Speedway Girl

That's when that motherfucker pushed me into the wall. I watched tape of it over and over, some weeks later and I'm fully convinced that he decided he couldn't beat me so he took us both out. My car rebounded off the wall and started to turn sideways, sliding out of control, then pushing him sideways until our tires took some-what control and drove us down the banked pavement and onto the grass in front of pit row. Going from pavement to earth then violently gripped the cars making gravity, angular speed and momentum our mortal enemies. Our cars rolled as one and smashed us into oblivion, not even looking remotely like racecars when they came to rest, just a single twisted mass of metal. That was my final memory of the day.

What the tape showed, and every news agency in the world replayed of the dramatic wreck, was a lone figure running out from behind my pit crew, athletically leaping over the concrete barrier and to the wrecks which had started to burn. He reached into my driver's side open window and undid my harness then pulled me out before carrying me to a safe distance from the wreckage. How, I'll never know. I never considered Talbot to be a big strong guy, so I can only credit the rush of adrenaline. He laid me on the ground and undid my helmet, which is actually a bone-head move but in some of the photographs, the anguish on his face was clear.

The flames made it to both gas tanks simultaneously and they blew. The force from the blast knocked Talbot on top of me and then the paramedics showed up in force, pulling him away. The photograph that exclusively made the L.A. Times was a zoomed in shot of him, covered in my blood, fighting two paramedics to get back to my side, and me laying on the ground prone, the metal rod clearly seen protruding from my shoulder.

It was also Chris Butler's last day on Earth.

It took me a while to come-to in the hospital. Even after, I was so doped up on an opioid and saline cocktail that full awareness of where I was and what happened was slow to come. The only thing I was sure of was that Talbot was by my side and remained there, even after I recovered enough to go home and finish healing in my own bed.

I finally got to the point where I was moving around on my own, Talbot giving me praise for each milestone in my recovery. We started hanging around again in Dad's shop and we were joking around when something happened that was far more painful than the wreck. It went from my brain to my mouth and then a giant hole was left in my life, only I didn't know it at the time.

I remember the moment so clearly. He was drinking a Mountain Dew and cracking pistachios out of their shells, we were throwing about every other shell at each other. Pop was going to be pissed at us later for the mess. Then he landed one right at my neckline and the shell went into my shirt. I had to reach between my boobs to fish the thing out which he exaggerated great interest in. I called him a perv. He mimed being a flasher.

Our laughter died out until we were just all smiles. I asked him, "Got any tricks up your sleeve for my new race car? Time is ticking, you know."

He looked horrified. "What do you mean?"

"Duh," was my initial clever response. "I'm going to need a new car. I totalled my other one. I'd like my new one to be even faster. Think you can do something about that? I should be ready to drive in a couple months, and I'll be out of the running for the points, but I would at least like to finish the last few races of the season."

You'd have thought I stabbed him in the neck. He gave me a look I'll never forget and then he got up and left the building.

It was the last time I saw him in person until I crashed his physics lesson.

I had learned from Dad, through Pop, that since he had finished high school a year early that he took off for MIT and started on his engineering degree. I learned tidbits from time to time about him over the years. He somehow skipped his masters and went right for the PhD, then moved on to live the life of an academic.

Because of my stupid pride, I just let him be. I hoped he would be happy.

*

Pop had been quiet at the meeting, but now we all were. I'm sure they were thinking the same thing I was, about that day. Dad and Pop were both there behind my pit crew and watched Talbot run off to save me.

Pop was surprisingly the first to break the silence. "He wasn't the same after that, you know."

I replied, "Neither was I, Pop."

Dad said in a sullen tone, "He's still not the same."

That took a second to get through to my brain. "What do you mean 'STILL not the same.' Dad, have you seen him?"

Dad grimaced, knowing he let the cat out of the bag. He tried to downplay it. "Not that often, but from time to time."

That made me angry. "Well fuck him! I'm not good enough for him to even say 'hi' to me?!"

Dad tried to reason with me. "Darlin', if you think about it hard enough, it shouldn't be difficult to figure it out. Now, what I want to know is, how did it feel to see him again?"

