The Princess and the Prix

by Nell Stark

  The grid girls noticeably steeled themselves, freezing their smiles in place and narrowing their eyes. Alix couldn’t blame them—being sprayed with champagne had to sting. At the last minute, all three drivers decided to coordinate, and their corks arced into the air in near synchronicity. As they drank and laughed and delivered a few more comments into the microphone, Alix looked again for Thalia, and this time she found her.

  She stood on the track below the far end of the stage, surrounded by a clump of reporters. In the scintillating sunlight, her dark hair gleamed purplish-black like a raven’s feathers. As she spoke, her hands sliced through the air, and while Alix couldn’t hear her words, she could read the tension in her body language.

  The stage emptied as the winning drivers headed for their press conference, and the VIP paddock began to clear out as well. But Alix remained, wanting to see if she could catch Thalia’s attention. At the very least, she wanted to convey her sympathies.

  And then Terrence Delamar emerged onto the track from below the stage, precipitating a chorus of quickly hushed exclamations. He headed in Thalia’s direction, and someone must have warned her of his approach, because she spun to face him. Trailing reporters in her wake, she marched up to him, drew back her fist, and punched him in the face.

  Terrence staggered away, clutching at his nose, blood leaking through his fingers. When he pulled his hand away and found his palm swathed in red ribbons, he shouted a string of obscenities in a mix of French and English. Thalia shouted back, gesturing sharply in the direction of the corner where they had collided.

  “You pulled that shit on purpose! You had no move there, and you know it!”

  Terrence spat blood onto the ground and rounded on her, clenching his own fists. “I was quicker coming into that corner!”

  Alix watched in disbelief as the crews of both drivers converged on their positions to hold them both in place. One of Terrence’s engineers was trying to staunch his nose with a towel, despite Terrence’s attempts to get around him. Within moments, they were joined by a few security guards.

  “Watch the video!” Thalia yelled. “You had nothing! You purposely sabotaged me!”

  “You were too loose, you fucking cunt! You weren’t on the line!”

  Stunned by his language, Alix was even more shocked to see Thalia struggling furiously against the men who held her. Was she so far beyond reason that she wanted to attack him again? Her intensity must have caught the guards flat-footed as well, because she nearly broke free before one of them firmly grabbed her by the shoulders. She struggled with the officer, and in resisting, handed over the authority for him to be much more severe. Even as he pinned her hands behind her back, she continued to shout.

  “Too loose? I was on the perfect line! Watch the goddamn replay, you misogynistic prick!”

  More guards arrived, then, closing ranks around both Terrence and Thalia. Still battling her disbelief, Alix watched as the men escorted both drivers into racing headquarters. The crowd, which had gone silent, now began to murmur its disapproval. She had no doubt that the media had captured the entire altercation. This incident would not only taint the entire race weekend, but also the image of women in motorsport. Alix felt betrayed on behalf of her entire sex. She wanted Thalia to raise the bar of the sport, not sink to its lowest level of mudslinging.

  Even if Thalia was correct about Terrence’s motivation, the rules were clear. The FIA was the arbitrating force, not her fists. They could investigate if they felt something illegal had happened during the race. Her frustration and disappointment were understandable, especially given the strength of her position before the collision. But did that excuse the kind of violence and vitriol she had just witnessed? Of course not. Assaulting another driver was unsportsmanlike and indefensible. If Thalia was going to be competitive in Formula One, she had to first of all not sabotage herself.

  Mueller’s aide approached, hands clasped before him. “Your Serene Highness, I’m so sorry you had to witness that. Would you like me to escort you elsewhere?”

  “I’ll be returning to the box,” she said, “but no need for you to be inconvenienced. Claude will see me there safely.”

  “Very well.” The man quickly moved off.

  “What are your plans for the remainder of the evening, ma’am?” Claude asked quietly as they returned to the elevators.

