Saturday September 20, 2014
9:10 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Kentucky Motor Speedway- Press Box
Sparta, Kentucky
“Dillon Tyler continues to lead here at Kentucky,” announcer Dave Frost said, looking down at the racetrack as the broadcast returned from its commercial break. He tapped his headset once, looking down at his stat info. “He’s been absolutely on fire today, Ricky. He’s led seventy-five of the 125 laps we’ve run.”
“He absolutley has,” agreed Ricky Crabbet, the former Sprint Cup racer turned color commentator agreed. He tapped the monitor. “But take a look at this move during the break. This is for seventh… that Brawny Paper Towels 94 car… that’s Terrence Thompson, making his Nationwide debut in replacement of the injured Billy Joe McAllister, and what a move he puts on Elliot Rider here.” On the monitor, the 94 car ducks underneath the 17 going into the turn, easily overtaking him.
“He’s really doing well in his first race,” Frost agreed. “Been very patient, and he’s working his way through the field with some veteran moves.”
“Yeah, and he doesn’t even have the advantage of having pretty women adorning his car to distract the other drivers,” Crabbet quipped, drawing a chuckle from Frost.
“Thompson is a mainstay in ARCA, driving a car sponsored by Femme Fatale Wrestling. His wife’s, of course, Wendy Briese, one of the major stars in that company. And it’s not uncommon for him to have an image of one of those lovely ladies on his hood,” Frost elaborated, for the benefit of the majority of viewers that didn’t follow the lesser series. “Scarlett Kincaid was on the hood last night. She’s got a rather big night coming up next week…”
“And there’s Michael McDowery coming into the pits in the number 18…” Crabbet butted in, pointing to a car slowing down and exiting the track. Speaking of big nights- he was in fourth place, but that is an unscheduled stop…”
“I think he’s got a tire going down…” Frost agreed, frowning at the Nationwide mainstay’s misfortune
=======
“Yup, he’s got a tire going down,” Benny Tryson’s voice came over the radio. “Sucks for him- he’s going to be a couple laps down by the time they get that sorted out. But good for you though.”
“So I’m in sixth, right?” Terrence Thompson responded over the radio back at his crew chief, with a casual aire, as if he were simply on a Sunday drive instead of travelling 180 mph in a small pack. But his eyes were glued forward, only taking furtive glances up at his rear mirror his hands gripped tightly to the wheel, jostling back and forth slightly with the movement of the car. He wasn’t exactly all that happy about the air he was sitting in, but pulling out of the draft now would be akin to suicide. He had to play it smart, even if the ride was a bit bumpier.
“Yup, sixth,” Tryson confirmed “Four point nine seconds behind the leader. “How you feeling? A little bit longer than you ARCA boys are used to.”
The words were delivered with a slightly mocking tone. The crew chief had been amiable enough throughout the day, but Terrence never could quite shake that feeling that he was being talked down to. It was evident that the chief wasn’t entirely thrilled to be bringing up someone from a third-tier series, and even the strong run so far hadn’t done much to convince him otherwise. After all, there were still about seventy laps left for the rookie to screw up and turn the night into a catastrophe.
Still, Terrence couldn’t help but chuckle at the condescension. “Don’t worry about me. I can do this all night.” It wasn’t bravado- he was having the time of his life. The cars weren’t much faster than the ARCA cars, but the drivers were certainly better, and the crowd was about four times larger than most ARCA crowds, and televized on a network ARCA could only ever dream about being on. It was like night and day between yesterday’s race and today’s. “How’s Wendy though? Normally she’d have worried herself into a headache by this point.”
There was a long silence, and Terrence chuckled. Chances were his wife had been listening in, and was protesting adamantly to the crew chief that about how she NEVER worried… at least that much. He was surprised when Tryson’s voice came back on. “Dunno. She ain’t here. She wandered off about forty laps ago, and ain’t been back.”
