Tuesday April 14, 2015
7:54 PM Eastern Daylight Time
North Marion Speedway- Front Straight Grandstand
Indianapolis, Indiana
“Alright, here we go for Hornet heat number two… MacGregor leading them around turn number four… THERE’S THE GREEN FLAG!”
Wendy smiled as the track announcer’s words were drowned out by a dozen whines, as the small four-cylinder cars accelerated in a tight pack, pursuing the leader, a black and red Volkswagon Golf that led them into the first turn of the eight lap race.
So far, the season opener had been a rousing success. Despite it being a weeknight in mid-April, the event had sold out, with well over eight thousand spectators filling the stands, while nearly 100 cars across the five race classes had entered the evenings event.
And the Future Shock girls had done well, kicking the season off with a bang in a tightly packed race that saw plenty of action end ended with a fight between Cereza and Amanda that had really gotten the crowd into it. Wendy wasn’t a fan of wrestlers brawling outside the ring, but even she had to admit that it was an exclamation point. Besides, it wasn’t like the professional drivers acted any differently in those situations- even now on the track, a yellow Mustang was slamming into the side of the Golf, two cars fighting for track space that both could not have.
Carefully, Wendy picked her way along the upper walkway, dodging in and out of crowds going to the concessions, the restrooms, or just loitering about chatting, occasionally looking down at the race. She headed towards the edge of the grandstand, just shy of the fourth turn, where the spotter’s nest was located. Just beneath that was where the FFW dignitaries had been sat. She was looking forward to joining them, and seeing how they like the evening’s festivities so far.
At the feeling of a vibration in her jeans pocket, Wendy stopped, reached in and pulled out her mobile phone. She frowned in confusion at the caller ID, then hit the answer button. “What’s up, Cassie?”
“Wendy, have you seen Terrence anywhere?!” The track manager’s voice sounded stressed, almost to the point of tears.
“Not since the first race. What’s going-”
“I can’t reach him on the walkie-talkies, and no one’s seen him!” Now Cassie sounded almost hysterical. “If you see him, can you tell him to come to the pit area NOW? She’s ruining EVERYTHING!”
“Who’s ruining everything?!” Wendy demanded, but Cassie’s reply was lost under the sound of a dozen four-cylinder engines racing by again, so that Wendy could only hear words hear and there, although the word “sticker” was oddly used. “Cassie, I-” but she paused as she realized the line was dead.
Frowning, Wendy quickly dialed her husband to relay the news, but his phone went straight to voice mail. “Terrence, you need to call Cassie NOW” she spoke into the phone as loudly and clearly as she could, before hanging up, biting her lip.
She quickly scrolled to Pollaski’s number- maybe her manager might now where Terrence was… after all, he was sitting somewhere in the grandstands with Theresa, maybe Terrence had joined them for a spell. But Pollaski’s phone had no answer either, and Wendy, now frustrated, stuffed her phone back into her pocket.
If Terrence was unavailible, she’d have to go and try to handle the problem herself.
With resolve, Wendy began walking again, in the same direction, but she walked straight on past the FFW seating area without even glancing over, not wanting to lose focus on her new mission. She walked straight to the edge of the grandstand, down a flight of stairs, and out along a pathway that went behind the Turn Four wall out into the pit area.
The North Marion pits were located behind turns three and four, a large dirt lot capable of supporting nearly 200 race teams, almost twice the nights turnout. Still, it was a bustling place with drivers and mechanics working on cars. The hornet race had just finished, the dozen competing cars returning to their pit stalls, the top five finishers to celebrate their qualification into their main event feature, while the rest prepared for the consolation B-Main. Already the third and final hornet heat was lined up, ready to roll onto the track the moment the all clear was given, while behind them the first F.E.A.R (Figure Eight Auto Racing) heat began to line up as well. It was a rigorous process, one designed for as little down time as possible so that they could fit in the twenty or so races scheduled to play out in about four hours. Even as she watched, the signal was given for the third hornet heat to go, the cars coming to life and slowly pulling through a gap in the turn four wall onto the track, two by two, five rows deep.
