by Karen Botha
Chase is seated behind the small desk in his tiny room. If I were less livid, I’d laugh at the way the mixture of shock and alarm contorts his features as he realizes James has done his dirty work for him.
“What the fuck? And you can’t tell me yourself?”
“I’m sorry Elliott, what are you talking about?”
“Don’t play the innocent with me Chase.”
“Oh... So you’ve chatted to James then?”
“James has told us we can’t get married, and if we do, then Kyle has to leave his job. Yes, we’ve spoken to James. It wasn’t exactly what I’d call a two way conversation though Chase, and you fucking well know it.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. We didn’t know what you two were planning otherwise we could have had this conversation sooner. We wanted to give you ample warning to make an informed choice.”
“Bullshit. Well, it’s not going to work. If you don’t want us here, we’ll leave.”
“It’s not like that, Elliott. We do want you, both of you, but if you marry, the legal situation within the company is that Kyle will have to find alternative employment.”
“Don’t pull that contract shit. If he leaves, I leave. And we are getting married, so I guess you can take this as my notice. I’ll have my lawyer go through my agreement and find every fucking loophole that will set me free from your control at my earliest convenience and in the interim, I’ll be punting my wares around the other teams.”
It’s the first time I’ve come up for air. I can hear the tremor in my voice and I hope that in all the upset, Chase has missed it because me showing weakness will not help my bargaining power one bit.
My hands are balled at my sides and I make a conscious effort to unfurl my fingers as I take a step toward Chase and lean over him. My arms tremble as I place them on the desk and I fear they may not support my full weight.
“You will regret this. I am your golden shot. This car has been developed around me and no one else will win this year’s championship in it for you. Would you like me to speak to our sponsors and inform them of how you treat your employees when they fall in love? That the price of victory is at the cost of every employee’s personal life? I can just imagine Jessie trying to deal with the media outpouring when this little story hits the fan, and trust me. It will.”
I’m so sick to the pit of my stomach, I could spit in Chase’s face right now. Rather than ruining all chances of me triumphing in this negotiation, I leave him with a look of pure mirth as I spin on my heel.
Kyle
“I’ll throw the season if I have to in order to make my point.” Elliott seethes when he storms back into our RV.
James has gone. When it became apparent Elliott had different ideas to him on how the conversation would progress, he made his shifty goodbyes and left us to it.
“You can’t, Elliott. This is your career and if you do that, then the other teams won’t call for you. Plus, think of all the guys in our crew who have worked their asses off so you could go out there and win on a Sunday. You’ll be tossing all their dedication back in their faces.”
He calms. “I know. And I don’t want to do that. But the point I’d be making would be for any one of them. I’m just lucky because I at least have some power to wield. If you were marrying someone from the shop floor, they’d have you over a barrel.”
“I think they may, anyway. I did sign the contract Elliott.”
“Sure you did, but it’s a standard form. There are laws against large corporations slipping clauses into small print at the point when you would autograph anything they give you. I’ll speak to Clifford and we’ll get this sorted.”
I’m not so sure, but I nod anyway. “You do still want to race for this team then? It hasn’t sullied your opinion of them?”
“I’m too angry to say for certain right now. Let’s see what the outcome is, but I’m contracted until the end of next year anyway, so I’ll struggle.”
“Unless you win by a mile and use that to negotiate an amazing package elsewhere.” I hadn’t thought about this until it came out of my mouth, but the policy is that we can’t work together. Elliott could leave me in situ here and then work for a competitor if he wants to. That would buy us more leverage. At the moment all I’m concerned about is making sure Elliott doesn’t throw a tantrum and damage his career in the process by ruining his track record. It won’t go down in the history books that he had a falling out over marrying his co-worker, but it will be noted if he’s the most successful English driver of all time.
“I’m assuming the wedding is still on then?” I double check.
“More than ever. I think our celebration just got bigger. Let’s send out the invitations. There’s likely to be very little to announce to our friends after this blow up. I’m sure they heard me in Chase’s office from the race track.”
Elliott
Clifford gets on the case and speaks to Chase directly. It appears we both have a legal point, and this is very much an open negotiation. In the interim, Kyle and I make a show in the media of announcing our engagement and over the course of the next week we leak details of celebrity attendees.
The whole process is developing a substantial head of steam which makes it even more tricky for Chase should they choose to deny us being able to continue to work together.
Finally after ten days, when we’re back at the factory, Kyle and I are both called in and instructed to take a seat opposite Chase in our board room.
“Do I need my lawyer present?” I hover, refusing to sit until I have his answer.
“No, of course not Elliott. Please relax.”
‘Fucking jerk,’ I think. I pull out the chair in the interests of maintaining some semblance of harmony.
“I’ve invited you here with good news,” Chase opens.
I spy Kyle sneaking a glance at me out of the corner of my eye. I ignore him, not trusting myself to not show our hand.
“We would be very happy for you to both stay on here once you have married.”
