Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3)

by Brandace Morrow

“Ma’am? Bite your tongue,” I say in my smoothest voice.

  Fandy claps his hands together excitedly. “Girl, you are lookin’ fine!” He takes my hand and bends over to kiss the back. His dreadlocks block his face, but I definitely feel lips. It makes me giggle, which is absurd.

  “Stop it, you should use your charm for good.”

  “But it’s so much more fun to play,” he says through a lip ring that winks at me.

  “I thought I smelled something foul. What is that? Eau de Pedophile?” Daniel Walsh says, lumbering over in his massive height. I swear the man could be a body builder. I reach out for a hug before things can get awkward.

  “Popper how the hell are ya? Last time we were all together was—”

  “Four years ago. And you guys can call me Sadie. That’s my real name. Since I’m not part of the band anymore you’re stuck with me.”

  Fandy shakes his head. “I like you better already, sista.”

  “Yeah, sister,” Danny says a second too late, making us all laugh.

  “Cut!” someone yells, making me jump. “That was just great. I had no idea you had this chemistry between you. Popper, are you going to want to have the show introduce you as Sadie? Everything needs to stay consistent.”

  “Absolutely, and please call me Sadie.” I lick my lips after I say it, nervous again to put myself out there without the barrier of Popper’s façade.

  “That’s great. Sadie, come this way. We’re going to do individual shots first.” I’m put in front of fans and bright lights, my hair and makeup people constantly running in between shots to adjust me. They remind me of the kids that chase down balls in tennis, settling to one side before sprinting to the ball and end up on the other, waiting to do it all over again for as long as they have to.

  In my leather pants, red flannel shirt tied around my waist, leather jacket, and white tank top I feel about as sexy as I’ve ever felt, aside from when Batty is making me scream. My high heel pumps are classy, like nothing I’ve ever worn before, and I never want to take them off. My eyes start wandering to look for Batty, wondering if he’ll let me keep them on one night.

  “Whoa! That’s hot. Hold that pose, hold it, hold it. Okay, now give me the other side of your face, doll,” the photographer says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  After the photo shoot, we sit down for interviews that take another two hours. Afterwards, I overhear the producers having a disagreement with Fandy and Daniel about what songs we could do as an opening act to the show. No one wants to do any songs with a strong female lead, and can’t agree on any of the sucky songs being suggested. I take a deep breath to prevent myself from barging in there like a wrecking ball, but I want someone’s head.

  Shortly after that, they take a break for the production team to look over what footage they have, stating they will call us back if they need us before we can leave for the day. After eating greasy food with Jacque, I get touched up again and am set free to roam the set. I find holding rooms for the contestants that are still being painted, and offices and equipment, before ending up back at the stage from the other side. I think about walking out in front of the crowd, the cameras, and people judging. Sounds like another fucking day to me, but to someone not used to it I imagine it would be terrifying.

  I slip the guitar strap over my shoulder before I realize I’ve moved. I press the power button on an amp and plug in the bass guitar that is one of the props on the stage. Dun, dun dun dun dun. Dun, dun dun dun. My hands find the song in my head and I stop to take off the red shirt tied at my waist because it’s making the guitar sit weird. I pace, picking up the beat again.

  Fandy comes in somewhere along the way, joining his electric guitar to mine. He says the first words of the song and the hair stands up on my arms. “It ain’t a needle in the vein…” I close my eyes and get into the song, feeling the words that we’re all supposed to live by, that any musician should feel and most of us forget. At the chorus, Danny’s found us with his acoustic guitar, and I sing for the first time in public. It’s not shouting, but it’s loud. It’s rock and roll.

  Danny picks up the rapping parts, to my surprise, and I join in at the end, letting my power shine through. Fandy grabs the next verses as Danny and I jam back to back, leaning against each other. When we start playing with the chorus at the end, I go for broke and rattle the lights with my last ‘rock and roll’ just before the symbols would crash, if we had a drummer. I laugh and throw my hands up like I’ve just won a trophy as Fandy and Daniel playfully bow down to me. I hug the guys for the second time that day, which is weird for me, since I’m not a touchy person. I guess it’s the new leaf thing I’m trying out. When I take off the guitar and set it on the stand, I finally hear the cheering. Looking around, I see the crew has filled the bottom rows of the stands and around the stage . . . and they’re clapping, for us. One man front and center snags my attention, and he’s clapping the slowest.