All was as it should be… except…
Wendy was surprised to see that several of the teams had their cars on the haulers- most of them late model and modified drivers, the two most powerful classes, and generally the last two classes to hit the track. To see the cars already packed up and loaded… that was peculiar.
And probably not good.
“Hey, what the hell you pulling here?” demanded one of the drivers, who had noticed Wendy in the pits. Wendy recognized him as one of the regular modified drivers at the track, although his name escaped her at the moment. “I took a WEEK off work to drive here from Kokomo, and now you’re telling me I can’t race?”
Wendy took a step back, surprised at the man’s aggressiveness, and noticed that several other drivers were also surrounding her, and none of them looked happy. “What? Who said that? I don’t... “ she took a deep breath to stop babbling. “What’s going on.”
“THIS is what’s going on!” the driver snarled, thrusting something at her. Wendy took it, looking down on it. It was a large black vinyl sticker, a decal that was stuck on cars, with a very familiar looking logo on it. “I’m told that I can’t race unless I put this on my car? What kinda bullshit is that?’
“Our current sponsors ain’t gonna be happy if they find out we’re sticking other companies on our car for free,” added another driver.
“And I don’t have any more room on mine! She just told me stick it over one of my current sponsors! How you think they’re gonna like THAT?”
“She? Who’s she?” Wendy asked, although she already knew the answer. A helpless feeling, of one who’s starting to realize just how out of control things are becoming, was coming over her. “Where is she?”
“Over at tech inspection…” the first driver said. “She won’t let anyone pass tech unless…”
“Alright.” Wendy said, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. “I am so sorry for this confusion, and I completely understand your frustrations. Without you guys, North Marion Speedway wouldn’t be possible, and you are ALL welcome to partipate. Please unload your cars and get them to tech, we will make sure all of you are put through before we run any more heats. You don’t have to put anything on your car, you never should have been asked too, and I’m very VERY sorry that you were. I’m going to go straighten this out right now, okay?”
She got some very non-committal nods from several of the drivers, but that was going to have to do, as she turned on her heel and ran across the lot towards the car inspection station. As she ran, she glanced at the cars and realized that all were sporting an FFW decals, even the ones that had already been out on the track. The lower classes, being cheaper cars that required little sponsorship had no such legal issues putting on the sticker, so their drivers did it, albeit grudgingly. Not so much with the pricier divisions.
Unfortunately, those were the exact same divisions that put butts in the seats from week to week, and they could ill-afford to have them angry.
As she neared the inspection station, the track manager Cassie DeSlair ran out to meet her. “Oh, thank God, you’re here! She’s making everyone put these stickers on their car with no compensaion, and half of them are refusing and packing up and…”
“I know,” Wendy said. “I talked to some of the drivers. And it makes no sense… she KNOWS people can’t do it...this is like her area of expertise.”
“I’m sorry. I tried to stop her, but she kept threatening lawsuits. And…” the young woman was on the verge of tears.
“Calm down, Cassie. I know its not your fault, and I… know how she is.” Wendy clapped the platinum blonde on the shoulder. “Has any of the drivers left yet?”
“N...no. I don’t think so at least. People are still packing up.”
“Well, stop them, okay? Apologize, raise the purse if you have to, just get them to stop packing up their cars before we end up losing two divisions over this. If they’re still here, we can save this, alright? I’ll go talk to her and put a stop to this nonsense. And keep trying to get Terrence.”
“Okay… okay,” Cassie took a deep, steadying breath. “We’ll run the street and hornet B-Mains first, give everyone some time to get set up again.” She pulled out her walkie talkie, heading towards a row of cars that were still being pakced up.
“Oh, and Cassie?” the track manager stopped. “Call security, please.” DeSlair nodded and ran off, and Wendy looked over at where Fifi was standing, looking so smug and self-assured. Wendy half-expected security to be required to keep her off Fifi than for any other reason.
