by Shey Stahl
“How did you do $25,000 damage to a fucking golf cart?”
“What?” My eyes didn’t move from the posters.
I already knew the look I was receiving. It was the same look I got when I threw the baseball through his car windshield, while driving, because he wouldn’t let me have a Happy Meal. It was the same look I got when Spencer and I glued Emma to the wall of her bedroom and left her there for an afternoon. And it was the same look I got when I took my sprint car out for a spin on the high schools running track during the home coming football game.
“Do golf carts even cost that much?” he wondered and then shifted his eyes back to me. “You need to grow up!”
I laughed feeling his penetrating gaze upon me. “Spencer wrecked the other one.” I defended finally looking up.
It was the same look.
“I expect that from him. Well fuck, I expect that from you too but regardless, stop it.” His eyes bulged again. “I’m not okay with this.”
“I won’t wreck any more golf carts.”
His eyes narrowed for good reason. “Or haulers...and motor coaches.”
“Or haulers and motor coaches.” I agreed with a grin attempting to lighten his mood.
“Don’t get cute. I’m not amused.” He let the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile but corrected it quickly. “You need to be medicated.”
“Do not.”
“Yes...yes you do.” He tossed the bill from Glen Brooke Golf Course at me walking to the rear of the jet grumbling again about getting a DNA test done on us.
In my head, I silently added up everything I’d been charged with in the last few weeks as far as destruction went...$25,000 for the race, $34,000 for the hauler, $16,000 for the motor coach, and then the $9,000 for the hotel room. My eyes focused on the recent bill from the golf course, $26,000. I was certainly no math whiz but that was a hefty tag.
Maybe I did need medicated?
It was either that or I was going broke.
When I arrived in Loudon, it was a whirlwind of press, appearances, and interviews. That was just on Wednesday. After a very long fourteen-hour day, I was finally in my hotel room and missing my girl like crazy so I decided to call her.
She answered on the first ring greeting me cheerfully. “Hey there handsome,”
“Hey beautiful,” I rasped, my voice was shot. It sounded like Christian Bail in those Batman movies. “How was your day?”
“Ohhh,” Sway giggled. “someone had a long day but I’m digging the voice.”
“I’ve missed that giggle, honey.”
“I’ve missed you. I had to spend the day with the devil’s spawn. Little fuckers shaved Mr. Jangles.” she seethed. “He looks like the bear off that Great Outdoors movie—you know the one with the shaved ass?”
Laughing, though I was the only one laughing, she continued to tell me about her day. When I lied back on the bed, I felt something under me. Reaching behind, I fished out a package addressed to Jameson Riley Fan Club.
Emma must have dropped it off so I opened it and out spilled about a hundred envelopes from what looked to be fan mail. Skimming through a few, Sway told me how Lucas also pierced Mr. Jangle’s ears with safety pins while Mr. Jangles purred away.
“I’m not sure who should worry you more, Lucas for doing it, or Mr. Jangles for not scratching the shit out of him.” I teased and gasped loudly when I realized that all these letters were from Chester—the male prostitute from jail.
Afraid of the contents, and feeling slightly nauseated, I shoved them all back in the bag and placed it on the floor a good ten feet away.
I may or may not have covered it with a blanket as well.
“I’m not sure who to be worried about either but I’m gonna say the Lucifer twins.” Sway agreed while I made my way back over to the bed. “A couple hours ago Logan brought out my vibrator and proceeded to play Star Wars with Lucas while we ate dinner.”
I was silent for a second trying to comprehend what exactly she just said when I heard Sway take a deep breath.
“What’s the matter, honey?”
“I just...miss you.” Her tone was desperate. “And they’re making me insane.”
“I miss you too,” I whispered in a low voice that I knew would calm her down. “Now, back to this vibrator...” Then I let the full force of my voice loose on her, knowing the effect it could have.
“You’re not allowed to use that voice if we can’t have sex.” Sway warned.
“You know,” I whispered purposefully. “Just because I said we can’t have sex...doesn’t mean we can’t have phone sex...and I really wanna talk about this vibrator you have.” I hedged.
Sway moaned loudly. “You’re killing me.” I could hear rustling on the line and imagined she was lying on her bed, already feeling the tightness in the pit of my stomach in anticipation.
“What are you wearing?” I asked in a deep voice that sounded funny to me with how gravelly I’d become. “Come on honey; don’t get shy on me now.”
“Nothing,” her voice softly flowed through the line.
“Wow, that was fast,” I replied.
“I just got out of the shower. Logan got glue in my hair so I spent the last hour in there trying to get it out.” She sighed. “It will be a miracle if I don’t kill them.”
“How about you focus on something else,” I suggested removing my clothes and getting in the bed. “Like me...back to this vibrator. How long have you had it?”
Sway blew off my questions about the vibrator as if she never mentioned she had one in the first place. “That sounds like a swell idea...what are you wearing stud?”
“Nothing now,”
“Ah, I’m good.” Sway giggled. “Two minutes into this and I already have you naked.”
“You have no idea what you do to me.” I groaned as my hand slipped under the sheets. “Now this vibrator...where’d you get it?”
