Chapter 6
Michael's brows furrowed as he flipped through another revision of his 2006 contract. Well, there was certainly enough material incentive to keep him in the 15 but something still nagged at him. Oh, it all looked good on paper but what a fat salary and the possibility of a three-year ride couldn't dismiss was that feeling the he was little but an after-thought in the grand scheme of the company. With Martin slated to take his place alongside himself and Junior, his place on the DEI totem pole was all but spelled out in six-foot letters. The R & D guy. The defense guy. The designated drafting partner for the plate tracks. Second banana was now third. The best cars, crew and a shot at the championship would never be his. Gilmore leaned back in his chair while Tony Eury Jr. stared distantly out the window.
"Don't say nothin' `bout who my crew's gonna be…" Michael muttered, "I want a hand in that. I wanna have a say in who's gonna pit my car. Right now, I don't see how we can run three teams next year..not the way we're runnin'…"
"My, aren't we a bit gloomy today!" Teresa Earnhardt said brightly as she walked into the stately conference room. Michael's head snapped upward and sharply met her gaze; Dale's weathered face and words on instant replay in his mind. For a moment, Teresa was taken aback by a look that chilled her that she had never seen before from Michael. The love of an old friend was replaced by an unmistakable look of pure hatred. Quickly, as if his secret was in danger of being found out, he dropped his gaze back to the contract. "Still sore from last week?" Teresa inquired, dropping her hand to Michael's.
"Yeah…a little." A lot, Michael thought bitterly. Though he had a strong finish at Dover, the rough jostling of the Monster Mile further aggravated his cracked ribs and tender bruises. "My option's up now, so we gotta figure out this deal if y'all want me in that seat next year. Napa's gotta know what's goin' on too." He looked over at Stiffy, who shook his round head.
"Mike, y'know I'm just the piano player here, bud. I gotta go where they tell me." He sighed and shifted his equally round girth out of the leather chair, clasping Michael's shoulder. "Listen, we gotta a rocket to get ready for Pocono. I'll talk to ya later, bro." Michael nodded wordlessly as he rose for the door. After a brief "breaking-in" period of a day or two, he and Michael clicked as a team, unlike the tempestuous relationship he shared with Junior. For a little while, he actually looked forward to Sundays. But in this hard business, even the warmth of friendship and loyalty were no match for the bottom line and the oh-so-precious Chase for the Championship. Already, there were rumblings that he would eventually be asked back to pit Junior's cars-a task he often wouldn't wish on his worst enemies. As laid-back and good-natured as Junior was off the track, behind the wheel and on the radio, the boy was a terror. Just like his Daddy, Stiffy grinned to himself.
Gilmore cleared his throat and looked at Michael, "Ahem…I understand Jack's called after you in regards to taking Mark's place in the 6."
"And he's gotta have an answer by Friday." Michael finished flatly. "How can I give him one, when I don't know what your plans are for me?" A ride with one of Roush's power-house teams would be the just the shot Michael was looking for: a high-caliber team and a fast car. "Roger Penske wanted a replacement for Rusty too…I'm in the running for that one as well. But more than anything, I wanted to retire here but I'm not gonna run if you can't give me a winning car and team." He didn't bother mentioning that Joe Gibbs was also tossing his name into a hat as well. He casually pulled the gold watch out of his pocket, noting the time and rose to leave. "I gotta run-gotta tape my show…let's try to get something on the table by the end of the month."
As he walked out the door, Teresa followed him to the parking lot, quietly admiring his strikingly handsome profile. Being a confidant of Buffy's, she was also aware of a few marital issues between the two. He was an intelligent man, an excellent spokesman for the sponsors and though it had nothing to do with racing and going on purely circumstantial knowledge-hell on wheels in bed. With the old man long out of the way, it was high-time she started dating again and how handsome Michael could be on her arm, she mused.
As Michael turned to get into his truck, she placed her hand on his arm. Startled, it was all Michael could do to keep from recoiling as if bitten by a snake. "Didn't know you were behind me…" he started, "did I forget something?"
"Dang! You're all wound up, Mike!" She laughed. "Listen, we'll get this worked out, I promise." She leaned close to his broad chest and gazed up at him. "Why don't you come over for dinner tonight? We can talk about your options. In fact, I could offer you a position in the company that you'd never have to worry about driving again. Gilmore's been doing less-than-stellar and I do need someone in his position who's a little more savvy with the sponsors…." She pressed against him further, her intent obvious.
