by Jim Cangany
Well, that and the surprise underneath the tarp to Barbara’s right.
“ . . . while we thank Thornton Industries for their contributions to Gale Force Racing, we understand their desire to go in a different direction and wish them the best.” She nodded to Gabrielle and Brad. “And now we have a little surprise for you.”
The trio took their positions as they had practiced, at Barbara’s insistence. Gabrielle respected the woman, but sometimes her attention to detail seemed over the top. On the other hand, Barbara was a woman blazing a trail in this profession, and her relentless pursuit of perfection was something it wouldn’t hurt for Gabrielle to emulate.
Barbara mouthed one, two, and on three, they pulled back the tarp to reveal Gabrielle’s car with its new sponsor and paint scheme. The gasp from the small crowd excited her. The immediate rush to take photographs turned the excitement into pure euphoria.
The paint scheme was utterly breathtaking. The previous scheme had been royal blue with the Thornton Industries logo on the nose cone and side pods in white block lettering. The tactful term for the look was classic. Gabrielle thought it was boring.
This new look was anything but boring. With a prismatic paint job, the car’s color varied from metallic silver to electric green to deep purple depending on the angle from which one viewed it. The logo of the new sponsor, AES, short for Alternative Energy Systems, was in metallic purple with letters stylized so they called to mind lightning bolts.
The only thing that hadn’t been changed was the car’s number. The fourteen, chosen by Barbara to honor the legendary driver A.J. Foyt, was in the same shade of purple as the sponsor’s logo.
With her heart beating faster than she could drive down the backstretch of the famous Crossroads Motor Speedway, Gabrielle went to the podium. She spent the next few minutes talking about AES, including her relationship with the company’s founders that went back to her days studying mechanical engineering at Rose Hulman University.
Before she could turn over the podium to Brad, a reporter raised his hand. “Can you tell us your thoughts about returning to North American racing so many years after the crash that caused the death of Jean-Pierre Fignon?”
Barbara had warned her and Brad to expect questions along this line. After an encouraging nod from her boss, Gabrielle took a deep breath.
“While I’m happy to be back racing on home soil, I will never get over the loss of my competitor and friend, J.P. It’s my hope to honor his memory by racing the way he did—with honor and grace.”
Another reporter spoke up. “That crash also ended the driving career of the man who’s now your team director. Some hard words were spoken back then. Is that all water under the bridge?”
Before she could respond, Barbara stepped alongside her. “When the decision to go in a different direction with a driver was made, an exhaustive search was conducted to find the most qualified candidate to join Gale Force Racing. Gabrielle Marquez checked every box in our search. I think this weekend’s performance demonstrated how well Gabrielle and Brad can, and will, work together.”
A reporter raised his hand. “Anything you’d like to add to that, Brad?”
Any interest in the car had gone up in smoke. The only thing this group was interested in now was reopening old wounds.
“Yes. In this business, the only things that matter are results. In barely twenty-four hours, the Gale Force Racing Team went from a wrecked car and no driver to a top-ten qualifying spot and top-four finish. That’s a stellar result. And one other thing.” He pointed to the car. “I cannot wait to get this car out on the track with Gabrielle behind the wheel. If you think it looks lightning quick sitting still, wait until you see it in action.”
Gabrielle let out a long breath as Brad’s attempt at redirection worked. The rest of the press conference was spent reviewing the Tampa race and talking about the upcoming race in Los Angeles. By the end, she was even able to crack a few jokes with the reporters.
Afterward, as they sat in the office of the team’s headquarters, Gabrielle couldn’t stop glancing out the window to marvel at the car. Her car. The car she was going to be driving for the rest of the season.
“On the whole, I’m pleased. You both did well, and I love the new look of the car.” Barbara looked at her watch. “Gabrielle’s friends will be here in ninety minutes for their first visit as sponsors. Let’s make a good impression.”
