6. Chapter 6
6
Chapter 6
CAMILLE
I ’m trackside with a pounding hangover.
We’re filming the pit crew of Skorost, who are based right next to Delta Victor. I saw Finn this morning as he came out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist.
His whole torso is covered in intricate tattoos. If he wore a short-sleeved shirt, you would never even know it was there. The tattoo, a highly detailed thing, travels over the smooth planes of his stomach and disappears beneath the edge of the towel.
He raises an eyebrow, amused.
“Want to see the rest?” he asks.
I jump out of bed, realise I’m dressed only in my underwear, and dive back under the covers with a yelp.
“Oh my god.” I groan from beneath the covers.
He laughs. “Look, after last night I’d hate to just leave, but I have to-”
I whip up the covers. “What happened last night?”
“You can’t remember?” he asks with mock shock. “Curls, I gave you the best night of your life.”
“Yeah, right. I learned a long time ago not to mix business with pleasure. Where’s my dress?”
He makes his way over and picks it up off the floor, handing it to me.
When I tug at it, he won’t let go, wearing that wicked grin.
“Irish.”
“Okay okay.” He stands back, folding his arms. The tattoo ripples every time he moves.
I’d love to get a closer look at it sometime.
“You’re just gonna stand there?”
He shrugs.
“Urg.” I shimmy on the dress while trying to stay under the covers and then I scramble out of bed to look for my sandals. While I’m fastening the clasps, I look around for my bag.
“It’s in there.” He jerks his head towards the living room.
I hear the bedroom door close behind me when I step out.
My backpack is on the couch, and I dig inside for my room key.
I check my phone.
Shit.
I still need to shower and change, and I’m going to be late. I fire off a text to let the crew know, and inform them I’ll meet them trackside.
I make my way to the bedroom door and knock.
“Come in.”
“Uh, no thanks. I just wanted to say thanks for everything and goodbye.”
“Come in.” He sounds annoyed.
I open the door tentatively and peer around. He’s dressed in tracksuit pants and tying his sneakers. He still isn’t wearing a shirt. His clean hair is a mess that is falling into his eyes.
I take out the hair tie and throw it over.
He snatches it without looking at it and stands up. When he walks over, he’s got a hint of a five o’clock shadow and he smells great.
He comes to a standstill in front of me.
His one shoulder has a massive burn scar. It’s a twisted, pitted thing and the tattoo ink on it is broken and blotchy. Without thinking, I raise my hand to touch it.
He grabs my hand, but not unkindly.
I think his fingers tremble, but I’m distracted by him stepping up close.
He leans in close, places an arm on the doorway. Black eyes on mine as he brings his face close to mine, I can feel the warmth of his breath.
“Do you mind?”
With his arm above his head, he’s stretching languidly against the frame, lean body arching over me casually.
His black eyes are roving over my face.
“Hm?” I ask.
“You’re in the way.”
“Oh.” I startle and step back and he grins and pushes past me, making his way to the door, seeing me out. I follow him meekly and give him a wave as I step into the elevator.
Since it’s the elevator, we’re both thinking about sex, and it shows.
His breathing quickens, and we stand in silence as we wait for the doors to close.
He reaches up and ties back his hair. Muscles all over his chest and arms move and he must know, but he isn’t taking his eyes off mine .
If I look, I lose.
The doors start to close. I can’t help it.
I look.
I can hear him laughing as the elevator zooms me down.
Fuck. I glance down at my phone and my room card in my hand.
I left my backpack behind.
* * *
CAMILLE
Skorost has its origins in Russia. Even though it was purchased by an American company over six years ago, the original founder, team principal Anatoly Petrov, was still at the helm. His son Alexei was one of the drivers, with Rafa Navarro as second. Rafa gives me a friendly wave when he recognises me.
I wave back.
Anatoly and Alexei both have sullen faces but impeccable manners. Anatoly is quite the character, and he has a large vocabulary of Russian swearwords he uses frequently and with intention.
I watch as next door, Finn strides towards his car with a burly man right beside him. They’re deep in conversation and the burly man is visibly excited.
Finn’s face is different. It’s closed. His eyes are black and angry. I realise now that I always see him like this on the track.
I grab Evan and we follow Alexei and Rafa towards their cars. They’re easy and relaxed, eager to race.
Everyone pulls away to start their free practice.
We film Anatoly as he guides the drivers through the practice and gives them their lap times.
The amount of swearwords he uses will mean putting in a ton of beeps in postproduction, but these short clips make humorous teasers and I make a mental note to point it out to the new social media team.
Finn’s lap time is a personal best for the Monaco track. He places sixth.
We give up filming at Skorost because the Delta Victor paddock is going crazy.
