“Yes. If we get seated at night, I heard they add lighting shows that compliments the stage and seen through the floor to ceiling windows.”
“Let’s go. We have to do whatever we can to get seats.” She pulls me by the arm and I catch two men picking up their pace through the store’s windows reflection.
We stand in line and the men waiting until a two groups of four to six people stand behind us before they join the line. We got seats to the 8:00 pm showing and when Rosalie squeals about getting to see the lights at night; I stop myself from pressing my hand over her mouth.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Making sure they know which time we are in. Don’t we want to point out who isn’t fawning over me?”
“You know that is dangerous.”
She sighs. “Of course I know. I also know we would benefit if we dangle me as bait. I’m sure they think there is nothing up here.” She points at her head. “I get some strange satisfaction watching the realization that they fell into my trap. We have two hours to kill. Where should we go?”
“We can go to the park. Enjoy nature while is not as hot as it was earlier in the day.”
She nods and tightened her hand on my arm as I guide us to Lover’s Stroll Park.
Inside the park Rosalie looks free. She lets go of my arm and walks ahead. She stops often to take photos of flowers and the rays of sunlight peaking through the tree branches. I thought she would take photos of herself, but she never did. The tension I often notice she holds when she is around her friends and group members is gone. Is like for a moment she peels off the mask she constantly wears.
I wonder if her members would react the same or if is only Rosalie, the one who carries this invisible weight.
“Do you want me to take a photo of you?” I ask.
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure? Don’t you want to keep a memory that you were here?”
“The photos I’ve taken are enough.”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind.” I don’t know why I’m insisting.
“I’m sure that I don’t want to.” Rosalie says, looking straight into my eyes.
There is something in that stare. Her body daring me not to ask. It tells me to stop pushing. Her eyes say something different. A plea. A plea for what, though. Could it be that she is tired to be photograph constantly as a public figure? Could it be a darker past related to none consensual photos? There is so much I can’t relate, let alone imagine, about the glitter and glam of a celebrity’s life.
We were focusing on each other so much that either of us saw the guy coming to her.
“Are you Rosie from VERA?” He asks, phone already out and recording.
“I’m sorry I’m not.”
“Come on, don’t lie. You are totally her. What are you doing in Missouri? Shouldn’t you be in Virginia reflecting on your action?”
I frown and walk closer. I clear my throat. “Is there a problem here?” I ask.
The guy startles and turns to me. “Great. Can you take a photo?” He hands me his phone, still recording. I stop the recording and get to the video and deleted it. Since I’m now in his album, I got to his trash folder and delete the video. Gone.
“No photos. I’m not her. I’m so tired of people thinking I’m her.” Rosalie sighs her frustration.
“I’ve been a fan since you guys debuted. There is no way I can’t recognize you,” the guys says.
I step closer to him. I’m a head taller than him and I can see he feels intimidated. Good.
“Let’s say she is who you say she is. Doesn’t she have the right to decline a photo? She is a human being. She is not a doll or a statue you can take photos or record when you please.”
“But I’m a fan.”
“Does that mean you own her? Since when we own humans?” That shut him up.