Terrence’s lips curled into a frown. “Well, that’s weird…”
“Well, don’t worry about her now,” Tryson admonished. “You got a job to do…”
“Like this?” Terrence asked, curling up his lip in a feral grin as he screamed down the backstretch, closing in on the car in front of him. As they hit the turn, Terrence dropped down a little lower, and edged his nose right up to the car’s bumper, holding it there. The car hopped once, and slid up the track, going sideways just a fraction of a second before straighening itself, it’s speed reduced and out of posiiton. The #94 skated right underneath and past, the other car dropping down behind him, nearly colliding with the car that had been trailing. “And… I’m in fifth.” Terrence announced the moment his spotter announced that he was clear.
“Nice pass…” the tone was one of grudging respect. “Just watch your six there, rookie. He’s gonna remember that one.”
“I hope he does,” Terrence said with a chuckle. He was still grinning, ear to ear.
He’d just passed Wesley Hamilton’s car.
=========================
“What a move! Thompson around Hamilton into fifth place, and the rookie continued his hard charge to the front!” Frost exclaimed, his voice coming out of the television speaker.
“Just a textbook pass, really,” Crabbett agreed. “Stick your noise underneath their bumper, disrupt a little air, and get them a bit loose, and that’s enough. Nothing dirty about it, just good racing.”
A replay showed, once again the #94 Brawny forcing the #37 John Deere car loose, and slipping through. “Well, I think his wife would agree that’s the stock-car equivalent of the takedown,” Frost quipped.
Wendy Briese didn’t agree with the comment. Or even find it amusing.
Mainly because she wasn’t even paying attention.
The flame haired wrestler was on all fours, thrusting one leg higher than the other, alternating- the dreaded exercise known as mountain climbers. She was counting under her breath, focused on her workout to the exclusion of realizing that her husband had just slipped into the top 5.
“Ninetey-eight… ninety-nine- one hundred!” Wendy panted, holding her position for several long seconds, then rolling over onto her back, peaking her knees and beginning to do crunches. This wasn’t nearly as good as a workout in the Storm Shelter, but she was making do. And with Theresa hanging out with a friend- who happened to be the daughter of one of the ARCA drivers who had stayed to watch the Nationwide race- she was free to work out without any distractions.
“Nineteen… twenty… twenty-one.”
The door to the RV swung open, and heavy footsteps trudged up the stairs into the cabin. On her next sit-up, Wendy peeked over her knees to see her manager standing over here, looking half-surprised, half-annoyed. And entirely in pain, as he was bent over almost in half, thanks to his new ‘regimen’
“So you ARE here,” the fat manager observed. “What are you doing?”
“Training,” Wendy simply said. “Got a big match in a month.”
“Right… and you have to do it NOW? During your husband’s Nationwide series debut? Can’t put it off for three more hours?”
“I’m watching it,” Wendy said, her voice strained as she continued to do situps, although she managed to jerk her head ever so slightly in the direction of the television.
“Okay… who’s winning?”
Wendy paused for just a second and shrugged. “Chase Dawson.”
“Uh, no. Dillion Tyler.”
“He must have just made the pass.” Wendy said, returning to doing her situps.
“He’s led the last sixty-eight laps.” Pollaski said, frowning. “Seriously. Terrence is running in the top five, and you’re not even paying attention? Look, I know you’re resentful about this whole Nationwide thing, but-”
“I’m not resentful,” Wendy protested hotly. “What makes you think I’m resentful?”
“Because you told me several months ago you weren’t happy about this possibility, and you’re hiding in the RV now that it’s come to fruition. Meanwhile, the guy’s driving the fucking wheels off his car, and I’m hearing rumors that they’re thinking of running him at Kansas, and maybe the final races after the ARCA season ends too. So if you have a problem with your husband taking a promotion in his profession, you better say something NOW.”
“I don’t have a problem with it. Why would I have a problem with it? And even if I did have a problem with it, what would it change?” Wendy had gone past 100 situps a good while ago, but, just like with the race, she wasn’t paying attention.
“Because it’s not easy to accept the fact that your husband is going to have twice as many dates next year as he did this year. That it’s no longer going to be a week here and there, it’s going ot be every week. And it’s not just going to be confined to the midwest, but all over the country. ”
“And with Theresa back in school, then what? How are we supposed to be good parents when he’s going off to one end of the country, and me the other? You know who else did that? My parents!” Wendy had stopped exercising, and stared at her manager. “What was the ONE thing I vowed never to be like when I raised Theresa?”