Goddamn her! Michael thought furiously. She's fucking hitting on me! I cannot believe this shit!! He took an awkward step back against the warm metal body of the truck. "I'll think about it. I gotta go.." He mumbled as he fumbled with his keys and slid into the driver's seat. Hell will freeze over before that happens…
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"Hey you…ya hardly touched your chicken…you ok?" Junior looked over at Michael listlessly picking at his food. Jerked chicken was one of Junior's specialties and normally Michael would be ravenously inhaling it. But it may as well had been Fancy Feast catfood on a Ritz for the way Michael picked away at it. Inwardly, Michael felt like he was on the verge of an abyss as he struggled with the decision of how to break the news to Junior that his father was not dead, merely misplaced! On top of the fact that his stepmother just made a play for him, he thought bitterly. How the fuck do I get myself into these situations?
Bud, the old manx, waddled out and reared up on his hind legs; pawing at Michael's arm with a fat paw. Michael obliged and held down a bit of chicken. Junior's other creatures-namely Killer the boxer pup and the other two housecats sat in a semi-circle beside their "daddy".
"Man..don't give that to him! It's too spicy..he'll be blastin' out his asshole later!"
"Ugh…thanks for the visual…" Michael muttered and pushed his plate away from him, gazing Junior. He looked unbelievably sad, Junior thought as he regarded Michael's stone-blue, deep-set eyes. He reached over and gently brushed Michael's curly foretop out of his face. "Ya need a haircut…startin' to look like Elliot, old wooly bugger."
"Just didn't get too far on my deal for next year..."
"Mikey…what do you need? You know I'll make sure you get decent cars next year…"
"Same as you and Martin? And what about a crew?" Michael asked, his voice unintentionally sharp. Junior looked away for the first time.
"Mikey…let's not fight about this…you know I gotta make my numbers too…"
"So you think having Stiffy and his boys are gonna do it for you? For the first time in my career, I finally got a crew that will give me what I need…it's not like I'm askin' a lot here… As it stands right now, there aint' a crew chief out there that'll put up with all the shit you dish out! Sometimes, boy you act like the fuckin' world owes you a livin'! Well, I got news for ya-it don't and you ain't even begun to pay yer dues yet" Michael instantly regretted his words as Junior glared back, fire dancing in his eyes.
"Listen to me. `Bout time you got a reality check here-you are 42 fuckin' years old, only won 4 Cup races outta 700-who the fuck are you to dictate any deals?? You're goddamn lucky you gotta fuckin' ride! Daddy woulda told you to pack your fuckin' bags.." He never finished the sentence as Michael angrily rose, knocking his chair over with a resounding crash. Cats and dogs scattered and lifeless jerked chicken flew.
"Don't you dare bring him into this!" Michael hissed, his voice deadly. "You have no fucking idea what he's gone through…" He almost choked in horror as he realized his slip too late. All fury exited the room, spent as a quick summer thunderstorm as Michael sank into a chair; face in his hands and shoulders shaking violently as the turmoil of the past couple of weeks descended upon him. Junior opened his mouth to say something-anything, weakly sliding beside Michael and cupping his face in his hands.
"Mike?" He whispered. "Hey man…it's ok…it's ok…take it easy, ok?" There was little doubt that Michael was hiding something, that was quite obvious. Nothing had been quite right with him since he returned from that trip. And what the hell did he mean by that last statement? He held Michael as the big man broke down on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Jun…so very, very sorry…" He looked up helplessly at Junior; it was now or never and there was no turning back.
Michael sat back, composing himself. "Jun, I've gotta tell you something. We might end up never speakin' to each other again but it would be a sin to keep this from you. I'm not even sure you're gonna believe it `cause damned if I believe it myself."
"This got something to do with that trip you took last week?"
"Yeah." He began, "I had this Napa grand opening…"
"Well no shit, Sherlock! You don't need to plug your sponsor around me!" growled Junior, growing impatient.
Ignoring the barb, Michael continued, "And they had a meet `n' greet. Long, long lines and last one to stop by was this old man… and he gave me this." He fished in his pocket and pulled out the gold watch. "Now, before I continue, take a good look at it..open it, it's got a picture inside and I want you to tell me what you think."
