Race To The Altar

by Patricia Hagan

  Liz gave herself another shake, harder this time. “Get over it, Mallory,” she whispered vehemently, and quickened her pace.

  Rick lifted the curtains inside the RV ever so slightly.

  It was all he could do to keep from yanking the door open and chasing down the steps to run after her.

  It was best she was leaving, because the past weeks had been hell, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could stand.

  He had heard about her new job. Mack said she was thrilled, because it was quite a promotion. Rick was happy for her, and, more than ever, he hoped he did well in the race for her sake. It would look good for her to have worked with a winning team.

  As for himself, well, more and more lately he was asking himself if his career was all that should matter. After all, what joy was there in success, anyway, when he had no one to share it with?

  Before he forced himself to walk away from Liz, there had been times he had thought maybe it might work between them. After all, she had her job in racing; he had his. But he could not be sure she could handle the pressures and, as time went on, became convinced she couldn’t.

  He watched as she got in her car and drove away.

  Then he turned around and settled into the emptiness of the RV—the emptiness that was his life.

  “Liz, you are stunning, as always,” Gary Staley gushed as he squeezed her hands.

  “And you’re sweet, as always, to say so,” she responded.

  She was standing inside the hotel ballroom she had rented for the evening, greeting guests. She had chosen a pink satin gown with matching ribbons entwined in her sunny red hair. The effect was, she supposed, different, if not startling, but she had always enjoyed the colors together. She found them cheerful, and, oh, did she ever need cheering this night.

  Mike was dutifully beside her as she introduced him to everyone as her replacement. Meeting Gary, Mike grabbed his hand and started pumping vigorously as he had Liz’s in the airport. And, like Liz, Gary quickly eased himself from the overdone grip.

  “I have really looked forward to meeting you, sir,” Mike said. “It’s an honor for me to be working this account. I just hope I can do half as good a job as Liz has, and—”

  Gary interrupted, “Yes, she’s a hard act to follow, that’s for sure.”

  Liz froze as she looked beyond Gary to see Jack Blevins walking across the hotel lobby with his crew chief and their wives. “What is he doing here?” she demanded between gritted teeth.

  Gary turned to see what she was talking about. “Who? Oh, it’s Jack Blevins.”

  He had stopped to talk to someone, and Liz repeated, “I asked what he’s doing here.”

  “I invited him,” Gary responded with a frown. It was obvious he did not like how Liz was reacting. “Why? What’s the problem?”

  She drew him to one side, away from his wife, away from Mike, who was all ears trying to listen. “The problem is that I think you’re being cruel, Mr. Staley. Once it gets out that Jack Blevins was here tonight, for what was supposed to be a party only for Big Boy’s people and Rick and his team, rumors are going to be flying like dust all around that track tomorrow that you’re going to replace Rick with Jack. Worse, Rick and the crew aren’t here tonight. They wanted to get to bed early.”

  “Jack obviously didn’t mind making an appearance,” Gary said airily.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” she plunged on, not caring if he got mad.

  “Maybe you don’t get it, Liz…that it’s my money, or Big Boy’s, anyway, and we can change to another driver if we want to—which is exactly what I plan to do if Rick doesn’t win the rookie title.”

  Liz was so mad she was shaking. “And you don’t get it, Mr. Staley, that by not waiting till after that’s decided before letting your plans be known that you’ve put a lot of unnecessary pressure on Rick and his team right before a race that was already stressful enough. I find that unacceptable, and, quite frankly, I’m very disappointed in you for doing such a thing.”

  “Well, now, just…just a minute.”

  Liz knew he was probably not used to having anyone question his actions.

  “I’m sorry,” she said crisply, not meaning it but knowing it was necessary to say. “I realize I’m out of line, that it’s really none of my business, but I just felt the need to point out to you what you have done is wrong. And if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s best I let Mike take over here before it becomes obvious to others that I strongly disapprove.”

  He called after her, “Liz, wait, please…”

  She kept on going but did have the aplomb to politely speak to Jack Blevins and those with him. It wasn’t his fault. It was all due to Gary Staley’s pomposity and thoughtlessness.

  She went straight to her room and phoned Jeff to tell him what she had done. “If you want to fire me, go ahead. I just lost my temper.”

  “Fire you?” he hooted. “No way. I think you have every right to be mad. I told Gary this morning when he mentioned having Blevins invited that it wasn’t the thing to do. It isn’t fair to either driver to dangle a carrot in front of them this way.”

  “Well, it’s done,” Liz said miserably. “And I just hope now more than ever that Rick wins. And when he does, he’d better thumb his nose at Staley and his money for pulling a dumb stunt like this.”

  Jeff laughed. “I’m afraid there’s no chance of that, not with Staley planning to double the money next season. So just forget it, Liz. Go back downstairs and mingle and smile and act like you don’t care. Remember, after tomorrow, it’s not your problem.”

  That was true, and even though she was in no mood to be gracious, it was childish of her to walk out.

  She hurried back downstairs and, like Gary, pretended nothing had happened.

