Coin-Operated Machines (7 page)

BRANDY

The Bingo game ended at eight-thirty on the dot.  After talking to the ladies for fifteen minutes afterwards about "America's Got Flair" and Hannah, Brock was on his way to walking home when Hannah's car pulled up to the curb.  Taken by surprise, he loaded himself in to the passenger seat, and eying his lady, he was impressed by Hannah's red skirt and tight-fitting white button up top.  She drove the car two blocks before he asked, "So what do I owe the honor of being picked up?  How long were you waiting out there?"

"Ten minutes." 
Hannah half turned to him, a smile creeping across her lips.  "Those ladies sure love you.  I swear they were about to throw their Depends at you like you were Wayne Newton."

"
They were asking me about the TV show, and you."

"You're their grandson."

"I am."

"No wonder you love going so much.  You get showered
with attention."

"
Who me?  You're just jealous you didn't think of it first."  He realized they were driving back near his apartment, but then she passed the turn off.  "Wait, are we going to your apartment?"

"Yes."

The answer was too simple. It should've been a loaded response, and Brock knew he was in trouble. 

"Brandy's going to be there, isn't she?"

Hannah had a way of staring off and pretending she hadn't heard him, and she was utilizing that ability right now. 

"
So we're seeing your sister.  Did you tell her you asked me to marry you?"

She
said softly, "She knows."

"Do you want me to talk to her?"

"Yes and no."

"Yes and no, what does that mean?"

"It means she wants to talk to you, and I'm going to have to let her, because if we're going to be married, Brandy says she needs to set a few things straight for the record."

"For the
record."  Brock mulled it over.  He caressed her leg, resting the flat side of his palm against her inner thigh. "I'll do anything for you, Hannah, even take verbal bitch slaps from your sister.  They're deserved."

She
shook her head. "They're not deserved."

"
We have a troubled past together, so yes, I deserve some berating.  I'm the bad boy who turned your life upside down."

"Well, it's better now.  We're sober.  Brandy needs to realize that and start getting to know you.  You're going to be family."

Brock was suddenly so grateful for her just as he was grateful for his blue hairs at the community center.  He was on the verge of crying, feeling like his life was finally coming full circle in a good way, but he kept his emotions in check, especially when he noticed how Hannah's eyes were teary from a long cry. 

"You had an argument with her, and you came right over to pick me
up, didn't you?"

"Brandy wants to clear the air right now, so I said I'd bring you to the apartment."

"You stick up for me a lot."

"I do."

He kissed her cheek.  "Okay, I'll jump into the lion's den if it means making things easier," he leaned in and whispered in her ear, "
when I marry you
."

Her smile was
infectious.  "I want you to kiss me, Brock."

He leaned in, kissing while she drove, their lips biting at each other
s with playful zest.  The nice feelings would end when he had a talk with Brandy.  When they arrived at the parking lot outside of Hannah's apartment building, he stepped out of the car.  Hannah remained seated. 

"Aren't you coming in?"

Oh no, she's not coming in.

"I reached an agreement with Bran
dy.  She decided it was best you two had a one-on-one talk."

He mouthed "one-on-one" and looked on at
Hannah as if he'd been captured in the harshest, brightest spotlight in mankind's history. 

Brandy's going to let me have it good.

She doesn't want any witnesses to the crime.

'Oh Sis, he up and ran away.  He disappeared.  Who knows where they'll find your future hubby's body
?  I guess if they don't find the corpse, you can't marry him.  Oh well, you'll find a better man.  And I'll pick him out for you.  This is a small bump in the road, Brock being murdered.'

H
annah offered him a sullen face.  "I know this is hard. I have a feeling this will win you into her good graces.  Show your good faith by talking to her."

I have to be a man about this. 

I don't even know what the hell that means in this situation.

Brock
gave in.  "Well, honey, family can either be the warmest, nicest, most comforting thing in one's life, or it can be another four hours with the in-laws at Thanksgiving.  If I want the better option, I have to take this walk."

"Brandy will call
me on my cell phone when you guys are done."  She blew him a kiss.  "Good luck, Brock.  I owe you one."

"You did me a favor by asking me to marry you because my stupid ass was too chicken shit and stupid to realize a good thing when I
had it.  I owe you a favor.  I'm going to do this.  I'm going to make good with your sister."

Hannah's apartment was on the fourth floor.  There was also something honorable in what he was doing, he kept telling himself.  He traced back to his past romances.  There was no pageantry in those relationships.  He produced films, busted his ass raising money, dealing with the normal pre-production woes, and between projects, he'd hook up with an actress or a fellow producer.  A few easy going dates.  Sex.  And then something better would come along for both parties, and that'd be it.   

I'm going to show her who I am. 
Brandy will have no choice but to like you.  She'll treat you like a brother.  She might grow to kind of like me, maybe.

His
nerves of steel melted once he stood outside the apartment door.  His hand was arched over the door to knock, but he paused.  His wrist had locked.  Stage fright was setting in.  He had seen beyond the gates within the coliseum, and he realized his sword and shield was nothing compared to the lioness who waited inside the apartment ready to devour him for his past sins.

Brock
finally knocked on the door and waited for a reply.  The air around him suddenly picked up speed.  It whistled through the nearby trees, warning him to run for his life, duck and cover, don't turn back, that it wasn't too late to save himself.   Hannah would understand if he decided to renege on his decision to have this talk with Brandy.

If you can't do this, what makes you think you can save Angel?