“That’s not what made your parents fail,” Pollaski said simply. “Your parent’s problem wasnt’ that they jetsetted, it’s that when the wheels landed and they came home and they STILL didn’t bother to spend time with you. Hell, my dad was out of town every other week when I was growing up. But when he came home, it was baseball games and scout meetings, and homework checks. I turned out alright.” He punctuated that with a grunt of pain, bending over and grabbing the back of a chair.
“Dan, you really need to-”
“This isn’t about me, Wendy!” Pollaski snapped, sweat again pouring out of his skull. “You and Terrence promised that you were going to support each other in what you did, in ring and out. Well, he needs your support right now. NASCAR is a big scary world compared to ARCA, and he’s suddenly in waist deep” For emphasis, he gestured at the television, where Terrence was running fifth with fifty laps to go.
“I do support him,” Wendy said defiantly.
“You’re not tonight. Did you know that on nights where an FFW show and races collide, he makes his crew tell him what’s going on, and keep him posted on the results. And that he’s been fined twice for skipping a post-race press conference to watch your match?”
“N… no. I didn’t,” Wendy said, shaking her head.
“And the night you lost to Mika, he was so pissed off he punted a car into the turn three wall at Lucas Oil? Oh, dont’ look so horrified, it was Matt Dixon and he’s a douche. But STILL…”
“He didn’t have to do that….” Wendy said quietly.
“Of course he didn’t. And I’m not saying you should do a steel chair massacre if he gets spun on the second to last lap, but at the very least you can be there in the pit box to give him a hug and a kiss and a ‘great race’ when he pulls up. Don’t hide behind training as an excuse. You’re smarter than that, and don’t insult our intelligence by thinking that we’re not.”
Wendy paused for several seconds, chewing on her bottom lip. Finally, she stood up, looking around for her windbreaker. “You’re right. I should be there. Thanks, Pollaski, for helping me with my prior-” her words were cut off as she looked at the television, where several cars were surrounded by a massive billow of tier smoke, banging into each other as they spun around. Frantically, she looked for the black and pink that normally adorned the FFW car, only to remember that this was different. Luckily, the #94 Brawny Paper Towels was nowhere to be seen in the maelstrom anyways. She exhaled in thankfulness.
“Caution. Perfect timing- if we hurry we should be back on pit road by the end of it.” Pollaski said.
“Yeah,” Wendy said, putting her windbreaker on, and following her manager down the stairs. They turned to walk towards pit road, only for Pollaski to collapse on the ground, his teeth gnashing in agony.
“Pollaski!” Wendy shrieked, kneeling next to him. “Dan, no…”
“I’m FINE.” Pollaski barked, although Wendy saw tears streaming out of his eyes. “Go…. go without me.”
“But…” Wendy was cut off with a bleat as Pollaski shoved her away and forced himself to his feet. “You need medical-”
“NO! You need…. Be there… for him. Tell him… I said… great job…” Pollaski said, and, with a final defiant turn, staggered back into the RV, slamming the door behind him.
Wendy stood staring at the RV, unsure of what to do. Go and check on Pollaski? Run and watch the end of the race? Call an ambulance?
A queer thought entered her brain as she fretted. With all the troubles that today had… what was the point in worrying about the future? Just as she never feared an upcoming opponent, but dealt with them as the match arrived, she needed to stop fearing upcoming problems. Just deal with them as they came.
Pollaski was right after all, she found herself admitted.
Well, right about SOME things, for Wendy suddenly leapt back at the ethereal howl of agony that was suddenly coming from her RV, which began to shake back and forth as if one tiny section of the Kentucky Motor Speedway infield had just been wracked by an earthquake. Wendy took a step back in alarm, despite herself.
And then, through the walls, came a sobbing wail that Wendy knew would haunt her in her dreams as long as she lived.
“CE DEFEAT! CE DEFEAT! I’M A WEAKLING!”
At least that solved one problem for her… she mused as she turned around, walking away from the still shuddering RV and her sobbing manager inside. She was going to go watch the race. Although another, more alarming concern was also arising…
Would the RV even be habitable tonight?
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