Shut Up and Talk

Chapter 17

An Irish magazine came calling. They wanted to do a photo spread and feature on Ireland's two speed demons. The exposure and good press was something Ian couldn't get enough of and I broached the subject over testing in Portugal. Ian ate lunch while Paul, to the delight of the mechanics, tinkered around with the cars. He'd given them advice about tire choices and race set-up. I watched Paul listen intently to a translator Rocco had corralled. I was dumped from the job when they discovered that I didn't know most of the racing jargon and had taken to inventing car parts. The pendulum thingy, the suspension majigy and the chassis vibrator traction control carburetor valve mechanism switch weren't actual car parts.

"Are you making things up?" Paul had asked incredulously. His eyes had darkened to a coffee brown.

"Maybe," I'd said in my girly voice.

It had no impact on Paul. "Not funny! Ian could get hurt, seriously injured. Jaysus, didn't think you could be so daft."

It was the first time he'd ever become frustrated with me and he made me feel a little stupid so I made sure to stay at the opposite end of the garage. I took the opportunity from my self-imposed isolation to chat Ian up about the photo shoot.

"I'm not clear, who's the other driver?"

"Spencer." Surely he was putting me on.

"Spencer?" By Ian's expression, you would have thought I'd slapped him across the face. "He's not Irish! Forget it."

"Ian, this is good publicity. Sending girls to a clinic for the morning after pill is bad publicity."

"He's not Irish," he said, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance, "and I've never done that."

"He's Ulster. What's the difference?"

Ian stamped his foot on the ground doing a great impersonation of a five-year-old. "There's a huge difference! Tell 'em it's me or nothing!"

He took himself far too seriously. "I won't do that. You and Spencer are going to make nice for one afternoon. You only have to take a few photographs together."

"I'd rather be drawn and quartered."

"Why are you so opposed to this?"

"He's not Irish."

I mouthed the words as he said them.

He flushed with ire. "When he's up on the podium, what flag do they fly?"

"Obviously not the Irish one."

"The British flag."

I had to put it in words he was going to understand. "Ian, if you don't participate they'll do the piece without you. It'll be Jamie Spencer, Irish Speed Demon, and no mention of you."

"That's not right. Don't they know he's not Irish?"

"I'm sure they know, they just don't split those hairs."

Ian's glare could set a boy scout fire. "Goddamn it, I'll do it."

"That's a wise decision."

#

Max wasn't about to miss this photo session. Ian scowled and complained the whole ride to the Dublin studio. He wanted to drive but Paul wisely took the wheel and relegated Ian to the back seat where he could do the least damage. When Ian was mad he did stupid things. In Australia, Spencer passed him in spectacular fashion around a tight chicane. The crowd had erupted at such a bold move. Ian proceeded to go after him, slamming his car into the side of Spencer's on the same corner three laps later, taking them both out of the race. The crowd hadn't been so kind to Ian's failed manoeuvre and heckled him relentlessly.