Evan slammed the gas pedal to the floor and got closer, but he could feel the other two cars buzzing nearby like a swarm of hornets. The edgy feeling you get when you think there might be a car in your blind spot on the highway, was a joke compared to going ninety on dirt with no mirrors and making split-second decisions. He went in lower than the guy in front, the one who didn’t have shit, but he couldn’t make the pass. Then one of the hornets behind him stung his ass and got him squirrelly. Cindy echoed in his helmet, “Evan, don’t slam it in there like that. She’s a virgin, go in easy…ease it in, then speed up.”
Jason pretended he hadn’t heard Cindy, and asked, “Are they supposed to bump him like that?”
Cindy lowered the glasses and said, “That wasn’t a bump, it was a rub. If he’d bumped Evan while he was swinging his ass like a slut, it would’ve spun him.” She hit the radio button and said, “You’re loose, act right.”
Jason’s hands hurt from making fists. The flagman pointed one of the flag poles at Evan, then held it straight up with the flag wrapped around it. He wondered if Evan had done something wrong. “Oh, oh, oh,” he said while hopping up and down. “Do it, get him, get him!”
“Don’t do it,” Cindy shouted into the radio. “Don’t pass.”
His body went limp when Evan’s car fell back in line. “He had him. He could have passed.”
Cindy turned to him. “You’re going to need someone to hold your hand when Evan races.” She laughed and started walking.
“Wait,” he said. “What did you mean by a little off?”
“Just watch them, and you’ll figure it out.”
Jason stared at her ass until she mixed in with the crowd. Cindy was gorgeous and a fuckin’ mystery that he couldn’t understand.
Evan parked behind Dale’s hauler and killed the engine. His legs trembled. Harry reached in, removed the steering wheel and unhooked the belts. He felt vulnerable without them. Dale said, “Climb out and meet us in the hauler.”
Evan took off his helmet and wiped streams of sweat off his face. It had only been hot laps, but he was a nervous wreck. He wobbled when his feet landed on the ground. What if Dale hadn’t been impressed and changed his mind? He should have passed that guy when he had the chance. Dale handed him a bottle of water when he entered the hauler, and Harry said, “Grab a chair.”
He gulped down half the bottle, then opened a camping chair. Dirt crunched against the steel floor when he sat down. Dale dragged his chair closer. His knees almost touched Evan’s. “Tell us what you felt,” he said and leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs.
Evan took another sip of water and restrained the frantic dump of excited thoughts in his head. “Loose entering, but pulled hard coming off. The bump in three makes it push, but in one, well you saw, I almost spun out.” He took a breath.
“What’d you do to correct the loose-in condition?” Harry asked.
“Why’d you back off on the last lap?” Dale asked.
“What did Cindy tell you about the cars around you?” Harry asked.
His head volleyed, then he tried to figure out which answer might keep him from driving again. Here goes, he thought and said, “Cindy told me to enter like I was fucking a virgin, then speed up. She didn’t say anything about the guys behind me, but she told me the guy in front didn’t have shit, and I should stay with him.”
There was a second of silence followed by hilarious laughter. “God bless her soul,” Dale said.
“Sounds like something Cindy would say,” Harry said. “She’s a devil.”
“What’s so funny,” he asked, afraid he was the joke.
“It’s not funny,” Dale said, “but it is. That guy who didn’t have shit was Mike Depalma, and the guy rubbing the paint off your bumper was a ringer from Mississippi, Herb Hammerhead. He’s favored to win tonight.”
“Mike,” Evan said. “Mike D, I thought he stopped racing.”
“Nope,” Harry said. “He’s been off for a few weeks, but that was his ain’t got shit bumper you were chasing.”
“Wait until I get my hands on her,” he said.
“Watch yourself, Son,” Dale said. “I’ve seen her fight.”
Evan took a deep breath and said, “Mr. Dale, could you call me Evan?”
“Oh, sure thing, but call me Dale. I’m no mister.”
“Yes sir,” he said and took off.
The time Candy spent with Tonya before Gloria’s game had been frightening and frustrating. She had been afraid of doing something she’d regret and frustrated that she couldn’t take the bait her friend was putting out there. The tone of voice, flirting eyes and soft touches that lasted too long, all made it clear that Tonya was trying to seduce her. All she had to do was not resist, but that was what she had done. It would be easy to hide an affair with her best friend, and easier to justify it now that she was alone in her bedroom, regretful and horny.