“Why don’t you tell me.” her voice was dripping with sex.
Throwing my head back against the pillow, I found it hard not to fly across the states and show her exactly what she was doing to me. “Fuck Sway. I miss you so much. I wish you were here with me right now.”
“Do you have a fantasy?” she asked. I could tell this was turning her on—I knew my girl well.
“Besides fucking you on the hood of my race car?” I answered immediately. I’m sure my arousal was evident in my thick tone. “You know, I fantasized about that one for years.”
“Oh, fuck me!” she panted.
My one thousand square foot hotel room was filled with our breathy moans, panting, and dirty talking. It felt wrong, and it felt as though I was slipping back into what we had before but in the reality of it all, that was Sway and me.
I had no doubt in my mind that once Sway was here in my arms, I would show her how this was different, how we were different, over and over again.
The next morning when I woke up, I was met with Spencer...in my bed. Yeah, that happened and sadly, this wasn’t the first time it had happened.
Jumping back, I reached for the blankets since I was in fact still naked. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” I barked at him.
“Alley kicked me out of the room.” He mumbled rolling over to go to sleep.
“So you came here...what would inspire you to do that?” I pushed him off the bed and reached for my jeans on the floor.
“Dude!” Spencer grumbled when I showed him my bare ass. “I don’t need to see that!”
“Stay out of my room then.” I countered yanking my jeans on. “Why’d she kick you out?”
I don’t know why I was asking, it’s not like I actually gave a shit why she was mad at him. After all, this was a daily occurrence.
“She’s still upset about my new haircut.”
I laughed rummaging through my bag to find a t-shirt and socks. “That’s what you get for letting Aiden cut your hair dumbass.”
Though it took some convincing, I got Spencer to leave and made my way
to the track to start the race weekend. It was going to be a long one without Sway here.
With the restraining order on Chelsea and her glued to his hip, I struggled to get Tate alone the last few days between practices and qualifying. I couldn’t go anywhere near him with Chelsea there.
At the drivers meeting, she wasn’t around so I tried my luck there.
Never being one to beat around the bush so to speak, I walked up to him when he was with Bobby and Paul. Seeing me standing there, Bobby and Paul left leaving Tate and me in the corner of the media center.
“What do you want, Riley?” Tate glowered at me with his arms crossed over his large chest. The light colored shirt he was wearing made his dark eyes appear darker. “What?”
I stared at him for a moment. Once I was standing there face-to-face, I had no idea what I wanted to say. Eventually I settled on, “I want you to hear my side of what happened.”
“I already know what happened.” He turned to walk away.
I grabbed him by the arm—his face was hard to read. “No you don’t.” I said on the defense. “You know one side of the story.”
“Enlighten me then.” He challenged stepping closer.
Tate wasn’t as big as that Vin Diesel motherfucker but he wasn’t pint sized either. I briefly wondered if this was a bad idea but decided to stand my ground anyways. I would not be accused of something I didn’t do.
“The only reason I went with her was because she told that you gave her the title transfer for Grays Harbor.” I looked directly at him making eye contact this time. “When I left with her, she had other plans in mind. When I denied her advances, she got upset, end of story.”
“Where’d she get the bruises from?” Tate asked with a sour edge to his voice. I had an inclination right about now he did not intend to believe me regardless of what I said to him right then.
“I have no idea. I pushed her off my lap but I never touched her neck and sure as shit never forced her to suck my dick.”
He hesitated for a brief second before speaking. “Stay away from Chelsea.” He growled and walked away.
Well that went well.
Knowing my inclination was now correct, I was about to go after him to give him a piece of my mind.
Fortunately, for me, Kyle appeared and shook his head. “Don’t.” his eyes were caveat. “Just let Phillip handle this. If you get involved any further, it could interfere with the case.”
Leaning against the back wall, Gordon, the Director of Competition, began the drivers meeting. Standing there, I realized Kyle was right. I needed to forget about it for now and let Phillip do his job. Not being the type of person to just sit back and do nothing, which was a feat in itself. I had to be in control and right now, I wasn’t.
Darrin walked in with his crew chief, both glancing my direction. Keeping my calm, I looked the other way.
I couldn’t tell you what it was between us but it started back in USAC when he wrecked me for no reason. From there, I guess you could say the rivalry was born. We never did talk back then. Our first conversation came around the time I was testing in the Cup series over the winter and went something like this:
“So you’re the badass USAC driver everyone talks about...you don’t look so badass now,” was his kind way of greeting me.
“I’ve had my moments.” I responded signing a few autographs as I walked towards the paddock that winter afternoon in Daytona.
“Guys like you have it easy. Your father funds everything for you.”
Guys like me? He had no idea how much time I spent racing as a kid. How ever since I was old enough to walk, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Constantly training myself, focusing on what I thought was important. The long hours, the time spent traveling, how I never had a childhood really, the things I gave up...Sway...he had no fucking clue what it was like for me.
Luck...sure I had that on my side at times but I worked hard for everything I have.
“Yeah, I have luck but I’ve worked for everything I have.” I told him matter-of-factually walking away.
“Yeah...right,” He muttered and walked away himself.
As you can see, we never really got along.
