Peter’s hand shot out and grabbed Jolie’s ankles, and as she uttered a muffled scream, he jerked her so that she sat down abruptly on the sandy earth. “Learn to be respectful of your elders!” he said, hanging on to her ankle firmly as she squirmed.
Kicking at him with her free foot, Jolie cried furiously, “Let me go!”
Peter kept his hand clamped down on the slender ankle, a wide grin spreading across his lips. Just then her lightweight cotton skirt started to fly up as a breeze gusted, and he reached out with his free hand and pulled it down. “You ought to be more modest, Jolie. What would Brother Winslow think?”
Jolie managed to kick free and gathered her skirt as she stood up, her face flaming. “You’re a beast!” she announced, her lip pouted in a rather attractive fashion. “You have no manners! You’re . . . you’re uncouth!”
“Uncouth? You’ve been reading the dictionary again, Jolie,” Peter teased.
“Never mind if I have! You are uncouth!”
“I’m as couth as you are. Now, if you’ll sit down here, I’ll explain how I’m going to win the great race down in San Diego.”
Almost instantly Jolie forgot her irritation. She sat down cautiously beside Peter, her eyes wary. “You keep your big meat hooks off me!” she said. “What about this race? When are you leaving?”
“It’s the July the Fourth Race. Easy and I’ll pull out tomorrow. I’ll have to nurse that baby along.” Here he nodded at the gleaming red vehicle and smiled with satisfaction. “I’m going to take first place and come back with a pocket full of cash.”
“Take me with you, Peter!” Jolie begged.
“Why, I can’t do that!” Peter protested. “You’ve got your lessons to take from your tutor.”
“Oh, I’m way ahead on that,” she shrugged. “You know what I learned yesterday?”
“What?”
“I learned that Columbus discovered America and didn’t even know it. He was trying to find a route to the Indies. When he landed on the islands of the Caribbean he thought he had found the Indies. That’s why we call them the West Indies today.”
“I always thought that fellow wasn’t very bright,” Peter grinned. “What are you studying things like that for? Why don’t you study something useful like baking cakes or diapering babies?”
Jolie shook her head, her black hair catching the breeze, and the sun glinting in it. “I already know how to bake cakes. I need to learn about other things.” She turned to him, her lips growing soft and her voice wheedling. “Please take me with you, Peter. I won’t be any trouble.”
“Maybe not, but it would be awful crowded with three of us in the car.”
The argument went on until Easy returned with a paper sack filled with bologna, crackers, and cheese. He sat down and divided it all among the three of them. “We’ll have to share this here red soda pop,” he said. The trio sat munching crackers while Jolie transferred the brunt of her argument to Easy. She could always get anything she wanted out of the small man, and finally Devlin turned and said, “Ah, we can squeeze up, I reckon. It ain’t that far to San Diego.” He took a huge bite of bologna sandwich, washed it down with pop, then brightened up as an idea broke in on him. “Hey, why don’t we get a truck and a trailer from Imperial? We could haul the car down and not run any danger of bustin’ the tires or blowing the engine on the car.”
“Now, that’s a swell idea,” Peter nodded. “What’s the use of having a sister who’s a big star if I can’t use her once in a while for my own selfish purposes?”
“She’ll do it, Peter.” Jolie nodded with an air of certainty. “She thinks you’re the greatest—but I don’t know why.”
Peter lifted an eyebrow lazily. “You never appreciated my manly virtues,” he said, winking at her. “When you get older you’ll learn what a rare specimen I am.”
Jolie reached over and took his hand and looked up at him pleadingly. “I’ll recognize it right now if you’ll take me with you, Peter. Please?” Her lips pursed, and she fluttered her eyelids.
Peter stared at her, then shook his head in disgust. “You’re learning all the wiles of womanhood too quick—but I guess it’ll be all right if I can finagle a trailer and a truck out of the company. You’ll have to get a little bit dirty. We don’t have room for a lot of luggage. Tell you what.” He grinned. “You can be our mechanic. Get yourself a suit of white overalls, and we’ll have the name of the team put on the back.”