AES had leveraged its sponsorship of Gabrielle as it grew from a tiny start-up into a leading provider of alternative energy solutions for European businesses. Now they were entering the North American market, and Gabrielle was going to be the face of the company.
No pressure.
• • •
Brad had just finished giving the AES executives a detailed overview of the car. Their in-depth questions made it clear these folks knew engineering, even if motorsports wasn’t their area of expertise. At the same time, their enthusiasm was infectious. He’d lost track of how many times they’d thanked him for working with Gabrielle.
When they were finished, Brad wandered up to Gabrielle, who was at the buffet.
“You’ve got some impressive friends. From start-up to half a billion dollars a year in six years.”
“They’ve earned every penny.” Gabrielle wiped her hands on a napkin. “But most important to me is they’re good people. I’ve driven for them for three years now, but we’ll always be friends.”
“So tell me about that. What was it like racing in Europe?”
“Oh, wow. So much to tell.” Gabrielle headed for a shiny new director’s chair adorned with the AES logo. She seemed to be getting her thoughts in order while she chewed on a bell pepper strip. “I was in my second year racing in South America when Myles called.”
She told him about their desire to use electric racing as a way to promote the company and their insistence Gabrielle be the driver. That first year had been a disaster on the track, but everyone’s efforts began to pay off in year two, with one pole award and one win. Things got even better in year three. The growth of AES meant additional sponsorship dollars, which turned into three wins and a fourth-place finish in the final championship standings.
While the company grew, Gabrielle’s skill on the track, and with sponsors and the press, grew with it. She’d picked up a couple of endorsement deals and was developing a passionate fan base. Her social media presence grew by fifty percent in year three alone.
“And then Barney Stone opened his big, fat mouth and told a reporter that Team AES would never be able to compete for a championship as long as it had a woman driver.”
Brad leaned back as if Gabrielle’s words had been a punch to the breastbone. Barney Stone was the Chairman of the A-1 Circuit, the top level of European open-wheel racing. The man was in his eighties and thought women belonged behind a secretary’s desk or at home in the kitchen. Still, he wielded great power in European racing circles.
“I can’t believe that old jackass said that. I mean, come on, this is the twenty-first century, and you’d proven yourself on the track.”
“That’s what Myles and Ellie said, but his words still carry a lot of weight over there. When an associate sponsor decided not to renew, we made the decision to focus our efforts elsewhere. That’s when—”
“May I see the two of you in my office immediately? The Thorntons have just issued a press release you need to look at.” Barbara turned on her heel without waiting for a reply.
A thousand horsepower’s worth of anger boiled up inside Brad as he read the release. Chas and his moneybags grandfather had struck again. The old man had gone out and bought a team and replaced the driver with Chas. The document included a few veiled comments that bore a striking resemblance to the words of the chauvinist European.
“The little punk.” Brad crushed the paper in his hand, smoothed it out, and then ripped it to shreds. “He’s not going to get away with this.” He made for the door to find the reporter who was still hanging around.
>
Someone grabbed his arm. It was a smallish bronze hand that had an amazingly strong grip. “Let it go. They’re not worth it.”
He shrugged it away. “No. Nobody trashes my team and gets away with it. Barbara, please get me a copy of that press release. I’m going to need it.”
A minute later he had Kurt, the local newspaper reporter who covered racing, cornered.
After reading the press release, Kurt admitted he wasn’t surprised. “I heard a rumor yesterday something like this might be going down. I’m sure you and Barbara have your reasons for making the switch, but you can’t deny the kid’s got talent.”
“Speaking of talent.” It was the opening Brad was hoping for. “Let me tell you about Gabrielle’s results the past few years.” Over the next forty-five minutes, he took the information Gabrielle had given him and served it on a platter to Kurt. He maintained an emphasis on Gabrielle’s wins and her growth as a driver.
