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“Where is she?” I bark to Jack who is in the motorhome sorting cases of 5x8 stock photos for this weekend’s autograph session.
“Who?” His head pops up from behind the tower of cardboard boxes.
“The bloody nanny, Mallory, where is she?”
“Ah, she took off for the day. She said, and I think these were her exact words, ‘Lennox Gibbes is a primate who belongs in a zoo’ and she stomped off. I didn’t stop her to argue.”
“Where’s Dipshit?”
“With his physio, why?”
Good, as long as they’re not together that suits me fine. I unzip my race suit down to my waist and think about how to handle this. Now that he knows there’s a new way to get under my skin, he’ll be relentless. Like a case of herpes.
“I want her hotel room moved, right across from mine,” I tell Jack.
“Oh really,” his eyebrows perk up, “Is that how it is now?”
“Don’t give me shit, just do it.”
“Like, tonight?”
“Aye Jack, tonight and every night thereafter. Right across from mine.”
“The hell do you want me to say the reason why is?” Jack is trying to make sense of this and there’s no rational explanation for him, it just needs to happen.
“Tell her the old room has bed bugs for all I care.”
“Oh, that’s good. Wait, does the hotel have bed bugs? They’re insidious, you know.”
Seven
Mallory
Since neither my parents, nor Lennox Gibbes, are driving me away from this job, I’m determined to find other sane and tolerable human beings in this environment to surround myself with. Preferably human beings without deep gravelly voices and Scottish accents that get thicker when angry, which is fairly often.
Yesterday was odd with Lennox and his teammate Digby, weird even for Lennox’s standards. He has no business dictating who I can speak with and I don’t see what he cares. He lets me know, often and in no uncertain terms, that my presence is a constant irritation to him. I thought we had made a tiny shard of progress — he seemed a little more playful versus malicious and agreed to stop calling me his nanny. But since the Digby incident, he’s back to being a stone wall and all around crabass.
He’s not going to kill my mood today, though. Sandra called this morning to give me sponsor engagement event dates but also to tell me she’s pleased with my work so far on presenting a more… acceptable version of their bad boy driver. The watch post did better than I could have even hoped, the engagement was through the roof and it seemed to get a lot of people hyped up for the new season. Sandra said it did so well she shared it to their main marketing sites.
I got tons of usable material from free practice yesterday, too, including some candid video of him goofing about in the cockpit of his car with his crew and fans online loved seeing a different, more personal side to him.
So I’m patting myself on the back while sipping my coffee and I’m pleased, despite Grumpy Gibbes being back on the prowl today. Not only am I not fired yet, nor run out of here by Lennox’s deliberate attempts at sabotage, nor failing as my parents and sister are waiting for me to do — I’m doing well.
Ha, take that, suckers.
So while the cars are running on track this morning, I’m making myself friendly and available for new friends in the team motorhome dining area. I’m coordinating Lennox’s calendar with the sponsor engagements Sandra sent to me this morning and I have to say, I’m looking forward to some of these. There’s a black tie affair or two in there. Part of me shivers in response to the thought of Lennox in a tuxedo and part of me shudders at the thoughts of all the ways he can, and probably will try to sabotage a formal event.
Two of the kitchen staff are chatting together and filling up coffee mugs from the self-serve beverage station in the dining area and as they scan the room for a place to sit I sit up tall and smile brightly at them like a new girl at school, desperate for someone to join her at lunch.
My lonely puppy eyes work and I’m thrilled when two younger girls make their way to my table with cheeks round from authentic smiles. Women are an obvious minority in the paddock — no equal op
portunity hiring happening here — and I’m overly eager to just hang with girls and be normal for a few minutes. I miss Aria.
“Hi ladies, please join me!” I greet them when they make their way near my table. “I’m new and don’t know many people here yet.”
“Yes, you’re the new media girl for Lennox, right? I’m Francisca!” Both girls take a seat and shake my hand. Francisca is maybe in her early twenties and has youth and perfect sun-kissed olive skin and a beautiful Latin accent. I have yet to meet another American, now that I think of it.
“Yes, his new Publicity Manager,” I nod.