“Thank you, that’s great,” Kyle says.
I nod, pursing my lips and waiting for the but.
And here it comes, “We will be shifting the mechanic crews. Kyle your team will transfer to manage Brad’s car and vice versa so the issue of you working together won’t be an issue.”
“Whoa, hold on. You’re throwing the competition for me if we both stay?” I’d not accounted for that.
“No, of course not Elliott. We’re shifting around the teams, making sure the learnings are fresh.”
“Once the season has started? That’s bullshit as you well know. It's my group of mechanics who have developed my car. My superior car and now you’re switching them to work on Brad's, my main competitor’s? That’s pretty much suicide to my championship and you know it.” My blood is rushing in my ears.
“Of course it isn’t. Why would we want that? If you lose, then we do.”
“Yeah, except this won’t affect the championship you guys are competing in as a constructor and that’s all you’re bothered about. From your perspective, it’s the same skill base, but from mine, it will mean that Brad starts to win and no doubt I’ll be in the unreliable car from now on.”
“Well, I’m sorry you feel like that, I can assure you reducing the reliability of your car certainly is not our intention. We are simply concerned with keeping our teams developing and so we thought this would be a perfect resolution as it also means that you and Kyle will no longer be working directly with each other. Your lawyer was pleased with the result.”
“My lawyer knows jack shit about how this will affect my career, and you know it.”
I kick back my chair. “Come on Kyle, we’re leaving.”
Kyle is already standing, and he follows me out of the room without a backwards glance.
Kyle
“What are we going to do?” Kyle asks as soon as we’re out of the building and in the privacy of the car park.
I shake my head and sigh.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t considered this possibility. Chase has called my bluff and I’m not sure there’s too much I can do about it.”
“Hmm, they’re clever. We can’t even pull the PR stunt now. They’ve obtained the upper hand here. They’ll be able to rave on about how much they’ve moved things around to accommodate us.”
“Shit!”
“Let’s sleep on it and then have a chat again in the morning,” I say.
“OK.”
But of course we don’t wait. We can’t. We’re that upset and unsettled by the whole situation that neither of us can bear to think about anything else.
“Maybe we should just postpone the wedding.” As much as I hate to admit it, it’s a good suggestion, once that is becoming increasingly more attractive.
“I won’t do that on principle. We can’t allow them to bully us.”
“But what else can we do?”
“I don’t know, but we will win this. I will find a way.” He shuffles up to me and wraps his arms around my neck burying his face in my shoulder.
And he stands.
I pull him into me and the aching I’d not noticed floats away as I lay my face against his soft curls and we stand for a few minutes, our chests rising and falling to the same beat. We’re together. The rest of the external chaos can go to hell; we have each other, and with this, we can overcome the direst of situations.
The peace of having him melt into me washes through my veins. I close my eyes, needing no more than to enjoy the moment with him. Leaning into each other, one completely supports the other, in both body and soul.
“It’ll be fine,” he whispers and my heart melts at the softness he doesn’t allow others to see. My man knows this situation may well not be fine. In fact, it has a high likelihood of being anything but fine, including the end of his career, and yet he wants to assure me that he has everything in hand.
“This is why I want to marry you Elliott, because you care enough about me and about us to put everything on the line.”
When he looks at me, his ice eyes have melted to inky pools that hold close the depth of his concern. “But, I don’t mind if we can’t marry yet. I will love you exactly the same regardless of whether we have a legal certificate.”
“You will marry me in the summer break as we have planned.” His gaze doesn’t shift as he speaks the only words about which he’s certain.
Elliott
I’m in the garage preparing for the first race with my new crew of mechanics. They’re OK, don’t get me wrong. They’re the best in the business, but they’re still a B team within our company. And I don’t have the rapport with them.
The energy in the pits is different. We all have our way of working, and as yet we don’t understand each other. We’re still waiting to develop an innate understanding of how the other works. And I am boiling with frustration.
And rage.
I will beat Brad this weekend and win this race if it fucking kills me.
The cars are lined up on the track already. I slam down my helmet and pace out into the frenzy that is the pre-race swarm of media front men angling desperately for any kind of comment.
“Elliott, how are you getting on with your new team of mechanics?”
I walk on, smiling but gesticulating to indicate that I’m unable to talk due to my safety gear. It’s a trick we all use to avoid an exposition where we don’t trust ourselves to say anything sensible.
I’m sad as I struggle down into the awkward cockpit. During all the craziness of the past few weeks, I hadn’t considered this moment. This is when I wipe my brain and organize my thoughts to focus exclusively on the race.
And usually Kyle is there to strap me in and keep me safe. Now I have some other guy, who I’m sure is perfectly competent at securing my safety straps. It's not that I'm scared, but a cavern splits my chest that the routine Kyle and I have settled into has been broken.
I don’t have much time to think about it. We’re on the formation lap before I know it and then I’m pulling up on the grid behind Brad. He beat me in qualifying by two places. Fucking imbecile is driving my car.
