Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) (8 page)

“I’m . . . I saw your post and I . . .” I
barely notice what he’s saying, trying to cut someone else off to
get to the exit I need to get there faster

“That’s great. So you know how to arrange
things and make appointments. That’s basically all I need you to
do. If you can walk in there and pay my bill you have the job.”

“What, where?” he asks before I slide into a
spot, performing a parallel parking job that would have taken
anyone else ten minutes to navigate.

“Hurry. Take this!” I shove my black AmEx
card at him, not at all sure that it will work but knowing that I
need my phone back for sure.

The guy shoves his hand at the door, and I
note that I cleared the curb by mere inches. He jogs in and is back
out before too much time has passed. He tosses the phone and card
back at me, which I barely catch.

We’re off again.

“What’s your name?” I ask, only now realizing
that I have no idea who the hell is in my car.

“Jacque,” he says quietly. Jacque, I repeat
in my head, sounding decidedly French, but knowing it won’t come
out that way. I’m horrible with accents.

“And you saw my post about needing an
assistant?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He licks his lips. “I needed a job
and saw your post. Kinda crazy to post an opportunity like this on
Facebook. There’s millions of people out there.”

“Right, right. But who shows up at my door?
Unless you’re crazy. Are you? I have enough batshit in my life.” I
snort at my joke, which Jacque obviously doesn’t get.

“Nah, I’m just glad I caught you while you
were home.”

“Yeah, I forgot my wallet. Listen, did you
bring a résum
é
?” I ask, switching lanes
suddenly.

“It’s in the car. I wasn’t sure I had the
right address.”

“How did you get that, anyway?”

The guy shrugs. “Hollywood Stars map. You’re
kind of hot right now . . . I mean, in a gossip kind of way, not
that I think you’re hot.” I fight my smile and look at him out of
the corner of my eye to see him mouth “Oh my God” as he faces the
window.

“Listen, let’s just see how this goes. I have
a meeting today for something that could be big for me. So I need
to look put together and competent.” My car dings at me and I see
that I’m almost on E. Fucking great.

“Is that why you changed your hair
color?”

“Among other things.” I change lanes again so
that I can exit to get to the nearest gas station. My cell phone
rings. Only Batty’s people ever call me, so I accept the call on
the steering wheel.

“Where the hell are you, Sadie?” Batty’s
voice rumbles with his displeasure. I fight to keep from closing my
eyes at what that voice does to me.

“I’m on my way.”

“You’re fucking late, after I stuck my neck
out for you on this.”

“I am not late! I have ten minutes. I will be
there.”

“What is that beeping noise?”

I bare my teeth at the road and slide into a
BP on fumes. “I’m getting gas, then I’ll be there.” I press END on
the call, cutting him off as he calls my name.

I sigh and look over at my newly acquired
employee. “You want anything?”

He shakes his head and small wisps of hair
fall from his stubby ponytail. “Nah, I’m good.”

I pop the door. “Great. You pump, I’ll pay.
And fucking hurry.”

After I grab drinks, I tap on the window and
give the cutting motion to Jacque. That would have to get me there.
I have no time left. There are two people in front of me, so I
start bouncing on the balls of my feet. My eyes scan the magazines
and settle on the cover of the
Times
. Wearing a black suit
and bold red tie, the by-line is “Finnigan Brennick: The Music
Industries Biggest Threat and Greatest Ally.” He looks imposing and
as intimidating as I’ve ever seen him. I reach out and flick his
face with my fingers.

“Isn’t that your boss?”

I look over my shoulder to see Jacque holding
a Mountain Dew in his hand. “Sorta.” I hold up the Dr. Pepper in my
hand. “I figured you as more of a DP man.”

“Only if the Dew isn’t an option.” He glances
at my choice and smirks. “Fanta? Really? You know that has no
caffeine in it, right?”

I roll my eyes and turn back around, finally
able to pay for the gas. “Trust me, you don’t want to see me on
caffeine.”

“That bad?”