Junior gasped as he took one look at the inscription. He didn't even need to open it. How many times had he sat playing with this very same watch as a child? A lump formed in his throat as he turned his now tear-streaked face up towards Michael, who gently put his long arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.
"W-Where did he get it, Mikey?" Junior whispered in a very small voice. "I looked everywhere for this…I-I wanted t-to give it to him...I-I wanted to put it in his hand..but I just couldn't find it anywhere…." Now it was his turn to break down as he leaned into Michael's chest as sobs tore through his body. They clung to each other in the growing darkness as twilight crept in. Michael idly wondered if either of them was ready to face the truth head-on. "We gotta tell that old guy thanks…he has no idea what that watch means to me…" Junior whispered as he clutched the watch to his heart.
Michael swallowed hard and fished in his pocket for his cell phone. No turning back now, he thought. This could very well send Dale's son over the edge. "Why don't you tell him yourself?" He whispered. He closed his eyes as he hit numbers and 800 miles away, a voice finally answered.
"Whadya want?! Doggone it, Mikey, I'm in the middle of fixin' my supper..got company comin' over tonight!" The voice playfully barked, loud enough for Junior to hear. Michael stole a quick glance at Junior as he watched the younger man blanch in instant recognition. Eyes as wide as hubcaps, he mouthed, "Michael! What THE FUCK is going on?!"
"Well boy? What's goin' on?" Barked Dale's voice again.
"Dale..uhm…I got someone here who'd like to talk to ya…" Michael began helplessly. What else could he do? What else could he say? He knew there was no easy way to do this other than to simply let Junior hear for himself. "Reckon he can try to explain it better than I can." With shaking hands, Junior took the phone from Michael's hands.
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Long Pond, PA
Wearing a floppy hat adorned with a few fishing lures and a ratty Confederate flag patch, the old man grinned to himself. How he had longed to be back here in the pits and now he could enjoy the abnormity of a stranger as he watched the cars charging in from qualifying as if they were brightly colored steel thoroughbreds. The old, half-forgotten sights, sounds and smells of raw fuel and exhaust were like a tonic; the guttural roar of the engines like a symphony. He felt almost giddy; as if he had never been to a race before. Slowly walking through the Adam Petty garage, he paused briefly in front of stall 36-the temporary home of the Napa Chevrolet team. Of course it was abandoned as all of the cars rested on the starting grid awaiting their turn to qualify. Except for those cars that had already taken their turn, the garage area was mostly empty, save for a few lucky fans with full garage access wandering about. Making his way through the gate to pit row, he paused as Tony "Pops" Eury Sr. brushed past him on his way from the Bud hauler. Their eyes met briefly but there was no recognition, the other simply nodding in acknowledgement to the old timer. Nobody questioned him as he made his way down the long stretch to the line- up-Michael had made sure that he was equipped with full-garage access credentials.
One by one, the starting official gave the order to turn each car loose on the track. One by one, old rivals such as Rusty Wallace, Mark Martin and Dale Jarrett took their time on the track. One by one, young newcomers that were either rookies the last time he looked through the windshield, namely Tony Stewart and Kurt Busch, or drivers who no doubt were still running in one of the juvenile series. This Kyle Busch kid and that other one, Brian Vickers-they barely looked old enough to be behind the wheel, let alone running in NASCAR's top division! And all this goddamned Nextel yellow…that was something he would never get used to! Finally, well down the line, he spotted the 15 and Stiffy's ample rump blocking his view of the driver as the crew chief went over some last minute de- briefing. Dale stood well back, behind the wall. "Go get `em kid…" he whispered as finally Stiffy stepped back. Before he lowered his visor, Michael grinned and slightly waved at the old man standing on the sidelines. The Napa Chevy barked to life and accelerated down the front stretch, to the murderously sharp first turn. He looked back down to the rest of the field and noticed the Budweiser crew only a couple rows back.
He sighed, inwardly quaking at the thought of seeing Junior again face-to-face. The original plan was to meet back in Junior's coach after qualifying was done; away from prying eyes, away from the world. He wondered if Junior could see him, hoping not since the emotions that were going to be involved this evening would surely raise a few curious eyebrows and the possibility of some unwanted attention. He reflected on that last conversation a couple nights ago and he could tell by the tone of Junior's voice that the boy had his reservations. Michael had always been open and trusting, taking one's word socially and hoping for the best. Junior, on the other hand, had an almost inborn suspicious nature. But after what that poor kid has dealt with, who could blame him?
