by Shey Stahl
She not only got my signature but she got a half-dozen other drivers to do it and we were all chosen too.
Tate chuckled, his hands reached up to adjust his Donco Oil hat, as we walked to the infield from the paddock. “Do you think that chick that had us sign her tits is here this year?”
Bobby came up behind us throwing his arms around our shoulders. “If she is gentlemen, I will be finding her!”
Casten and Cole, jetted past us heading for the infield. “Dude, where’s the chick with her tits hanging out?”
“Please stop him,” Alley asked annoyed with Cole as her and Sway caught up to us as well. Most of the families tagged along to this particular meet and greet. “I don’t want to see my kid on the news again anytime soon.”
Alley was referring to the street fire incident. Alley had been out of town visiting her parents when the street fire happened. Much like us, she found out about it watching the news.
I reached out and smacked the back of Cole’s head. “Stop it. You’re stressing out your mom. That’s my job.”
“Why do you let him do that?” Casten asked him slowing down to keep step with his cousin. “He’s not your dad. It’s not like you gotta listen to him.”
“He scares the shit out of me. Of course I’m going to listen to him.”
“Pussy,” Casten mumbled.
I smacked the back of his head. “Have some class.”
“Oh sorry,” he laughed trying to trip me. “What’s the proper term? Oh right…Crankcase!”
Shaking my head was about all I could do.
Open Wheel – Sway
Over the years meet and greets weren’t my thing. Being as enthused as my husband, I understood why Jameson hated them so much. When you’re in the spotlight like he is, or even the rest of his family, our kids and myself included, the meet and greets had turned into an invasion of privacy and the questions they asked each year got more and more personal. Would you feel comfortable telling them about your personal lives?
Probably not
A girl all of thirteen was talking to Jameson about USAC racing, Casten intently listening to her. It surprised the hell out of me. Casten usually never paid any mind to girls his own age.
Jameson’s attention, though he was smiling, seemed to be more on the crowd rather than the polite girl standing before him. It was getting slightly out of hand with the thousands of fans flooding the infield of the Monster Mile in Dover but that’s what this race was about.
It was different than the All-Star race held the weekend before the Coca-Cola 600 race as this one was strictly based on votes.
The guys mingled in the infield with the fans for close to an hour Thursday night and then it was back to the motor coach before we all headed to dinner.
Tommy and Willie approached Jameson when we were walking to the car and said Jimi was waiting for him in the hauler. Most everyone else headed to the restaurant to wait while Jameson asked me to come along with him and the boys to talk to Jimi.
Jimi was retired this year for racing and it was actually rare that he was even at the track these days. It seemed since retirement him and Nancy had been spending time together and every other week took off to Florida and Hawaii together.
When we walked inside the hauler, Jimi was leaning against the cabinets near the back wall with Grady, Justin and Rager standing across from him. Justin smiled when we came inside but Rager and Grady remained looking at sheet of paper in front of them. Rager looked up and smiled. His bright blue eyes were noticeable from under his black JAR Racing hat but then again, you could see Rager’s eyes in the dark, they were just that blue.
Grady didn’t look up but Grady also never spoke to anyone but Jameson.
Something about Grady had rubbed me the wrong way from the time I met him. He was a quiet boy but I didn’t trust him. Couldn’t tell you why, but I didn’t.
That weekend was the first real interaction I had with Grady outside of payroll with JAR Racing and even then he never actually spoke to me, only to Jameson.
“There seems to a 410 engine missing.” Jimi said as eyes focused on Jameson.
Jameson shifted his stance from relaxed to tense, his hand in mind gripped me a little tighter. “What do you mean there seems to be? There is or isn’t.”
“There is.” Jimi confirmed.
“Did you ask Noah and Charlie if they noticed anything? They were doing monthly inventory last night.” His eyes flashed with an emotion that was hard to catch.
“They noticed it and brought it to me.” Jimi clarified keeping his voice even though Jameson was nearly yelling now. He had every right to be concerned over this. A 410 engine ran around hundred thousand these days. “Jameson, you have to deal with this now or before you know it, you won’t have JAR Racing.” Jimi told him quietly. “This is a lot of money gone. You can’t keep shuffling things around to avoid the issue. You have someone stealing from you.”
Jimi had come to me last month and tried to talk about the inventory issues but I told him what Jameson told me when I questioned him about it. “Jameson will take care of it.”
He had for the most part. He installed surveillance cameras and started doing weekly inventory. The thing was that all of us knew who was stealing without needing the proof.
Jimi was incredibly business savvy but so was Jameson. He’d been successfully running JAR Racing for nearly twenty years without so much as a hiccup. He landed sponsors for his drivers, was able to keep track of how each car was doing in the series, could rattle off every top five, any victory his drivers snagged, and had a one-on-one relationship with all of his employees. He understood when there was a problem and I think deep down he knew where that problem was.
Most of us looked at Grady and I think he sensed himself being singled out.
“I didn’t steal anything!” Grady’s voice echoed through the hauler, Jameson’s eyes drifted to his, focusing on him standing beside Tommy and Willie.
