Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) (5 page)

I suppose that would be a singing competition
now. I thought of the other judges and if I really had a chance to
win. Did I want to even do that? Win? Did I even care? My gut was
yelling hell yes. My head was saying I’m fucking tired as hell,
can’t I just rest? But no. Brian and Tammy stole that from me. Red
hot rage fills me, and I shift in my seat. No. There would be no
retribution except to get what they stole from me. No baseball bats
to their cars, nothing physical for me to take my anger out on.
Maybe I should start kickboxing or something. Shit, so many
questions.

Batty and I have had a weird relationship
from the beginning. Sexual, yes. Hell yes. But seeing him with
those kids brings out another side of him. Apparently, there are
several, I think wryly. Just another reason for his nickname. Most
would think it was because he dressed up as Batman, but the first
time I saw him was through a tiny window. Yes, I was spying. He was
laughing and it took my breath away. When he looked up and saw me,
his expression went cold. It made me shiver, that look.

I used to watch FernGully almost religiously
as a kid. Something about being able to experience a world no one
knew existed fascinated me. He instantly clicked in my head as the
crazy bat that had wires crossed on top of his head, changing a
channel to be a completely different person. Guess that was more
apt than I knew at the time. Yes, Finnigan Brennick would stay
Batty to me.

WEDNESDAY

“How does that make you feel?”

“Oh, fucking please, don’t be that.” I roll
my eyes and grab a pillow. I was actually sitting up and being a
participant for the first time . . . ever in this office, and she
wanted to go all shrink on me.

Dr. Pentir raises her eyebrows. “What am I
doing, Sadie? My job?”

I sigh. Okay, so she is a shrink, but still.
“I don’t even know if I can pay you! Now that I actually need you,
don’t ask redundant questions, please.”

“Wow, two pleases. This must be serious. I
can’t recall in our relationship that you’ve ever used that word
with me.” She jots something down on her yellow legal pad. I’m
buying the bitch an iPad just to spite her, finances be damned.

“I was mad as hell. He had to hold me back.”
I know, legally speaking, I can’t touch them or they would have a
leg to stand on, but I really wanted to fuck them up.

“So what do you do with that anger? You don’t
have any concerts where you can throw bottles of water at
unsuspecting audience members.”

I purse my lips and give her a look. Not.
Amused. She holds up a hand. “Alright, fine. So he gave you a way
out, right?”

“Batty? Yeah. Do a singing competition and
make a fraction of what the other judges are getting so that I can
keep my house for another couple months.”

She bites her lip and looks down. Damn it.
“What? Just say it.”

Dr. Pentir takes a deep breath before laying
it out like I wanted her to in the first place. “Most people would
die to be in your position, Sadie. To even be on a show like that
as a contestant? They would sell body parts. But only a few are
talented enough. From what you’ve said, you get to cherry pick your
team. The money,” she waves a hand, like brushing that monumental
issue aside. “That’s not the point. You can take your experience
with riffs and lyrics, melodies, and teach someone to be better.
Maybe your time is up.” She shrugs. No big freaking deal to her.
“You get to bring up the next generation of stars, potentially
being the launching point of someone’s career. Be excited for the
chance, instead of being marked a has been.”

I take a minute to process what she’s saying,
instead of biting her head off for sweeping my problems under the
rug. I think about Paula . . . okay, bad example. Christina?
Better. An image forms in my head of the other judges saying
someone would be a great fit for me. Who would that be? I can’t
imagine. I did a benefit concert a million years ago with those
guys. I remember beating James over the head with a bottle of water
in the green room and then Pauly jumping Rolling Bridge’s drummer
during their sound check . . . while he was playing. I’m so
fucked.

SUNDAY

I step off the elevator and salute the
giraffe that’s sticking his tongue out at me on the wall before
walking to the receptionist’s desk in front of the pediatric
oncology ward. I raise my chin to the nurse and hand her my ID.

“Sup, Alyse?”

“Sadie! Girl, I am so glad to see you’re
okay! Last week you were—”

“Something, huh?” I cut her off. My bruises
have faded to yellow and are easily covered by makeup now.