The track's PA system excitedly blared out the new pole-sitter: one Michael Waltrip, driving for Dale Earnhardt Inc.. Just the sound of the words sent a chill down the old man's spine and the hairs on the back of his neck rose as he watched Michael bring his charger back down to the finish line; water and steam belching out of the over- flow. How he wanted to pull the big man out of the car in one of his trade-marked bear-hugs! Eyes misting over as he watched the ecstatic crew chief and driver embrace, he failed to notice that the driver of the Budweiser Chevrolet failed not to notice him.
Angry over his own disappointing effort, Junior glared as he instantly recognized the stranger watching from the side-lines. Even though he knew fully well what the game plan was for later on that evening, he couldn't help but feel just the tiniest twinge of jealousy as it boiled inside him. It would be just as it was before- no matter what he did in terms of success, it would never be enough. He had always preferred Michael's company, so why would things change now? With a sour look and one last glare, he headed back to his hauler. Suddenly furious with them all-most of all Teresa and the despicable game she was playing-but also angry with Dale, even Michael to an extent, he decided that things were going to change after all but the changes would be as he alone would determine them. And if anyone decided different, then there would be bloody hell to pay….
Chapter 7
Funny how one face out of the hundreds that swarmed around pit row could stand out so. Distinguished as a flake of red pepper in a bowl of sugar. Or a piece of coal against a snow drift. Not that he looked any different than the multitudes of mostly blue-collar fans that would save diligently all year for their one trip to the race. Aided with a cane, hair a shock of faded rust and silver poking out wildly beneath that floppy hat, the old man stood quietly watching Michael take his qualifying lap. Yet, there was just something about him, Rusty Wallace decided. God help me, I know him from somewhere, the celebrated veteran mused. The steely look in the man's eyes-where had he seen that look before? A voice in the back of Rusty's mind whispered, "Yes, you remember that look well..how many times have you seen that glare in your rearview mirror? He shook his head and ran a hand through his wiry copper hair, chiding himself. It's been a long, long day and surely it's just his eyes and a good measure of fatigue playing tricks on his imagination. Oh, he's seen his share of the posers, imposters and charlatans; those ghouls who came out of the woodwork back in '01, dressed in their "Goodwrench" firesuits and mirrored shades. All pathetic souls crying out for attention. Or perhaps they had a death-wish of their own, Rusty thought grimly as he recollected how it took himself, Terry, and Tony Jr. to keep an enraged Michael at bay from killing one particularly obnoxious imposter who followed Junior into the garage. Besides, the fleeting thoughts running through his beleaguered mind belonged in the dreamland realm of the impossible.
Still…he couldn't resist a closer look at the old geezer and he slowly pushed his way to the Napa pitbox. The old man's back was to him and Rusty cleared his throat, "I'll be damned! First pole in how long?" He nervously chuckled as the battered hat in front of him turned. He stifled the gasp when his eyes locked with the slate- blue of the other's; falling backward as if the old man pushed him slightly.
Dale knew he should have kept his back to the speaker. Of course, he recognized the owner's voice-he'd know it anywhere. Former competitor/enemy/beloved friend-there was few that touched his life quite the way the owner of that voice did. Still, his gut reaction got the best of him, "Of course he got the pole! Dammit, whose car do you think he's drivin'?" Horrified, he quickly moved away from the pitbox, disappearing through the crowd of curious onlookers.
Rusty shook his head, not at all comprehending what he just saw. Or thought he saw. Visibly shaken, he turned and roughly bumped into Tony Eury, Jr.
"Hey Russell! Take it easy, man!" He was laughing, and on his way to the media center with his driver and the crew. "You Ok there, Rusty?" He noticed the other man's moon-pale face; red hair sticking out in sharp contrast. "You look like ya seen a ghost or something!"
The old champion composed himself, "Yeah kiddo…something like that." That's it-I'm cracking up…I do need to get away from all this for awhile, he thought as he grabbed Michael in a tight bear- hug. "Good run, Mikey. Ya done Dale proud tonight." He whispered in the big man's ear. He watched them leave for the media center, trailing journalists and assorted camera techs in their wake. Finally, he turned and headed for his own coach where he knew he could fall apart in peace.