“You’re the only one here that would have any reason to.” Jimi said to Grady.
Jameson shot Jimi a look that told him to back down and none of us, including me, understood why he was defending Grady.
Jameson cleared his throat, pushing past Willie and Tommy, his hand clasping Grady’s shoulder. “Come with me.”
None of us followed them as we understood Jameson had some things to say to Grady alone but we also didn’t have any actual proof that Grady was the one stealing for JAR Racing. For Jameson to believe that Grady was actually stealing, he needed proof.
Jimi leaned into me, his head near my ear to whisper only to me. “I have Clint looking into this kid. If there’s something to be found, he will find it.”
It was true. Aside from being our bodyguard, Clint was a private investigator too. It helped when you had to keep those around you closely guarded.
The rest of us made small talk in the hauler before Jameson came back inside with Grady and smiled taking my hand. “Let’s get to dinner honey.”
I didn’t say anything as we walked to the truck, Jameson seemed distracted.
When we got inside, he looked over at me, green eyes glowing in the night. He went to start the engine and then his hand fell away and he sighed, his head hit the back of the seat in frustration. “I couldn’t fire him without knowing for sure he was the one that stole the engine.”
I nodded and gave him a weak smile. I knew it was hard for him. He trusted him when everyone told him not to. He wasn’t going to fire him without actual proof of any wrong doing. I could understand that to a point.
Friday morning, the energy around from the team and Jameson seemed to have returned. We agreed not to discuss the stolen engine until we returned home. For now, the focus was on the race.
Come late September, right after the field was set for the chase, the season was heady and a tight battle was shaping up between Jameson, Tate and Paul. When the monster million approached their focus shifted from the championship battle to the fan favorite race. The boys
were amped and raring for some healthy competition of the best of the best. Honestly, I think it was more for the bragging rights. Who am I kidding? It was without a doubt about the bragging rights.
Jameson had won the first Monster Million last year and Tate was on him about how this was his year.
“What if they vote you off the island?” Tate asked him when voting began Friday night. We were all glued to the television along with millions of others like this was some kind of presidential election. In our eyes it might as well be.
“This isn’t Lost,” Jameson replied and then looked over at me in confusion. “Wait,” he looked around in confusion, “who votes you off the island?”
“I don’t think that’s the right show,” Aiden replied.
“It’s all right baby, we understood.” I assured Jameson rubbing his back.
Tate smiled. “By the way, the show was Survivor.”
“Who cares?”
Anybody could vote aside from drivers, team members, and NASCAR officials. The interesting twist was that family could vote.
Since they started the race last year, it had been the most talked about race of the year because it was completely unpredictable. No one knew until the morning of the race if they would be racing or what the format would be.
Because of this, it forced the drivers to become more interactive with the fans. They needed their votes to race.
Jameson had issues with that. He would always give a fan the attention they deserved if he had the time and it was the right atmosphere. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate them because he did. He just wasn’t as friendly as Tate and Paul were. He also never believed the hype surrounding him. He was simply Jameson.
Tate has always been a fan favorite, winning the most popular driver every year since 2012. Jameson, he was too controversial for that. You either loved him or hated him. If you hated him, you didn’t understand him. His relationship with his fans over the years was sketchy but most loved him because if any driver in the series would put on a good show, it was Jameson. He was the type of driver that would put everything he had into every lap. Even if it was the middle of the race, he fought hard for every spot.
Drivers like Paul Leighty and Nathan Wise or even Brody Williams, the rookie this year, was where it got interesting. They were all good drivers but they lacked the heart Jameson had.
Jameson, Paul, Bobby and Tate were trash tralkin’ all night while the weather had its own competition. Winds, rain, lightening, you name it, and Delaware was experiencing it. It was crazy. It was as if mother-nature wanted to cast her own vote. Up until the start of the race, we had no idea if they would even be able to get the race in. Over the years NASCAR had discussed going to rain tires and letting them race in the rain but it was decided that they would keep with the tradition of the sport and that meant no rain tires.
That afternoon, the boys sat around the haulers watching the weather and viewing rain scanners all trying to predict the next twelve hours.
Gathered at a table right outside the hauler, everyone tried to keep under the awning to avoid the rain, or better yet the edge of the awning that would get you right down your shirt at the most inappropriate times.
Sitting on the edge of the table, Jameson twisted around and tapped the screen with a Sharpie marker, the cap in his mouth as he signed autographs for a group surrounding us. “That’s not lookin’ good man,” he said mostly to Bobby who was seated next to him.
“Ah hell man, have some faith.” Bobby said with a smiled looking at the screen with a whole lot of green flashing. “There’s one little patch right there with no rain. With any luck, we’ll have that over the track come race time.”
Jameson laughed turning back to the crowd nodding his head. Regarding the fans with a laugh, he joked with them. “He’s always so optimistic.”
The crowd laughed continuing to push posters and photographs at him. It never got easier watching pit lizard horde around my husband. Though I was a confident Mama Wizard and knew that he only had eyes for me, it wasn’t easy watching women touch him ways I only did. Every so often one got brave and would reach out to touch his arm, or shoulder, or even his leg. Every time, he politely removed their hand. He didn’t like being touched by strangers. I think it had to do with his weird skin phobia.