I replied honestly, "It felt great. Really, really great. Only our meeting was too brief. Our next one will be longer."

Dad pursed his lips, "What do you mean 'next' one? What are you up to?"

I smiled big at that and wiggled my eyebrows at him like he used to ask me to do when I was a little girl. "As luck would have it, I ran into the sponsor as they were leaving and gave them an idea which I'd been ruminating over and they are fully on board with it. They didn't even have to think about it before I got my endorsement. Next week I go see him and pull the nuclear option."

*

I actually felt bad about the way Talbot was ambushed. He walked into the conference room, got a good look at me, then recognized the Dean of Engineering, and then the Dean of the whole damn university. He bravely entered the room and sat down. Other than him, we were all smiles, but he looked like he had been punched in the stomach, hunching over even in his seat.

The big Dean started off, "Welcome Mr. Jones. I understand no introduction is necessary here to Ms. James. I just learned of your remarkable tenure at the world's most watched spectator sport. And you were mentored by the most winningest racer of all time and his engineers. I actually saw the Outlaw win several races back when I was a professor at Michigan. Remarkable. I just can't wait to hear what you come up with. What an opportunity for this University."

Talbot shot a confused look at me, so I had to jump in, "Sorry, Dean Withers, I hadn't gone over it in its entirety to Bolt, erm, Mr. Jones, yet. It was a surprise."

Dean Withers clapped his hands once in delight. "Splendid, let me spill the beans, can I Ms. James?" I nodded my head with a smile. "Mr. Jones, the Jesse James Racing Team and their sponsor are awarding a grant to the university of 3 million dollars. Starting with the race car suspension and moving on to the other systems, you will take a fixed number of seconds off of the team's lap time and compound success to the team, all the while parked in the Winner's Circle with our university logo prominently placed on the quarter-panels. How remarkable will that be?!"

Talbot groaned and weakly said, "Oh, sir. I don't think I can do that. I have an obligation to my students, I can't leave them high and dry."

"Nonsense," he scolded, though with a smile. "We can have your course load transpositioned. Just think of what this means to the university. First, just a lot of publicity, good publicity. Then we become the go-to institution for race teams all around the world, racing enthusiasts will enroll, and then ultimately the auto industry will recruit right here on these grounds. With twenty-five percent of the patents being property of the university, we'll have a 20 year revenue stream as the icing on the cake."

I could see it in Talbot's face. Defeat. It was a 'can't say no' situation for him. It was so hard for me to resist pumping my fist in the air right in front of the Deans. Then my euphoria was all erased as I thought, he's got to be thinking I'm such a conniving bitch.

*

The start date was non negotiable. It started immediately. I had the driver of the team's luxury Winnebego that I drove up in, the only vehicle without any of our sponsor's logos splashed all over it, bring him to his condo so he could pick up some things and then we drove to the team's shop together. It was a chilly drive, and not because of the RV's air conditioning. Talbot was pissed and gave me the silent treatment to let me know.

It was late in the day when we got there, but Pop was still where I usually found him. He shared a heartfelt greeting with his son and if I was the tearful kind of girly-girl that I'm not, I might have shed one. Dad came out of his office and gave him a warm greeting too. I was his only child, so Talbot was the son he never had.

Most of the people currently in the shop, maybe 30 or so guys at the time, were new to Talbot, but he made his rounds to introduce himself and occasionally found an old timer who remembered him from when he was a teen. While he did that, Dad separated me from the gang.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he told me.

"Yeah, I'm going to start winning. And you're going to get back to winning too. This is going to be great, Dad."

"Is that all this is about, Jess?"

"Yeah, Dad." It was hard looking him in the eyes, "Mostly."

He shook his head in understanding, but the next few things he said dumped a cold bucket full of guilt directly onto my nervous system. "Darlin', I love you. More than anything in this world. I'm also very fond of your 'Bolt' and nothing would have pleased me more than to see you two together, making babies at this point and watching them learn to crawl and then run around the shop like you two did."

He paused, and I said, "But... "

"But this is going to be hard on the boy. You have no idea. Jimmy says he still has nightmares about the wreck and he feels directly responsible for it. What you're asking him to do is to make you go faster, on a more dangerous circuit, at the most dangerous level. He's going to feel like he's the Grim Reaper, coming for the love of his life's very soul, and he has no choice in the matter."