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Junior glanced up at the digital clock on the counter and continued to mindlessly flip through the channels on the television. So many emotions swirled within him as he anxiously waited for a moment that he never would have believed possible. So many questions left unanswered and still the nagging thought that remained-could this strange old man be an imposter? It was no secret that Michael had a tendency to be a bit overly sentimental-especially when it came to friends and family. Junior knew how much pressure Michael was under- hell, they were both under a microscope ever since the decision to swap teams and equipment came down in the post-season. Widely documented, commentated upon and speculated-the decision ultimately came back to him and it was one he feared he would regret for the rest of his life.
He sighed and ran his hand through his wiry red hair, now angry and disappointed with himself for harboring such ill-will and jealousy towards Michael. After all, he could've simply kept his father's secret whereabouts to himself out of spite. Lord knows, if anybody had grounds to be spiteful, it was certainly Michael. Three years' worth of threats against his job, substandard and largely experimental R & D equipment, and oft-times less-than-supportive crew chiefs could add up to one disgruntled employee. But then again, Michael usually tried to put a positive spin on everything that's ever happened to him instead of allowing himself to be dragged down in that self-destructive cycle of negativity and vindictiveness.
Walking into the bedroom, Junior gazed at a framed picture on his dressing table of himself, his father and Michael taken the day that his father announced the formation of the Napa team. Oh, if the past few years could only be erased, beginning with the 2001 Daytona 500. His own memory drifted back to those carefree days while he was still running the Busch series and sitting around the porch listening to his father and Michael laughing, drinking beer and swapping lies and dirty jokes. No more heartache, no more team politics and orders…just one big, happy-.
He was jolted out of his reverie by a loud banging at the door and Michael's voice, "Heeeeyyyyy honey…I'm home!" accompanied by a muffled snicker. "Go on in..he's probably holed up in the bedroom…I gotta use the can…"
And another voice, softer but painfully familiar. "Damn…you still got a bladder the size of a lentile…I never seen a man gotta pee as much as you....I swear, just like a racehoss pissin' on a flat rock!"
Junior felt his natural wall of defense crumbling as his hands went to his mouth to keep himself from crying out loud. I'm not ready for this…if I see him, I know I'm going to loose my mind…
Dale looked around, scoping out Junior's motorhome. Yes, he was nervous and not a little ill at ease at the thought of this reunion. Revealing himself to Michael was difficult enough but this was something that could wind up more traumatizing to all involved. He was supposed to be dead. That was the inescapable fact. Four- years dead in fact; enough time had elapsed to heal the wounds and fade into fond memories. That peace would be shattered within the next few moments-it's not too late to back out now… In fact, he was almost ready to turn and walk out the door when Junior slowly, almost cautiously walked up behind him. Michael, who finally emerged from his bathroom retreat, quietly watched, content to simply let the moment take them where it may-no need to interfere as he watched a reunion take place that he thought could ever happen in the world of the living.
"D-Daddy…? You-you ain't fixin' to leave just yet?" Junior whispered, watching the weathered hand on the door. He reached out and seized the old man's arm. How frail he seemed! He actually looked as though he shrunk somewhat but the face was unmistakable. Panic seized his whole being, he looked frantically to Michael.
"Go on…it's ok" Michael said softly. "It's gonna be ok now…"
"I don't even know what to say…startin' to think it wasn't even a good idea to come back but…" Dale turned to face Junior as he closed his eyes remembering the last time he had seen his son was a brief moment during driver introductions at Dayton a hundred years ago. Finally looking into eyes so much like his own, he pulled the young man into a bear hug. "I just had to see you again….I've missed you so much, Junebug…"
How good that bear-hug felt! How he missed practically having his neck wrung like that. Unabashed tears rolled down their cheeks and a strangled sob tore through Junior. He didn't care what the circumstances were that kept his father away or what brought him back. The fact that he was back was all that mattered now. That void in his life was gone now.
Michael smiled as he watched from the sidelines. His work was done here tonight. He quietly eased himself to the door.
"Well..where are you off to?" Dale barked, mirth crinkling in his eyes.
"Uhm…I'll see ya both tomorrow…y'all got a world of catchin' up to do tonight." Michael smiled sadly. He wanted nothing more than to spend the night in Junior's arms but somehow that aspect of where he fit into their life didn't need to be revealed now.
"Mike…" Junior pulled him close, burying his face in Michael's neck. "Thank you…thank you so much…" Michael looked down at his tear- streaked face. "I love you ..." he quietly.