Aside from touchy feely pit lizards, the other obstacle on weekends like this was the press. They were everywhere you looked.
All the local sports channels covered the voting and driver reactions, even interviewed the fans. Viewers for the race skyrocketed and it turned out that more people watched this particular race than those who watched the Super Bowl.
The voting was open for twelve hours, started at 8pm Friday night and ended at 8am Saturday morning. The results were announced at 10am. After that it was a mad dash for drivers and crews who were selected to practice and test out the cars. They had up until 2pm to make changes. The driver introductions began and the race format was revealed to the drivers for the first time by the fans. Once selected, that’s all the drivers knew. Race format wouldn’t be revealed until later for the purpose of them not having the jump on anyone else. Some teams would set their cars up for the main but wouldn’t know how many laps it was so you couldn’t set it up for a long run when you never knew if you would be running fifty lap’s verses two hundred.
The fans voted on everything; how many drivers were chosen, if there would be an inversion and when and how many cars would be inverted. One thing was set in stone; it was run like your average Saturday night race at the local tracks.
You had hot laps, qualifying, heat races, trophy dashes, and then the main event.
This year it had been decided that there would be twenty-four drivers chosen. This meant nineteen drivers went home.
Among the selected were Tate, Bobby Cole, Paul Leighty, Travis Sheets, Brody Williams, Steve Frey, Nathan Wise, and of course Nadia, the only woman driver in the Cup series. Jameson and her still didn’t mix well and I couldn’t stand to be within five feet of her.
They set the schedule for four heat races with six drivers for ten laps each. Six, four lap trophy dashes with four drivers and then two fifty lap main events. Between the two fifty lap mains, they would invert the field. The catch her was that you didn’t know where the inversion would take place until the caution came out at the end of the first main event.
Prior to the race while the guys made adjustments to the cars, me and the girls headed to the merchandise trailers to promote. Usually we had people that helped with this but for the sake of the event, and the moral, the family ran the merchandise trailer. I think it added to the entire event letting the fans get to see the drivers families and understand that we were behind them 100% and did everything we could to help them.
Nancy and Emma were the most cheery. They bounced around like this was their home with sweatshirts and hats on. Arie and I were less entertained by this and more by Alley and Lexi.
“He just sat there in the closet chugging a fifth of Vodka like nobody’s business.” Lexi told Arie as they organized the t-shirts and posters with Alley and me. Alley gawked at her but looked back at the merchandise trailer looking for Cole who we still hadn’t found. We lost him sometime after qualifying. Casten claimed he was with Jacob, Tate’s son but no one knew for sure.
“Did you sleep with him?” Arie asked Lexi. It was my turn to gawk at my daughter.
“Arie”
“What mom?” Arie shrugged, squinting into the bright lights, she folded a t-shirt and then set it on the pile with the rest of them. “I’m curious.”
“Oh yeah,” Lexi gushed with no reservations. “I liked his confidence.”
Alley gave me a look of complete disgust. Our girls had sex lives and it wasn’t comforting. I actually hated thinking about my little girl, or worse, my son’s, being sexually active.
“I hate knowing all these details.” Alley said with no amount of excitement.
“Word to that,” I nodded watching our fam
ily. It made me smile to see us all like this, working together for our team, our open wheel team. Always ready for some good side-by-side action.
It wasn’t long before music was blaring from the infield and the stage was being set up like this was some kind of rock concert. In all actuality, it could have been with the way they were followed.
A familiar sound echoed through the stands and across the track they called the Monster Mile, hence the name of the event, Monster Million.
The girls and I closed down the merchandise trailer and walked from the paddock to the infield where we finally found Cole, with Casten and Jacob, planning their activities for the night. Apparently they’d been told they could go on stage when the drivers were introduced.
“This is gonna be cool. I bet all those girls will talk to us now.” Cole said motioning to what looked to be a fucking cheer squad at cheer nationals.
“Why?” Casten snorted. “If they don’t like you now, they ain’t gonna later.”
Jameson approached me dressed in his racing suit now, sexy as ever. The black in the suit always made his eyes look like they weren’t real. No one had grass green eyes like that except two other boys, our two boys.
Let me tell you a little about my husband over the years. When I first met Jameson, we were eleven. Through high school, we were best friends. After high school was when my visions of this knobby kneed, compulsive boy who dominated any dirt track within a hundred mile radius of Elma Washington, changed. His determination, his hunger, his eyes, all completed a package no women could ever resist. Never bothering to calm his hair, he had that wild mess that they loved with rich brown shade that was slightly rusty in appearance and looped out into curls at the ends. Like now, as he wore a white hat, the loops curled out under the hat.
Tall, with just the right amount of muscle, he had a body honed to perfection. A charming captivating smile that could capture anyone’s attention and the burning fire that marked his eyes sealed the deal. Well, for most women. I saw what was behind that fire. I saw Jameson Anthony Riley. A boy that went from your hometown dirt track racer to a man who had his name engraved into fifteen NASCAR championship trophies and countless record books.