“Not the way you’re thinking. My body does
the opposite. I get tired and will fall asleep.”

“Dude. That totally sucks.”

“It really does. Let’s jet, Frenchy.”

We get in the car, and I hit the GPS for the
studios. “Wait, no. I saw you had that guy’s name under Batty. I
don’t know what your deal is with nicknames, but count me out.”

“Fine,” I mumble, confused that I would try
to give him one, if only to crack a joke. I hate Popper. I also
know these people are all going to think of me as her until I set
them strait, in the most unPopper way I can.

BATTY-

I toss my phone on the couch next to me and
look around the room one more time. The laugh that fills the empty
space sounds decidedly evil. Sadie’s going to lose her fucking
mind.

“Popper, fabulous you could make it. We’re
working with the other artists right now. Make your way to the
trailer with your name on it down this row. Hair and makeup should
be waiting,” says a woman with a headset and clipboard that’s
probably surgically attached.

We go through the big trailers and start to
get to the smaller ones. When I finally see my name, I know my face
is as bright as my new dye job. I swing the door open so hard,
Jacque has to put a hand out so that it doesn’t smack him in the
face when it bounces back off of the outside. I stomp up the
rickety steps and fist my hands.

“Did you know you had Playboys on your rider?
I can have someone update it to exclude items from your previous
band mates. Not to mention, there’s terrible advice in here. It’s
suggesting tongue fucking. You hate that,” Batty says without
looking up. He turns another page and bounces his foot resting on
the other knee.

I hear a quiet “holy shit” behind me.

“Jacque can see about the rider.” I stalk
toward him. “You can see about this trailer. The other judges have
identical trailers and I get a fucking Winnebago?”

Batty finally locks those grey eyes on me. I
watch as he takes in the new hair. “Red, is this natural?” My eyes
lower to a glare, making him smirk. “It explains so much.”

I growl and throw a hand out to knock the
magazine out of his hand, but he’s too fast. He catches my wrist
and pulls me toward him. Our faces wind up inches apart, with me on
my knees facing him on the couch. “Fix it.”

“Who’s Jack?”

“Jacque is my personal assistant.” I look
over my shoulder and gesture him forward with a head twitch.

“Since when?”

“Since I hired him. Where’s my hair and
makeup people?”

Batty eyes his apparent new foe before
answering. “I sent them out to get coffee so that I could meet with
you in private first.”

“Oh, she can’t have coffee. The caffeine is .
. .” He gestures over his shoulder toward the door and starts
backing up. “I’m just gonna wait outside.” I watch Jacque escape
before cutting my eyes to Batty. He wastes no time reaching for me
again. I end up straddling his lap, because he doesn’t stop
adjusting me until I’m exactly where he wants me.

“Now. Tell me who Jack is,” he demands.

I lean in close and ask quietly, “Are you
jealous? Is that what this is? Are your eyes turning green?”

“Shut up. I’m not jealous of a backpack
wearing, flip flopping adolescent with a ponytail, for God’s
sake.”

I throw my head back and laugh loudly. If I
wasn’t so amused I would have seen the look in his eyes as he
absorbed the sound. As it was, I just caught the irritated
tightening of his lips. I shake my head slowly. “But he’s my age.
Maybe I need someone with more reckless tendencies.”

Batty rears up to get in my face. “What you
need is your ass paddled, by me. You need someone who won’t kiss
your ass, or demean you.” His voice gets lower and he whispers
against my jaw, “You want me. I’m rough, and demanding and you
fucking love it.” He falls back to the couch just as my eyes were
sliding shut. “Just because I realized your potential before you
did doesn’t mean I don’t respect you. I expect you to do the
same.”

I’m momentarily at a loss for words. Someone
as affluent and strong that has seen me fuck up more times than I
would like to admit respects me? That’s just crazy talk, and I can
see now I’m completely in trouble with him.

“He’s just my assistant. I met him
today.”

Batty nods his head slowly, sliding his thumb
over my bottom lip. “I believe you. I’m sorry I lost my temper the
other night.”