Love of his life? He couldn't. Not after all this time. No way.

A million things to say came to mind, but all I could do was nod my head and saunter off to the bathroom where I puked up my entire lunch.

*

That first week was crazy, as usual during racing season, but no matter what I was doing, the fact that Talbot was on the premises never left my mind. I left him mostly to his own devices and we had dedicated an office to him in the R&D lab which was under the mezzanine at the back of the shop. He spent most of that week at a computer, with several hours talking to both of our fathers and having his head under the hoods of our cars.

Sometime in the middle of the week, one of the engineering students from his graduate studies class that he recruited, joined him and was going to stay with us for the season. He was a nice guy, but a little starstruck over meeting dad and me though he admitted he wasn't into racing. The funny thing is that he was even more starstruck that he was going to work directly for his professor even though Talbot worked the guy really hard.

Talbot's mood had changed dramatically. Of the time our paths crossed, he was cordial and would give me a smile. As I had hoped, once he accepted the fact that he had no choice but to see his assignment through, he took it to task, lowered his head and was determined to make progress. I could almost physically see the genius oozing out of him.

Thursday was getting a little frantic as it was the last regular day of getting the cars 'tight'. Our people would load up the semi trucks with the race cars and equipment the next day and they'd drive overnight to Reno, the site of time trials on Saturday and Sunday's race. For today, my car was being taken to Riverside Speedway, a 2-mile oval that was practically across the street from the shop. I was scheduled to do some practice laps including pit stop practice.

I checked my watch and was about to head on over to the track when Talbot called out my name and got my attention. He had a crash helmet in his hand.

"At practice, try out your new helmet and let me know what you think," he said, handing me the helmet.

I put it back in his hands, "I already have a helmet."

He tried to shove it back in my hands, now we were at a standstill, both holding it. He talked to me like he was talking to a child, "No, this is your new helmet."

I talked back in the same tone, "I don't want a new helmet, I like the one I have."

He sighed in frustration, "You will use this new helmet, or I'll quit the university and walk away from everything. I'll work at McDonalds slinging burgers, and you'll have to default on the university grant." I could tell he meant it too. Except for the McDonalds part.

"Why is this so important to you!? My helmet is already a HANS device, it is the safest helmet that there is and it is fully approved by the syndicate."

He pushed the helmet until I was fully holding it on my own, saying, "This is a HANS device, but with some upgrades that make it even safer. Please. Jess, you have to do this." He said it looking into my eyes. Pleading. If I didn't give in, he might have cracked.

I gave him my best grumpy, teenager-like, snippety, "Fine!"

Someone got both of our attention, saying, "I think it's a great idea."

It was my step-mom, and she had a big shit-eating grin on her face. I just groaned.

While fully looking at Talbot, she addressed me, "Jessica, I heard your old boyfriend was back. Please introduce me."

I refrained from rolling my eyes, "Bolt, this is my dad's wife, Bethany." She hated when I wouldn't use the term 'step-mom' and when I'd call her by her full name. "Bethany, this is my new engineer, Dr. Talbot Jones. And he was never my boyfriend."

"Why, not? He's handsome." The two shook hands, Talbot was clearly uncomfortable.

Then she looked at me directly, "Safer is better, Jessica." At Talbot, "Does my husband get one too?" He nodded and she exaggerated letting out a breath of relief.

"Jessica," she asked, "why do you call him 'Bolt'?"

I grinned and could feel myself blushing, "I couldn't say 'Talbot' very well when we were little, but 'Bolt' was close enough. It kind of stuck but it fits him so well that there's no reason to stop. Don't get any ideas though, I'm the only one that gets to call him that." I saw him blush now.

"Aww, how cute," Beth responded, not the reaction I intended.

After some idle small talk she then went off to Dad's office. These days they frequently have lunch together there after all her belly aching that she didn't get to spend enough time with him.

Talbot looked at me with curiosity, "New step-mom, huh?"