  And all the while, she prayed that by some miracle Rick would not hear what was going on until after the race…and after he cinched the title.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Liz eased the rental car into the infield parking lot, sad to think it was actually her last day.

  After meeting Mike and realizing the hands-off approach he was going to be taking on race day, and with the situation as it was with Big Boy’s decision to go with the rookie winner, she was doubly glad she had opted to stay through the last event. The team would need a PR person around in the pits just in case. Should Rick not win the title, she intended to put a spin on his performance, in hopes of interesting a new sponsor for the team next season.

  Her suitcases were in the trunk. She had shipped everything else out to California for storage until she could get there and find an apartment. She was, for all appearances, ready to go but wished once more it wasn’t necessary.

  If only she hadn’t fallen in love she might have found a permanent niche in the racing world. She could even have left Star Media and gone with one of the big sponsors. It was without conceit that she acknowledged she had made a respected name for herself not only with the media but NASCAR and speedway officials, as well.

  It was close to starting time. She had always made it a point to get to the track early on race day, but this was different. She dreaded being around the team for fear they had heard about what Gary Staley and Big Boy’s had planned. She wanted no part of that.

  She also wanted to avoid seeing Rick up close and personal, afraid to say goodbye for fear she would break down and cry. And wouldn’t that make her look like a fool in front of everyone, especially Rick, and probably his girlfriend, if she showed up.

  No, it was best she avoid the team as much as possible.

  The pre-race festivities were almost over. Bands were playing, balloons had been dropped, and everyone was on their feet and cheering as the drivers were announced.

  She heard Rick’s name called, but only his first as the roar of the crowd drowned out the rest. He had grown in popularity through the year, and she liked to think she’d had something to do with that. After all, she had worked hard to put him in touch with his fans in dozens of ways. And though he g
rumbled about anything she planned, he was always good with his fans. And if he hadn’t groused so much about having to do it, Liz would have thought he actually enjoyed it.

  She was wearing comfort clothes, as she liked to think of her chinos, light sweater and sneakers. Her hair was pinned beneath her cap, which was embroidered across the front with Rick’s name and car number. It was the last one she had and the only souvenir she was keeping. Everything else—the T-shirts and press kits and anything connected with the team—she had passed along to Mike.

  She saw that the cars were already lined up on the track behind the start and finish line. Once introduced, the drivers would go and stand next to their cars while the national anthem was played. Then they would crawl in the window, settle in their seats, fasten their harnesses and wait, with pulses racing, for the ever-thrilling command to start the engines.

  Mustering all her courage, Liz made her way through the infield crowd to the gate leading to the pit area. A guard checked her credentials and motioned her through.

  The air was charged with excitement. She could feel it tingling through her bones. It was a familiar sensation, one she had come to look forward to and revel in.

  The crew, she noted, was still hovering around Rick’s car. He was starting in twentieth position. Jack Blevins was two spots ahead.

  She started to continue on to the area where they would be set up for the pit stops Rick would make during the race, but then she made the mistake of glancing toward the car.

  Rick was looking at her through the window netting.

  He raised his gloved hand from the steering wheel in a sad little salute.

  Liz bit her lip and quickly looked away, pretending not to have seen. Dear God, she silently, achingly cried, would it ever stop hurting? Would she ever be able to stop loving him?

  She told herself the sooner she was gone, the better. She also swore to make it a point to neither read the sports section of the papers or watch ESPN. She did not want to hear Rick’s name and be caught up once again in the anguish of it all.

  And then it came, a booming voice over the loudspeakers that rang out and echoed throughout the multitudes: “Gentlemen. Start your engines.”

  The ensuing explosion was deafening.

  Crew members ran from the track to their pit areas to make sure everything was ready for the frantic stops for fuel and tires. Each second would count, and everything and everyone had to be in position when the time came.

  Even in his frenzy, Mack stopped what he was doing when he saw Liz. “We are sure going to miss you,” he said, hugging her. “You just don’t know how much me and the guys have come to love you, Liz.”

  Me and the guys. The words rolled around within her like a tennis ball, bouncing off each raw nerve. Me and the guys. If only that included Rick, as well, but in a different way.

  “I love you, too,” she said, eyes misting with tears. “And I know you’re going to do well. I’ll be thinking about you.”

  “Oh, we made sure of that,” Mack said, grinning as he took a small box out of his pocket. “We all chipped in and got you this.”

  With shaking fingers and the rest of the team looking on, Liz opened it and gasped at the sight of the beautiful gold pendant. On one side was an etching of the car; the other inscribed with the date. “I…I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, overcome with emotion.

  “Just say you won’t forget us,” Mack said gruffly, and the others chimed in.

  She promised, all the while thinking she would never wear it. Instead, she would hide it away in her jewelry box to take out on the long, lonely nights sure to come. Then she would hold it in her hand and, for a little while, allow the beautiful memories to return and provoke with thoughts of what might have been.

  “By the way,” Mack said soberly. “We heard about what Big Boy’s is planning.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she quickly said. “I got so angry with Mr. Staley for letting word leak before the race. Did Rick hear about it, too?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  She sighed. “It’s bad enough for him to consider he might not win the title without knowing he’ll lose his sponsor if he doesn’t.”