Michael grinned and whispered, "I know. But we're gonna have to behave ourselves until I figure out how to explain the concept of `us' to him! G'night kiddo…I love you too."
Dale watched his son and his best friend curiously. Perhaps there was something to his suspicions about the two, he thought with amusement. He walked over and pulled them both close. But perhaps-more than likely-it was nothing more than the high emotions of the day.
"Now where are you off to now, boy? You don't have to leave…I can sleep on the couch.." He grinned and poked Michael in the ribs
Michael shrugged, "I dunno…Stiffy and the boys are headin' for Shenanigans to celebrate our pole and get straight outta the box stupid drunk. Besides, y'all gotta a lot of catchin' up to do." He cleared his throat and sighed with a wry smile, "Besides, I gotta check in with Miz Buffy…let her know I'm still among the living."
"Uhm…well ya know if Her Royal Bitchiness is givin' ya too much grief..uhm..you know you can always crash here…" Junior finished lamely.
"I'll see y'all tomorrow." Michael said as he slipped out the door and into the darkness beyond, leaving father and son and a host of unanswered questions dying to be answered.
"Uhm…ya hungry? Mike did up some steaks earlier today…I can toss one in the nuker…" Why did he suddenly feel so anxious?
"Nah…killed off a couple of tube steaks myself." Dale chuckled. "So how ya been? Tried keepin' up on things through the news…" He instantly chided himself, now that was a damned stupid thing to ask! He was rewarded with a sullen look.
"Uhm..how do you think I've been doin'? W-why didn't you try to contact me?! Do you have any idea what this means?? Why Dad? I can still call you that, right?" He went to the fridge and took the plate of leftovers out along with a couple of beers. He felt so overwhelmed now alone with Dale. Michael was his rock; with him around, Junior felt like he could face anything life could throw at him. Now alone, his emotions bubbled and boiled within him, threatening to send him over the edge. Throat tight as tears welled up in his eyes, he hoarsely whispered, "Do you know this was the first year I could go to Daytona without falling apart?" He looked up at his father, "Daddy-why did you let them do this to you-to us??"
Wearily, Dale sat down at the counter. He felt drained as he chose his words with care. Why indeed? He thought. "Junebug-for a good two years, I hardly even knew who the hell I was. Physically couldn't get around-thought I'd be an invalid for the rest of my days-which I hoped wouldn't be long. Mentally, I couldn't even comprehend what happened. Your stepmother and Ty Norris pretty much left me for dead. God knows, in the state I was in, I didn't want to be who I was anymore. And things pretty much woulda stayed that way if it hadn't been for a couple of good friends who helped me get through this."
"So…now that you're back…now what…?"
"June, I'm still coming to terms with what happened four years ago." Dale shook his head slowly. "I don't rightly know if I want to come back. But I wanted to see you again-I wanted to let you know how much I loved ya, son. I know I give ya a hard time and I wanted to make things right between us." Junior continued to gaze at him intently as he continued, "This is gonna be one helluva bombshell if I come out singin' `Hey Everybody! I'm baaa-aaack!' I just don't know if I can honestly handle that. June, all I wanted to do is see you and Mike again-maybe eventually Kerry and Kelley too."
"Dad-Ritchie Gilmore and Teresa have ruined the company you founded. Pops ain't helpin' either-you've got to come back!"
Dale smiled and leaned back in his chair, "Junebug…I'm dog-tired, boy. Let's worry this out in the mornin'." Indeed, the day had caught up with him and soon he was drifting away. Junior sighed, suddenly feeling as if the entire world had found itself sitting on his shoulders. "Dammit Mikey…you better drag your ass back here tonight…."
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Michael was about to swing into the Napa hauler to join Tony Jr. and the crew for an inebriated nightcap when a hand grabbed his arm. The suddenness from whence it reached out in the darkness was startling indeed but not nearly as startling as the haunted look on the face attached to the arm.
"SHIT! Rusty!! You scared the crap outta me!" Michael yelled, nearly levitating.
"Sorry hotrod. Congrats on the pole, man." When Michael finally settled back to Earth, the Miller Lite driver continued, "Listen man, I gotta talk to you bout somethin'. Got a moment?"
"Uhm..sure...what's up?" Michael could clearly see his old friend was upset. "Is something wrong?"
"I-I dunno…you ever have one of those moments when you think you've seen..a-a ghost? I know you're gonna probably gonna think I'm flat- out nuts but I swear I think I saw Dale tonight!"