We head over and film them going nuts. When Finn drives in, he’s pulled from the car by his ecstatic crew, and they lift him off his feet.
I spend the rest of the day filming Erik Lindqvist, team principal, as he strategises for the race the next day. The burly man I saw with Finn earlier is called Jack, and he’s the head mechanic for Delta Victor. Finn sits in on everything and gives precise feedback on the handling of the car. His voice is metered and factual. I’m surprised by how much of the technical aspects he knows. Since they are all professionals, none of them accidentally looks at the camera and pretends that we aren’t there.
When the day is over, I make my way back to the hotel with the crew. I am exhausted, thirsty and without my backpack, I missed out on my sunscreen. I can feel the bridge of my nose was nipped by the sun.
Jay gives me a wink but doesn’t ask about last night with Finn.
I’m grateful.
At the hotel I try to phone Finn to arrange to fetch my backpack, but I can’t get a hold of him.
I end the day on a high note .
Felix Weber, the team principal of Velocity Racing, has confirmed our interview. We get to film him in Montreal next week. He’s the best in the industry and with Ollie Blythe and Jasper de Vries as his drivers, they have been racking up the points.
It’s a far cry from the sombre atmosphere we experienced at Skorost today.
My phone vibrates.
IRISH (20:22) I see you tried to get a hold of me?
CAMILLE (20:23) I wanted to find out if now was a good time for me to get my backpack?
IRISH (20:23) No.
I blanch. He sends another message.
IRISH (20:24) But you can come fetch it all the same.
I head out towards the elevator and make my way up to his suite. When I knock, he opens the door immediately. He’s freshly showered, bare chested. Other than that, he’s nothing like he was this morning. This morning he was easy, teasing.
Now he’s closed up, face a mask, that sneer right back in place.
He’s angry.
“What happened?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
He jerks his chin towards the couch, and I head over, grab my backpack and sling the strap over my shoulder.
He’s watching me but saying nothing.
It feels all wrong.
It’s like he’s wearing a mask, and it’s slipping. His whole body is sluggish, going through the motions, but again it lacks character. He’s on autopilot. Nothing like last night. This morning even .
He got a personal best today. He should be happy. Proud. I look at the harsh line of his shoulders. He’s tense, and all bunched up muscle.
I step forward tentatively. The corner of his lip twitches into a grimace that he smooths away with the tip of his tongue.
Unbidden, a thought arises. Tomorrow is race day.
This thing he does, he hates it.
He hates being a Grande Prima driver. He hates the races.
“Why do you keep racing?” I blurt out. Again. Stupid, stupid. Just like on the plane.
I can tell he knows exactly what I’m talking about. His eyes are black with fury.
“Get out.” His voice is low and quiet.
I make my way silently towards the door and leave, closing it behind me.
Finnegan Brennan hates being a race car driver.
* * *
CAMILLE
We meet Felix Weber in his office in the Velocity Racing paddock in Montreal. His office is filled to the brim with bric-a-brac, racing souvenirs from his long reign at the top. We discuss Ollie Blythe’s racing so far this year and Felix’s enthusiasm is contagious. So far Velocity Racing is in the lead for the manufacturers’ competition and Ollie is in first place for the drivers’ competition.
We film him candidly. He has a ruddy, open face with big jowls, his salt and pepper hair neatly trimmed. He’s thick in the waistband, but the most obvious thing about him is the sun damage. His crow’s feet are deep and long and when he smiles, his entire face blooms with wrinkles.
“Trackside.” He smiles with white teeth and it’s striking to me that one of the biggest earners of the sport has such an everyday look about him.
“We spend many, many hours trackside testing the cars. Last year we made an enormous improvement on the suspension and Ollie thinks we improved our handling about fifteen percent.”
“It sounds like so little.” I smile at him.
Behind me, Bruce makes an adjustment to the lighting and screws the reflector into place. I hand Felix the clapperboard and he inspects it curiously.
“Ready?” I ask.
He nods, looking between me, Jay, and Bruce, and with a shrug he snaps the clapperboard.
“Is that it?” he asks.
“That’s it.”
I look at the monitor. Behind Felix is a wall of trophies and photographs. The richness of the backgrounds complements his tanned and lined face, the rich cut of his simple suit.
He is amplified, I think, by his life experiences.
We discuss Velocity Racing’s standing in the competition, Ollie’s, score, and his strategy for the rest of the season.
So far, everyone has been sharing their plans and strategies freely.
When we wrap up filming, I watch as Bruce removes the lapel mike and, as the crew packs up, I sit comfortably in conversation with Felix. I have questions.
“Your strategy…” I say.
He nods and leans forward curiously.
