Race To The Altar

by Patricia Hagan

  “But, Liz, you told me not long ago you like your job,” Jeff argued. “Has something happened?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, almost harshly. “I finally realized I can’t stand living out of suitcases. Neither can I stand the heat, the noise, and having to put a sit-down dinner together for hundreds with only a few days’ notice.”

  “Now wait a minute,” he said tightly. “That only happened once.”

  That was true, but she didn’t care. She was on a roll of whining and complaining. “And once was enough. But everything else is on a daily basis, and I’ve had it. I really want out of here, Jeff.”

  “Gary Staley isn’t going to like this. He’s very happy with you.”

  “Well, I’m not happy with racing. I gave it a shot. I did my best. Now I want that transfer, Jeff.”

  He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Let me see what I can do. Meanwhile, I don’t want you saying anything to anybody about wanting to quit. We don’t need any stress or problems these last few weeks. Gary is talking about spending even bigger bucks next season, and I want this agency to be the one to get those bucks. Do you understand me, Liz?”

  “Of course. But will you agree to take me off the account?”

  “I told you way back I would if you didn’t like it. It just comes as a surprise that you’re asking right as the season is winding down.”

  “It’s a good time for someone else to come in. They can familiarize themselves with things instead of being thrown right in the middle of everything at the first race in Daytona like I was.”

  “So you’re saying you won’t stick it out till Atlanta? That’s going to really upset Staley. Give me a break here. And what’s the real reason behind all this, anyway? Are you having problems with somebody?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I can make it through Atlanta. Just go ahead and find me a replacement and a new account, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said on a sigh. “You’ve done such a fantastic job I’m afraid I’ll lose you if I don’t. You’ve made so many contacts in racing you’d have no trouble at all moving on, I guess.”

  “I guess,” she mumbled. “But I’d really like to stay with Star Media, if at all possible. Maybe you can find me something back in New York.”

  “Oh, I can find you something. I just want you to hang in there and finish out the season. Staley said he’ll immediately call a press conference if Rick wins the rookie title. That’s when he’ll announce his plans for next season, and I’ll be right there with a contract ready for him to sign. So see me though this, okay?”

  “Okay.” She told herself she could stand it a while longer. She only hoped Wendy didn’t show up at a speedway. Seeing her with Rick would be like pouring salt in a wound.

  She continued on to the garage. Rick was nowhere around, but she finally found him at the RV. The black-and-white awning had been rolled out from the side, and he was sitting in a chair beneath having a soda with Mack.

  She went to stand in front of Rick. “So what’s wrong with your cell phone?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I forgot to turn it on.”

  “Well, it would have saved me a trip all the way out here in this heat if you hadn’t. I hate sidestepping tools and tires and oil spills in that nasty garage looking for you there. And I don’t like having to walk all the way out here, either.”

  Rick and Mack looked at each other. It was the first time they had ever heard Liz complain about anything.

  “So now that you are here what do you want?” Rick asked, a bit sharply because he was annoyed by her attitude.

  “A reporter is waiting to interview you in the infield media center. I’d appreciate it if you’d get on over there.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “Want a soda?” Mack asked her.

  “No, thanks. I’ve got a headache from the noise, so I’m out of here till race day. If anybody needs me, they can reach me on my cell.” She shot a meaningful glance at Rick as she turned to leave. “I never turn mine off.”

  “What is it with her?” Mack said in bewilderment when she was out of hearing range. “I’ve never seen her like that.”

  “She’s burned-out,” Rick said. “I’m surprised she made it this long.”

  And he was sorry that she had, because if he could have gotten rid of her as he’d planned in the beginning, he wouldn’t be sitting there with his heart hurting so badly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Liz was a maelstrom of emotions as she waited at the terminal gate for her replacement to arrive on the morning flight from New York.

  Jeff had first promised that Mike Bolton would join her in Arizona so she would have the last three races of the season to show him the ropes. But, as it turned out, Mike had some loose ends to tie up with his old account and had not been able to get away. As a result, he was flying in the day before the Atlanta race. After that, he was on his own, because once that checkered flag dropped Sunday, that was it. Liz had a late-afternoon flight out of there.

  Her new assignment would take her to California. Jeff had given her quite a promotion. She would be heading up a new branch office opening in Los Angeles. It was a pie job, with a chance to move straight up the corporate ladder, stock options, and everything that went with success.

  She knew she should be thrilled but could muster no enthusiasm. After all, she was leaving a job she truly liked…and a man she loved with all her heart. But it was—and had been from the start—a no-win situation. So it was time to move on, whether she wanted to or not.

  In the past week, she had seen very little of Rick. Actually, she did not need him to get her job done, anyway. She had all the statistics on his season performance, knew all aspects of the points chase. She was able to keep the press releases going out in order to get as much exposure for him as possible. That was not difficult going into the last race since the biggie—the Grand National championship title—was all but a done deal. The driver leading by a huge margin only had to start the race and complete one lap. Not much news there, so writers were scrambling for something to write about and naturally turned to the rookie contest.