  Mack scratched his chin thoughtfully and gazed toward the track. The drivers were dutifully following the pace car for the warm-up laps. “I don’t think that’s bothering him, but something seems to be. He hasn’t been himself lately. He acts like he’s got a lot on his mind.”

  “Well, whatever it is, try to get him to take a vacation when this is over with, Mack. You too. You both need it.”

  “I told him we ought to take the RV and drive out West for a few weeks. Do some camping. A little fishing.” His lips curved in a wry smile. “But after today there’s a chance we might not have an RV to drive, right?”

  “Think positively,” she urged.

  One of the crew called to him, and Mack turned away. Just then Mike walked up, looking very nice in a suit, white shirt and tie.

  “How’s this for the best-dressed PR rep around?” he said proudly.

  Liz pointed out, “Isn’t that going to be awfully hot? Once the cars get to racing the temperatures can really soar.”

  “Won’t bother me.” He winked. “I was able to get credentials for the press box, remember? I’m on my way to drive through the tunnel and get over there now.”

  Sarcastically Liz said, “Better hurry before the food gets picked over.”

  But he did not hear, because her voice was drowned by the sound of the cars revving up, ready to take the green flag for the first lap.

  Liz could not bear being around the crew any longer, afraid her feelings were going to show. Sooner or later someone might suspect her melancholy was not entirely due to leaving her job. After all, she was the one who had requested to be moved to another account and had spent the last weeks griping over every little thing she could think of. Several times she had even waspishly said she couldn’t wait to move on. So it looked strange for her to be standing around with tears in her eyes when it was supposed to be something she wanted.

  She went to the infield media room where it was cool but soon left after facing a barrage of questions about Big Boy’s decision to sponsor Jack Blevins if Rick didn’t win the title. Ordinarily she would have put her spin on it, trying to emphasize it was purely a business decision and had nothing to do with how Big Boy’s felt about Rick personally. But she could not muster the enthusiasm and retreated instead.

  For a time, she sat in her car but could not hear what was going on out on the track. She had already given her headset to Mike and recalled he hadn’t been wearing it. She wished she had asked to use it one more time.

  She tried to get the race on the radio, but it was on the blink.

  Then she heard the screams that go with a crash or spinout and knew she couldn’t stand not knowing what was happening any longer. It was easy to hear over the loudspeakers between the turns, so she went to watch from between three and four.

  Several cars had spun, and a caution flag was out, which meant the drivers were once again dutifully coasting behind the pace car. During the lull in action, she heard the positions called and thrilled to hear Rick was one place in front of Jack, but they were on the same lap. The pressure had to be enormous, especially with several hundred miles left to run.

  The afternoon wore on. Liz was able to keep up with things and knew Rick and Jack were swapping positions. Each time they did, there was another exploding roar from the crowd. Gary Staley was certainly getting his money’s worth when it came to attention this day. Every so often the track announcer would preface Rick’s position by saying, “The Big Boy’s Pizza number sixty.”

  With only fifty laps to go, Liz made a dash to the rest room. There had been a lengthy caution period the last time because an engine had blown. Cleanup crews had to get the oil off the track so other drivers wouldn’t slide.

  It was later than it was supposed to be at that point in the race. Liz planned to stay to the finish and w
ould have just enough time to get to the airport and catch her flight. However, if there was another delay, she might have to forgo the ending and leave, lest she miss her plane.

  Another caution flag was brought out when a car hit the wall. Liz gritted her teeth during the long moments of caution, constantly darting glances at the time. It was going to be close, but she wanted to stay, if at all possible. Rick was ahead of Jack by nearly a lap. If nothing happened, he was going to win the title.

  Every time number sixty came out of turn four heading down the front straightaway, Liz’s eyes would dart to the scoreboard.

  Ten laps.

  Then nine.

  And then he was one lap ahead of Jack Blevins. Nothing could stop him from finishing, and Liz was jumping up and down and cheering.

  Several times, she got too close to the retaining wall, and a security guard motioned her back. It was a dangerous place to be. If a car crashed and got airborne, it could very easily soar right over the wall.

  Liz was happy for Rick, even if she wasn’t going to be the one to hug him and shower his face with kisses when it was all over.

  Then, like horror unfolding in maddeningly slow motion, the car directly in front of Rick suddenly spun out of control. Rick, trying to avoid a T-Bone crash, which could be deadly, took the high side of the track.

  A scream locked in her throat as number sixty went end over end to land mere feet from the retaining wall in front of her, flames erupting from the rear.

  She still did not scream.

  Neither did she stand there, frozen in panic, unable to move.

  Instead, she joined with the fans that had scaled the ten-foot chain link fence and rushed toward the flaming car.

  She knew the safety crew was on the way, but there was not a second to spare.

  The security guard went into a frenzy as he shouted at everyone to get back, stay away. But he was no match for the horde descending.

  A man had reached the car and was trying frantically to get Rick out.