“You weren’t honest. ”
His laugh booms through the room and he stands up to pour himself a brandy from a crystal decanter. When he raises his eyebrows in a question, I shake my head no.
“I won’t appreciate it,” I say apologetically.
When he sits back down at the desk, Evan wheels his big case out of the room with Jay on his heels. Bruce had packed up in a hurry to chase down Casey. Since Felix isn’t a handsome young driver, she had expressed very little interest in him.
I wonder if she’s seen his wife in the gossip magazines. A younger, tall, slender woman with a startlingly beautiful face. They have young twins, girls, and more money than they could spend.
“How’d you know?” he asks comfortably, not denying my accusation.
“It was the only time you didn’t look me in the eye. Don’t worry,” I say as he makes to speak. “The other principals haven’t been honest either.”
We grin at each other.
“I’m sure you are aware how much money this sport generates?” He’s swirling the amber liquid in the glass and peering at me over the rim. He has curious eyes.
I nod.
“So you can appreciate how closely we guard our secrets. They’re worth literally hundreds of millions of dollars.”
“We signed all the NDAs beforehand.” I tuck an escaped curl back towards the bun and twirl it twice around it to keep it out of my face.
“Still. Video footage of our strategy? I find it hard to believe that anyone would resist the temptation of not selling it to the other teams.”
“That’s why we’re such a small crew. The fewer, the more control WebFlix Max has. Dixon insisted.”
“Gabriel Dixon?” Felix sets down his glass.
I nod. “This is his project. I’m just heading it while he resolves some personal challenges.”
“Met him at the initial meetings a couple of years back.”
It takes notoriously long to get a production like this off the ground and filming. Dixon has been at it for the last three years before filming even started.
“He seemed like a ball buster.” Felix laughs his booming laugh.
“He’s fair.” It’s the highest praise I can think of.
When Felix gets up again to pour himself another drink, I take in the wall of photos. When I get up, he turns and watches me curiously as I make my way towards a highly detailed photograph, blown up big, taking up the biggest space on the wall.
“Fifteen years ago, this year.” He makes his way over and stands beside me.
The photo is black and white and it’s of Finn. He’s halfway out of the race car, helmet off and held high over his head, face beaming with a huge smile, his hair wet and plastered to his head. He’s being stormed by crew and spectators, and the photographer captured the moment of jubilation perfectly. Incredulous joy.
“This was before his crash in Texas.”
I’m lost in thought. “Is that where he lost his love for racing?”
It takes me a moment to realize how quiet Felix had gotten. When I turn to him, he has curious, guarded eyes.
“You noticed.” It’s not a question.
I nod. “It took me a while.”
Felix makes his way back to his desk and sits down. Leans back in his chair.
“Off the record?” he asks.
I nod. “What happened?”
Felix takes a moment to think it over before he speaks.
“The brakes failed. He was on track at Austin, and he was P two. It was a podium finish, but he wasn’t happy with that. He wanted first place. He was always risky. But never stupid. He embodied calculated risk. I can’t explain to you how valuable that is in a driver. As a principal, you know he will do everything in his power to win, while always respecting the car, the track, the crew. I trusted him implicitly.”
I turn from him and take in the photograph again, looking at it differently.
“His car practically flew off the track. He tried to regain control and avoid colliding with the barriers, trying to protect the car. But he spun out, careened through the link fence, straight into the spectators.”
I turn back to him with a small gasp.
“The car was on fire, and he got out fast like they’re trained to do, but a woman was trapped under the car. He was wearing the fire suit, and he was the best equipped to try to save her. That’s what he said afterwards. Calculated risk.”
When he stands up for another drink, I nod, and he pours me a small measure. The brandy is all fire and when it goes down, it leaves a rich, smoky flavour.
Felix’s eyes have grown soft.
“She lived,” he says bitterly. “But she’s not…she will always need care. She had brought her young kids to see the race, an early birthday gift for the boy, the youngest. They witnessed the whole thing. She was a single mother. Finn couldn’t accept it. ”
“The burn?” I ask.
Felix’s eyes swivel to my face and his eyes are no longer guarded, rather more curious.
“You’ve seen it?”
I nod. “But it’s not…it’s not what you think.” I feel a blush bloom up my neck.
Felix laughs.
“Well, he had multiple fractures, a concussion. About six months of rehabilitation before he could drive again. But he couldn’t shake it.”
“The fear?” I ask.
“The guilt.”
I frown. “It was an accident.”
“Yes,” Felix says kindly. “But it was one that destroyed a small family forever. The press tore him to shreds for it, and afterwards they said he lost his nerve. But I don’t think he’s afraid to drive.”
“What do you think?”
“I think he’s afraid that if he takes a risk, it will have been the wrong choice. Better to not take any risks at all.”