“Yeah . . . something,” she trails off. I
turn to the doors as soon as she gives me the visitor’s badge. I
know she’s uncomfortable, and I need to get inside.

“Robin!” a little voice yells seconds before
a little body barrels into me. It doesn’t even knock me back on my
heels, she’s so frail.

“Paige! You look so good!” I say, smiling at
the ten year old, hugging her back tight.

“We missed you last week, but Batman said you
had a mission. Was it the Joker?” she asks excitedly.

“How did you know? Did he tell you
everything?” I smile and walk with her to the common room. There he
is, holding court with the little people in hospital gowns. Batty
meets my eyes, his hands up as he tells some story.

“There she is. I told you she would be back.”
His voice is certain, but after all of this time, and especially
last week, he knew I would be here. “Come tell us of your
adventures, Robin.” He has this thing he does with his mouth. It’s
not a gasp, or a clicking of his tongue. But it’s a mixture that
never fails to get my blood pumping at the wrong times. Like
now.

“Right,” I sigh, a little breathless. He
gives a little smirk, the ass. He knows what he does to me.
Concentrate on the kids. My eyes widen as I take my place standing
next to his chair at the front of the room, not knowing at all what
was going to come out of my mouth. Nothing unusual there. “I got a
tip, just as Batty was entering the hospital about a possible Joker
sighting.” The kids gasp. I nod knowingly to them. “I couldn’t take
us both away from you guys, so I told him to go on.”

“So noble,” Batty mumbles. I bump him in the
shoulder with my hip.

“He was on the Pacific Coast Highway headed
south. What if he got too far away? I couldn’t chance it. So I
raced off after him.”

“What car did you use? Did you take the
Batmobile?” a little boy asked in angst. Both Batty and I shake our
heads no at the same time.

“No. I didn’t want to tip him off. I took the
sidekick car. It goes super fast. Anyway, he caught on to me. He
pulled into an alley, trying to trap me.” They gasp, some coughing
afterwards. I don’t show any sign of hearing it, though. “A man got
out of the car. He had a black coat on and laughed. You know the
laugh,” I prompt them. They all give their versions of a crazy
person on cue. “Yes! Exactly like that! I told him that he had done
horrible things in our city, but I was there to bring him in. He
has such a big smile, doesn’t he?”

All of the kids have watched the cartoons,
some of the older ones watching the more adult versions of Batman.
We were in high demand here and they knew their stuff. They nod.
“He reaches out a fist, like he’s going to punch me.” I raise a
fist in the air and out over their heads. They all flinch back. “I
moved just like you and could feel the air where he barely missed
me. I kicked him so fast he didn’t know what was coming. He fell to
the ground and I told him, your time’s up Joker.” I’m looking at
the ground in front of me, their wide eyes on me. “He jumped to his
feet so fast I couldn’t believe it!” I bend back with my arms wide
and the crowd reacts. “He got me good in the stomach.” I bend over
and they groan for me. “I came up with a punch and kept at him,
cornering him against the building. Punching and kicking—” Batty
squeezes my knee from behind, and I lower my fist and other leg.
Okay, too much. “He pushed me away and jumped on the fire escape,”
I quickly conclude. “I lost him.”

They sigh, their shoulders visibly sinking.
“It’s ‘cause you didn’t have Batman. He could have gotten him.”

Batty nods sagely. “Exactly, and next time I
will. Robin did an excellent job, though.” The crowd claps and I
give a fist pump as I curtsey. The parents laugh so I wink at
them.

We quickly disperse after that. I have a
gaggle of girls waiting to have their nails painted, as has become
our routine. I started out with an absent color dropped into my
purse and now come with a full cosmetology kit.

“How are you doing, Mara?” I ask, focusing on
my brush strokes. The thirteen year old sighs through her nose.

“How do you think I’m doing? I’m dying.”
She’s always so frank.

“Don’t give up yet,” I say loudly, so that
all of the other little girls can hear me. “And don’t scare them.
What’s wrong with you?” I ask her quietly.

I see her grit her teeth. “I’m just tired.
Tired of being here. Tired of everything.”