I zone in on the starting lights, my foot quivering under the pressure of adrenaline coursing through my blood. I level my finger on the pads and as red flicks over to green, I release my clutch and swerve into a gap.
Brad moves over to cover me, blocking my path, but I dodge to the opposite side. “Idiot,” I shout to no one as I move down the gate he’s left open as a result of my mistake.
He makes an illegal double maneuver which will surely get him a penalty, but I’m not expecting it. He slides over to cover the space a second time and in doing so eats into my down force, causing my brakes to fail and for me to collide into his back as he locks up round the first corner.
I remember everything.
My running up his tailgate, the tire catching and then the worst-case scenario happens. My wheel hasn’t been attached properly. It pops off and bounces along the track connected only to the safety wire which at least stops it crashing into my skull. My rear end spits out in response and I let go of the steering wheel, watching the world spin in slow motion as I flip and then crunch into the ground in a mass of oil and debris. My head bobs around; until it doesn’t.
Kyle
“You caused this!” I scream the words at Chase who is hollering into his headset as I bolt out of the garage and collect a marshal to dispatch me to the scene of Elliott’s accident.
“You can’t go down there. No one is allowed,” the dithering marshal tries.
“Give me the fucking bike then.” I snatch at him in an attempt to obtain the keys.
“OK, OK. Jump on the back.” I don’t think he knows who I am, but he can see how upset I am and that he’ll probably be safer to take me where he shouldn’t than to allow me to ride his moped in my current mental condition.
The 50cc engine cannot go quick enough. We tootle around to Elliott no faster than a Sunday afternoon stroll. As we creep up to the crash site, I see him for the first time. He’s been flung clear of the car and his body lies limp on the AstroTurf. That should never happen; his harness mustn’t have been connected properly. Only the middle of his vehicle remains intact and it’s strewn discarded to his side. The medical car is already there and they’re speaking to Elliott, but I can’t make out whether he’s talking back.
He isn’t moving.
Shit!
Why didn’t I insist on securing him into the cockpit today?
Is he dead?
“Stop,” I shout to my nervous driver, hopping off and running down the gravel path next to the mesh fence. A crowd of spectators have gathered. “Let me through,” I scream, pushing past them. Thankfully, my uniform allows a parting of their sea and I have a free path until I reach the marshal at the gate to the track.
“Sorry, no one is allowed in.” He shakes his head.
“Let me in. That’s my partner in that car.”
“No, I’m sorry, I’m not allowed. Orders have come over the radio. No one is to be let in.”
I am a big man, but I am not violent. This is the exception. I grab this dick by his stupid orange boiler suit and pull him into my face so he’s hanging off his tip toes.
“I said let me fucking through. That is my partner in there.” I can’t see myself, but I can feel the heat emanating from my cheeks. The disgust in my eyes lasers into his.
He hesitates when I drop him. “Let him through you twat.” Some drunk joins in. Somehow in the chaos of the moment, I have the time to consider his female clothing and nylon fuchsia wig and draw the conclusion that he must be here for a bachelor party.
His mates, dressed equally as humorously, also then join in.
And then, so does the rest of the crowd.
I give the marshal another shake to reinforce my position and he speaks into his radio. “What’s your name?”
“Kyle Beaumont.”
He nods, keys the lock and I’m onto the circuit.
> “Let me through.” I push the guys clearing the track out of my way and kneel next to Elliott. “El, it’s Kyle, are you OK?”
He doesn’t answer.
Fuck. It’s taken me a good ten minutes to get here with all the commotion, and he’s still not come around. I look at Bern, the race day medic. The pain in my heart is about to erupt from my eyes. They choke with fear filled tears. “Elliott, speak to me.” I’m screaming at him. “Speak, move, do something.”
“Keep talking to him Kyle, but let us work now, you need to back out of the way. He has a pulse, please don’t think the worst, just let him hear your voice,” Bern says in his accented English.
All I can think about when the ambulance arrives is that 'he has a pulse.' He’s alive. My Elliott will marry me. I scream this rhetoric at Elliott over the cacophony going on around me. I don’t hear it. I’m in a daze, entirely focused on reviving the man who lies at the side of the track.
‘What happened to his harness?’ I think over and over again. Ideas of what Elliott went through to end up tossed to the side of the track flash through my mind, I push them to one side, only for them to be replaced by another vivid image of Elliott on his way to lying smashed to pieces like the fiberglass in the circuit.
Elliott
The hospital machines burr in the background and it takes me a while to understand where I am. It probably takes longer because I can’t feel my feet and I’m busy trying to work out why not, while reprogramming my mind to function on a conscious level.
I can feel my hand and someone is holding it.
I look.
“Kyle.” I try to form a smile, but my face doesn’t want to move.
As I hear his name back in my head, it doesn’t sound right. It’s not clear. But there is a noise, and he wakes from where he’s been slumped over me.