Corner Two: Angela's Revenge

The story is largely fictitious, built from what I saw the last time I went to Corner Two. Part Loving Wives, part Romance, part Mature, this tale could be told in many categories. The message is simple. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Angela's Revenge

She was a strikingly lovely woman, and I couldn't understand why the man with her was marching along a couple of metres ahead. He didn't seem to care that she was trying to keep up, slowed a bit by her stylish, heeled half-boots on the sloping terrain. Tall and slim, perhaps in her mid- 30s, her blunt cut, ash-blonde hair framed an attractive angular face with big expressive eyes. She deserved better.

The man ahead of this beauty strode along, his face set and scowling, seemingly oblivious to the eyes following her. She stood out from others nearby- her tailored black leather jacket highlighting a fine chest underneath. It was a bit cool that morning, so she wore matching black gloves, along with tight blue jeans showcasing her long, shapely legs. He didn't seem to notice.

Corner Two is probably the best viewing spot on the entire circuit- for people and cars. I've been here often over the past forty years, first with my father, later with my ex, then with our son and some of my friends. The race cars crest a low hill at high speed, then careen down the other side blind. There's a tight, off-camber left turn at the bottom which pushes the speeding cars to the outside, toward the tire barrier.

Spectators gather on the gentle slope along the fence by the track marshals' stand. Here we're above the cars, safe from the machines blazing past less than ten metres away. It's close enough to see the driver's frenzied movements as they steer, down-shift, and brake to avoid disaster.

The couple was passing in single file in front of me, and I wanted to talk to the lady. It didn't seem like much of a risk, given the usually friendly ambience at the track.

"He's a lucky man!" I boldly commented to her, nodding toward him, adding, "Too bad more women don't join their men here."

"Thank you," she smiled sweetly, and I noticed her sad, blue eyes.

"What did you say?"

The guy had overheard me and possibly her softer reply. He turned back to glare, but I saw that I had height and muscle on him. Still, I was polite- you just never know.

"Just saying that you're a lucky guy to have your woman come here with you. Mine came once, but didn't like the noise," I explained.

"Yeah, I suppose," then turning to the ashen-blonde beauty stopped in front of me, he barked, "Come on, Angela!"

He abruptly turned on his heel and continued on while Angela gave me one more shy little smile and rushed to close the distance between them. I shook my head at how shabbily he treated this beautiful lady.

Later in the afternoon, they came back to Corner Two again, just before the feature race. He was leading the way once more, Angela trotting along obediently like a trained pet. She had discarded her leather jacket, now carrying it slung over the shoulder of her tight, pink sweater. My suspicions about her upper body were confirmed by the swell of her proud breasts.

Angela noticed me looking at her, so turned my way with a little smile of recognition and a mouthed, "Hello". Then they moved about twenty metres from me along the fence to watch the cars on their pace lap, the guy paying no attention to her whatsoever. During the next hour, I probably spent more time pretending to follow cars down the hill while actually staring at Angela. She was very attractive and beguiling.

When the hour-long Vintage feature ended, I could see that they were about to leave, so I maneuvered myself to a spot where they would need to pass by me. Sure, Angela's good looks and fine figure drew me, but there was something in that little smile and those big, sad eyes that held me. This time when they passed, I stepped out to talk to the guy.

"So, did you like the race? That big Cobra blasting past the Lotus on the blind crest was a ballsy move, wasn't it?"

A comment like this from a complete stranger at a sporting event wouldn't seem unusual at all. Fans are like a fraternity, drawn by the same interests. He stopped and Angela almost walked into the back of him.

"Yeah, good race," was all he had to say, and not in a particularly friendly tone.

"How about you? Did you enjoy it?" I asked Angela before he started off.

"Yes thanks. I like old cars." she said softly, with a smile that lit up her lovely face.

She looked right into my eyes for a few moments, then gave a little shrug of her shoulders and a sad pout before turning to rush off behind him. I thought that would likely be the last I'd ever see of Angela, this apparently unhappy and ignored woman.

****

I'm a divorced man with grown children. Halfway through my fifties, I live alone and have a career in graphic design. Now there's plenty of time for my own interests, particularly watching motor racing, and I work out at the gym a lot. It's important to me to look and feel good. Who wants to become a decrepit old man?