  Alix could feel a headache threatening behind her eyes, and part of her longed to ask Claude to put the helicopter on standby so she could be in the air and headed for home within the hour. But if she left now, she wouldn’t experience the full arc of a Formula One race weekend. For the next six weeks, the Grands Prix would be held in Oceania and Asia, and she had too much work of her own to consider accompanying the circuit south and east. She needed to see this circus through.

  “I’d like to return to the hotel for a while,” she said, “before putting in a brief appearance at the after party. Emphasis on brief.”

  Once she had shown her face and witnessed the arrangements, she could retreat to her suite and spend what was left of the night in peace.

  Chapter Nine

  The official Formula One after party, known as the Onyx Salon, was held at an exclusive venue near each track. In Milan, this amounted to booking Giorgio Armani’s nightclub. As soon as Alix was waved inside, claustrophobia rose up to choke her. Having already spent too many hours in the presence of too many people, she was more sensitive than usual to the constricting sensation that lodged in her throat. Two hours of much-needed solitude at the hotel hadn’t been nearly enough to recharge her batteries.

  She hadn’t been able to stop herself from turning on the news to see what the pundits were saying about the race. They had vacillated between analyzing the collision and criticizing the altercation afterward. Alix had seen clips from an interview with Terrence—who was well on his way to having a black eye—in which he claimed to have been on his way to check on Thalia when she attacked him “out of the blue.” When the interviewer pushed him on the obscene and degrading language he had used in response, Terrence said he had been shocked and upset and couldn’t remember what he had said in the heat of the moment.

  Alix, who thought that the “heat of the moment” tended to be when a person’s true character was revealed, didn’t believe his convenient story about shock-inspired amnesia. Terrence was probably the “misogynistic prick” Thalia had accused him of being, but he was doing a good job of portraying himself as a victim in this case.

  The television program had then turned to clips from a press conference with Thalia and Alistair Campbell, in which Thalia expressed remorse for giving in to her anger and frustration. She informed the media that she had already apologized to Terrence, and that she wanted her fans to understand that her behavior had been reprehensible. But as Alix watched her say all the right things, she wondered whether Thalia meant any of them. Campbell said very little except that they would be subsidizing Thalia’s participation in an anger-management workshop and had asked the FIA to look into Terrence’s overtaking move. The remainder of Campbell’s response was interrupted by breaking news that the FIA would not, in fact, be launching a formal investigation, calling the collision a “racing incident” that did not require an official inquiry, and that they had sanctioned Thalia with a “heavy fine” for her unsportsmanlike behavior.

  Alix wondered what Thalia thought of their decision. She didn’t quite know what to think of it herself, though the fine did seem appropriate. But was it equally appropriate for the FIA not to investigate what had happened during the race, or was their hands-off response more evidence of misogyny?

  Mercifully, the club’s VIP host arrived, interrupting her pointless introspection. After expressing his delight at her presence and his willingness to provide any amenity she wished, he led her upstairs to the VIP area. The semicircular bar was surfaced with burnished copper that reflected the spinning lights above the nearby dance floor. Most people were either dancing or seated in small groups in
the lounge, but Alix opted for a small table tucked into the back corner of the room.

  She had already consumed more alcoholic drinks today than she usually did in a week, but as soon as she caught sight of Thalia, she wanted another. Dressed in a pair of threadbare jeans and a white collared shirt, she blatantly flouted the club’s dress code. She was leaning against the bar, and snugged between her legs was one of the platinum blond grid girls. As Alix watched, Thalia cupped the woman’s waist, then skimmed her palms up until her thumbs could reach the undersides of her breasts.

  Blindsided by a wave of fury, Alix had to turn away. Despite all the controversy earlier in the day, Thalia was now choosing to make even more of a spectacle of herself? Alix felt as though she were observing the behavior of a completely alien species. How was this Thalia even the same person as the one who had given her dancing lessons only a few weeks ago? At the wedding, Thalia had been playful and flirtatious, but also insightful and kind and sympathetic. Now, she was playing into every single chauvinist stereotype about racecar drivers without even being male. The disconnect was so severe that Alix found herself wondering whether Thalia might actually have multiple personality disorder.

