Chapter 20 Trading Material #2
I start to tack on an addendum—if you feel comfortable sharing—then stop myself.
Knowing the truth behind Faust’s grudge is necessary at this point.
I have to know what I’m working with. The ellipsis of his text bubble floats across my screen, the dots hopping and dipping to the steady rhythm of my very loud heart.
My phone chimes.
We grew up together.
We met in the stark benzin karting program when we were kids. We were friends. Instantly.
And SB wouldn’t have kept me around if his parents hadn’t helped my family financially.
But that was before his younger brother Jean started racing.
I think that’s how it started to break down, right from the start.
SB only wanted to invest in a few kids per “generation” and Jean wasn’t that much younger.
At first they tried to stop covering costs but Bernard said he’d quit if his dad quit on me. That was when we were about 13, in the feeder series. They knew Bernard would be good, so they kept going with me. But they knew I’d be good too.
When we both signed with SB we’d promised to keep it clean.
It worked for a while. Then it didn’t.
That was—a lot? He’s sharing a lot. I try to picture Faust sprawled out on a hotel bed in Baku, a big fluffy white robe on and his feet kicking as he texts me, like it’s nothing.
Maybe it is to him, and sharing his life story doesn’t feel like razoring off the outer layer of his ego.
He is a celebrity. Ego death must be more attainable.
But he’s so private, too.
I fidget with my phone case as I reply.
So what caused the falling-out?
More ellipses. More wondering if this will be the final straw.
We’d gone out one night before a race. Monaco.
Of course. He drank a lot. I didn’t. The next day, he drove into me.
It’d been an accident. He was hungover. We talked right after, and he promised he’d tell the media the truth.
I was dealing with the shit that comes from winning a WDC when you aren’t one of F1’s chosen ones. And it was Monaco. So.
So, the town that Formula 1 took over. Empathy makes my chest tight.
And then he has his interview and they’re asking what happened because F1 has always loved him. And he says it was my fault. Because I’d been having migraines. No one knew before then that I had them.
It broke my life.
I reread that one sentence so many times that my eyes burn.
Faust is so strong, so stable. It’d take a true disaster to break him.
And then I’m thinking about the medication bottles in his room, and how he’s been hiding that he wants to quit racing, and him protecting Christine’s image in the cooldown room, and how he’d followed me like a guard dog when he’d thought I was interested in Bernard.
And if thinking about him and his big, loyal heart wasn’t suffocating before, it is now.
Am I keeping you from any important morning meetings?
Also, thanks. For sharing
I’m sorry you had to deal with that as a kid
And as a teen
And now
Haha.
And no.
What time is it where you are?
11 p.m.
Late
Not really
I don’t sleep a lot
What does that mean
I chew harder at the inside of my cheek. I’d feel silly hiding such a small detail after what he shared—sort of like I’d lost the sharing game.
I have “““insomnia”””
Supposedly
Ah.
So many quotes.
I’ve never been like diagnosed and also
It’s probably my fault
Probably isn’t.
I start to send off something sarcastic, but then another message appears on my screen.
Have you been worried?
About me.
I know what he means. Worried he’ll expose me. Worried he could crush my life beneath his sleek racing Pumas. I pick at my nails, recently repainted with a jelly teal.
Vulnerability is just so… uncomfortable.
A little.
Faust’s reply comes instantly.
Don’t.
Oh ok, if you say so!!!
I mean it
I’m not going to hurt you
Trust me.
Does “trust me” work on anyone? Or am I just spectacularly broken? I turn over in bed, unsure of what to say, staring at those last two words. Understanding the logic behind Faust’s anger is one thing. Connecting beyond our shared enemy is another.
I guess we should discuss our evil plan then right
Maybe you can tell me how you want to help
You don’t have any ideas?
Well…
Ok one.
So I think I’ve got everything planned
But I could use boots on the ground for the aftermath
Bernard’s kind of the most famous person I’ve ever done this with. So when I break his heart, I want to make sure he like moves on, forgets about me, doesn’t hunt me down for sport, etc. etc. etc.
Another pause from him. Faust takes so long to reply that I do, in fact, start to get a bit sleepy, waiting with my eyes glued to the blurry white glow that is my phone screen.
Two texts ding, back to back.
Bad plan.
You could appear in someone’s life for a single moment and they’d remember it.
I feel the moment my breath catches, my cheek smushed up against my grandma-chic pillow. There. That feels different than just being nice. Mile-wide different, if you will.
Or… or, he’s just reminding me how stupid I’d been to act like we’d never met. Oh. Actually, that’s probably it.
Hahaha whatever you say……
Just as long as he doesn’t make a 10-part podcast about me.
Got it.
Lol cool. Thanks. So then I’m thinking that Monaco is the moment
Bernard and I are going to soft launch after the gala (April 28)
And I’m thinking of dumping him maybe like before Quali? (May 17)
Doing it at the grand prix seems idk, too close to potential accidental vehicular manslaughter
I see.
My eyebrows knit together. I wasn’t expecting him to pop a gold star on my organized dates, but. I kind of was. Is this him doing his listening thing, over text? Or is he mad that I brought up Monaco after his story? Or—something else? My muscles tense.
Is there any reason that plan wouldn’t work?
Like… any possible reason you think I should not go public with Bernard?
You should do what you want to do.
All right. I’ve been correct. Faust doesn’t want anything serious from me, the perpetually unserious dater. Time to let the topic drop.
Are you sure? Because it seems
Idk I’m not trying to be like
WEIRD
But are you sure?
There’s 1000% no reason I shouldn’t be Bernard’s very public ig official girlfriend?
I guess ih
Sorrt.
Typo.
It’s okay. Take your time
Thank you.
I guess you have to ask yourself what you’re okay with losing.
***
People will think you dated him.
I sit up.
Yes?
I stare at my screen, waiting, not breathing.
This is his in. A clear, open door where he can say I don’t want you to date my rival, I want you to date me as plainly and earnestly as he says everything else.
Because Faust isn’t the type of person to care about the dating-Bernard’s-ex gossip on a personal level, and he’d never let his circle run some patriarchal “sloppy seconds” bullshit, but like he said earlier—the media is brutal.
The Formula 1 universe would inhale anything we did after I’ve gone public with Bernard.
An influencer hopping between childhood friends-turned-rivals? Movie deal.
My phone dings and I feel like I’m standing on the platform of a train as it derails, and also I’m in front of it.
I’ll follow your lead.
But Mei? Christine?
The train hits.
Right. Yes. Mei will be betrayed and Christine will hate me and I’ll be fired, without a doubt.
And he’s being very considerate, approaching this topic with me, typical honest Faust. But my throat feels like it’s closing up anyway.
I’ve never had to learn what normal people do when their hearts collapse, but if our situation wasn’t working for him, wouldn’t he tell me?
He keeps texting.
Yeah, he would.
Sorry. This isn’t my place, I know.
I just worrt
Worry
I worry about what you will do after you leave.
You like fashion. You like Formula 1.
My emotions get to me before my rational, logical mind can.
I like what I do, too.