I roll my eyes. “I was pissed, but I guess I
needed the kick in the ass. I saw my parents, that’s why I need an
assistant. If I’m working on this show and traveling I can’t get
them settled as fast as I want to.”

“You could have asked me. I would have gotten
you someone qualified for the job.”

I stand up and walk over to the mirror, still
shocked to see a red head staring back at me. “You were right that
I need to grow up. I can get my own employees.”

Batty stands as well and sighs. “Alright,
babe. I’ll go let your employee in, along with the hair people.” He
fingers a lock, sending goose bumps up my neck. “I really do like
it.” He doesn’t bother closing the door when he leaves.

Jacque comes barreling in, almost tripping
over the last step. “When you flicked that picture of the
Times
and I asked if he was your boss,
sorta
is such
an understatement I can’t even get over it!”

Batty raises his eyebrows from where he
hasn’t closed the door yet. The other staff file in and start
exclaiming over my hair choice and how they didn’t bring the right
shade extensions and color pallets for this major change. The
wardrobe lady takes one look at me and starts shoving racks out of
the room for the interns to hopefully catch. I settle back in my
chair and speak directly to Jacque over the chaos.

“Do you have a cell phone?” He nods his head
and leans closer. “I need you to research the best retirement homes
in the U.S. and possibly western Mexico. I want to know whose ass I
have to kiss to get my parents into a facility. If you get a pen
and paper I can write down their ailments so that you can cross
reference the facilities to their needs.”

From my phone, I look up the list of the
ailments the doctors mention my parents suffer from. Jacque’s face
is pale. “You okay, bud?” I reach over to tap his arm, but he
flinches away before I can touch him.

“I’m good. Yeah, you want to move your
parents. Okay.” He slides out of his backpack then pulls out an
iPad from inside. It’s older and has scratches all over the frame.
I make a mental note to get him a new one if he makes it past the
ninety day mark.

My attention, or more literally my face, is
pulled away as I get astringed, sponged and airbrushed, then
regular brushed, plucked and dabbed for the next thirty minutes,
and that’s just my face. My hair is tugged, curled, teased, and
ironed until it’s finally sprayed to a glistening perfection. Along
the way, I managed to let them know I didn’t want the Popper image.
I explained that I quit the band and was ready for a change. The
end results aren’t anything that I was fearing, which was either
straight up Popper, greasy hair and all, or the exact opposite, a
la Christina Aguilera. My hair had more body than usual; it’s all
wavy and styled in a way that’s supposed to look effortless.

The wardrobe woman calls for everybody to get
out then orders me to strip. I guess I can’t even wear the panties
I came in. When I walk out of my trailer, it’s extremely
anticlimactic. I feel like a whole new, sexy as hell woman, without
the usual trashy linked to it, and there’s no one around. “You
clean up real good, Sadie.”

Except Jacque. “Thanks. Do you know where
we’re going?”

“Yeah, I think so. Everybody went this way.”
I follow him down the rows of trailers and equipment semis, pissed
all over again.

“Find out how to get me an equal trailer.
This is not 1959, and I’m not standing for it.”

“I didn’t think it was about being a
woman.”

I glare at him and he flinches. “It’s not. I
still want to be treated fairly. And get my rider pulled too.”

We enter through double doors that make the
room look pitch black inside, giving nothing away. When my eyes
adjust it’s just another long hallway that gives way to a
concession room with buffet tables. “Get something if you’re
hungry,” I say, and Jacque wastes no time taking the offer.

I wander around the mingling crew, some busy
with tasks, some BSing in groups, none of them seem to notice me.
Leaving the room, I follow another hall into what turns out to be
the set. There are stands for audience seating along the walls and
a huge platform that is the stage.

“Excuse me, ma’am, you’re in my shot.”

My eyes go from the complete intimidation
that is prime time TV manifested to land on Fandy from Rolling
Bridges. Only the hottest rock group since the Rolling Stones. I
almost snort at the comparison in my head, but I see the red light
on the camera just in time.

“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.