  Rick’s performance on the track once he got everything dialed in—racing terminology for everything working—he had done really well. But so had Jack Blevins, and he and Rick would start Sunday’s race with Rick leading by only five points.

  Besides a rookie’s exploits on the track, points were also given by a vote of a special panel made up of NASCAR officials and others. Factors considered included relations with the public and the media. Liz had hoped Rick would come out ahead there, but the panel was almost equal in their balloting.

  That morning she had invited the crew for breakfast at the hotel where they were staying. She was not surprised Rick did not show up. Mack said he had spent the night in the RV, which was parked at the track. He also remarked how Rick had been doing that a lot lately. Hearing that had cut Liz to the core as she thought of the stolen hours of passion they had shared in the RV…which he probably now shared with Wendy.

  Liz had yet to see her. There had been several social functions where Rick might have brought a date, but always he showed up alone and left the same way. She supposed Wendy’s schedule as a flight attendant and Rick’s opposition to having women around him at the track explained her absence.

  She had asked Mack if Rick was showing signs of last-race pressure. Mack’s response was that he’d be surprised if he wasn’t.

  “He, along with a bunch of other drivers,” he had emphasized. “The last race always brings out a bunch of potential sponsors. Everybody wants to do well.”

  He had added that she should not expect Rick to show for the big dinner she had arranged that night. Gary Staley and all the VIPs from Big Boy’s were in town for a cocktail party and dinner dance. Mack also said he and the crew wouldn’t be going, either. They wanted to get a good night’s sleep and be ready for what was the most important race any of them had ever taken part in.

  She had said she u
nderstood and was sure Mr. Staley and the others would, also.

  Through the floor-to-ceiling glass, Liz saw the plane taxiing up to the gate.

  She had never met Mike Bolton. He had been with the agency less than a year. Jeff had thought he would make a good replacement for her. Not only was he young and energetic, but Liz had things going so smoothly he could ease right into the position with little difficulty.

  A few moments later passengers began filing through the door. She wondered how she would recognize Mike but needn’t have worried. He was holding a homemade sign over his head that read Big Boy’s Pizza, NASCAR 60.

  Liz met him with outstretched hand. “That’s a sure way to be identified, Mike, but it would have been nice to print our driver’s name, too.”

  “Not necessarily.” He was pumping her hand vigorously. “You haven’t heard the news. Come on.” He hoisted his garment bag over his shoulder.

  Liz didn’t like the sound of that. “Not till you tell me what’s going on.”

  “I only found out this morning,” he said as they walked along. “According to Jeff, Gary Staley called him this morning and told him to leave the name blank on that new contract he’s supposed to sign after the race tomorrow.”

  Liz stopped in her tracks to stare at him, hoping he didn’t know what he was talking about. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does to everybody else.”

  Mike was grinning like a little boy proud to know something someone else didn’t. Liz thought he looked younger than his twenty-eight years. He had wavy blond hair, blue eyes fringed by lashes too thick for a man, and a dimple in his cheek girls no doubt thought sexy. Jeff said he was single. Liz figured not for long.

  “So?” she demanded almost waspishly. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

  “Jeff said not to bother you with it, since you’re off the account after tomorrow, anyway. He said you’d be upset, because you’ve really gotten to be good friends with the crew and all.”

  He took a few steps toward the escalator, but Liz did not budge.

  “You’re dying to tell me, and you know it. So out with it.”

  “Okay. Just don’t let Jeff know I told you, okay?”

  She nodded, apprehension growing.

  “Staley said Big Boy’s will double this year’s sponsorship money for next season.”

  Liz felt a wave of relief. “That doesn’t sound like anything to get upset about.”

  “You don’t understand. He said the sponsorship will go with whichever driver wins the rookie title—Rick or Jack Blevins.”

  The wave puddled into despair. “I…I don’t believe this.”

  “It has nothing to do with personalities. It’s about which driver will get the most exposure by being champion, which is where advertising dollars pay off the most.” He hoisted the garment bag from one shoulder to the other. “Can we go? This thing is heavy.”

  As was Liz’s heart as she fell in step beside him.

  When they were in her car, she switched on the ignition, then turned to look him straight in the eye and speak in the most serious voice she could muster. “I don’t want you to say another word about this, Mike. To anybody. Understand?”

  He blinked and shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. Why would I? Heck, you made me tell you.”

  “Nothing can be said, because I don’t want Rick and Mack and the others to know. It would only make the pressure going into the race tomorrow that much worse. Understand? It has to be kept secret.”

  “Fine. But what if Mr. Staley tells somebody? Or some of the VIPs he’s bringing in? I imagine it was a corporate decision and a lot of people know about it.”

  “Rumors always fly before the race of the season,” she explained. “As long as no official announcement is made, it doesn’t count. Besides, Rick and the crew aren’t going to be at the party tonight, and I’ll make sure Mr. Staley and the others only have pit passes for right before the race. He’d never say anything in all the excitement.”

  “Might work. Say, don’t they have a lot of free food and stuff for us at the track? I’m starved.” He settled back, no longer interested in discussing the sponsorship issue.

