39. JULES
JULES
AUSTIN, TEXAS
Ash’s sweaty hand seizes my arm. ‘LOOK! IT’S TIME!’
Flashes of blue and white sneak through the railings.
‘I see pom-poms, Julesy!’
We launch to our feet and start screaming their names as the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders skip onto the track, much to the annoyance of the die-hard motorsport-loving pricks around us, mumbling not-so-quietly about women and races. We hold our breath through the opening bars of ‘Thunderstruck’.
American races are so different to European races – it’s like the Super Bowl with fast cars.
There’s an NFL-style driver presentation, celebrity appearances, military flyover, concerts, experience zones, and, my favourite, cheerleaders.
In Europe, the racing is the centrepiece.
Both work for me – in Europe, I’m part of motorsport circles; here, I’m part of celebrity culture.
‘This is the best moment of my life,’ Ash breathes.
I tear my eyes away from their hallowed routine. ‘Not, like, when you passed the bar?’
‘Nah, I was too tired. Do you think my cutout of Reece will freak her out?’ She wafts a giant cardboard face belonging to one of the DCC’s most famous cheerleaders.
‘Yes,’ I retort immediately. ‘I told you that in the hotel. Keep it on the floor. It’ll be a good sunshade when they’re done.’
Ash nods firmly. ‘I wish Minnie were here.’
‘Me too. Screw real jobs.’
She cackles.
We gasp as the pom-poms are thrown on the floor and they launch into high kicks that look even crisper than on the Netflix show.
I can’t even do a handstand. They jump into splits and we flinch as they land on the hard concrete, beams unwavering.
This would never happen at home. Brits would never hurt themselves in the name of enthusiasm.
Ash pounds her hands together. I wouldn’t be surprised if the girls could hear her all the way down there. ‘Sublime. Ten out of ten.’
‘I’m starting to think you came here just for this – not to support your best friends,’ I comment as we sit back on the burning stand.
She shovels popcorn into her mouth. ‘That’s absolutely true, and I regret nothing. We saw ‘Thunderstruck’ live.’
‘Fair.’
She awkwardly fans herself with Reece’s big face as the track clears and the drivers make their way to the front. I can make out Tiago with no effort – a beacon of colour amidst shades of blue and black. I can’t see much but he looks good. Relaxed, coifed, and cooler than the other drivers.
‘I’m baking,’ Ash moans.
It’s bloody hot. Half the spectators around us are already red. Lucky we bought cowboy hats in the paddock or we’d have heatstroke by now. ‘You should’ve been in Miami. It’s so humid, you could slice through the air with a knife.’
‘Polite decline.’
Just when I thought it couldn’t get more American, a country singer starts singing the national anthem like it touches her soul.
‘God,’ Ash winces. ‘America.’
I’m about to agree but then I remind myself that Tiago’s from here, and he’s shown me a side of it that’s far from the endless hype and pageantry. Family and food. Loyalty and generosity. Inclusivity and warmth. Though Austin could be a different continent to Miami for how different it feels.
I cringe when a celebrity I don’t recognise yells, ‘Start your engines!’ into the loudspeaker.
‘Jesus,’ Ash mutters, turning her attention to her phone.
I hope Nyla’s getting some good content down there. I thought I caught a glimpse of her during the grid walk but I haven’t seen her since. Queen Serena Williams is supposed to be here.
‘Er… Jules?’
I reach over for a handful of Ash’s popcorn. ‘Mm?’
‘Logan’s here.’
I stop chewing. ‘What? Where?’
‘He did the grid walk. A clip of him speaking to Channel 3’s trending.’
I swallow and it digests uneasily. ‘I mean, he’s American. It’s not so crazy for him to be here.’ I lean over her screen, skimming the subtitles as the circuit fills with the sounds of the formation lap. ‘He lives in San—’
We read the words at the same time.