“What’s the name of the team?” Easy asked. “I didn’t know we had one.”
“We’ll just choose the name of the car.”
“And what’s that?” Jolie demanded. “The Red Devil?”
“Nope,” Peter said. He winked at Easy and said, “The name of the car is—the Jolie Blonde.”
Jolie stared at him and could not believe what she was hearing. “You’re naming the car after me?”
“Why not? The rules say we’ve got to name it something.” Peter came to his feet and walked over to the car. “We’ll get one of the artists that works on the sets to paint it right here in great big yellow paint. Jolie Blonde. And we’ll put it on our shirts and your coveralls.”
Jolie flushed and suddenly appeared to be very embarrassed. “Thank you, Peter. That’s so sweet of you.” Her eyes brightened and she whirled, calling back, “I’m going to get my coveralls right now and embroider the name on the back myself!”
As Jolie went dashing off, Easy grinned. “You just think of that? The Jolie Blonde?”
“Sure. It makes the kid feel good. Why not? It’s a pretty good name.”
“I guess so. It’s better than The Square Donut, or The Uncooked Frog.” Easy smiled. He swallowed the last of his red drink and said, “We better go get one of those artists to do the name on the car so the paint will have time to dry if we’re leaving tomorrow.”
****
The meet at San Diego was a combination car show and race. They pulled in late on the afternoon of July 3. After a supper at a small restaurant near the meet, they walked back to the track, rolled up in bedrolls beside the trailer and the truck, and fell asleep almost immediately.
The next morning they were up early. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat,” Easy said. “My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.” He led the way back to the same place where they had eaten the day before. The place was already crowded with people who had come for the race. The three of them sat down to a breakfast of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and scalding black coffee.
After Peter paid the bill and they left the restaurant, they strolled down toward the lines of cars already being eagerly viewed by spectators. Glancing at Jolie, Peter said, “You look nice in your coveralls, Jolie.”
Jolie responded to the compliment with a quick smile. The coveralls were snow white and clung to her youthful, trim figure. On her back, in a fancy, curling script, was the title, Jolie Blonde. “I had to stay up half the night getting the name on the back,” she confessed. “Does it look all right?”
“It’s spelled right, I reckon,” Easy grinned. “I hope it brings us good luck.”
Jolie suddenly remarked, “Oh, I forgot! I got this rabbit’s foot just before I left. It ought to bring us good luck.” Plunging her hand into her pocket, she pulled out the furry object and handed it to Easy.
Staring at the object, Easy shook his head in disgust. “This ain’t no good!”
“What’s wrong with it?” Jolie demanded. “It’s a real rabbit’s foot!”
“I can see your education has certainly been neglected. I thought everybody knowed that the only rabbit’s foot with any luck at all in it is the left hind foot. This one here is the front right foot. You might as well chuck this thing away!” he said in disgust.
Peter laughed out loud. “We don’t need any rabbit’s foot. All we need is to get in that car and step on the gas, but first let’s look at some of these little beauties to see what we’re up against.”
They moved to the first car in the line, which was an imposing Fra
nklin. It had a strange-looking round grill, and Easy nodded at it. “That thing’s got an air-cooled engine. I ain’t got no confidence in them.”
They moved to the next car, and Peter said, “Now, this is something light.”
“What is it, Peter?” Jolie asked.
“Why, it’s a Packard Roadster. It’s got a T-head engine, a magneto jump-spark ignition, and it displaces 349.9 cubic inches. A real go-getter!”
All this meant nothing to Jolie, but inwardly she vowed to learn more about cars as soon as they got back.
They moved along the line examining Ramblers, a Cadillac Model K Runabout, and a Buick Turtleback Roadster, which had a tilt steering column. They stopped to admire the large Model H Buick, and the four-cylinder Cadillac.
“How much would this cost, Peter?” Jolie inquired.
“This one? About two thousand dollars.”
Jolie was shocked. “I’ll never be able to drive one of those,” she said wistfully.
“What do you need with that when you got the Jolie Blonde?” Peter asked lazily.
“Peter, can I drive it sometime? I don’t mean now at the race, but I mean when we’re back home?”