  BATTY-

  I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on than I am watching Sadie perform. The energy is practically sparking off of her. I want to make her sing to me, maybe naked in her bed. Or maybe in her favorite chair. It’s smoky and raspy. I knew she had a phone sex voice before, but I swear I can feel her voice like nails down my back. Like teeth on my dick. She sounds like danger and recklessness, and a fuck of a lot of sex. Sunday suddenly seems entirely too far away.

  Chapter 12

  “That was freaking amazing. Do you think you can do that every show?” The producer jogs next to me as I stalk to my trailer. In the far back corner of the lot. Oh how the tables have turned.

  “Sure,” I agree quickly before cutting my eyes to her.

  “But . . .” she trails off apprehensively.

  “No buts. I want a legitimate trailer like the big boys back there.” I toss my head to the rows behind us before continuing.

  “And?” she asks expectantly.

  “Okay, there is an and. I want more for each performance.” She tries for a rebuttal but I put up a hand as I stop at my trailer.

  “No. You can’t tell me that they’re getting paid ten times as much as I am. I want my cut. Make it happen.” I don’t wait for a response before I climb the rickety stairs leading into my humble abode.

  I run my hand through my newly reddened hair and look at myself in the mirror. I allow myself a fist pump. That performance freaking rocked.

  “Pretty happy with yourself, I see.”

  I spin to see Batty in all of his suited glory.

  “It kicked ass. Don’t come in here and tear me down. I know I rocked that,” I say in automatic defense. He holds up his hands in surrender.

  “On the contrary, my dear Sadie. I dare say you shocked the socks off of everyone,” he drawls.

  “Except you.” I watch as his eyes roll. “Oh please. You think I didn’t notice your lack luster applause.”

  He advances quickly. “Oh, that’s right, Sadie. Would you rather I stand up on chairs and shout? What would satisfy you, hmm? Because I can think of a few things,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. I don’t trust that twinkle and force my legs to take a step back. Right into the makeup counter.

  “So seeing me perform makes you hot? Good to know,” I force between numb lips. My heart pounds. He brings a hand to my face and brushes the heavy weight of my hair over my shoulder.

  “Oh yes. Seeing you perform in all of your glory, yours Sadie, has me nearly busting through my suit. I want to send this piece of shit trailer rocking, don’t doubt it.”

  I swallow, with difficulty. The promise in his eyes nearly makes mine cross-eyed. I mean really, who says nearly?

  “So you want to fuck? You push my assistant out of my residence because you want a piece, is that it?” I shoot back.

  “Shut up,” he growls, fisting my hair. I pull away violently.

  “No. You shut up. I proved myself on your little show, and I’m not your plaything.” I remove my body from in front of him, sliding to the side and fisting a bo
ttle of water unconsciously.

  “Oh, that’s right. I should have asked who has this trailer. Is it Popper?”

  I narrow my eyes and hold up a bottle. “It would serve you right. Let me pelt you with this really quick with your entourage out there to see you exit.”

  He nods with a pursing of his lips and shrugs. “You can throw that bottle at me, or we can do something more productive.”

  “Great. Since you’re in a suit, do you have something for me to sign?”

  He takes a deep breath, tugging his pristine tie in the process. “Of course. If that’s how you want to play it.” He pulls out a stack of documents from his jacket. “I had the office send over a confidentiality agreement for your new assistant, Jack.”

  “Jacque,” I correct.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “No—” I protest before he advances on me faster than I can react.

  “Yes. Now listen. On Sunday, I want you to be ready. Because you seem to be rather . . . hasty today in assuming my intentions, I have a need to warn you.” He licks his bottom lip, and I watch. Fuck, it’s riveting. “Sunday is our day. If Jack is there when we get to your house, I’ll fucking kill him. Do you understand what I’m saying, Sadie?”