“Hey, dearie!” Fifi said with a giggle and wave as Wendy approached, apparently oblivious to the mutiny and near disaster unfolding around her. “Lovely night, isn’t it?”
Wendy refused to fall for the small talk, instead crossing her arms. “What the HELL are you doing?”
“Promoting your wrestling company, dear,” said Fifi in that painful talk-to-the-five-year-old voice. “That is my job, after all.”
“We cannot FORCE drivers to put an FFW decal on their car!” Wendy exclaimed. “Especially because so many of them CAN’T!”
“Actually, I CAN,” Fifi responded smugly. “This is an FFW Racing event, after all. And as I’m in charge of FFW Racing’s promotions…”
“IT’s NOT an FFW Racing event!” Wendy said, nearly pulling out her hair in frustration. “It’s a Future Shock Taping that’s part of a larger show! Arcanix Racing… YOUR company, has NOTHING to do with this!”
“I believe if you read the contracts, dear, you’ll see otherwise,” Fifi said with a condescending smile. “Besides, you should be grateful. I’m giving your little company exposure, dear, and since you are now their ‘champion’, I would think you’d be VERY interested in their success.
“Yeah, it’ll look great on FFW when word gets out that they supposedly strongarmed a bunch of local shoestring budget short track drivers into free advertising for them. Not to mention the damage you’re doing to this track’s reputation with this!”
“Sometimes you have to make hard business decisions,” Fifi said, “Trust me, I know… I went to-”
“Dartmouth.” Wendy finished angrily. “Yeah, I know. I don’t care. You have absolutely no right to come in here and throw your weight around. Don’t forget, MY company gives YOUR company MONEY to run YOUR company’s XFinity car. That does NOT give you the right to come in here, throw your weight around like some big shot, and screw things up, especially in FFW’s name!”
All traces of a smile was gone from Fifi’s face. “And you presume to think that you’re acting in FFW’s best interests.”
Wendy glared back. “I don’t know, but my boss is sitting up there in the stands. I’d rather let him enjoy his evening, but if you’re insistent, we could certainly go and get his opinion on the matter… and his opinion on your behavior this evening!”
Fifi opened her mouth to respond, but simply glared back. Wendy folded her arms, hoping she WOULDN’T have to get FFW management involved. After all, the last thing she wanted was a souring of relationship between FFW and Arcanix racing. The only one who’d be hurt by that was her husband.
“Ms. Briese? Cassie said you needed us?”
Wendy turned, sighing with relief as she saw Nigel, the head of track security coming up, a couple of his staff behind him. “Yes.. please escort Miss Calipari off the premesis and to her car.”
“Alright, let’s go ma’am.” Nigel said, stepping forward and grabbing Fifi’s arm. Fifi jerked her arm away, outrage all over her face.
“Wait.” Wendy said, looking over at the security guards. “FIrst take her around to every pit stall in the lot, and make sure she apologizes fully for her actions tonight, and collects any FFW decals that drivers do not want on their cars. And… if you see Cassie, tell her that we’re waiving everyone’s entry fees tonight for the trouble.”
“Will Terrence be okay with that?” Nigel frowned.
“I don’t know,” Wendy confessed, slightly miffed about being second guessed. “But that’ll be between him and me. There’s a lot of angry people out here tonight, and we’ve got to do something.”
“If you want to eject me, fine, but I will NOT go around apologizing!” Fifi demanded, stamping her foot.
“Yeah, you will,” Wendy replied calmly. “Or else you and I are going to be having another conversation shortly. And I GUARANTEE you that this one won’t be NEARLY as civil.” And she spun on her heel and walked away.
“You… YOU CAN’T!” Fifi protested, her eyes wide as she guessed the implications of Wendy’s statement. SHe looked over at the head of security. “She can’t…”
“You really wanna find out?” deadpanned Nigel, doing his best to hide a smirk.
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