“Why, sure. We’ll get out there in the desert. That way, if you hit something, it’ll be a cactus and not an innocent bystander.”
Jolie started to say something, but right then a loudspeaker blared, “All racing drivers report to the stand immediately!”
“Guess we better get going,” Peter muttered. “Easy, you and Jolie unload the Jolie Blonde. I’ll go sign us up.”
Jolie hurriedly returned to the car, guided by Easy, and helped as best she could while Easy backed the car off the trailer. He started the engine, then got out and listened to it with a practiced ear, his thin face intent. “Sounds good, don’t she?”
To Jolie it sounded loud, but she nodded enthusiastically. “Do you think we’ll win, Easy?”
Easy pulled his cap off and racked his sandy hair, then jammed the cap back on. “Well,” he said, “I put a four-leaf clover in my shoe the first thing this morning. That’s always worked pretty good for me.”
Jolie stared at the small man cautiously. “Do you really believe all those things about luck?”
“Believe ’em? ’Course I do!” He stared at her lustrous black hair and said, “Tell you a secret, Jolie. Next time you braid your hair, leave out a strand.”
“Whatever for?”
“Well, that means you’ll marry within the year,” Easy grinned.
“I’m not studying getting married,” she said, her face growing pink.
Easy grinned at her skeptically, then shrugged. “Well, we got a race to win. We’ll take this matter up later.”
He moved over, lowered himself behind the wheel, and Jolie quickly got in beside him. Carefully avoiding spectators, he drove the car slowly to the track, where they were met by Peter.
“Right over there, Easy. We’re fourth in line.”
“What’s the competition look like?” Easy demanded.
“Pretty stiff,” Peter admitted. He was wearing a pair of charcoal gray slacks, a royal blue shirt with the sleeves buttoned down, and a soft checkered cap on backward, with goggles to be lowered during the race. He waved toward the line of cars and said, “That’s Albert Dingley there in the Pope-Toledo. See that Locomobile Joe Tracey’s driving? That’s a ninety-horsepower job.”
“There’s a steam-powered White Roadster—don’t know the driver. But the ones to beat are those French fellows. Don’t know what they’re doing here, but that Renault has won lots of races.”
The loudspeaker blared, “All drivers prepare for the start!”
“Come out of there, Jolie.” Peter smiled and reached out and put his hands under her arms, lifting her clear easily. Setting her down, he said, “You got a hug for good luck?”
At once Jolie came forward, put her arms around him, and squeezed as hard as she could. “Beat everybody, Peter,” she whispered, then stepped back and caught his wink. “I’ll be waiting at the finish line,” she said.
Peter turned then and said, “Well, climb aboard, Easy. Here’s where they separate the men from the boys.” The two men got into the car. The roar of the racing engines and the smell of burning oil filled the air. The cars painted all the colors of the rainbow gave a festive look to the race. Peter pulled his goggles down and gripped the wheel.
Easy shook his head and said, “I hope you get the jump on these birds,” he muttered and then pulled down his own goggles.
The gun sounded so abruptly that Peter was almost caught off guard. He shoved his foot down and the Jolie Blonde’s rear wheels spun and leaped forward. Albert Dingley, in his Pope-Toledo, took the lead and held it for the first two laps. Peter managed to hold on to fourth place, and then good fortune rather than good driving came to his aid. The second-place driver, Joe Tracey in his Locomobile, rammed the Pope-Toledo, and both cars spun off the track and out of the race.
“We got a chance,” Easy yelled. “This four-leaf clover’s working. Pour on the gas, Pete!”
The race seesawed back and forth among the French team, the speedy Renault, and the Jolie Blonde. For the last three laps, none of the cars could make a definitive gain. Finally, as they headed into the last lap, the Renault went into a spin, and by the time it had recovered, Peter and Easy were only yards away from the finish line. The Renault picked up speed but was four lengths behind as the Jolie Blonde sailed by the man with the checkered flag, who waved it enthusiastically as they shot by. The crowd yelled and hollered, and Peter screamed, “That’s the sweetest music I ever heard, Easy!”
