I look back up at the waiter, my face prickling with embarrassed heat. Not even a glance. I’m not even worth one glance to this rich, entitled, rude man who uses hisphonebefore he opens amenu. Fucking billionaires. Hate one and you hate them all. “Sorry. I, um. Another coffee, please.”
Faust
Saturday, March 1
I don’t know what’s going on with this woman.
But I’m not going to let her out of my sight.
Chapter 7ALEKHINE’S GUN
MELBOURNE
I sit up, my handalready holding my stomach.
I had that dream again.
Sweat’s pooled over my skin, and I peel off the hotel blankets, duvet and sheets and pillows, until I’m in the bathroom and I’ve gotten off my damp clothes and I’m only in my underwear. Cool air wicks the moisture off my skin as I rest my palms against the cold marble vanity. It’s always the same dream. I’m walking home from school, past a long gold cornfield, still in Illinois, and then I’m not walking. I’m small, I’m a rabbit, I’m darting through the cornstalks, something is behind me. My grandma’s voice, from before I could read and she had to do it for me.All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies, and whenever they catch you, they will kill you.I’m thirteen, I’m a rabbit, I’m in the corn, there’s a fox on my trail.But first they must catch you, digger, listener, runner.
I twist the faucet on. Cup cold water, splash my face. Leave thesoggy girl in the mirror and go to where my running clothes and shoes are packed.
Be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed.
The first hard step against the asphalt clears my head instantly. Lets me breathe again. I like that feeling the most; wherever I am in the world, running on concrete always hurts a little. Ponytail whipping around my shoulders, morning air chapping my skin, and the thump, thump, thump of my own feet, the two things I trust the most, carrying me away from that dream.
Watership Downwas my grandma’s favorite book before it was mine. Just like the name Arcadia was her name first, just like the red lipstick—applied with a wink and her mint-green Clinique compact. “Red’s a color that terrifies men,” she’d tell me, “and that’s why we wear it. It makes you look powerful, Cady-Cat. Like you’ve ripped someone’s heart out with your teeth.”
My feet hit the pavement. I’m around a corner, down an empty street. Breathing in, whole again.
“I don’t think I want to hurt people,” I remember saying.
“Ah, well. That’s okay, too. You’ll be like the rabbit in the story then, yeah? As long as you keep running, no one will ever catch you.” Grandma grabs me around the stomach and squeezes me until I burst out giggling; I still feel it like it was yesterday. Red lipstick kisses smudged on my cheek. Everything’s okay. “My brilliant, beautiful girl.”
When the cancer got her, too, they came for the house. Grandma’s restaurant, her supplies, the liquor license. Dad’s garage, his tools, our community. All of it. Doors were locked. Phones were shut off. Even her funeral cost us tens of thousands. At first, I only declined my college admission so that we could budget better, and maybe I could stay in Waterfield another year, help put the piecesback together. Not two weeks later, I realized that if I wasn’t working a real job, my family wouldn’t be here. And my only quick-money talent was my face. Or, well—so I thought.
In just one year, I saw how quickly the system unravels you when it wants to. I learned why Grandma wore red lipstick. And I couldn’t even tell her that I got it now. I understood.
In this world, you’re either a cat or a rabbit.
And rabbits don’t make it, not without something sharper looking out for them.
After I’ve run the dream out of my system, I’m sweaty and shaky all over again. In a good way this time. “You look chipper,” Mei says when I find her in the hotel lobby. “We haven’t scared you off from working with us, have we?”
“I have no fear. And starting a new job’s always a bit topsy-turvy.”
“That isn’t the Stark-Benzin way, but I appreciate the patience.”
Today, Mei is wearing prim gray trousers and a structured cotton button-down, and it feels like a trauma response to the past few weeks on her part.Return to minimalist workwear.While getting to Melbourne had been a gargantuan feat—more visas, so much paperwork—it’d been easy to convince the team that I simply had to attend the Australian Grand Prix. Now that I watch Mei unearth a sleek silver folder embossed with the wordscheduleand see how many filled pages she flips to get to mine, I realize she might need me here more than I needed to be here.
“Obviously, we’re in Australia early. Today’s the eighth, and the race is on the sixteenth. Your job is to get to know the drivers. Show them that you’re going to be there for them.” I hear the note behind her note:Please help me convince Faust and Christine that Stark-Benzin isn’t inept.
I won’t be the best at that job in the long run, though for now,I nod. “I’ve taken the liberty of planning and executing their wardrobes for promo this go-around, but I’m hoping you can take over in Japan. I’ll start forwarding the emails your way.” Mei taps her notepad in thought. “You should spend time with them away from the cameras, when you can—particularly Faust.”
Great. “Because Christine is already beautiful and perfect and needs less help?”
“She is more in tune with fashion than he is, maybe.”
“I like her style, from what I saw online.” Basic, sporty. White turtlenecks, lots of jeans, simple.