  Liz wondered if it would have made any difference in her decision to ask for a transfer had she known of Mr. Staley’s plans. After all, if Rick didn’t win the championship she would have been working with Jack Blevins in the future. And Jack was a nice enough guy. She’d have had no problems there. But she knew it was important to distance herself from Rick, and the only way to do that was leave racing.

  She drove straight from the airport to the speedway. Mike made friends wherever he went. He was a natural for public relations. When she took him to the infield media room for lunch, he blended right in with the hungry, thirsty, joke-swapping and clowning-around media and PR people. By the time they left an hour later, he knew everyone in the room by their first name, and they were all well aware of who he was.

  Liz was annoyed, however, that Mike seemed far more interested in the perks associated with being involved with racing than anything else. He managed to collect several T-shirts, caps, coffee mugs—anything any sponsor was giving away to the media.

  She was also not pleased that Mike made it a point to request hard-to-get credentials for the main press box, which was situated high above the grandstand. He said he’d been told that was where the best food was served, plus there was an open bar once the race was over.

  No doubt noticing the disapproving way Liz was looking at him, Mike innocently asked, “Isn’t that where you watch the race? Or do you come in here? Not that it isn’t nice, but cold cuts and sliced tomatoes can’t compete with a standing rib roast and hot vegetables. Don’t you agree?”

  “I’ve never thought about it,” she said frostily. “I’ve always watched the race from the pits with the team.”

  “No kidding,” he said, wide-eyed. “Out in the heat and dirt? Why? That’s asking for misery.”

  Very carefully, Liz endeavored to explain how she felt it was important to be near the team in case she was needed. If something happened that caused the media to flock around, she wanted to be nearby to work her usual spin away from anything that might result in negative press.

  “Oh, there’d be time for that later,” Mike said airily. “Besides, you could have stayed in touch by radio and gotten there quick enough if need be. I can’t imagine your opting to be in the pits when you can sit in air-conditioning.”

  Liz could not imagine Mike opting for anything that might get in the way of his personal comfort. But it would be up to Mack or Rick to complain should they not like how he was doing his job—if, that is, they wound up with Big Boy’s as a sponsor in the future.

  When she and Mike got to the team’s assigned garage space, Liz was glad Rick was already in the car, buckling up and getting ready to go out for a practice session. She did not have to get close to him and could introduce him to Mike from a distance. Rick smiled, nodded, made welcoming noises, but it was obvious his mind was on the car and the final countdown to the rookie quest. He had no time for anything else.

  Mack was equally preoccupied. He shook Mike’s hand without looking at him.

  After Rick slowly began driving toward the gate that would take him onto the track, the team followed behind to take up their position behind the pit wall.

  Mike said, “Wow. I’m glad I don’t have to hang around here during a race. They’re not exactly a friendly bunch.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Liz said, sharper than intended. “They’ve got a lot on their minds.”

  “Yeah,” he said, and laughed. “Like who’s gonna sponsor them next year if Castles screws up tomorrow.”

  Liz exploded like a Fourth of July firecracker. “Screws up?” she echoed. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Mike, and first up on your list is realizing a driver screwing up—as you call it—isn’t likely. He wouldn’t be out there if he didn’t know what he was doing. Racing isn’t only a matter of skill when it comes to driving, it’
s attrition, car performance, fast pit stops. Many, many things. So if you think for one reason that Rick not winning the title happens because he, alone, screwed up, then you’d best worry about doing your homework instead of finding the freebies.”

  Mike’s brows had crawled right up into his wavy blond hair. “I think somebody is definitely showing signs of burnout here. It’s a good thing you’re finishing up tomorrow, Liz.”

  “In more ways than one,” she murmured under her breath.

  Liz left the track early to get ready for the night’s dinner party. It was obvious Mike didn’t need her help, anyway. He would fit himself in where he wanted to be and didn’t need her to pave the way. He knew where he was going, all right.

  As she was walking toward the parking lot, she passed by the paddock area and the team’s RV. Rick was just going in, and she would have sworn he saw her but did not turn to speak.

  She had thought about not saying anything in the way of goodbye but decided there was no need for sentimentality. He had known for some time Atlanta would be her last race and hadn’t bothered to say anything to her about it.

  She wondered if Wendy was inside the RV waiting for him. Maybe he let her get that close since it was the last race.

  Suddenly she yielded to impulse and swung around just as he was about to close the door behind him. “Hey, Rick. Wait a minute.”

  She wondered whether it was her imagination or did he really cringe when he heard her voice.

  “Yeah, Liz, what is it?” He asked without turning around. “I’m in a hurry.”

  She drew a resigned breath and let it out quickly, as though unleashing all the nerve she had left in her body. “I was wondering if you’d like a pit pass for Wendy since tomorrow is the last race. I’ve got an extra.”

  “No thanks. She had a flight to Europe this weekend.”

  He closed the door.

  Liz thought it strange Wendy hadn’t arranged to be there on such an important occasion, but maybe she couldn’t help it. Maybe Rick was so adamant about his feelings, that—