Evan was out trying to fulfill his dreams, and her husband was in his leather recliner, looking over reports he considered her too stupid to understand. Candy stripped and put a robe over her naked body, then she went into her office, lock the door to the hallway and sat in front of her computer. If John tried the office door first, she could act dumb and say she didn’t know why it was locked. If he opened the bedroom door, she could swap over to her transcription program long before he discovered her naughty behavior.
Uncle JC’s instructions were the same ones he gave Cindy every week, and Evan acted like he was hearing them for the first time, nodding his head. At the very end, he emphasized the only thing Evan hadn’t already heard. “Don’t try and prove anything. There’s no reason for that. We already know you can drive, so have a good time, don’t crash and come back with good information. That’s critical. Can’t expect to win without it.”
Jason, Billy Joe and KK were waiting for Cindy by turn four. A speaker on the light pole to their right squawked something. Jason asked, “What did he say?”
“Who knows,” Billy Joe said, and KK finished, “You can’t ever understand him.”
He spotted Cindy and waved her over, acting like he knew her well. “Evan seemed more nervous about driving your car. Is it harder to drive?”
Cindy smiled, stroked his hair and moved her mouth close to his ear. “If you want to impress them, act like you know about racing. If that doesn’t work, we can make out.” He must have looked hopeful because she added, “I’m joking.”
“I knew that,” he said. “Is there going to be rubbing and all that, like in the last race?”
“That was just hot laps in the stock division,” KK said. “Super Late Models have way more horsepower and go through the turns three times faster.”
He said, “I knew that,” again and turned back towards Cindy.
She said, “Evan has done hot laps for me plenty. He’s only nervous because he thinks he needs to show off his talent tonight.”
Jason gave her a questioning look and motioned toward KK with his eyes. Cindy shook her head. “My father and Dale. Evan thinks he has to prove something, but they already know what Evan needs to prove to himself. He’s good enough, and he’ll only get better. Once he gets that straight, watch out, he’s going to start enjoying life.”
“Why don’t you tell him that.”
“He needs to figure it out on his own, just like I did,” Cindy said. “If I have my way, he’ll do that tonight, but don’t tell him I said that.”
As hard as it was for him to read Evan’s cousin, he knew without a doubt she cared about Evan.
Evan tugged on the already tight belts, checked the steering wheel again, looked over all the gauges, and revved the engine. He wished Cindy would talk to him on the radio, but she told him he was on his own unless it was urgent. Before he climbed into the car, she turned him around, pinned him against it, and said, “This is just hot laps. You don’t have to prove anything. Just do it!”
Cindy was wrong, he thought, it isn’t just hot laps. The only way his father would ever let him race was if Uncle JC convinced him to. That meant he had to show his uncle that he was better than good, that he had the potential to be great, like Cindy. He pulled away from the pit and got in line by turn two, where the cars entered the track.
When Evan’s time came, the track was in race-ready condition. Four cars were already doing laps, so he would have to get up to speed before turn three and blend in. It’s probably part of the interview, he thought, because Uncle JC had always made sure he started first when he did hot laps for Cindy.
Evan went down the short entrance lane, looking left for cars in turn one, then he finished pressing the accelerator down. The torque made his helmet gain three hundred pounds. His foot lifted for a split second, and his head went forward. He jammed the car into the only other forward gear, and his helmet was pinned to the headrest again. Going from Dale’s car to Cindy’s, was like going from a minivan to a Corvette.
Cindy’s voice filled his helmet, “Got one exiting two. Hurry up. Don’t let him catch you.”
That was the last thing Evan wanted to hear Cindy say, and the last time she said anything. He was on his own. Turn three and four were gone before he had time to think about looking up at the flagman. In Dale’s car, he could hold the gas pedal to the floor and at the end of the straightaways it was like riding a bicycle downhill in first gear, there wasn’t any pull left. The Super Late Model forced him back until it was time to mash the brake. It went through the turns so fast that he could barely make a mental note about how to do it next time. It could make lane changes in the blink of an eye without getting loose. The speed compressed all of his decisions into a small space and made it easier to make a big mistake.
The ten laps Evan made seemed like five when he saw the red flag waving on hot laps. He never knew who was behind him, but they didn’t catch him. In his mind, though, they had been right on his bumper the whole time, and he had to push harder every lap. He thought it had been a good run, but that didn’t matter.
Back in the pits, Evan climbed out of the car and waited for Cindy and Uncle JC. A driver he didn’t recognize gave him the thumbs up as he hustled past. Then KK, Billy Joe and Jason arrived, in that order.
Leave a Reply