Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) (12 page)

We all laugh and high five. The guys put the
instruments away and we get back to work selecting our hopefuls for
the next round. All in all, it’s a positive experience and we find
a few diamonds in the rough we think have potential, but it’s
frustratingly slow going. The whole premise behind the show is that
we hear everyone. We hand select them instead of producers behind
the scenes vetting everyone before we see them, like on previous
shows.

It’s extremely late by the time the crew
leaves, and I sigh in my favorite lounger on the deck when they’re
gone, too keyed up to go to sleep.

I feel him before he makes a sound. I knew he
was watching the monitors with the rest of the crew upstairs before
they all left together. He climbs the stairs and hands me another
beer as he sits on the foot of the chaise.

“Good night,” he says simply.

“Mmm.” I take a drink.

“Is this a five hundred dollar pair of pjs?”
Batty asks, fingering the sleeve of my black top. I laugh.

“Pac-Sun.” I look down at the shirt that says
‘lazy bones’ and the shorts with little skulls and crosses on
them.

“Very cute. You have great charisma on
camera. I’m glad it’s working out.”

“What would you have done if it didn’t?” I
ask, curious. He shrugs.

“I would have figured out something. Your
voice isn’t what I was expecting,” he admits, running a cold finger
over my throat.

“I was always good with that, but nobody
wanted to hear it.”

“I’m glad they get the chance now.”

“Thanks.” I eye him, not knowing where the
conversation is going. He shifts and hangs his hands between his
knees, relaxed in my space.

“What’s your middle name, Sadie Dinah?” he
asks suddenly. I blink at him before shrugging.

“Is Popper not an answer?” He gives me a
narrow look, and I smile. He laughs and it makes mmy smile widen.
He does it so rarely. “What’s yours, Finnigan?”

Batty leans in to touch his lips to mine.
“It’s weird hearing you say my name.”

“Do you like Batty better?”

“From you? Yeah,” he says with a shrug.

“So who is Finnigan?” I ask, not sure I want
the answer. These are questions we haven’t asked each other in the
five months we’ve been together. They seemed taboo before now, but
since he started it . . .

“Finnigan is . . .” He looks up to the stars.
“He’s a CEO, a brother, a . . . caretaker, a son.” He looks back at
me.

“Caretaker of your corporation? Or with the
kids?” I wonder.

“Definitely the kids, and the
corporation.”

“Sounds like a lot.” I wonder how many people
he’s responsible for at the label for the first time. There must be
thousands, and yet he volunteers his time at the hospital without
fail.

“It is. That’s why I have you.” He comes back
to my lips again. I don’t know what to do with the mood he’s
in.

“What did you do before me?” I ask quietly.
He sighs.

“I did a lot.” He’s quiet and I give him room
to think. “I lived without living. I went through the motions, what
I thought was right, what I had to.”

“Without taking anything for yourself?”

“I have you to myself.” I see his life now as
one mission after another, picking up his brother’s obligations and
doing what he thought was right. It sounds lonely as shit. Kind of
like my life before him. We have that in common.

“You have a plane to catch?” I ask, moving my
bare leg into his lap. He looks over and smiles, giving me both of
his dimples.

“Not for a while yet,” he says, moving into
my lips, finally, finally touching me with his chilled hand,
setting the beer down with the other. He cups my face, moving my
chin up to his.

By the time he leaves, the sun is coming up
over the horizon, and I sink into a dreamless sleep that only Batty
can give me.

BATTY-

Despite how this show came to exist, after
seeing the tape I’m thinking it might actually make some money. I
left with the crew, was halfway to the airport and couldn’t do it.
I was betting she would be on the deck and got it in one.

The more I’m around her, the more I want her.
There’s still so much between us, and with each innocent question I
feel the distance closing. The thing is, she doesn’t know anything
about me. Not a fucking clue.

SATURDAY

“You must tell me about the enigma that is
‘Batty’.”

“What do you mean?” I look over at Jacque as
he spreads brochures across the countertop.

“Are you kidding me? You’re banging Finnigan
Brennick. Share the deets, sista,” Jacque says with a smirk as he
pulls out his iPad.

I blink and shift my weight. “Are you gay?”
He shrugs while munching on a fried mozzarella stick.