“So, yes, Chas has potential, but here at Gale Force Racing, we realized that while potential is one thing, a proven track record of success is another thing entirely. Barbara Sawyer demands excellence from every member of this team. Gabrielle Marquez is an excellent driver, and we look forward to showing the world just how talented she is.”
“Looking around this place, with all the new sponsor bling, one might argue Ms. Marquez bought this ride, regardless of her talent.” Kurt was a good guy who had been reporting on racing for two decades. He hadn’t stayed in the business that long without being able to ask the tough questions, though.
Before Brad could respond, Barbara cleared her throat.
“You’re right. To some, it may look like Gabrielle bought herself this ride out from underneath Chas. To others, it may look like someone is trying to manufacture a story when there is none, purely out of spite.” She pulled a chair next to Kurt. “You and I go back a long way, so I’m going to tell you something about my decision-making process I haven’t told anyone.”
Kurt raised his eyebrows. “Not even Brad?”
“Mr. Thomas is a fine team director, but he is my employee. No, bringing Gabrielle on was my decision alone.”
“On the record?” Kurt dug a micro recorder out of his jacket pocket.
“I wouldn’t have brought it up, otherwise.” She waited for the reporter to get ready. When he nodded, she smoothed a jacket lapel. “When I decided Gale Force Racing needed to move in a different direction, I wanted a driver with something to prove. The sexism Gabrielle was subjected to in Europe is the perfect example. One of the reasons I hired her was to prove to the world that a woman can compete with men on equal terms, and win, behind the wheel.”
“What were some of the other reasons?”
“There was only one other reason. She was the best driver available.” After thanking Kurt for his time, Barbara left the building, her heels clicking in the stunned silence.
“Anything you want to add with the boss out of earshot?” The red light of Kurt’s recorder was still glowing.
Brad massaged the back of his neck. There were a lot of thing he wanted to say, but they were all about Chas. In the grand scheme of things, sniping with other teams wouldn’t help the team, or his chances of getting back to the International Series.
“Yeah, actually there is.” He got up and rubbed his artificial hip as it reminded him he’d forgotten to take Aleve in the morning. “We’ve got the best owner, and the best team, and the best driver by a mile in the circuit. I can’t wait to get back on the track and show the world what we can do when we’ve had some time to prepare.”
Before he said good-bye to Kurt, he snapped his fingers. “Oh, and one more thing. Don’t think I haven’t heard the gossip about the history between Gabrielle and me.” When he said history, he made quotation marks with his fingers. “Let me make something as clear as the lenses of your glasses. Gabrielle Marquez is not, nor was she ever, responsible for the crash that injured me and took J.P. Fignon’s life. A cut tire was the cause. Nothing more, nothing less. I’ve watched video of the crash, and there was nothing she could have done. Mario Andretti couldn’t have prevented it, and he’s the greatest driver who ever lived. So you, and everyone else, can stop worrying about whether or not Gabrielle and I are a ticking time bomb, or whatever stupid things people are whispering.” He spread his hands in front of him. “We’re a team. Now, is there anything else you’d like to ask with my boss out of earshot?”
Kurt gave him a sheepish grin and said no, so Brad patted him on the back and said his good-byes in a way he hoped would prevent any animosity his outburst might have caused.
Once he was alone, Brad retreated to his office to cool off before heading home. He was still angry at the Thorntons, but he didn’t regret a word he’d said. Once he was behind his desk, like a blinding light and angel’s song, he had an epiphany.
Not only did he not regret what he’d said, he believed, all the way to his core, every single word of it.
Chapter Six
Gabrielle ducked behind a corner before Brad could catch her eavesdropping. She hadn’t meant to listen in to his conversation, but after he stormed out of the office, she couldn’t help herself. To be completely honest, she was afraid Brad was going to punch someone.
The one thing about Brad that had always worried Gabrielle was his temper. It wasn’t that he was a jerk or a bully. It was more that he was so Type A, sometimes his determination got the best of him, and when things didn’t go as planned, he lashed out in frustration. It didn’t happen a lot, just often enough that he’d gotten a reputation as a hot head.
