Cherry Orphan

Chapter 53

Chapter 53

"Well come on, wave. That's Tony down there." Calley gave James a hard nudge with her elbow. The boy complied, half-heartedly. For no special reason his mind had strayed onto other things. Virgo the erstwhile virgin stared into the void of his sixteenth birthday. His wonderful holiday summer would be over and real life could begin again. His future sucked so badly even the prelude to an exciting car race failed to push it aside.

"GO!"

Everyone in the stands yelled in unison, as the multicolored blur of metal roared down the pit straight. Cameras clicked away furiously. One tail-ender hadn't moved off the grid—a poorly tuned Maserati Birdcage that sounded like a poorly tuned sewing machine.

Robert finally made it up the stairs. On the way he'd grabbed his own big binoculars from the pit and came loping over to his family group. "What's happening?"

Sonia stood on tiptoe with her binoculars in place as the cars single-filed through turn two and began the uphill climb. "He's running third. There's already a big gap back to the next car."

"Bet when they come round again he'll be second. I don't care that this is only the first lap. I know how Tony drives."

A minute later the reality of the second lap took some of the bravado out of Robert's sail. The Lister Chevy bellowed across the line a full five car lengths ahead of second place, which was still the Ferrari Testarossa. Tony Scott had the Jag's nose right up the tail of the red car, ready to pull out and slingshot by. The organizers would be nervous, as this level of aggressiveness wasn't considered consistent with traditional vintage racing etiquette. But then "Gentlemen, start your engines" never seemed to apply to Tony Scott even on a good day.

The remaining field went by, including some sick-sounding stragglers. "Damn, that Lister's fast." Robert carped.

Colleen took the glasses from him. "Is that the silver thing out front?"

"Yeah. The car's the right vintage, but the motor in it sure as hell ain't kosher. Hey, James, how come you're not really excited?"

James glanced at Robert. In a way he knew better than any of them what Tony Scott would be seeing from the driver's seat. Admittedly the track had been deserted when he took the wild ride in Tony's Audi, but the basic sensations of speed and noise would be the same.

"Will you be awfully upset if he loses, Uncle Bob?"

"Who, me? I always get what I want, James. You know that."

This made Calley turn and look at her father with a scornful expression etched across her face.

***

Inside the Jaguar's cockpit Tony Scott had never been so busy. Staying with the V12 Ferrari proved to be more difficult than he ever anticipated. The Lister had gone. By lap six he couldn't even see it any more. He'd briefly overtaken the Testarossa twice, only to be re-passed five turns later. He knew the driver—an old hand from Canada—and respected the clean way he drove. They could joust without fear of collision when it was just the two of them, but now back-markers were in sight and the real hard work of getting past them clean started to loom. Some of these guys would unpredictably stray off the line to let the fast cars through, while others never moved over an inch. It became a guessing game at every turn.

A couple of times he caught the traffic dead wrong and had to back off. The Ferrari took every advantage. At lap ten, instead of the Jag being ahead with cars in-between, the opposite situation prevailed. He knew Laguna Seca like the back of his hand—every turn, every braking and shift point long ago burned into his brain. How come he'd not put the Ferrari away laps ago and gone chasing the Lister? He was losing it—an over-the-hill geriatric has-been, only fit to trundle rich bitches around for their self-indulgent father.