“Equal opportunist.”

“Huh.” Color me I’m stumped.

“So back to the hottie. Is he all broody in
bed, or does he come out of his shell some?” Jacque sits on a stool
and puts his hands under his chin with wide eyes. I laugh and try
to blow him off.

“Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t be coming back
for more if he was horrible.”

“So he rocks your socks.” It’s a statement
instead of a question, but I can’t help but answer.

“Oh. Yes. Definitely yes.”

“Ugh. God you suck. Where does he live? I bet
it’s some penthouse somewhere, right?” Jacque asks as he unwraps
his burger. I shovel food in my mouth to stall, but Jacque
apparently doesn’t have ADD and waits for an answer. I roll my
shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable that I’ve been sleeping with
someone for five months and have no idea where he lives. How is
that possible?

“No, we come back here.”

“That’s . . . cool.” The silence quickly
turns awkward.

“It’s not a big deal. He drives me home.”

“From where?” Shit.

“Oh, that’s . . . just this thing we do.
Let’s get to work on these.” I pick up a brochure and start reading
about retirement homes. Stimulating it was not, but it is something
I can control in my life.

For a long time, I’ve had this comfort that
the relationship I had with Batty was uncomplicated. Just physical.
Now there were things like jealousy and soft kisses that were
making everything jumbled in my head. Don’t even get me started on
the fact that he’s my boss.

I toss the paper. “This one sucks. Next.” I
pick up another and stare at pools and hospital beds in places that
look like apartment complexes. I need to focus on right now, but in
the back of my mind a little voice who sounds decidedly like my
libido whispers that tomorrow is Sunday.

SUNDAY

“How’s my girl?”

“Still dying.” I sigh.

“Come on, Mara.”

“You come on. Why even ask?” she says, her
mouth pinched and pale.

“Fine. You’re dying.
Probably
. Does
that make you feel better?” I ask. With these kids, there’s really
no rhyme or reason to their moods. Most of the time I’m flying by
the seat of my pants, positive I’m saying the wrong thing. I’m so
never having kids.

“No,” she sulks.

I sigh and sit in a chair. “Yeah, it didn’t
make me feel better saying it, either. Tell me the gossip around
here.”

I see the first sparkle in her eye and know
she has something good, so I scoot closer. Her hands pick at the
blue blanket on her bed and I watch the many hospital bracelets on
her hand shift and bump into each other.

“Well, you know the new nurse? Jessica?” she
asks slyly. I start to smile.

“The one with the bleached streaks in her
hair?” Mara rolls her eyes.

“The one with the fat ass. Come on, streaks,
really?” I roll my eyes back.

“It’s not nice to say that stuff. I was
trying to be nice,” I explain, trying to fight my smile. Jessica
does have a big ass.

“Whatever. Anyway, Tim told me that he saw
the new doctor and her coming out of the supply closet at the same
time, but they swapped stethoscopes after they left. He saw the
whole thing.” I gasp, only half playing up her excitement.

“Isn’t he married?” I ask, scandalized. Her
eyes get big.

“Nobody knows, but it’s probably true. Such a
shame he picked her for the closet.” She sighs. “The other girls
have had their eye on him for months, and she comes along and ruins
it.”

“Bitch.”

“So true. Anyway, tell me about your luva.” I
shoot my eyes to her.

“Say what?”

“Your boy toy. You can’t tell me you haven’t
been hitting up the Batattack.” She laughs and points to my face.
Her eyes bug out and go crossed as she imitates me. Apparently, I
resemble an ancient pug.

“Batattack? Are you talking about me and . .
.” I can’t even say it. These people are not supposed to know about
that. No one is. Now the info was spreading like wildfire across
California’s population.

“Yes, the man in mask and cape. Tell me
you’ve kissed him in that mask. Please, I’m begging you.”

I reach down for my purse. “Oh my God, I am
not having this conversation.”

“Why? You don’t have friends. Who am I gonna
tell?”

“You’re thirteen, Mara. I am not talking
about kissing or anything else with you,” I say firmly.

She sighs. “Fine. Will you tell me about your
dates?” I set my purse back down.