My life moves along easily enough from week to week, from event to event. It's smooth, but rather empty because something is lacking. I have plenty of friends who share my interest in fast cars and fitness, but not much female company. My wife and I grew apart a long time ago, and at this age I don't care for the bar scene.

This was a weekend event, so I towed my small camper [caravan if you're British] and set up in a shady spot along the forest fringe, not far from the top of the long, back straight section of the track. It's another popular spot because the cars reach maximum speed as they thunder uphill through the trees to another hillcrest. I've seen cars become airborne there at 250-kilometre speeds, a sobering experience.

There was a line of trailers parked there, one rig larger than the rest. After the first day's events were finished, I sat in front of mine, beer in hand. I'd come alone this time, everybody busy with something else this early spring weekend. Then Angela walked by, dutifully following her guy and what looked like a loud group of his male friends. She spotted me, and gave a smile with a discreet little hand wave.

"What a fine woman!" I thought. "I wonder where she's sleeping tonight?"

Then I watched as the group turned in at the big rig just beyond me. They went inside and the guys soon came out with beers in hand. Not Angela though, probably inside getting food ready for them, I guessed. Later she came out with several big bowls and her guy fired up the barbeque. It was time to get my own supper together. I hoped that I'd see Angela again at Corner Two tomorrow.

Sometime after midnight I awakened to a frantic knocking on my trailer door. Was I dreaming? No, there it was again! I opened it, forgetting that I was wearing only my boxers, and Angela quickly pushed past me and rushed inside. She was very upset, still dressed as I'd seen her a few times earlier in the day. But there was some blood on her chin, and it had dripped onto the pink sweater. She was sniffling.

"Quick. Shut the door!" she sobbed.

"Angela! Jesus, what happened? What's going on?"

"I don't want him to hit me again!"

"He hit you! Is he coming after you?" Fight or flight? I was instantly ready to kick his sorry ass.

"My bastard husband. He kicked me out. Told me just to fuck off."

"Good lord! I'll get you a cloth and some water. Let's clean you up. Where's that cut?"

"My bottom lip. It hurts!"

"Let's see. Damn... he split it open! Nasty cut. I have some ice or it'll swell up all black-and-blue."

"Thanks.... I don't even know your name, but you seemed friendly at the track today. His friends are as bad as him. No help to me tonight."

"Greg.... Greg Carpenter. I know you're Angela. He doesn't treat you very well, does he?"

"No. Like shit a lot of the time!"

I had the ice cubes now and put them in a little plastic bag to press against her lip. Meanwhile I dabbed away at the blood on her chin and looked down at the drops on the front of her sweater. I hesitated.

"Much as I'd like to get that blood off your sweater, Angela, it's right on your.... Well, here, I'll hold the ice against your lip while you dab at the sweater."

She gave me that beautiful smile then grimaced as a fresh flow of blood oozed from her split lip.

"I was right about you, Greg Carpenter. You're a nice guy."

I couldn't help but notice how beautiful this woman looked close up: smooth, flawless skin- currently tear stained- full, bowed lips, and big liquid blues. And some asshole was beating on her! It seemed unbelievable. She continued.

"I've been with Rocco for nearly ten years now. Ten too many. He doesn't care a damn about me anymore. Maybe he never really did?" and she started to cry.

"Careful now. You don't want that lip to bleed again," I soothed her, bringing my arm around her shoulder to comfort. I hate to see women or little kids cry.

She didn't flinch, so I pulled a little tighter, and met no resistance. To my surprise, Angela took my hand and squeezed it. When she stopped sniffling and was breathing easy again, I spoke softly to soothe her.

"Angela, what will you do now? There's a hospital about twenty minutes south of here if you want to go to Emergency. I can take you. Been there myself once."

"I think my lip will be fine if you have a bandage. It's not bleeding anymore, as long as I don't smile or laugh."

"I'll get my first aid kit out. There's a bit of everything in there," I replied.

"But I don't know what to do now. Rocco hit me and pushed me out. Said he didn't care if I lived or died anymore because I was no use to him. He makes me feel like garbage sometimes. I don't want to go back there tonight."

