guy to carry the band if the compositions were good. She didn't know vocal cords could reach such thunderous notes without losing the velvet timbre. It was the sweetest, and also most intense, thing the measly laptop speakers had ever played.Engrossed in the melodies of Dark Paradise, in Brian Carter's smooth voice, and in memories of the pool, she didn't even notice time passing. She had seven out of eight hours of sleep left. She shut down the computer, and with a whirlwind of sensations burning her chest, forced herself to sleep. Even though she knew that now it would be almost impossible.

*

The drawn-out laughter was typical of alcoholic euphoria and echoed annoyingly in her ears. Stella was on her third attempt to ignore it. She pressed her head against the pillow in every possible way, none of which worked. The party seemed to be inside her room, and the clock read almost one in the morning.She had always been the nice girl. The one who didn't get into fights and loved to go unnoticed, the one who would prefer to pretend that nothing was happening rather than draw attention to herself in hotel corridors.She left that girl behind when she mustered the courage to open the door and stuck half her body out.There were only four people making noise for an entire gymnasium. Two women and two guys, but they didn't seem to be couples. Stella wasn't one to judge or be puritanical, but she felt embarrassed. It was too explicit.The girls were ordinary, but the boys... they could only be from the band. Their clothes had that typical and intentional disregard of rock stars. The message behind the leather jackets and waxed pants was quite clear: despise me, but desire me. If any other guy tried to do the same with department store clothes, the result would be mediocre since those worn-out pieces must have been intentionally ruined by the skilled hands of Italian stylists.The blond with tousled hair wore more eye makeup than any gothic girl Stella had ever known; depressions in his angular face made his cheekbones stand out. He wore a gray tank top, and the holes where his arms went through were large enough to reveal a pale skin that didn't see much sunlight. The other guy had something manic in his eyes, typical of someone using some illicit substance, but maybe Stella was prejudging, and he was just strange.Their long, curly hair gave them a wild look. A girl would be lamenting the excess volume with hair like that instead of using it to her advantage. And the musician didn't seem like the type who spent hours with styling creams (as a girl would also complain). They both had tattoos, obviously. There were so many that a genital drawing there would certainly go unnoticed.It seemed like the item "being attractive" was listed on the Dark Paradise admission form, almost as essential as "having talent to play an instrument." Stella would certainly identify who was who if Brian Carter's face hadn't been her main concern while she searched for images on the internet.— Are we making too much noise? — The blond spoke after long seconds, finally noticing the presence of the intruder. The girl beside him wore a leather jacket that certainly belonged to the musician.— Just a little. — Stella smiled to try to dispel any animosity.— I promise we'll stop. — He was so polite that Stella felt embarrassed for a moment, as if she were breaking the rules of good neighborliness that should exist in hotels.— Thank you.She closed the door and lay down again. But the silence that followed was not long-lasting. On the contrary, the laughter increased almost as if in retaliation.She felt her face burning with anger and remembered her school days: the popular kids who always got along and laughed at her. They had grown up and become rock stars, after all. If she had brought her headphones, she could have ignored them and worked on her article until those detestable people had grown tired.Half an hour later, she realized that maybe they would never tire.When she opened the door again and slipped through the remaining space in the hallway, it wasn't to fight or anything like that, but to show that she hadn't given up. Although they had ruined her night's sleep, she still had the option of the hotel lounge chairs over the soft bed. Her mother always said that everything had a silver lining. And in that case, her article had to be perfect. So let's read it exhaustively, right?She just couldn't think too much about the soft bed for all that optimism to really work.She made sure to scowl when she passed by them in a haughty pose of someone who lost sleep but not dignity.— Huh. Couldn't sleep? — The blond spoke, and the girls laughed at the lame joke. The pharmacy redhead rubbed her hip against his legs. Someone had to warn her that her pencil skirt had ridden up to halfway up her thighs.— Poor thing. — The redhead said with a pout.— I appreciate your concern and extreme consideration. — Stella shot back and hugged the notebook against her chest before heading to the elevator hall. — Good night.She felt a hand on her shoulder right after.— You know, if you wanted to join, you just had to say so. — Under the black makeup, the blond had purple-tinged bags under his eyes that matched his gray-blue irises. The scent of nicotine and perfume emanated from his shirt in a ridiculously functional mixture. What to say about it? The bastard sleep disturber was painfully handsome.— And why would I want that? — Stella hugged the notebook even tighter against her chest, like a shield.— To brag that you hooked up with the Dark Paradise guitarist. — He said with a wink, the phrase came out as naturally as if he had used it on other occasions. Stella took a moment to process the information.— Heavens, you're full of yourself. — She looked at the red-haired girl glaring at her with fury. — And aren't you busy enough?— The bed is quite big. — The guy retorted with a smug smile.She rolled her eyes. For a moment, she thought that this crazy conversation might be a delirium caused by fatigue.— Tempting, but I'll pass. — Stella gave a fake smile. — I'm jealous; I don't like to share.The guy licked his lips lasciviously. Perhaps the rejection triggered some predatory instinct in the guitarist; the hunter and prey game.— Hm... What are you carrying there?They both looked at the computer.— What does it look like? A notebook. — She said.— Funny. Where are you going with it?— I'm going to study since sleeping isn't an option.— Yeah, it isn't. And what does a little mouse like you do? — The guitarist's hand lifted a strand of her hair. The nails were painted black in a casual way, without bothering to fill in all the corners. A deliberate carelessness.— Elijah, leave the girl alone. — The other man's voice resonated firmly — She might not even be of legal age, you jerk.Elijah Nash, the guitarist, gave a quick and cold look to his colleague:— Okay. Mind your own business, Dom.Dominic dodged the brunette girl and walked toward Elijah. The girl seemed to take a few seconds to notice that the rocker had left her aside. Things that too much alcohol in the bloodstream does to people.— Dude, look what you're doing. — Dom retorted. Stella suddenly remembered seeing him in one of the music videos. He was Dominic Wilde, the Dark Paradise's drummer. He didn't have that gloomy air when he was on stage, but rather a violent fury well expressed on the drum kit. — I can't handle those two alone. And the redhead is fuming.Stella looked again at the girl before turning to the guitarist.— You should listen to your friend, Elijah. — She stared at him when she said his name. And she didn't look away when he turned outraged toward her.— Gee, little mouse, that hurts my feelings.— Your friends will help you with that.— Take that. — Dominic laughed maliciously. — Could've done without that.The guitarist raised his index finger, signaling his friend to leave. When Stella took a step to increase the distance between them, he blocked her path, smiling arrogantly before finally giving up the pursuit:"You know what? Screw you, you bitch."