Michael blanched and gulped, "HUH?" Rusty, when agitated, was a sight to behold.
"Do you remember seeing a old man near your pit box tonight? I mean, I know it sounds crazy but I couldn't get his face out of my mind! The way he looked right at me, I swear Mikey either it was his twin or a ghost."
"Russell-you know danged well if Dale was gonna haunt something, it would be either Daytona or Bristol!" Michael nervously laughed but his eyes betrayed all.
"Michael-level with me…please. Did you or did you not see him?" Rusty's voice was deadly serious now.
Michael sighed. Rusty was one of Dale's dearest friends-the fact that he had been taken away nearly killed him. Despite their notorious on-track rivalry, Dale thought the world of Rusty. The world suddenly felt as though it was starting to spin out of control around Michael and he tried to focus on something-anything-besides the man in front of him.
"I-I thought I saw someone who kinda looked like him. In fact, I did do a double take but then I lost track of him in the crowd once quals began." He said simply, hoping this would suffice. It did seem to satisfy Rusty to some extent.
"Well…I knew it, I'm glad you saw him too. Guess it was just an uncanny resemblance."
"Yeah..y'know my Momma always said everybody's got him a twin!" Michael said brightly, now that apparently the subject had been changed.
"Ugh…now that's a nasty thought…the fact that there might be another Jimmy Spencer runnin' around out there…" Rusty laughed hollowly. "Or another Herman…egads!"
"Hey man, take it easy..get some rest, Russell. I'll see ya tomorrow."
"Yeah…take care, Hotrod."
Rusty watched him for a moment as Michael disappeared in the din of the Napa hauler. Something still didn't quite feel right but perhaps Michael was right for a change. Maybe they all needed a rest…
Chapter 8
"Think ya can make it home?" Stiffy chuckled as his obviously pickled companion grinned loopily at him as he slumped against the pickup's door. "Ya gonna catch six kinds o' hell from the wench…If Joonya gave ya the option to pass out in his crib, I'd take him up on it-otherwise World War Three is gonna look like a toga party when Buffy lights into yer ass!"
"Huh…? Mmm…yeah…mebbe yer right…" Michael muttered. Stiffy shook his head as he pulled in to row where Junior's coach was parked.
"Take care and try to get some sleep. I'm gonna need ya on your a- game tomorrow."
Michael poured himself out of the cab, staggering slightly, his long, lanky form ever ungainly. "HELL YEAH!'" he roared, "It's gonna be all about ME come tomorrow!"
"Mikey…Mikey…it's always all `bout you, babe." Stiffy laughed at his driver's inebriated antics. "Now go get some sleep." He pulled away and Michael deliberately, slowly made his way to Junior's. Pausing by one coach he recognized as his old nemesis from Owensboro- Jeff Green. Looking slyly around with a faintly demonic look on his face, thick curls almost looking like little horns, he slowly unzipped his jeans. Dayum, I get so fuckin' tired of bein' a good boy! He thought evilly to himself as he cheerfully unloaded his kidneys on Green's hapless abode. "That'll learn Toadboy not to fuck with this kid!" Satisfied with this misdeed, he ambled off.
He fumbled around for the spare key and quietly let himself in. He cast a furtive look at Dale sleeping soundly on the pull-out sofa, huddled under a velvet Elvis throw. Instant sobriety set in as he quietly gazed at his old friend's weathered face. He wondered how things went earlier this evening, wondered if perhaps he should've stuck around a little longer. Tomorrow he'd find out soon enough. Right now, his body was screaming for sleep; all the earlier energy drained out of him.
Quieter than cotton on cotton, he briefly washed up, stripped and slumped into bed. Junior stirred awake at the sudden intrusion of his warm, naked flesh. "Hey you" Junior encircled Michael's torso in his arms and pressed his face against the broad shoulders. "I didn't expect you back here tonight…" he whispered.
"Got kinda lit tonight…didn't think it'd be a good idea to inflict myself on the girls…"Michael muttered, barely able to respond. Junior gently caressed his chest, running his fingers through the faint hairs on Michael's chest.
"Missed you…wish ya coulda stayed a little longer…"
"How'd it go?" Michael rolled over and cracked an eye open as Junior laid his head against his chest.
"I dunno…ok I guess." He whispered; suddenly preferring the soft thump of Michael's heart to his own voice.