During the meeting, they talked about the usual topics, pit lane safety, caution flags, and then a few changes in race format with a competition yellow this week due to rain yesterday.
And then it was on to aggression, something they weren’t happy with. Gordon and NASCAR made it clear they wouldn’t tolerate any retaliation on the track and any driver caught up in retaliation of any kind, would be suspended for a minimum of one race from this point forward in the season.
I respected NASCAR’s position as a governing body for the sport. But I had a problem with how they enforced these rules at times. This one, the retaliation, was total bullshit if you asked me.
NASCAR had turned into some kind of marionette with the way they tried to oppress everything. They were sure quick to advertise the fights they didn’t condone though. That one of Darrin and me in the infield after the Winston still plays when they advertise the next race. Funny enough they penalized us both for that but they were making money from it.
Personally, I say if you want to punch a driver in the face because he pissed you off, well then, punch him. They did it in hockey and look at how well that’s received. It’s not like they didn’t want to see the fights, they wanted to, believe me.
Fans wanna see the good ole days when the drivers went at it in the infield of Talladega. They wanted drivers who showed emotion, they wanted real people.
I agreed this needed to be done in moderation. Retaliation as an act was a very fine line. The way I saw it, you need to be held accountable for dirty racing. If you race dirty, you had better be ready to defend those actions; that was my theory at least. Most racers I knew raced that way. And well Darrin, he knew nothing about this apparently. He had no problem racing dirty but when it came to answering the bell, he acted as though he did nothing wrong. That’s where my problem lied with him.
After the drivers meeting, I made my way back to the motor coach to put my racing suit on and get some food. Last night I wasn’t able to get in touch with Sway so I tried once more but it went straight to voicemail. I thought for sure I’d be able to get in touch with her sense it was my birthday and all, but no such luck. Part of me wondered if something was wrong with Charlie but she would have called, I hoped.
Before long, as with any race day excitement, I found myself standing outside my car waiting for the pre-race ceremony to begin. Leaning to one side, my legs crossed over appearing relaxed. Conversation around me shifted to there’s the “Rowdy Way” as though this was an intentional stance for me.
I’m not sure when I began leaning against my car that way. A handful of other drivers did it as well, maybe all with a different meaning. Or maybe it was comfortable for them too.
As far as when it started for me, it may have happened back when I raced sprint cars. At times, you found yourself waiting on pill draws, putting heat in the engine or simply waiting for your feature race to begin. In a sense, it was just a resting position. In time, a trademark “Rowdy Way” was developed and though I never consciously did it, I became known for it.
When drivers walked by; I casually kept stance. You know, maybe it was to deliver a message with a curious indifference that had them looking. Or maybe I was telling them in a quietly defiant way they’d never get to me.
Reporter after reporter made their way over to me along with a few hundred fans that’d been granted pit passes. Keeping stance, I told them in that quiet defiant way, the fines didn’t bother me. Darrin didn’t bother me and NASCAR didn’t bother me. In reality, I could have been lying but that’s the message I delivered.
Sometime during all this, I looked up in the midst of the people hounding me for autographs, my eyes focused on Ashley.
I wanted to run from her but couldn’t, so instead I gave a fake smile as she asked her questions.
Ashley C
onner and I had an encounter back when I was racing in the Busch series. And I say encounter because to me, that’s all it was, though Ashley seemed to have other ideas about that.
“Another pole for you Jameson, what do you think your chances are here to pull off another win? You wrecked last weekend, do you think you can pull through this time?” Ashley flashed a trained seductive smile and attempted to be flirty by tossing her black hair around.
Immediately, my eyes dropped avoiding her. The last thing I needed would be to give her the wrong impression here and let her think I was interested again. I wouldn’t even say I was interested before, she was just a means to itch. An itch I no longer had.
“We’ve had some ups and downs the last couple weeks with this number nine Ford Simplex car but I think we pulled some things together.” This was my standard answer most of the day. “I think we’ve got a shot at the win here. Cole is fast as well so we’ll see how it goes. The clouds make a difference here—it can change the track drastically throughout the race.”
Ashley thanked me, her cameraman walked away but she stayed near the car. “So Jameson...I was wondering if you’d like to grab some dinner tonight after the race.” Her voice grew soft and persuasive.
Still not looking at her, I leaned my head towards her but continued to sign autographs. “I don’t think so Ashley.”
“Oh, come on. We’ve haven’t been out in months.”
“Try years, not months, and my answer is still no.” I finally looked over; her blue eyes sparkled with desire. “I’m seeing someone.”
Ashley’s eyes narrowed. “Jameson Riley doesn’t date, remember?”
I recalled telling her those exact words at one time. “I do now,” I barked back turning towards some fans that had gathered beside my car.
This pervasive curiosity into my personal life and who I was or wasn’t dating annoyed me. All I’ve ever wanted to do was race but with that came everything else, sacrifices.
If there was such a thing as hell on earth, I was in it without Sway. I hated being without her and to make matters worse, I hadn’t been able to reach her on the phone prior to the race. So now there I sat, running in twenty-second position with a car that could easily win the race, all because I didn’t hear her voice and she wasn’t here with me.