  “Yes, Batty.” I can’t help the breathless tone of my voice. He’s right in my face with all of his scruffy suit and tie swagger. It shouldn’t even go together. Where is his clean-shaven face? I forcefully prevent my thoughts from thinking what those whiskers would do to me, if he just bent his knees.

  I fall back on the tried and true. “Get out.”

  “You keep kicking me out, baby.” He smirks. “But that shirt doesn’t hide your nipples. Best fix it before Jack comes in.”

  “Jacque,” I protest in vain. He’s already gone.

  ~

  I throw my ID at the woman behind the desk.

  “Well, hello to you too, Sadie,” she grumbles.

  “Hey, Alyse.”

  “He’s already in there, in case you were wondering.”

  “He always is,” I mumble, pocketing my ID and snapping the visitor’s badge on my shirt.

  When the doors open to the cancer ward, I make my rounds visiting parents and patients, doctors and nurses. Friends. In the past four months, I’ve made them my Sunday family. I don’t, however, see Batty.

  Moving to the critical care patients, I slip into a door I’ve been dreading.

  “Hey, guys,” I say quietly. The room is filled with cousins, aunts, uncles, and most importantly, the parents.

  “Hi, Robin. Thanks for coming,” the mom says quietly, moving to me and shaking my hand.

  “How’s our girl today?” I ask, facing the little bit of nothing swallowed by tubes and blankets.

  “She’s . . . hanging in there. She’s strong,” mom says with a hitch in her chest. I put my arm around her and look around the room at all of the balloons and flowers.

  “This is beautiful, having so many people care about her. She knows,” I reassure the parents and watch as their eyes become glazed and unseeing. This is the reason I hate this place, but also the reason I keep coming back. The little girl, no more than five years old, blinks her eyes open. I watch them focus on me, and I know it’s time.

  “There she is!” I practically yell through the room. I move swiftly to the bed, cutting off the people closest. “How are you, Ella?”

  The little girl swallows, her big grown eyes engulfing her pale face. “I’m good,” she breathes. I take in the tube through her nose then the IVs at her arms and under her shirt.

  “Do you want to build a snowman?” I whisper for only her to hear. Her eyes take on a bright hue. She nods. “Let’s go, Princess.”

  I nod to the parents, who leave to sign doctors’ orders. The rest of the family leave for their cars, with smiles in place.

  “Your chariot awaits.” It’s Batty. I knew he wouldn’t fail me.

  After the nurses disconnect the little girl from her tubes, we’re off. The parents know ahead of time that Batty only has a two seater, and it’s illegal for all of us to ride in his car, but they always agree. I hold the little girl’s head against the shifting of the car’s transmission as it changes gears, and before long we’re there.

  I blink at the set up before us. I’ve learned never to doubt him, but damn. The ice skating rink is set up in twinkling lights and undertones to illuminate the rink. I place the skates on Ella, plus a few pieces to make her feel pretty and we’re off.

  Okay, so I’m not that great at ice-skating. More like I’m falling down more than she is and we’re not moving very much. I almost swallow my tongue when Batman cuts the ice in front of us.

  “Princess Ella, may I have this dance?”

  Her family is skating all around us. The little girl nods, her blonde wig bobbing over her bald head. Batty takes her hand in his much bigger one, and they start out in a long, straight line.

  The little girl stays on her skates as long as possible, which really isn’t long at all. Before she can collapse, Batty swings her up in his arms in the classic Cinderella hold.

  I move toward them, and not knowing what else to do, I start singing. “Let It Go” comes out of my mouth as I do the one move I’m capable of, which is to say I stopped moving all together. I play Anna, and belt my heart out as she sings much quieter. Batty circles me, so that I’m always in her line of vision, and we give this little girl her last dream.

