Cherry Orphan

Chapter 52

Chapter 52

Sunday at Laguna Seca and race day for Tony Scott.

Saturday saw qualifying in the Early Postwar Prototype Sportscar class. He'd secured third spot on the grid and seemed disappointed with his performance despite unexpected stiff competition from a Ferrari Testarossa and a surprise late entry. A bastardized Lister Chevrolet showed up, taking pole position with ease. Every performance aficionado, except the organizers, seemed to think it didn't belong.

Robert chatted with Scott in the Concourse Racing trailer as he got suited-up for the main feature. The frustrated driver didn't disguise his mood.

"What the hell do they think this is—Formula Libra?" Tony carped as he laced-up the driving shoes. "I took a look under the hood of that monster. It's running an injected 409 big block. Way too recent for this class. Sure, I'm all over it in the turns, but he simply runs and hides on the straight. I'm giving away too much horsepower."

Robert handed him an uncapped bottle. "Hmm, I noticed. They're trying to flesh-out the field with more entries. Nothing we can do about it now. Try your best, short of wrecking the car. I found out he's just a weekend hobby racer; you can out drive him. What about the Ferrari?"

Tony took a long, deep swallow of mineral water and wiped his mouth. "We're about even. I know the driver; he's excellent in these old cars. Retired pro like me. Typically the Testarossa runs wide going into Three because it's off camber and the setup doesn't like it. I can drive under him on braking no sweat. He gets me back exiting the Corkscrew on the down chute every time. How we each deal with slow traffic will tell the tale. I expect we'll swap places for the first ten laps, then I'm hoping to put some slower cars between me and him. Either way it'll put on a good show for the fans, but it's damned hard work."

The driver received a confident slap on the shoulder. "Show business; that's what it's all about, my friend. See you in Winner's Circle. Now I have to find my co-owners and calm them down."

Both men laughed. Tony's sounded forced.

***

After the press conference in the Nameth hospitality tent everyone took their places to watch a vintage formula race that included a strange mix of open-wheel cars from the late thirties to the fifties. Drivers with no chance seemed content to motor around the track and generally keep out of the way, while a half-dozen fast cars had at it. James and the Nameth girls watched from the infield pit observation deck where they could see the start/finish line along with turns One to the left and Ten to the right. Robert had not yet made it back from the trailer.

"Here, try these." Sonia handed James a lightweight pair of binoculars. "You can watch the cars going uphill if you turn round.

Calley stood alongside James, to his right, with her arm tucked at his waist. Despite the smell of motor fuel and exhaust, he was acutely aware of her scent and close proximity. Desperately he tried to ignore her explorative fingers and concentrate on the track action. Given the way she'd deliberately dressed for the outing, it took every ounce of willpower to reign in his anatomy and not feel the need to obscure the front of his pants with the program book. Both Robert and Colleen had registered their disapproval of Calley's low-slung hipster hot pants and a tied-off halter-top combination that conspired to cover way too little by any urban standard. Of course the exhibitionist outfit was deliberate. Everyone around the crowded infield gaped at her when she paraded by. James had already discovered in England that crowds to Calley were mostly gleeful opportunities to display her wares and turn heads in bulk. Grist to the mill. Compared to the fun of flaunting, car racing was trivial pursuit.