‘I feel an affinity with this sport. My ex is dating Tom Webber. I mean, “dating” is a strong word. Let’s not pretend she’s here for love. She’s a fraud. I’m going to post a vlog about it tonight, after the race. At theloganrogers.’
My stomach drops. A hollow, sickening swoop.
Pretend.
Fraud.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call and I startle out of my seat.
‘Have you seen it?’ Minnie’s breathless on speaker.
I can’t say anything.
Thankfully, Ash takes up the mantle. ‘She’s seen it!’
‘I swear to God, I saw Brian talking to him but I was on camera, and by the time we cut away, Logan had moved on.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I say weakly.
‘He said something similar to ESPN,’ Minnie adds. ‘Why they give that twat airtime is beyond me.’
‘It might not be that bad,’ Ash reasons, her head millimetres from mine to be heard above the formation lap closing. ‘Everybody knows your strategy anyway.’
‘Tom doesn’t,’ I utter.
I mean, he might know, but even if he does, he wasn’t supposed to be embarrassed like this.
I should’ve talked to him after our spat in Belgium.
It would’ve let me explain myself, instead of him having to bat away rumours in the media pen unarmed, thinking his girlfriend’s a bald-faced liar. Well, I am, but I have my reasons.
And while the public might think they know everything, I’ve never confirmed it. My dating has always been intentionally ambiguous. Without that air of mystery, there’s nothing exciting about me. I’m predictable. Scrollable. Yesterday’s news.
I knew Logan would do something big. He’s been trying to keep his heartbreak relevant this entire year.
Now it’s October and the NFL season’s back in session, it’s ripe timing for a big hero piece to return his name to the top of news feeds.
I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.
I’m so stupid. Why didn’t I back out when he first said he loved me?
I couldn’t control him then and I especially can’t now. This is a nightmare.
I feel sick. This heat, this crowd, and the fact that Tiago’s about to fight for his life definitely aren’t helping.
‘I need air,’ I mumble.
‘Coming!’ Ash sings, grabbing our bags and Reece’s head.
‘Ash is right,’ says Minnie, meeting us in a shaded corner away from the stand. ‘What can he spill that we don’t already know? It’s not like he can prove anything. He’ll just embarrass himself and look like a sore loser.’
‘You’ll be fine, Jules.’ Ash’s tone is stern and measured. Asha Chakravarty, LLM, Counsel for the Defendant, has joined the chat. ‘This is under control. This time is different. It’s not like it was with Damian. You have options. You always have options.’
My head’s listening but my body’s not. My heartbeat’s stumbling over itself. My fingers are prickly. My shoulders have locked.
How did I give a man the power to ruin me again?
Ash takes my hand, tethering me to the solid presence of her. ‘We’re going to breathe deeply. Ready?’
I try to copy her but I can’t get past the top of my lungs. My head feels impossibly light.
I’m blindsided when something smacks my cheek. Not hard, but enough for my skin to pulse.
Minnie reels back, looking terrified, on the verge of tears. ‘Snap out of it, Jules. We don’t know anything. It could be nothing. You have to pull yourself together or the cameras will catch it.’
She’s right. If I walk out early crying and tense, it’ll only add fuel to the fire. I have to pull myself back.
‘Focus on your breathing,’ Ash implores.
‘We are going to sit in the air-conditioned Paddock Club,’ Minnie instructs, ‘watch the Grand Prix in a corner by ourselves, and slip out straight after. And we’re going to get you a navy ribbon for your cowboy hat.’
Jesus, I forgot I was wearing that stupid cowboy hat.
‘No one can suspect a thing,’ Minnie goes on. ‘You are a loving girlfriend and a high-level content creator. It’s just another day.’
Just another day. Yes.
I force my lungs to fill. I imagine there’s a balloon inside me and I’m pumping it full of air, just like my therapist used to say.
‘You’re Jules fucking Butler,’ says Ash with a grin.
I take my bag from her with shaking hands. ‘Damn right I am.’