  I smile at the little bundle wrapped in a black cape and give her everything I have. Her little blonde wig sways in the breeze as her family provides the chorus to our duet. They know the song, little Ella is obsessed with the movie, hence this performance. We spin until the lights are streaks in the sky.

  When we finish, Ella’s little cheeks are rosy and her brown eyes are bright. Batty has to come to me, because I would have fallen on my ass if I tried to come to them. Her little arms wrap around me with much more strength than I was expecting. She nearly causes me to lose my balance, but Batty wraps a hand around my waist and I get my feet under me.

  “That was beautiful, Ella. Do you want to skate some more?” I ask. She nods, and Batty takes off. We all clap as he shows off his moves. He never ceases to amaze me.

  BATTY-

  During the week, I can almost convince myself that Sadie is a spoiled, messed up young woman. A young woman that has no business in any part of my life. I think of the flighty fighter and know that nothing more will ever come of our relationship than a physical attraction.

  But then Sunday comes. I fucking live for Sundays. What was once an obligation is now the only time I can take something for myself. And I do. I take everything Sadie will give me, and it’s enough to keep me coming back for more.

  Except that she doesn’t just give all of herself to me. That little brat shattered every illusion I had of her on her first visit. I thought I almost had her when she looked away from the little boy. Jayden was his name. She looked away and I saw the hurt in his eyes. I was ready to pull her out of there by her little yellow cape, but then she turned to the window and made up some crazy ass story that led to one of the greatest moments of that kid’s life. I think that’s when I decided to take her home. I think that’s when I wanted to feel what that was like, to touch all of that life running through her veins.

  Here I was spending months with these kids, and Sadie gives them excitement and exhilaration in their last hours. Who wouldn’t want to see what that tasted like?

  Chapter 13

  “Is there anything you can’t do?” I ask, interrupting the quiet.

  Batty shifts gears before answering. “Yeah, plenty.” He chuckles.

  “Like what?” I shoot back, getting comfortable on my side of the car.

  “Let’s see . . . okay. I can’t sing, or play an instrument, either.”

  “What?” I scoff. “With those hands? I don’t believe it.”

  He smiles wide. “I tried for years before giving up. Decided to use my hands for other things.”
>
  “Hmm,” I reply, fighting a smile.

  “Might you know what I’m talking about, dear Sadie?”

  “Please. Like you need me to stroke your ego.” I roll my eyes.

  Batty lets out a loud huff of laughter. “Men always like to be stroked, baby. You should remember that.”

  I chuckle. “I’ll have to write that down.” My lingering smile fades. “How much time do you think she has?”

  Batty knows that my thoughts have gone back to little Ella. He shrugs helplessly. “A week. Hopefully longer.”

  “Yeah . . .” I trail off. How many times have we done this since Thanksgiving? Too many times, is the answer, and yet it’s not enough. My mind goes back to the skating rink, to the words of the song. I remember watching the movie with Ella for the last few Sundays, and how her eyes would sparkle as she mumbled the words in her big bed. I think of going home to learn the words of the song, singing it in the shower until it was perfect for her. For the last month I’ve lived the song, taking from it the message that most don’t see.

  Letting go of the past is not easy. It’s a process, and a difficult one at that. I identified with the overplayed song, and would never admit to having recited the lyrics in vulnerable moments as I let go of Popper to figure out who Sadie is. I honestly can’t say that without Batty I would have ever come back to the cancer ward after that first visit. But those kids have given me a purpose that goes beyond playing a superhero or Disney character. They’ve given me purpose and direction on this mountain that has no trail. I feel like I’m still moving up, but I hope the view is amazing.

  I look around as the car engine gets cut off. I must have been more lost in thought than I realized. Batty beats me to opening my door, and his smug look tells me he enjoys it. His hand goes to my lower back as we move up the stairs and through the front door. I drop my purse and phone on the kitchen counter, toeing off my shoes at the same time. Batty watches me silently then follows me up the stairs.

  When we reach the bedroom, he wraps his arms around my body, pulling me into his warmth. His hands cross under my shirt and rest on my waist. I close my eyes.