Pole Position

by Karen Botha

  The physical separation does not stop his mouth from continuing to run wild. Axel continues to bluster while trying to reach around my body, which is blocking him from gaining ground on Chase. “He set this up. He can’t stand for Elliott to do well. All he wants is for him to be in a wheelchair again.”

  I hear Jessie in my left ear helping Chase up and directing him in the opposite direction to the media pen. But, they’ve all heard the commotion, and they’re gathered around us, phone recording apps at the ready, their interviews with drivers forgotten. Chase dusts down his pants, and does exactly the opposite of what Jessie is suggesting. He walks to the press, and he gives his interview.

  “Shit.” I manhandle Axel out of the way and leave Jessie to try to minimize our exposure any way she can. The last thing we need right now is a mad, estranged son kicking off on live TV and making false claims about how the secret father he hero worships has been wronged.

  Kyle

  Once I’ve shoved Axel into a private room, I slam the door closed behind me and I stand in front of it. In some respects I should thank him because I’m no longer overly worried about how Elliott is. My thoughts, while still partly with my husband, are at least distracted by this tiny rat bag.

  “Right, you little shit. You’re not leaving here until you tell me what that was all about.”

  “Ah, don’t tell me you haven’t wanted to do that for years. I’ve just done you a favor.”

  “No, you haven’t. Of course we’ve all wanted to do that for years, but we haven’t, for a very important reason.”

  “Oh yeah? Like you don’t have the balls.” Snarky little fuck.

  Right now, the person top of my list for thumping isn’t Chase. I grit my teeth, feeling them grind top against bottom as I suck air in through my nose. Elliott is out there at this moment, clearly in need of me, and here I am battling with some pesky teenager. Talk about frustrating. “No, not for that. But, because we need to work together and I can’t be throwing punches or allegations at our competition if we want Judd Racing to be successful. You know, Chase is just waiting for us to fail. He’s goading us.”

  “That was more than goading, Kyle.” He walks to a window and stands with his back to me, both arms splayed out, leaning his forehead against the glass.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He set that up, tried to take us out so that we wouldn’t be able to qualify.”

  “No, he didn’t, because that would be pointless. He’s also taken out his own car if that was his game.”

  “Didn’t you see Elliott checking out that car? He clearly thought something was wrong.”

  I sigh, rub the stubble on my head, and close my eyes. “Elliott was dazed, Axel. He thought that was his car. He’d forgotten we’d bought Judd Racing. He thought he was inspecting his own car for damage. He was trying to figure out how much work would be needed to be done before the qualifying playoff starts.”

  He turns, his mouth open as my words sink in. “Well, the fucker had it coming to him after what he did to Elliott. I just beat someone else to it.”

  “You can’t go around hitting people. And also, how do we explain how the least likely person in our team to come to the physical defense of Elliott suddenly starts rolling around defending his boss? You said you don’t want anyone to find out that he’s your dad, but then you behave so irrationally. Do you not think that people will be asking some serious questions of you now?”

  “Huh, I don’t know...”

  “I do. Everyone, and I mean everyone, will now be calling for your head. Not only did you slam Chase in the face twice, you did it in full view of international TV channels. It’ll be broadcasting as we speak.”

  “So, we’ll tell them why. We’ll say everything that Chase is responsible for.”

  “He’s not responsible for anything, Axel. We’ve already had the court case, so that’s old news, and Chase has paid. There is no proof that he’s behind today’s crash. In fact, I bet when we look at today’s data, that crash was Elliott’s fault. I’m almost certain that he was pushing too fast, expecting this car to handle the way his old one did, and he ended up losing control, then taking Brad out with him. Chase is the victim here, and you just beat him up for it.”

  He continues to bluster, but I need to wrap this up. I either need to find my man or find Jessie, or both.

  I jab my finger at Axel, “You, stay here. I need to leave, but I do not want to see your face outside of this room until I say it’s fine. So, sit and make yourself comfortable.”

  Elliott

  I’m in the medic's mobile surgery, and I’m starting to come round. My head is thumping, but more from trying to access my frazzled thoughts than from the collision. When Kyle rushes in, the door bounces off the aluminum wall of the mobile trailer, and he fills the space with his huge frame before rushing over to envelop me in his arms.

  “Are you OK? I was worried about you.” He leans back, holding my shoulders and studying my face.

  “He’s fine, Kyle. Just a touch of trauma clouding his memories,” the medic says, his voice gravelly against the sterility of the room. “No sign of concussion, so as far as his injuries go, I’m happy to release him.”

  Kyle doesn’t take his eyes from me, “But as far as anything else?”

  “You need to keep an eye on him. And, Elliott, you need to keep an eye on yourself. You’re the only one who knows what’s going on in that head of yours.”

  I don’t actually have any clue what he’s talking about. Sure, I was in a crash, but that happens all the time. Just because I went a bit woozy afterward shouldn’t mean that all of a sudden my life is any more threatened by this sport than it has ever been. Instead of voicing this, I say, “Sure, doc.” And I give him a salute and a smile to show I’m listening.

