Frankie waved her hand in front of my face. “Am I not standing right here?” she growled.
I knocked her hand away. “Kind of hard to miss when you do that.”
“Apparently, I’m going to have to jump up and down and cluck like chicken the next time Brooks is around if I actually want him to see me.” She tossed the clipboard on the workbench behind her.
“I’m sure he’s just stressed about qualifying tomorrow.” Or stressed about whatever he was talking about on the phone earlier.
She rolled her eyes. “Please. What in the world could that man have to possibly be stressed about? His pillow isn’t fluffed enough with hundred-dollar bills? The butler forgot to shine his shoes? I mean, come on, Remy. The guy has a life us minions dream about, and he still acts like the world’s biggest dick with a stick shoved up his ass.”
“Just don’t worry about him, Frankie.”
She scoffed and shook her head. “Don’t worry about the guy who’s going to strap himself into this car, hopefully win, and become even more rich and famous while you and I are the whole reason he wins? Yeah, totally doable, Remy.”
I totally understood why Frankie was annoyed, because the guy had completely ignored her, but she seemed to have a problem with Brooks from day one. Yeah, the guy had more money than some people saw in their entire lifetimes, but I didn’t think he was as big of an asshole as Frankie thought. “Well, how about you don’t worry about him right now. After you figure out what is wrong with the car you can go back to ranting and raving about the guy.”
“That was not ranting and raving,” she muttered.
It sure the hell was. I don’t think I had ever heard a good word about Brooks come out of Frankie’s mouth. “Grab whatever shit you need to figure this out, and I’ll help you.”
A heavy sigh escaped her lips, and she hung her head. “This is gonna take all fucking night. The problem is, I don’t know what the hell the problem is.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Frankie was always one step ahead and never seemed to struggle with anything when it came to the car. Now, it was the night before qualifying, and she was stumped. She lifted her head and straightened her shoulders. “I’m gonna grab my computer. Grab anyone who is willing to help,” she ordered and disappeared into the hauler that housed all of the spare parts.
“Coast clear?”
I turned around at Jay’s voice and saw him peeking around the front of the hauler. “Hardly. Get your ass over here and help.”
Jay grumbled under his breath, but surprisingly, he didn’t disappear.
It was going to be a long fucking night until we figured out what was wrong with the car. Hopefully, we would be sleeping before the sun rose, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath.
Cummings Racing was in the weeds, and it was only the beginning of the season.
*
Chapter 7
Harlyn
I don’t know why I did this to myself.
No matter what, when it was racing season, I always had the race on every Sunday. Sometimes I would even have qualifying on Friday and Saturday if it was broadcasted. I was a glutton for punishment. If my dad didn’t want to spend time with me, I could still hope to catch a glimpse of him on TV.
You’re a fool, Harlyn.
Cummings Racing had managed to qualify for the big show on Sunday, and they were now in the staging lanes for their second round. They had managed to just eek out the win on their first round, and from what the announcers were saying, they were going to need a miracle to win this race.
I was ready to mute the TV just so I wouldn’t have to hear these two yahoos talk. They obviously weren’t fans of Brooks Cummings.
I had done some research the last two days, finding out more about the man and company I was going to be working for. Some would say I should have done that before, but I had been blinded by the fact Dad had even wanted me to come to Leeds Square.
Brooks Cummings was a second-generation driver who most felt was only on the circuit because of his name and the fact that he sat on big pile of money. From what I had learned about drag racing, if you didn’t have money, you weren’t going to get very far. Nos and high-performance engines didn’t grow on trees. As for getting ahead because of his name, there probably wasn’t much he could do to avoid that. You had to figure, in the long run, if the guy didn’t have any talent as a driver, it would all come out in the wash.
“This may be Cummings second season in the chase for the Maverick Cup in the AC Cola Series, but you have to wonder how far he is going to go with the rookie pit crew he has behind him.”
“Oh, I don’t know about his rookie pit crew team, Don. He does have Roc Krinston taking over the crew chief spot this year.”
“A seasoned crew chief can only go so far. Right now, this pit crew doesn’t have an assistant crew chief, the car chief is green behind the ears Frankie Jensen who has impressive knowledge, but she doesn’t have the experience behind her.”
Brooks had a woman on his pit crew, and she was in charge of one of the most intricate things on his car? Now that was impressive. Brooks slowly pulled his car up to the line, with my dad walking backward in front of him.
Dad stepped off to the side, two members of the pit crew hosed down the track with water, and Brooks’ back tires came to stop on the burnout area. He revved his engine, and plumes of smoke rose from the tires, heating and cleaning them off. Brooks rocketed a couple hundred feet down the track, then rolled to a stop. He backed up to the starting line, with my dad hopping back onto the track to help guide him straight onto the line.
“I don’t know about you, Don, but Cummings better be praying to every god he believes in if he hopes to beat McDougal and the Plot Line crew off the line. Terry McDougal has the best reaction time of the whole fleet this year so far, and he just seems to be getting faster with each pass.”
It was the first race of the season, and they were acting like McDougal was God. I rolled my eyes and turned up the volume on the TV.
Cummings and McDougal were both staged, waiting for the tree to flash green. Don and Ted had both finally shut up, and I held my breath, waiting.
The whole race happened in the matter of under five seconds, but it always felt longer than that.
The tree flashed green, and unfortunately, Don and Ted were right. McDougal had an insane reaction time and was off the line faster than Cummings.
“And that is why McDougal has the fastest reaction time. He knows how to roll deep into the staging lane. There are twelve inches of real estate he can take, and you better believe he takes every damn centimeter of it.”
I pointed the remote at the TV, muting the annoying voices of Don and Ted. McDougal hadn’t been much faster than Cummings, but he had been fast enough to give him the holeshot win.
That was disappointing.
The fact Cummings Racing had managed to qualify was awesome, but if they didn’t get past the quarter finals in the next couple of races, they were going to be too far behind to catch up in the points standing. Since I now worked for Cummings Racing, their winning or losing was going to directly affect me.
I turned off the TV and looked around my duplex. All the boxes were unpacked, and everything was in its place. It had taken me all weekend and seven trips to the store to get all of my essentials, but I had done it.