  The host, who had stepped away discreetly as she settled in, now returned to take her drink order.

  “A sidecar, please,” Alix replied, because that was exactly how she felt at the moment—a sidecar to the real action and politics of racing. She had chosen to become a part of this world for selfish reasons, true, but also because Thalia’s presence in it had led her to believe that Formula One was on the verge of becoming more inclusive. Thalia had the opportunity to advocate for that inclusivity, and to model what true equality looked like. But judging from what Alix had seen today, Thalia wasn’t interested in using her position for anything except her own self-interest. She couldn’t even put aside her own hot-headedness for the sake of her team’s status and reputation. She wanted to be a member of the good old boys’ club, not work to transform it from the inside out.

  In an effort to slow her hyperactive brain, Alix looked deliberately around the room, everywhere except near Thalia. Liquor and laughter dominated the scene. The music, loud and unfamiliar, was trying to burrow itself into her head. Her birthright entitled her to enter any conversation in the room, and she should be out there, beating the metaphorical bushes to drum up support for her charity. But even the prospect of turning herself back “on” socially was utterly exhausting.

  It was suddenly all too obvious that she didn’t belong here. And if she didn’t belong here—if she couldn’t muster the will and energy to advocate for her own project—what did that say about her likelihood of success? Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this kind of philanthropy. Perhaps it would be better to give her time and money and expertise to other organizations, rather than found her own. Maybe this entire project was a fool’s errand, and she the fool.

  “Why so serious?” At the sound of Thalia’s slurred voice, Alix’s chest tightened. She forced herself to look up slowly. Thalia was alone. Even flushed and glassy-eyed, she was stunningly beautiful. Uncomfortable with the thought, Alix reminded herself that Thalia’s beauty was only skin-deep.

  “And why are you sitting by yourself?” Thalia pressed, sliding into the chair across from hers. “Don’t you know it’s a party?”

  “You certainly look like you’re having fun.” Alix wanted to take the words back as soon as she spoke them, but now that they were out, she couldn’t help adding, “Where is your friend?”

  Either Thalia hadn’t picked up on her sarcasm, or she didn’t care. “Victoria? She stepped out for a cigarette.”

  “Lovely.” Alix had no desire to hide her disdain. And all health-related feelings about smoking aside, how could it be enjoyable to kiss a smoker? Not that she wanted to think about Thalia kissing anyone.

  Thalia frowned and, leaning forward, she squinted dramatically in the way intoxicated people do when they are trying to focus. “I know smoking’s pretty bad. But c’mon. Don’t you have some vices? At least one?”

  “I have flaws,” Alix said, thinking of her impatience and of her pride. “I don’t have vices.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Flaws are embedded in a person’s character, like…” Struggling for a comparison, she fixed on a loose thread in the collar of Thalia’s shirt. “Like an imperfection in a fabric. And repairing them is the struggle of a lifetime. But a vice is a choice—something you choose to do, despite knowing it’s bad for you.”

  Thalia cocked her head, visibly thinking over the distinction. “If that’s true, then flaws can lead to vices.”

  “Yes,” Alix admitted, wondering how on earth they had managed to get into a philosophical discussion in a nightclub. “But someone who is actively working to mend their flaws will have an easier time resisting vice.”

  The bridge of Thalia’s nose wrinkled. Alix would have called the expression “cute” if she hadn’t been so frustrated. It was taking all her self-restraint not to refer specifically to Thalia’s shortcomings during this conversation. She would have made quite the case study.

  “What are your flaws, then?” Thalia asked.

  Alix appreciated candor in herself and others, but every instinct screamed at her not to reveal any vulnerabilities to Thalia. She sipped from her drink in order to buy enough time to consider how to answer. “I’m not in the mood to discuss them,” she said finally.