  Kyle double checks that I’m good to go as I busy myself sorting out my fire overalls, which have been wrapped around my waist in the heat.

  “I need to speak with the press,” I say as soon as we’re out of the medic’s office.

  “You are not speaking to the press. They’ll want to know the ins and outs of your outside leg, and I’m not sure you’re ready to divulge that.” He nudges me, and he’s grinning, but I know he’s not joking. He wants me separated from that bunch of bloodhounds.

  “I have to show them I’m OK though.”

  “Except you’re not, and they’re going to ask about qualifying tomorrow, and you don’t have any answers for them. Let’s just get you back to the RV, and you can chill out and prepare for tomorrow, assuming you want to get back in the car again.”

  His step falters, and he keeps his eyes focused on the ground as we walk side by side. But I sense the stiffening of his spine as he waits for my answer. I’m just not sure whether that’s because he wants me to race, or because he’d rather that I let Lauren have her debut as a female driver on race weekend.

  I stop dead. And I turn. And I grab his arm so he can’t avoid me. “There is no way on this earth that I am turning up here, crashing out in first practice, and then not showing up for qualifying.”

  He nods, understanding that this is not up for negotiation.

  “You know I’ve been cleared by the doc. You heard that yourself. I’m good, Kyle.”

  “OK, well, I had to check. Your safety is more important than anything else.”

  “I just got overexcited, that’s all.”

  He places his arm over my shoulders and we walk like that, bodies sealed at the sides, taking synchronized steps. “We have to get that car rebuilt before anyone is driving anywhere,” he mutters.

  Oops.

  Kyle

  I drop Elliott in the camper. He’s smart enough to know to stay away from the Internet and to keep his head race clear. And so, without belaboring the point, I leave him, citing that he needs his rest. I’ll deal with his mental issues this evening; for now, I have to deal with those of his son. I’m preparing myself for him not to be in my office as I walk back to sort him out, a
nd I’m having all the ensuing conversations in my head, each step driving me closer to another argument with him. So, when I push the door open, it’s not without trepidation.

  However, he’s there.

  He’s seated at my desk, like a good child. He’s also managed to boot up my computer and is surfing something or other net related.

  “You been OK?” I ask, relieved to find him still here.

  “Yeah. You were right though. The fight hit all the stations. I’m everywhere.”

  It’s no big shocker, but what is this humble attitude he’s adopted? He sits, scrolling my mouse over a series of images and videos, all of him landing a big one on Chase.

  “I still say he deserved it though.”

  Here we go. I sigh. The one aspect I have not prepared for round two of the circular argument that we’re clearly going to be engaged in.

  “Well, let’s just leave it that we agree to disagree on that one, shall we?”

  “What? You think he didn’t?”

  “It’s not that he didn’t as much as it wasn’t the right thing to do.” I’m being baited by a teenager. Watch it, Kyle.

  “I told everyone anyway.”

  Huh? I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?” My voice is soft, my words slow and pronounced.

  “Yeah, I told them what I heard him saying to Brad before Brad ran Elliott off the road.”

  I cast my eyes around that tiny little box of an office, searching for any inspiration as to how to deal with this idiot of a son Elliott has spawned.

  “OK, I have two questions, and I want you to be very clear when you answer them. The first, is what exactly did you hear Chase telling Brad?”

  “That he mustn’t give Elliott an inch on the track.” His voice is defiant, as he grows an inch taller.

  “And, what did you say online to people?”

  “Ah, well. I told them that, but look at this...” He turns the screen around so that I can see, then points his index finger at one particular thread. “Here, look at what he said.” He stabs his finger at the screen. “He said I was totally out of line. And that with all the chances that Chase has given Elliott, he wouldn’t be where he is today without him. Can you believe that?”

  “So, what was your reply?” I ask, scanning down the responses.

  He scrolls down, “Here.” He points. “I was diplomatic.” He looks at me, his lips pursed.

  “Go on.”

  “You are sadly disillusioned if that is your opinion. While everyone is entitled to their own thoughts, you should know the facts. Before Elliott went out on track, I heard Chase saying that Brad was not to give him an inch. With a negligence like that being passed down from team boss to driver, I’m surprised there aren’t more accidents, especially when this one was clearly caused by Brad running too close to Elliott. Had he not been too close, he would never have been able to run over him.” He ends his recital by slamming a flat palm on the desk. “See, it’s very professional.”

  He has every chance there of having us brought up on a charge of some kind. Even if it doesn’t stand up in court, public defamation like that gives Chase the perfect opportunity to drag us right back into the courts, thus diverting our attentions from running our business and racing.

  This chump just will not understand that. He’s come out fighting for his dad and while I could slap him for it, at least he’s now battling on our side. I remember how he single-handedly almost took us down not too long ago and that thought sends shivers down my spine.

  I sink into the chair opposite him.

  He’s still pleased with himself. “Say something. I thought you’d be happy.”

  Oh my Lord. I am so not happy. I am not happy that he’s fighting, I am not happy that he’s posting without prior authorization on behalf of Judd Racing and most of all, I am not happy that he’s unable to see the error of his ways. What makes me even more unhappy is that I genuinely do not know how to make him see that. I don’t have the experience to deal with wayward teens.