I replied, "Yup. Every five to ten years, he gets a newer model. This one's closer to my age than his. Isn't that kind of gross?"

He nodded his head in understanding but then said, "As long as she makes him happy, right?" Just like something Talbot would say, missing the whole point.

The thing is, Talbot and I had long conversations about mothers when we were kids. Sadly, Talbot never knew his. She died the day he was born. Pop never told him the circumstances, but he thinks that was the reason his father whisked them half the way around the world. Pop went from wrenching on race cars at Le Mans, to Unlimited in America. Talbot would say that Pop never looked at a woman again, but I know that while growing up, Talbot wished he had a step-mom.

I was always in the other camp. I never got over the fact that my mother left me when I was just a little girl. Who does that?! I don't even remember what she looked like other than I have a picture hidden away of her that I was lucky to find, Dad threw away every single other one in rage.

Beth was lucky #3. Or quite possibly be unlucky, depending on how you looked at it. Dad was married to racing first. Sure, a lot of wealth came from being with a sports-hero celebrity, but Dad never played up to that. He avoided high society, parties and things like that, living a humble and private lifestyle. I subscribe to the same thing, even more now that I'm in the top tier of our sport.

She is certainly pretty, and she dotes over Dad, not seeming to miss the celebrity lifestyle like #2 wanted so badly and thought she was going to get through marriage. There was actually not a single thing I could dislike Beth for. That's what bothered me the most, I have to admit, just not out loud of course. I grew up with an attitude towards mothers that they're overrated. Who needs them? I don't.

Talbot looked at me with a knowing stare. He read what I was thinking and now I needed something to grumble about to distract him. "You could have at least made the helmet a color that matches my fire suit."

*

Race day was the usual organized chaos that race days are. Talbot rode with us across the state in the RV for the weekend and I was thrilled to have him around. It was like he had never left me and we followed our rituals and routines just like we did when I was in the Jr. Circuit. My confidence was soaring, I was going to crush that oval, I just knew it.

There was more pomp and pageantry at this level than I experienced in Class 2 and the Jr.s before that, but I was well aware of it all, being around it my whole life. But before the national anthem, the prayer, and the call to start our engines, there was the driver's meeting. Finally, at this level, nobody gave me any shit. How could they? I was standing between my two team-mates, Jeffrey Johansen, or Jeffy as we like to call him, a seasoned driver with dozens of top 5 finishes, and The Outlaw, a living legend. These two earned the respect of every driver in the pack, and some of the younger drivers were pissing themselves just being at the same speedway as them.

That's not to say I didn't get the occasional dirty look from some of the other drivers, many of which I raced against from when we were teenagers and in the lower circuits where I kicked their asses, and then some who had just tried to get into my pants. Naturally, I had shot them down on that front. There was no way I was ever going to date a driver or anyone else in this business.

The meeting over, I headed to my car, scanning the crowd as I did so, hoping to see Talbot. I didn't need to, I found him waiting for me at the car, fidgeting with his pit pass lanyard, looking serious.

I gave him my biggest smile, avoiding the massive urge in my gut to kiss him. "Ready?" I asked him.

"I'm supposed to ask you that," he replied. I just nodded in response.

He gripped both of my arms at the elbows and we got real close. His voice quivered, "This is a long race on a short track. I need you to keep all four wheels on the pavement the whole time. Do you understand me?"

He tried to say more, but he was struggling. I could see in his face that same look of anguish that made the news when he pulled me out of my wrecked car 13 years ago. I wasn't looking at the man he became, I could see the boy that I grew up with, and he was scared.

He was so sick with worry that I had to fix that. I said, "That was the worst pep talk in the history of pep talks," and then I kissed him. Hard. Until it turned soft and sweet. Our arms entangled in a tight embrace, the kiss resonating with emotion that I meant it. He had to have understood that. Right?

Would have preferred that the network didn't catch it all on video, replaying it over and over throughout the broadcast of the race, but I needed to do it. And he needed it. I'd do it all over again, but right now it was race time.

Talbot helped me on with my helmet and then he trotted off to our pit station while I went into the open window of the driver's seat and got situated in the cockpit. Before long I heard his voice in my headset, "Testing, testing, check, check."