Free Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) by Brandace Morrow Page A

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