Now what? Was Angela asking to stay with me for the night? That would great but I didn't want to get myself into the middle of a domestic dispute, especially when Rocco had his posse of buddies to back him up. But I didn't want to send her back there either. There had to be some other solution. I thought about it for a bit as I carefully applied a couple of bandages to her mouth.

"You know, Angela, this lip is worse than I thought. It's still seeping, and it looks like your teeth cut down into it when he hit you. I think you need to have a doctor look at it. It would be a shame to have such a nice face disfigured by that jerk of a husband."

I was appealing to her vanity, but something also told me it would be wise to have this abuse documented.

"Well... you say it's close. I know Rocco won't take me...."

"I will. Like I said, I've been there. One year, I stepped into a little hole at night and wrenched my back so badly that a friend took me. When I told the doctor that it happened at the track, he just laughed, because this place used to be party central. Anyway, I left on crutches- a cracked vertebrae."

"Ouch! It must have hurt."

"Oh yeah! So, let's go now. I don't think it'll be very busy at this late hour."

Angela thought about it, staring at my face all the while, as if she was trying to read my intentions. I was glad that she couldn't see the hidden part of me that would gladly take her to my bed and fuck her all night. I was keeping that guy tightly under control. Then she gave me her verdict.

"That would be perfect! But you'll have to put on some clothes first."

She gave a little grin at her own joke as I looked down and realized that I still wore nothing but my boxer shorts!

"Oh shit! Sorry. I'll get dressed right now. Do you need to pick up anything at your rig before we leave?... Right. I don't suppose you want to go back there tonight, do you?"

"No. I'm finished with that bastard!" she spit out with disgust.

We talked a little on the short drive to the hospital, but Angela was pretty quiet, clearly thinking about her predicament. Her lip started to bleed through the bandages, so she pressed a tissue against it most of the way there. I was wondering what came next, not eager to take her back to my trailer or deliver her to Rocco's.

Upon arrival we saw that the Emergency Department wasn't very busy, and after about a half hour we went in to see a doctor. As soon as I had an opportunity, I quietly told her that Angela's husband had done this to her. The Doc pulled out her cellphone and took photos of the split lip before and after removing the bandages. I asked her to text us copies because I was already thinking that Angela should get away from Rocco.

"I'll also give you a copy of the full intake report including the cause of the injury," the doctor told Angela. "If this was no accident, it's important to have it fully documented."

"Yes, my husband did it. Smacked me with the back of his hand!"

"Then keep my report and the photos, Angela," she said in a kind voice.

The doctor froze her lip and stitched it carefully, commenting that she had to get this right to avoid a permanent scar.

"It's a good thing you came in to have this fixed properly. The stitches should dissolve in a week or so, but make an appointment with your doctor if they become lodged or infected.... And good luck. I hope this doesn't happen to you again."

The doctor's parting words sealed a decision that I'd been rolling around since we arrived at the hospital.

"Where's home?" I asked Angela. "Is it far from here?"

"An hour or so west along this highway. In the city, right downtown."

"I could take you there tonight. Better than anything else I can think of. Do you have your house keys with you now?"

"Yes. Keys and wallet. Greg, you'd drive me all that way in the middle of the night? Really! I've already taken too much of your time with my own problems," she exclaimed.

"It seems to me like you need a friend right now."

"My friends call me Angie."

****

It was a moonless night, but I knew the route to the city well enough. There was almost no traffic as we sped along through the dark and when we got closer to the capital, I punched in the address Angela gave me. My intention was to drop her off at home, then turn right around to return to the track. I didn't want Rocco to have any idea where his spurned wife had gone or how she got there. But I figured that I should get her number before I left.

Along the way, we made some small talk, with her gradually revealing what had led up to her split lip.

"He didn't like me talking to you at the track today. That was the problem."

"So, Rocco's a controlling little jerk, isn't he!"

"Yes, he is. Small Man Syndrome, I guess. He has to be completely in charge all the time, and he just gets worse."

"And he hit you, just for that?"

"No. I was bold enough to tell him to let up on me a bit. One of his buddies heard that, and Rocco didn't like me standing up to him in front of his friends. So, he slapped me hard."

"Angie. You're a beautiful woman. You seem like a nice person. Why do you stay with him?"