“You mean the ones where I get in his sidecar
and we drive into the night with our capes flying in the wind
behind us?” Mara giggles, which is pretty much the best sound in
the world.

“No. The real kind. Where does he take you?”
Oh, shit. My bed is not the right answer. I debate telling her that
he doesn’t do that for half a second, before her excited look sways
me the other way. So I do what I know best with these kids. I make
shit up.

“Well, one time we went out to eat at this
little hole in the wall. It was a Mexican restaurant and we shared
this huge margarita the size of a fish bowl. Huge. Then we walked
back to my house on the beach.” I nod to myself, happy that I kept
it simple, but already regretting the margarita part. No way Batty
would ever drink that shit.

“Did you hold hands?” My mind forms the image
in my head as I consider it, and it’s surprisingly not unpleasant,
so I tell her we did.

“Did he kiss you at the end of the night?” I
nod once, firmly.

“Definitely.”

“Is he a good kisser?”

“The best.” The answer comes out without
thinking, because she was asking me so fast.

“I want to be kissed,” she admits, looking
back at her hands. “Before I die, I mean. And dancing. You should
ask the Batattack to take you dancing, for me.” I nod, silently
agreeing to ask. I don’t know that I ever would, but these moments
are some of the hardest. When a kid accepts that they’re not going
to make it and realize everything they’ll miss.

I stay a while longer with Mara, making sure
to get another smile and little laugh out of her before I leave,
then I head down the hall to the next.

“Hey, bud! What’s your name?” I ask with a
smile big enough to split my face. The nurses had mentioned a new
patient, so I made sure to stop in. Usually they get a kick out of
the mask.

Not this one. He doesn’t even look up.

“That’s a pretty cool game.” I look from him
to the TV and back. I notice another controller on the little tray
by the bed. I point to it. “Can I play with you?” If I wasn’t
watching him so closely, I would have never seen his little twitch
of a shrug.

“Saweeet!” I say loudly, making the kid jump.
I have to press every single button to try to turn it on, but the
thing finally lights up. I watch the TV screen split in half and
press more buttons to see what happens.

“Holy . . . crap!” I yell as my car goes into
a crowd of people. I have to figure out how to reverse, which takes
a while. The whole time, the kid’s car is sailing through every
turn perfectly. It gets my competitive side into the game. I don’t
notice when his parents come in. I yell, I groan and bounce in my
seat. We play match after match. Finally, I’m in seventh place and
it’s the best I’ve done so far. Sure the kid is just passing the
finish line in first, but who cares? I. Am. Pumped.

Then the screen goes black.

“Wha—” I squawk in shock. My eyes are hoping
that there's a loose wire, my fingers still hoping they can drive
in the dark. I look at the kid quickly, and back to the TV. Then I
feel a hand go under my hair and get goose bumps.

“I think Jamal was done playing, Robin.”

“Well, I was not. Did you see that? I was
doing so good, I didn’t even run into any poles that time.” I sigh
and toss the controller to the tray. My eyes meet Jamal’s and I
glare. He drinks his water and acts like I’m not there. He turns
off the light by the bedside control and we hear his bed going down
in the quiet. Batty pulls me by my neck toward the door, but I turn
around.

“I’ll be back next week, Jamal, and I’m
beating you.” I hear a soft snort and leave the room smiling.

In Batty’s car on the way home, I wind my
hair around my finger and let it go, over and over. Finally, Batty
looks over at me with raised eyebrows. “What?”

“I was just thinking about Mara.”

“She’s a little flirty thing.” I laugh.

“Yeah, she calls you Batattack, and she
thinks we’re dating.” Batty looks back at me with a grin.

“Why does she think that?” Hmm. Well.

“She’s more observant than most, but she
asked me about what dates we went on.” Batty doesn’t look amused
anymore.

“What did you say?” I lick my lips and
shrug.

“I just told a story. It was no biggie.”
Batty shifts in his seat and rounds a corner.

“What happened in the story?” I bite my cheek
and wind my hair around my finger again.

“I just said that we went to this Mexican
place by my house and walked home. She didn’t ask for too many
details. I thought I would keep it simple.” Batty is too quiet for
too long, so I look over and watch his jaw muscles jump as he
clenches his teeth.