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The FIA had decided to switch Luca out of my morning press conference, putting him in the session with Edward instead. I suppose the FIA had decided that the press of Luca and I’s relationship was dampening theactualpress of the race, and I was quickly learning that old European men didn’t like to be overshadowed, especially not by a female driver.
I was the last to walk into the press room, and I saw Éliott, Eric, Otto, and Oliver all give me a big smile as if on cue. Their coordination was impressive, and I laughed at them, taking the last open seat, which, of course, was in the middle.Bastards had done that on purpose.
“Right, we’re going to get started with this morning’s first press conference. Welcome to all the drivers. We’re looking forward to a great race here in Austria.”
The beginning of the press conference always consisted of Michael Clifton asking questions to the group of us drivers before he turned it over to the ravenous journalists. As soon it was their turn, I saw a flood of hands in the air, all yelling to get the attention of the mediator.
“Hi, this is Marcus from Sports Broadcasting. Georgia, we heard you and Luca were brought into the FIA offices this morning. Anything to report on that?” I was told that the meeting was private, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that the news had spread like wildfire.
“Marcus, I think you know I can’t comment on private FIA meetings,” I scoffed in disbelief.
“Well, reports say that the FIA is investigating you and Luca for a fake relationship. No truth to that?” I gave him an incredulous look. I expected this from tabloids but not from Sports Broadcasting, a company that had become the crown of British sports reporting.
“If you have reports, then sounds like you don’t need my input.”
“So, are you denying it?”
“I’m denying that it’s any of your business.” Lizzie was now waving at me in the background, motioning for me to end the conversation, but I ignored her wild waving.
“In fact, I’m denying the wholefuckingthing. If you all think you know me so well, well enough to write articles before you even speaking to me, then why do you bother asking me these questions, hmm?” I could tell Marcus was a little deterred, but his next comment let me know he wasn’t deterred enough.
“I’m asking because a serious allegation has been brought against you, and you have yet to say anything about it. Instead, all you’ve done is ask your driver friends to post little photos of the two of you.”
“That’s enough!” I heard a voice yell beside me. I turned and looked at Eric, who was now standing up with the microphone in his hand. “If you have proof that the FIA have accused Georgia and Luca of something, then bring it up with the FIA. Drivers press conferences are for usdriversto answer questions for the fans – you know, the people we race for.”
“Don’t you think the fans want to know if Georgia Dubois actually deserves to be in Formula 1,” Marcus taunted.
“Not as much as the fans want to know why Sports Broadcasting hired such a lunatic to do their press interviews.” I knew it was a petty thing to say – and frankly, not the best quip, but I was fuming that Marcus, a supposedly reputable journalist, had dared to bring this up during a drivers press conference.
“How about we table this discussion and resume it after Georgia wins the championship at the end of the year?” I turned to see Otto, who was now also standing next to Erin, mic in hand. “I can tell you this: as a 3x world champion, I think I am a good judge of who deserves to be in F1. And Georgia? She deserves to be here. Hell, between Eric and I, we have 9x world championships – if we can’t be trusted on this, who can?”
Otto walked over to the journalist. He wasn’t that tall of a man, and with his silly mustache, he looked more like an 80s pornstar, but I could see Marcus sit down. Battling two beloved world champions wasn’t going to get the fans on board. I nodded my thanks to both Eric and Otto, who retook their seats on either side of me.
The long silence was deafening.
“So… do any of you have the same questions lined up for Luca, or does just Georgia get this treat…?” I smirked at Oliver as I turned to look at him, a huge grin on his face. I could tell he wasn’t done stirring the pot.
“Don’t be silly, Oliver, Luca’s answers wouldn’t be nearly as spicy as his love for jalapeños,” I quipped, earning me a laugh from the other drivers. “Papers won’t sell themselves, hmm?”
“Guess this is why they say newspaper is dying, not even worth wrapping day-old bread in it.” Even Michael Clifton let out a laugh at Éliott’s comment.
“Well, I think it’s safe to say this press conference is over,” Michael announced to the group, standing up and leaving the room, shaking his head in disbelief.
As I walked out of the press conference, I could see Lizzie wasn’t pleased with me. She didn’t have to say the unspoken words. When I got to the garage, I walked straight to Isabelle’s office, knowing that I had been summed. Once I had taken a seat, Isabelle slammed the door shut, a blank expression on her face, but her eyes were dancing with frustration.
“Damn it, Georgia –why?” Isabelle lamented.
“Why do they get to treat me like this?” I demanded back. “Why can’t I defend myself?”
“Because we’re supposed to be burying this story, not giving themmorereasons to bring it up!” Isabelle was angry, that much was clear. She sat down in her chair in a huff, letting her head rest in her hands as she rubbed her eyes in frustration. A pang of guilt hit me. I’d never seen Isabelle look so defeated before.
“I just…. I just want this to go away for you, Georgia. I get it. You’re young and ambitious, and yes, it’s unfair that they treat you this way, but we need to learn to control the narrative, not feed into it.”
Isabelle’s comment reminded me of a conversation we had several months ago, back before I had started dating Luca. ‘Unfortunately, the F1 journalist community isn’t going to change overnight, so it’s our job to help guide them to that change.’
Isabelle’s words from my first race win ran through my head. She was right. I was better than yelling at a reporter, and yet, something told me she was also wrong here. I had spent the entire season backing down, letting journalists say whatever they wanted, hiding in the shadows so we could get Sponsors, but the more I thought about it, the more it was becoming clear that Sponsors wanted someonelovedby fans – and to hell with the press. I couldn’t pretend to be someone else forever.
“I don’t care if this doesn’t go away. I don’t care if the press keeps up with this for the next ten years. I’m not backing down, Isabelle. I won’t let them treat me this way. I won’t show little girls who watch me on TV that it’s okay to let male journalists attack female athletes like that,” I said finally, finding my own voice.
