A SECOND CHANCE MAY BE TOO HOT TO HANDLE
They say there are no second chances, and for Lily Onassis, ever since she walked away from Formula World driver Max Becker, she's considered this true. Instead of a glitzy, glamorous life on the auto racing...
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LILY
Because I've managed to make it an hour without checking the tabloid websites, I feel I deserve a medal.
Or at least a cookie. It's three p.m., and I just finished okaying a round of expenditures for the New York race coming up. That's the way it is for team owners, always planning for the next race, barely able to concentrate on what's at hand.
This kind of work I can handle, though. I stretch, and feel a little sleepy, probably because all the adrenaline from earlier has ebbed from my body. Time for a coffee and that cookie. Probably I can go down the hall to the lobby of our headquarters and grab something from the espresso bar.
As I grab my purse, several things happen at once. My cell rings, the desk phone rings, and someone shouts my name. The door flings open, and it's Tanya.
"You need to come, now," she shouts. The sounds of other people yelling echo through the flimsy offices.
My immediate thought is that there's an attack of some sort, a person with a gun, a bomb, a knife. But, no, this is Canada, not America.
"What's going on?" I ask Tanya, whose face is pale. Her eyes are wide and wild, and even her normally sleek bob is disheveled.
"It's Max. He crashed during practice. It's bad."
There are moments in life where you'll always remember where you were. You remember the internal tingles, the sudden coldness that hits your core, the disorientation that something has just rocked your world, and not in a good way.
Unfortunately, those are usually the worst times, the ones you'd rather forget. A couple of weeks ago, it was news of my father's heart attack.
Today, it's this. Max.
My hand flies to my throat. "How bad?"
"The medics are taking him off the track now. On a stretcher." She wrings her hands. "Come with me to the control room."
I nod and tighten my grip on my purse strap. "Let's go."
We march in silence, past people who are murmuring in clusters in the coffee lounge. Outside, there are a handful of press people, and they jump on us the minute we push open the door. It's raining again, really pouring now. Was that why Max crashed? The thought cuts through the haze in my brain.
"Lily, Lily, over here," one reporter shouts. "Is Max Becker in critical condition?
The questions come in rapid fire. What happened to Max? Did you see the crash? Where's he going?
Tanya plows through while bellowing "no comment," but I take a deep breath and stop.
"I'm going to find out more information now. We'll let you know about his condition as soon as we know. Thank you."