  “C’mon.” Thalia apparently had enough control remaining over her fine motor skills to waggle her eyebrows. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  The mental image of Thalia unbuttoning her shirt, revealing inch after inch of pale, golden skin, took Alix’s mind by storm. She barely held back a gasp at the intensity of her physical response. And then the image was gone, leaving her hollow. Fear rushed in to fill the empty space, with anger close behind. Why was she letting Thalia affect her this way?

  “Yours are already on display for the world to see,” she snapped.

  Thalia drew back, her gaze sharpening. “I get it. You’re pissed off that I hit Terrence.”

  The rules of politeness dictated that Alix should keep her mouth shut, or tell Thalia that she didn’t want to discuss this either. But the pressure of her anger and frustration—both at Thalia and herself—had reached a boiling point.

  “Why? Just…why? Why would you ever do something like that? Why would anyone?”

  Thalia crossed her arms over her chest. “He deliberately took me out of the race. They’re hazing me because they don’t think I belong!” When she realized the volume of her voice was starting to elevate, she hunched forward. “And they’re getting away with it.”

  “‘They’ who?”

  “The other drivers.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know! They don’t want me here.”

  Feeling a headache coming on, Alix rubbed at her temples. She didn’t know enough to be able to judge whether there might actually be some sort of fraternal conspiracy against Thalia, but without any evidence, her accusations seemed baseless.

  “What?” Thalia asked belligerently. “You don’t believe me?”

  “To be honest, you sound quite paranoid right now.” When she opened her mouth to retort, Alix forestalled her. “I’m not saying the other drivers aren’t going to test your limits. That makes a certain kind of sense. And I’m not saying that Terrence didn’t do something wrong, because it sounds like he did. But when you react the way that you did, you sink to their level. Below it, even, because at least Terrence hit you in a race while he was trying to pass you.”

  “You’re taking his side.” Thalia’s jaw was tightly clenched in obvious anger, but she at least had the presence of mind to keep her voice down. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

  “Taking his side?” Alix bristled. “I was there today. I heard what he called you, and I am absolutely not taking his side. I’m taking yours, though you don’t seem to have the ability
to see it. All you’re interested in doing is self-destructing.”

  The flush spread down Thalia’s neck, mottling her flawless skin. “How am I being self-destructive when fucking Terrence fucking hit me?”

  “Have you ever considered that if you had gone straight to the FIA and presented your case, instead of throwing a fit and punching another driver, they might actually be opening a formal investigation right now? You made it easy for them not to take you seriously. Not to respect you. And not only them—everyone. Reporters. Fans. Little girls everywhere who like to go fast on their scooters and bicycles.

  “Imagine the father who loves Formula One and wants to share it with his daughter, especially now that there’s a female driver who seems so promising. They sit down together to watch the race. When the female driver gets hit by someone who clearly wasn’t following the overtaking rules, they both shout at the screen, and once the girl has calmed down, her father has a talk with her about sportsmanlike behavior. And then, in the post-race coverage, the girl’s hero punches the driver who caused the collision.” Caught up in the story she had spun, Alix jabbed the table with her forefinger. “Now you’ve lost her admiration and her father’s respect.”

  Thalia tugged at her collar as though it were suddenly too tight. “For God’s sake, I never asked to be anyone’s role model.”

  “But you are. Don’t you see? You have a gift, and you’ve worked so hard, and you’re squandering it. You could be the change you want to see in this world, instead of perpetuating what’s worst about it.”

  Alix sat back in her chair and realized she had just delivered an unintended lecture. Her heart was pounding and her breaths were coming quickly, and as she squared off silently with Thalia across the table, she wondered whether anything she’d said had hit its mark. The small muscles around Thalia’s jaw continued to clench and unclench as she stared at her, but Alix couldn’t read the expression in her eyes. Did Thalia hate her now? The thought was unsettling, though she wanted not to care.