That convinced him to knock again, this time speaking up, "Are you in there, Brandy?  Hannah said you wanted us to have a talk."

He waited a full ten seconds.  It was enough
time for the wind to calm and dissipate.  He barely heard through the door, "
It's open
."

Brock edged open the door.  Once
he had one foot inside, he was seized by the wrist and yanked forward into the apartment. The door slammed closed behind him. He landed on his hands and knees, thrown so hard.  He was confused, afraid somebody else was in the apartment besides Brandy.  Before he knew what had happened, he was seeing stars.  A lamp had been smashed over the back of his head.  The porcelain pieces rained down his face and back.  Before he could blink the stars out of his eyes, Brock was lifted back up by the collar of his shirt, hoisted by a strong force.  A left hook later, his jaw clocked, the motion of flesh, an arm, a fist, a pivoting fighter, it all blurred into senseless motion. 

Brock was a helpless idiot in the face of the pummeling of a lifetime.  He wasn't prepared for the swift upper cut to the stomach that hurled him up against the wall,
his back absorbing the pain, the contents of his stomach threatening to lurch up his esophagus and out of his mouth.  He did his best to beg for mercy when a red Puma shoe attached to a foot struck home between his legs, forcing back down the words.  The spike of nausea creeping up his belly, he melted onto the ground, wincing, wheezing, and moaning softly to bemoan the pain in his balls.  He was closer to vomiting now with the sensation of his balls being crushed repeating in dizzying pangs.  He squeezed his eyes shut and tears crept free. 

After five minutes
of being spread out on the carpet, the agony of his balls reduced itself to a low broil.  Gaining his sense of sight back, Brock studied the room anticipating a new attack.  He spotted Brandy standing above him.  She wore an ass-kicking outfit, one with much flexibility, namely a pair of sweatpants, sports bra, and her black hair styled into a ponytail.  Her expression was one exempt of apology, of a woman who had taken martial arts classes after being raped and facing off with her previous aggressor.  Her menacing face challenged him to get up, to take her on, to fight back and give her a new reason to kick his ass some more.

Her voice was gravel. 
"Get up, you asshole.  Are you going to take it?  You going to take it from me, you fucking washed up asshole?"

Brock
leaned his back up against the wall.  He could've charged at her, barreled into her chest, but that wasn't who he was.  He wished no harm upon her despite the fact a warm bullet of blood was crawling down his face.  There was an open gash at his scalp. 

Brock was still afraid to say the wrong thing.

"You can't have my sister, you dickhead."  She spat in his direction.  "They say once a junkie, always a junkie.  That won't be my sister because she won't be with you.  You'll stay a junkie, and Hannah will find some rich, kind, big dicked man to live happily ever after with.  She'll forget about you in good time.  Maybe no time at all."

Still furious, nostrils
flaring, lips sneering so hard he could see a centimeter line of her teeth, Brandy bent over him, slapping him hard on the face, then yanking back his hair.  "Don't you want a shot at me?  You're not going to fight me?  You a pussy?  You a chicken shit?  Tell me what you are, because you're certainly not a man."

Brock
did his best to absorb the pain of her blows.  "I don't want to fight."

He was socked in the gut twice. 

"You've apologized a lot in your life, Brock, but do you ever mean it?   Am I supposed to be impressed that you've cleaned up?  Because I'm not.  You have a bad day, and instantly, you're back in rehab or stealing from my sister for drug cash."

Brandy
wrenched back his hair again, twisting it back so hard he heard a crunch.  Brandy's face gave a little, hearing the sound, as if she too were pained by the noise.  "You can't have my sister."

"I love Hannah," Brock managed
through thin gasps of breath.  He was reeling from the attack, knowing he'd be suffering long after this was over with a nice collection of bruises and aches.  "And you have every right to be mad at me and concerned for your sister.  My only argument," he stopped, fearing another punch when she clenched her fists at her sides, "is that I've been sober two years.  I've got a steady job.  I have a sister I want to save from drug addiction.  I can't be forgiven, but I can correct my mistakes and hope for the best from the people I've affected."

Brandy stepped back from him and turned her head down at him, frownin
g hard.  He had thrown her for a loop.  She was turning the events over in her head, shocked at herself that she'd shattered a lamp.  There was spots of blood on the carpet and half his face was wet with blood.  The cuts on the vascular parts of the body always bled like crazy, he thought, touching around the wound across his forehead. 

She paced back and forth in front of him as he
stood in place, observing his assault.  "I'll be honest, Brock, I thought I had you pinned down as an abusive son-of-a-bitch.  I assumed the worst of you in every department."

"I've earned
it."

"E
very man I've known to take a beating like that, from a man or a woman, especially S.O.B.'s like you, always fight back.  They hit women, no problem.  And you took it.  You just took it."

Brock wiped
the blood off his lips when the warm trail crossed over them.  "I love Hannah.  We're going to be family."

It was a dumb response, but considering the circumstances, it was
the best he could muster.

Brandy
confessed, "I had a plan all worked out. I'd beat the shit out of you.  You'd take a shot at me, and then I'd tell Hannah you hit me, and she'd never forgive you.  You wouldn't marry her, end of story.  But
you
," as if blaming him, "
you
didn't do anything. You just let me hit you like a stupid idiot."

She
was horrified at the damage she'd inflicted upon Brock.  Her plan had not only failed, she had channeled too much anger into him, leaving him a bloody mess.  Suffering from that realization, Brandy frantically called out to her sister outside.