“It is nice, ain’t it!” Easy said, pulling off his goggles.
When they got the car stopped, the large crowd mobbed them instantly.
They clambered out, and someone shoved a large trophy at Peter. Grabbing it, he held it high in the air with one hand. Suddenly Jolie squeezed through, and he reached out and hugged her with the other arm.
“I’m Adams with the San Diego Star. . . .” The speaker was a slightly freckle-faced reporter with a pad and pencil in his hand. “How do you feel about winning the race?”
“I feel better than losin’,” Peter said, grinning. He fielded the questions the reporter shot at him, and the crowd all listened.
Finally Adams glanced at Jolie, who was still resting under Peter’s arm. “Is this your wife?”
Peter smiled somewhat awkwardly at Jolie, then looked back at Adams, feeling rather foolish. “Why, no.”
“Your lady friend, then?” Adams pursued.
“Well, she’s a lady, and she’s a friend.” Peter suddenly grinned. He gave Jolie a squeeze and said, “This is the real Jolie. Easy and me named the car after her.”
After the excitement was over, and the car was loaded for the trip back to Los Angeles, Easy went to the back of the trailer to check on the tie-downs. Jolie, who was sitting close to Peter to make room for Easy, looked up at him. “I’m so glad you won, Peter. It was wonderful.”
“It’s a lucky car, as Easy would say.” He looked down at her face, her blue eyes shining and catching the gleam of the setting sun. “Glad you came?”
“Oh yes!”
“Better than studying algebra, huh?”
Jolie thought for a minute. “It’s more fun,” she said. “I’m going to go to all your races from now on.”
“Pretty sure of that, are you?”
“I can, can’t I, Peter?” Jolie pleaded.
Easy came and plopped down just at that moment. He slammed the door of the truck and said, “Time to go. The fun’s over. Back to work.”
But Jolie persisted. “Can I, Peter? Go to your races?”
“We’ll see.”
Jolie nodded confidently. “All right, we’ll see.” But as she sat there squeezed between the two men, thinking of the future, she thought, He’ll let me go. I know he will. . . .
****
For two days after they returned home, Jolie was in a glow over the tr
ip to the race in San Diego. When Tom Ziegler came to give her her next lesson, for the first time she gave him no time for study. She described every inch of the journey, and then portrayed the race itself in vivid detail. She ended by saying, “ . . . and Peter and Easy are going to take me to all their races. It’s going to be such fun.”
Ziegler had been listening quietly, noting the excitement of the young woman. “I’m glad you had a good time, Jolie.”
“You should have seen me when they crossed the finish line. I was so excited. I wish you could go sometime, Tom. Have you ever been to a race?”
“No, I never have.”
“Next time there’s one close by you can come.”
“Well, I’m pretty busy.” He hesitated for a long moment, then said, “My mother sent you an invitation. She wants you to come and have supper with us tonight.”
It was the first such invitation, and Jolie was somewhat surprised. Tom rarely mentioned his mother, and Jolie was curious about his family. “Oh, that would be nice,” she said.
“I’ll come by and get you around five,” he said. “That’s a little early, but you can visit with Mother for a while before we eat.”
Jolie opened her books, but her mind was not on the lesson. Half of her imagination was still running over the events of the race. The other was thinking about going to the dinner with Tom and his mother. It’ll be enjoyable, she thought as she studied Tom’s thin, studious face. She wondered if he resembled his mother or his father. Well, I guess I’ll find out tonight, she decided.
Later that afternoon as Jolie was getting ready, she took more care than usual, putting on a new dress she had just purchased. It was made of a heather gray lightweight fabric and had a high neckline, loose-fitting bodice, and elbow-length sleeves trimmed with pink. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, satisfied with the results. A soft knock sounded on her door, and when she opened it, her landlady smiled and said, “Mr. Ziegler is here.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bell.” Grabbing up a bag, she rushed out of her room and went downstairs to meet him. “I’m ready,” she said.
“I got us a carriage,” Tom said. “You look very nice, Jolie. Is that a new dress?”
The Silver Star Page 21