[Chapter 30: Half a Month Later]
"A thousand dollars."
"What?!"
"That's the price, and honestly, sweetheart, this is because you're a longtime resident here. If it were those paparazzi or obsessed fans outside, I wouldn't dare say a word unless you paid me ten grand."
"You... signed an NDA?"
"Yeah, if I didn't, our property manager George would have fired me on the spot. And if I broke it, I'd be facing a lawsuit and a hefty fine -- one that would bankrupt me!"
At the corner of 78th Street and 1st/2nd Avenue in Manhattan's Upper East Side, in front of the apartment where Orlando was temporarily staying.
On Manhattan's Broadway, Jennifer Lopez, the signed show-stopping singer of the Synchronicity group, was haggling with the apartment security guard, John.
Due to the recent buzz surrounding Orlando, who had become a rising star, and simply due to him living in this building, property values had shot up 3% to 5% according to the Manhattan real estate brokers.
What they were bargaining for was: Jennifer was trying to get a rough idea from John about Orlando's daily comings and goings.
John quoted a price that made Jennifer wince: a thousand dollars!
That was roughly one-fifth of her monthly income.
Negotiations failed, and after hesitating, Jennifer gritted her teeth and reluctantly paid up.
"That's more like it."
John was thrilled to get the money.
He figured that charging tenants in the building a little extra for tips about Orlando wouldn't break any confidentiality agreement -- plus, an extra thousand bucks was a nice little bonus for him.
"Our big star is pretty consistent... almost every day..."
John gave her an approximate schedule.
---
Combined with her own observations and guesses, that evening, in late May -- specifically on May 20, 1990 -- around seven o'clock, Jennifer Lopez finally "ran into" the now very busy big star in the elevator lobby.
"Hi, Orlando! You're back?"
Pretending to be resting in the lobby and just about to head upstairs, Jennifer smiled and greeted him first.
But her gaze couldn't help but drift to the three men behind Orlando.
Two of them were towering figures -- one white, one black -- both built like football players.
Jennifer noticed that as she approached Orlando, those two immediately locked their eyes on her.
Their look sent a chill down Jennifer's spine.
The third was an average-looking white woman around thirty with black hair, who was watching her as well.
For a moment, Jennifer thought about backing out.
But since she'd already spent a thousand bucks and invested so much time, she forced a smile and gathered the courage to follow him.
"Hey Jennifer, yeah, finally done with work. You heading up too?"
Jennifer breathed a big sigh of relief. After her greeting, Orlando didn't pretend not to recognize her or act the star. Instead, he greeted her warmly as usual.
Jennifer also noticed that as Orlando started talking, the intense, threatening stares from the two bodyguards lessened quite a bit. Though she was still on alert, the feeling of "they might pull a gun on me any second" disappeared.
"Yeah, I took the day off," Jennifer said, subtly turning her body to show her best side. "Slept in all day, just went out for dinner, sitting in the lobby for a bit, about to head back to rest."
After that, she congratulated Orlando. "By the way, Orlando, I forgot to say congrats. Your single Old Town Road just went triple platinum by RIAA! Wow, can you believe it? Over 3.45 million copies sold in less than two months! Billboard chart number one -- you definitely earned it!"
"And," as the elevator neared the first floor, Jennifer blurted hurriedly, "the Old Town Road music video -- man, you shot it so well! I saw the MTV news last night; it's the most requested video nationwide! Not only can you sing, you make great videos too. God, you really are a triple threat!"
Just then, the elevator dinged on the first floor.
After she finished her enthusiastic speech, Orlando signaled one of his two bodyguards who had been shadowing him for less than a week to press the elevator buttons.
He then smiled at her: "Thanks for the compliments, Jennifer. Just keep at it, and I believe your day will come too."
With that, the elevator doors opened and he led the way inside.
Jennifer quickly slipped in after him but only managed to speak with him for a couple more minutes.
Since she lived on a lower floor, the elevator got there fast.
She didn't want to make it too obvious by tagging along to Orlando's penthouse.
---
After she reluctantly stepped out and the elevator doors closed, one of the big bodyguards -- the black guy -- spoke up in a thick Brooklyn accent, "Boss, it's pretty clear this chick's trying to make a move, but with us around, she's holding back."
"I know," Orlando replied. "Lincoln, you think I should make a move on her?"
The elevator was packed with just their crew.
Also, since the building was older and from a different era, there were no cameras in the elevator.
Relaxed now, Orlando smiled and bantered with Lincoln, his recently hired but already close black bodyguard.
"Depends if you're interested." Lincoln shrugged, "But there's no doubt she's got one hell of a figure."
"Alright, maybe I'll make my move sometime."
The elevator reached the 14th floor.
Orlando stepped out, and with the team, entered Daisy's apartment.
---
Once the black and white bodyguards closed the door, they silently pulled out some gadgets and began a sweep of the penthouse.
They did this twice every day -- once in the morning and once at night.
They were checking for any threats or bugging devices.
After all, Orlando and the team were gone all day, and no one was guarding the place, making it vulnerable to bad actors or paparazzi sneaking in.
The black-haired white woman in her thirties was Diana, the lifestyle assistant hired for Orlando by the record label.
She chatted with Orlando for a bit.
About twenty minutes later, the bodyguards finished their inspection.
"Boss, everything's clear," reported the white bodyguard, Washington. "But all the windows facing nearby buildings show reflection marks. Probably paparazzi renting apartments nearby to keep an eye on you. You're too hot right now; they want to snap your photos and sell them."
Sighing, Orlando was helpless but accepting.
This was the price of fame--
the loss of privacy and freedom.
But plenty of people in the world were willing to pay that price.
*****
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