"I ask myself the same thing sometimes.... This time he pushed me too far. Right now, I just hate him!"

After that we didn't say much for a while, as the dark outlines of buildings and trees glided past my car. Both of us were thinking about all that had happened in the past few hours, the shocking event that had led to this clandestine car ride. But when the city lights became more prominent, Angela brightened a bit too. It was as if she'd left Rocco far enough behind that he wouldn't be coming for her. At least not tonight.

It was about 3:00 AM when we pulled up to her apartment building, a classy place in a nice part of downtown. I stopped by the front entry ready to say goodbye and ask for her number. Angela beat me to the punch.

"Greg, please come up with me. I'll make you some coffee to keep you awake because you won't be back to the track until almost dawn."

I hesitated because I knew that if I went up for coffee I would want to stay for more. This sad, beautiful woman was burning a hole in me, and I admitted to myself that I didn't really want to say goodbye. In less than twenty-four hours, her plight had become important to me, but there was more to it than that.

"OK, Angie. That would be nice. Just a cup of coffee, then I'll go back."

"Sure, but we'll exchange numbers too, OK? You're good to talk to Greg, and you treat me much better than I'm used to. Sometimes things seem so bad here."

The apartment was very high-end. Angela and Rocco had a good life materially if not romantically. City lights beamed through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the fine furniture and thick carpeting. Big pieces of modern art dressed many of the walls. I was impressed.

"Nice place, Angie," I whistled softly.

"Thanks," then she moved toward the kitchen. "Get comfortable. I'll start the coffee and be back shortly. I want to clean up a bit and take a closer look at my lip."

I got up and began to tour the art gallery that was their big lounge. I could hear the coffee machine whirring in the kitchen, then it was quiet for a bit before I heard the sound of water running somewhere nearby. I continued looking at everything displayed and eventually there were pouring and tinkling sounds- the coffee must be ready.

Moments later, Angela came from behind the sofa and sat a tray down on the low table in front of me.

"All ready," she exclaimed, and I looked up to see that she was wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and slippers. She'd taken a quick shower, and now I wondered if it was the coffee that was ready, or was it her? The robe was loosely tied at the waist and as she bent forward to set down the tray, Angela held that position long enough to reveal her deep cleavage. She smiled sweetly and spoke almost breathlessly:

"Thanks so much for bringing me home, Greg. I feel a lot better now. I'm not used to a man -a complete stranger even- treating me well."

"Yeah. I've seen too much of that already. Rocco should appreciate you more. Come sit down here and we'll have coffee together before I go."

That's when I noticed that there was only one big mug of coffee, alongside a tumbler of alcohol. Angela saw me looking.

"The coffee is for you, but it would keep me awake. The booze will help me to sleep. It's been a hard day." Then she looked into my eyes and continued, "I can't thank you enough for what you've done tonight, Greg."

Angela had turned toward me and brought her knees up under her on the sofa. The robe she wore rode well up her bare thighs, and above the waist tie it bloused open to reveal a great deal of bare skin. She was close to me, her knees against my leg, and I knew that more than a cup of coffee was available for the taking.

Then a strange feeling came across me, the thought that Angela could be more than just a "Thank you" fuck. I didn't want to be another user like Rocco, someone who would have her, then just toss her away. I didn't want to perpetuate that. Angela was simply too good to be someone's one-time plaything. I'd try to resist.

"Tell me, Angie, do you work? A career of some sort?" I asked to start us talking.

"I do some fashion modelling, but not as much as when I was younger. Now it's not elegant shows or private shoots. Mostly commercial things like catalogues, usually as a mother or an aunt. Oh, I'm in the ad for this coffee you're drinking."

"And how did Rocco come into this? He doesn't look like he'd run in the same league as you do."

"My long-time agent. He gets me the work, but I'm not such a big draw as I used to be. Older now, and that's probably why it seems that he just wants to throw me away."

"That's sad, Angie. You are such a lovely person...."

"And you're so nice, Greg. Helping me like this. It's soothing to talk to you," she breathed, swirling her drink as she stared into my face again.

Angela looked so gorgeous next to me, especially half-undressed in her loose robe. I doubted that she wore anything underneath. My resistance was already weakening, then she put her free hand on mine and brought it to her bare thigh.