“You are only as strong as you’re head. That
has nothing to do with your body. It can be sick, fine. But if you
think you’ll get better, it will work harder. Do you think that
thoughts of failure make your body work harder or make it give up
too?” Yeah, okay. I can see that analogy applying to my life. I
never said the kids don’t help me too.

“So I think I’ll survive and I will? Why
didn’t the doctor say that?” she challenges me. God, I saw so much
in her green eyes that remind me of myself.

“Do you know what you need? You need to get
angry. I, Robin, prescribe you a playlist of angry music.” I tap
her nose and she jerks back, offended.

“You don’t think I’m angry?”

“Of course you are. But you’re the one that
just said you’re giving up.”

“I’m not giving up. I’m here. I just don’t
think it’s helping.” She looks down at her nails with tears in her
eyes. I do the only thing I know to do.

“Do you have in iPod?”

“What are you going to do with it?” she asks
warily.

“You need to get angry at cancer. Say,” I
whisper the rest, “F that. Think the whole word in your head.
Scream it in your head. Do it now,” I demand.

I watch her eyes go unfocused and some color
come to her cheeks. She meets my eyes again. I put my hands slowly
onto her cheeks and get close to her. “I know you’re tired, pretty
girl. You don’t have to do anything but yell in your head.” I let
go and move to the last pinky nail. “I’ll get you some songs before
I leave. Let me get these beauties’ nails first. Two weeks with the
same color? Unthinkable.”

I watch Batty’s back as he walks away.
Sighing, I shift my weight to one foot and move my hands nervously
over my hair while he can’t see. Finally, after a fucking age, when
he’s almost to his car, he turns slightly to ask over his shoulder,
“You coming with me?”

He’s changing the script all up. I walk past
him, sliding into the car and quickly crossing my arms. Yes, like a
child. I feel Batty’s eyes as he looks me over before turning the
key. I can’t see it though, because my eyes are firmly trained out
the window.

“What is this?” Batty asks as he slides his
mask off and tosses it in the backseat.

I take mine off too and shove it in my purse
before taking out my phone. “What do you mean?”

“Did something happen with one of the
kids?”

“No.”

“Sadie, tell me what’s got you in a snit,” he
orders, like a boss . . . or a CEO used to getting his way. I roll
my eyes.

“I’m still pissed at you.” There. I can sense
him rolling his eyes back at me, even though I can’t see it.

“I apologized, but really it wasn’t my fault.
Your stubborn ass refused to take my calls.”

I scoff. “Oh, believe me, if I knew it was
Batty calling I would have answered a lot faster than Finnigan
fucking Brennick,” I say sarcastically. I finally shift my body to
lean against the door and watch his shrug.

“So you like the Batman guy, but you don’t
really know the CEO, either.”

“I know exactly what your type is like. I’ve
been in this business a lot longer than you, as I recall.” I
remember my brother and sister loudly lamenting the change in
command from his brother to him a couple of years ago.

“I had to feel my way through the minefield
that is musical artists. Hell, any celebrity that gets their
fifteen minutes thinks they shit gold. You’re not all that
different.”

“Ohhhh!” I trail off loudly. He doesn’t let
me sit in indignation for long.

“Oh, please. You’re Popper from Chimera. You
spit and throw things and think people love you for it. There was a
reason you didn’t want to come to my office. Let’s have it.”

“Fuck you,” I growl.

He looks over at me with a smirk as his eyes
hit the street lamps just right. “Baby, you’re about to. What was
so scary about my office? You don’t like the big man, is that
all?”

He’s being such a douche I don’t respond,
instead focusing on unlocking my house and turning the lights on
from my phone. His big hand wraps around my thigh and gives it a
squeeze and a shake simultaneously, bringing my eyes back to him.
He gives me glances in between watching the road, but doesn’t moves
his hand for several minutes, until I cave.

“I thought you were going to let me go, or at
the least suggest I have surgery,” I mumble.

“And that’s not an option.” He says it like a
statement, but I shake my head in answer anyway. “Why?”

I grab his wrist to try to remove his hand.
“Stop.” He doesn’t move, just releases his grip to trail down to my
knee and back up, very close to the juncture of my thigh. I stare
at that hand and trace the long vein running up his forearm with my
eyes before giving in. Again. “I won’t have the surgery.”