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“Mallory, personally I think you’re doing fine work. It’s just that, well, Mr. DuPont is the priority at Celeritas. He is used to receiving the lion’s share of attention. The family’s toes have been stepped on, that’s all.”
“Ms. Alix, so I can do my job to the best of my ability, I just want to clarify. Due to financial implications, you want me to decrease the spotlight on Lennox, so as not to offend Digby DuPont.” This can’t be right, surely I am misunderstanding something.
“Yes, exactly right. Mr. DuPont is a pay driver, that’s just how these matters work. Let the men sort that out. You just continue to keep Mr. Gibbes in line, but in the background. Clean but bland, you understand?”
“I understand,” I utter, a sick feeling coming over me. I feel gross as she thanks me for my professionalism and hangs up. Clean and bland, Lennox Gibbes is anything but clean and bland. He is shades of gray, real, exciting, tangible, honest. Sometimes he’s a jackass, but he is real and that’s what his fans have been latching onto, the genuine person he is. Now Celeritas wants me to kill that progress?
I stumble back into the motorhome where Jack is vibrating from caffeine intake. “Jack,” I pull up a new browser tab and start pulling up everything I can find on Digby, “tell me everything there is to know about pay drivers.”
“Shit,” he mumbles.
“Jack,” I warn him. “Is he in that meeting getting scolded about being on pole yesterday, ahead of Digby? Is that why he was second again today?”
“I’m not going to speak for him. I will tell you about pay drivers and Douchebag DuPont, though. For your own good.”
I nod to accept the compromise as Jack fills me in on the bizarre world of drivers or companies who pay teams exorbitant amounts of money to be allowed to drive. There’s a couple on the track each year but Digby is the most notorious, funneling a reported one hundred million per year into Celeritas, three times more than the average pay driver. Most of Celeritas’ money comes from sponsor backing but Digby’s comes from his family.
“Listen, it’s not a secret, pay drivers have been around forever and it’s always been controversial. But Dickbag is out of control. He’s a totally different level of evil killing the sport.” Jack is careful what he tells me, I know he doesn’t want to break Lennox’s trust, but this is enough to work with.
“I feel sleazy,” I admit to him.
“Aye, imagine how Lennox feels.” Jack nods his head to something behind me and I swivel to see both drivers and a handful of executives leave the meeting room, Lennox’s head is down as he walks down the hallway toward his suite.
Oh, my heart.
I can’t tell him what Sandra called about today knowing what I do now. I won’t kick him while he’s down.
“Thanks, Jack.” I close my laptop and start down the hallway after Lennox.
When I make it to his suite inside the motorhome, he’s tossing out the little trinkets that have accumulated on his table from the fans he’s met this weekend, a lucky cat figure, a jade panda, an opera mask, all into the trash. That isn’t like him.
“Hey, I need to discuss the new Bluewater Tech event with you,” I lie loudly for anyone nearby to hear, then duck into
his room and shut the door. Then I launch myself into his arms and squeeze the ever-loving shit out of him.
“What’s this, pity hug?” he mumbles.
“No, you big dummy, I’m proud of you.” With my head pressed against his chest, I feel him let out a deep sigh and I know he is arguing with me, in his own head, but he stays silent. Whatever they said to him in the debrief, the fight has been cut out of him right now. He drove a flawless race and those bastards made him feel like shit.
“I’m probably not the best company right now, love.”
“Ok,” I release my death grip and step back. “You want some space?”
“Is that ok?”
“Of course. I’ll ask Jack to drive me back to the hotel.”
He nods and I know he’s really upset. He’s pretty particular on who drives me where now. I’ve never argued because I like him driving me, being chauffeured around by one of the best drivers in the world is hot even if he’s doing it for some machismo, testosterone-fueled reason.
I want to give him a kiss goodbye but I don’t want him to think I’m pitying him. I’m pissed off. For him, for me.
???
Afraid, but he will not run. Alone, thy will be done. Confessed, but you still feel the shame. Bring me into your arms, again.” - Sinead O’Connor - Heroine
It’s 10:00 pm and I haven’t heard from Lennox. He’s in his hotel room, I heard him get back a couple of hours ago, watched him through my peephole like old times. He needs space and I’m not going to take it personally.
Instead, I’ve spent the last few hours digging up everything I can online about Dickby Dupont. I also refuse to call him by his real name anymore, joining my trio of teammates who call him any other foul version of his name they can dream up. Digby, what a stupid name.