The reports she’d read detailing the scuffle that led to him losing his last job seemed to prove he still hadn’t gotten the temper under complete control.
But what he’d said just now. Did he really mean it?
The idea made her heart beat faster. In years of long, sleepless nights, the one thing she had never been able to get over was Brad’s apparent conviction she was responsible for the crash. If Brad really meant the words, something must have changed.
She leaned against a wall and closed her eyes. She imagined a bright, sun-kissed day at a racetrack. The racetrack. The Crossroads Motor Speedway. With helmet in hand, she was walking to her car for the start of the Crossroads Five Hundred Mile Race. To her left, Brad was walking alongside her, brows furrowed, concentrating on the upcoming race. To her right, a smiling J.P. waved to the cheering thousands as if he was taking a stroll through the neighborhood.
The three of them comprised the front row of the thirty-three-car starting grid. One of them, probably Brad, was going to lead the first lap of the greatest sporting event in the world. She wasn’t concerned about the first lap. The only lap she cared about leading was the last one.
After hugs for both Brad and J.P., she gave her car a final pre-race inspection and waited for the “Star Spangled Banner” to begin. She—
“Hope you’re daydreaming and not in a drug-induced stupor.”
Her eyes flew open as her cheeks grew flaming hot. Brad stood before her, a smart-aleck half-smile bringing a touch of mirth to his chiseled features. She liked this smiling Brad much more than the brooding, serious Brad of the past. And she’d had a major thing for the brooding, serious Brad.
“It’s not daydreaming; it’s employing the technique of visualization.”
“Uh huh.” His smile grew as he crossed his arms. “And what were you visualizing if I may ask?”
At the moment, another vision came to mind involving Brad, a bottle of wine, and a moonlight beach. She shoved the thought aside and decided to take a chance.
“You and me and J.P. at the start of the Crossroads Five Hundred.”
His smile drooped as his jaw tensed and then he looked away.
“I miss him, too, Brad. Not a day goes by that something doesn’t remind me of him.” She placed her hand on his arm. “I, uh, kind of overheard what you said to the reporter. Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.”
He tu
rned back to her. The frown was still there, but his forehead was smooth. “All I did was tell the truth. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.” He let out a long sigh. “It’s been one roller coaster of a day. Let’s head back to the farm.”
They were both quiet on the drive. Brad seemed content to be alone with this thoughts, and Gabrielle didn’t want to press her luck. Ride sharing until Gabrielle could arrange for a rental car had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, with the quiet hanging over them like a rain cloud, she wasn’t so sure.
As they left the community of Fleetwood behind, strip malls and parking lots gave way to the occasional farmhouse and open fields waiting for planting season. Like the landscape, there was no doubt Brad had changed. The question was, how much?
One of the reasons she’d crushed on Brad all those years ago was his singular belief that he would succeed. Despite his parents’ relative wealth, he’d been raised to earn everything he had. This had translated onto the track. He’d secured his own sponsors, a rare accomplishment among a group of teenagers, many of whom came from backgrounds with enough privilege to afford an expensive venture like racing.
Gabrielle came from a similar financial background, and they had quickly bonded, lamenting the challenges of always hustling for money while relishing the thrill of competing against other young people from all over the world.
J.P. was one of those young people.
The polar opposite of Brad, J.P. was always smiling and, with his endless charisma, had legions of fans. Born outside Toulouse, France, J.P. moved to the States when his mother took an executive position with a pharmaceutical giant in Indianapolis.
Brad introduced Gabrielle to J.P. when he asked her to settle a dispute over a video game. In the privacy of his basement, when they were gaming or watching racing, another side of Brad emerged. He laughed with J.P. as the two traded lighthearted insults. It was a true yin-and-yang relationship, and Gabrielle had loved every minute she shared with them. No matter what, she couldn’t do that ever again. But she could try to make things right with Brad.