  Instead, I say. “Come on, let’s go see Elliott and you, you promise me, if we do, that you do not speak of this to him, to the press or anyone ever again. Let me deal with it from now on. OK?” I fist bump him like that’s something that’s a normal activity for me.

  He grins, and we’re on a scooter and on our way back down to the RV, hidden from the press behind motorcycle helmets. As soon as I get rid of him, I’ll speak to Jessie and work out how we’re really going to deal with this almighty mess.

  Kyle

  As soon as I’ve dumped Axel with Elliott, I pray to the skies that he keeps his promise and does not utter a single word about his afternoon’s activities. The last thing I want is Elliott getting himself wound up, so this is a risk, but I know that Axel will brighten his mood and so it’s worth it.

  I think.

  Jessie is grabbing a coffee in the catering truck when I catch up with her. Neither of us needs to speak. We sit down opposite each other at the Formica table and that’s enough for now. A reacquainting of two sensible minds within the crazy fabrication that is the racing world.

  “So, have you heard the latest?” I start.

  “What, that Axel decided to come out fighting when his fists weren’t enough?”

  I nod. “Pretty much. The kid has a chip on his shoulder and I like that about him. It makes him a fighter, but really?”

  She nods. “I know. No sense yet.”

  “Have you dealt with all of this?”

  “The best I can. I’ve arranged private interviews between you and the key journalists tomorrow. In exchange for them not making a scene of this and keeping Axel’s behavior under their hats, you need to give them some interviews. Each journalist will expect a unique piece of info, so we need to sit down and work out what we’re giving to who beforehand.”

  “OK, I can do that. And I want Axel in on the interviews so he sees how we should handle these situations.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  She’s right. It’s asking for trouble, but what am I supposed to do with him? The kid is trouble. But he’s here. “I’m not sure,” I admit, sipping my coffee.

  Jessie doesn’t reply. She gets it. Instead, she fishes in her bag and pulls out a pad.

  “Wow, someone who still uses a traditional pen and paper.”

  “I find it helps me when I need to think. Machines,” she taps her phone, which lies on the table, “are all well and good, but they don’t spark my creativity like a good old scrap of paper.”

  And that’s it; the mood is successfully changed. We map out what I’ll be saying to who tomorrow and how we’ll answer their probing questions about why Axel is still, and will remain, in his position with Judd Racing. We’ll skip over Elliott’s temporary loss of awareness after the accident, putting it down to a slight concussion, but of course we’ll stress that he was signed off to drive straight away, but also that he’s eager to do so.

  “It might do Axel good to hear the way I have to answer for his behavior. Perhaps that’s the only thing that will make him see the error of his ways. To listen to what other people think about him.”

  “I don’t know.” Jessie shakes her head. “He has so much potential, but he’s such a little shit. He could go either way. It’s so frustrating.”

  We leave it that tomorrow we’ll meet fifteen minutes before my first interview.

  I have to get to the garage next to make sure we still have a car for Elliott to compete in tomorrow. It’s all well and good, me waxing lyrical about him being super happy to jump in again, but the very real problem is that the car may not be finished in time.

  “How are you doing, Greg?” I ask when I enter the hive of activity that is our garage.

  “Better than you.” He throws me a closed-mouth smile, his eyes soft with understanding.

  I nod. He’s right. I had to pull the all-nighters to get cars ready after accidents or failures, and yes, it was stressful, but nothing like this day. I seriously wonder w
hether I’m cut out for this team principal business. It’s only day two of the racing calendar, and already we’ve done nothing but lurch from one disaster to another.

  I curl my mouth into a smile, but I fear it’s more of a grimace. “Please tell me that we have all the parts we need here and that we’re going to be able to get her running in time for tomorrow.”

  He nods. “Yep, we’re lucky. We’ll have to build some components, but there’s not a man here who isn’t dead set on pulling an all-nighter so that Elliott is ready to qualify tomorrow.”

  Some teams bring their components already built, but they’re the ones with the bigger budgets for travel. We need to be smarter, so carrying interchangeable components is not only lighter on transport, but it allows us greater flexibility at a lower cost. Man hours are the price for this. “Thank you everyone for your hard work. Sorry the season started out with a crushed nose and a long night.”

  There’s moaning and groaning, but it’s lighthearted and I know that they’ll deliver. At least one element of my team is reliable. Now all I need is for Axel to have kept his promise to keep his mouth closed.

  Elliott

  It’s qualifying day, and I slept well. Think the slight bang of my head maybe helped me get some much needed shut eye and far from being traumatized from yesterday, I am ready for the fight today.

  Kyle got up early, and I watch lazily from the bed with one eye open just how hot he looks fresh out of the shower. Droplets of water catch on his rigid nipples, stiffened by the cool breeze wafting over his shower-warm skin, which is tanned only as far as his waist, beyond which awaits a creamy strip of nakedness. I follow the trail of those beads of water, making no attempt to hide my ogling, appreciating the white marks that are all mine.