With a tired grunt, Michael propped himself up against the headboard, brows furrowed. "Just ok? June-I thought this should be the happiest day of your life! And to see your own father walk back into your life and it's just ok??" He tried to keep his voice down but it was so hard to keep from shouting. "Do you have any idea how hard this was for him to go through with this? How hard it was for him to look his former life back in the face and to literally come back from the dead? He's still in shock, June…it's gonna take a long, long time for him to ever come back to the life he used to live-if it ever happens."
"I know, Mike…I know…" Junior buried his face against Michael's shoulder as the big man's arms pulled him close. "I guess I was expecting him to be just like he was the day he-he….left us." A huge sigh/sob escaped him. "Guess that selfish part of me expected him to just grab the reins like he did before…make everything right."
"It's gonna take baby steps, June-we can't push him. All he wants right now is to be with the people he loves and heal one day at a time." Michael rested his head against Junior's. "We owe him that much."
They stayed huddled together for a few moments, savoring the solitude of the moment. Finally Michael laid back and Junior covered him with his slender form. Heat and friction naturally brought other emotions to the surface and Junior headed his own instincts and pressed himself further against Michael, relishing the sensation of arousal in his companion.
"Hm….what's this?" He chuckled as his hand slowly drifted down Michael's abdomen, playfully pinching him. "Looks like yer gittin' a little soft in da belly."
"MMm…yea-ahh…just more of me to love.." Michael snickered. "I'm not in training right now..besides, everybody thought I was getting' too boney."
"Mmm-hmm…yeah. Ya got you a bone awright." Junior grinned that wild, feral grin. "I can take care of that problem right now." With that, he slipped down Michael's body.
"Uhm…remember bro..we gotta keep it down…omigod!" Michael's eyes rolled back and his hands gripped the edge of the sheets; knuckles turning white.
Junior paused for a moment, "Uhm..yer the expert on `Stealth Fuckin'- remember, Mr. Married-With-Children?" He thought a moment longer and grinned wickedly, "Y'know, I got an idea on how to keep that big mouth of yours shut." He wriggled around a bit, repositioning himself and was soon rewarded with Michael's soft, full lips caressing him. "That's more like it…"
Before he had fallen into bed, Michael idly wondered if he should be sharing Junior's bed-especially since Dale was now sleeping soundly in the coach's salon just outside their door. Now, as he lay wrapped around his lover of the past four years, a fifty-piece marching band could've waltzed through the bedroom and it barely fazed him. Funny how reservation gets thrown to the wind when the libido takes the place of reason. Surely there would be questions to face in the morning but in the immortal words of Scarlet O'Hara, "Tomorrow is another day…" And as Michael's own release shook his body, frankly at the moment, he just didn't give a damn.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Blearily, Michael stumbled about the galley; fumbling with the coffee maker and trying to be as quiet as possible. Hair standing wildly on end, naked save for a ratty pair of running shorts, he cursed softly as he stubbed his toe against the edge of the pantry. "Well good morning, sunshine!" Startled as he was still half asleep, Michael nearly jumped out of his skin as he spied Dale quietly looking over a copy of The Observer. "Rough night?" Again, that Cheshire Cat smile as Michael regained his composure.
Smiling sheepishly, Michael shook his head, "Uhm…yeah..guess you could say it was a late night. Buffy uhm…well, she wasn't havin' any part of me last night so I took Junior up on his invite and"-
Dale shook him off, "Save it, Mikey…you don't have to `splain anything."
"Uhm..hope I didn't wake you up when I came in…"
Dale's eyes rolled heavenward. No, he didn't have to explain anything-his very appearance spoke volumes. He regarded his old friend for a moment, noting the slightly flushed cheeks, luminous eyes and the very obvious purple welt near his throat. Oh, I hope you boys know that you ain't foolin' anybody, he thought. No more wondering or speculations to be drawn up here-the fact that his son and his long-time best friends were lovers was plain as the nose on his face. He turned as Junior also stumbled half-dressed out of the bedroom and plopped himself in front of the TV, still groggy with sleep. (or lack thereof, Dale thought wryly)
He sighed, resigning himself to accepting the situation at face- value. What could he do? Now who's fault is it? Five years ago, he would've gone straight through the roof at the notion that his son might possibly be gay. If he had even the slightest notion that Michael had seduced his son, his head would've graced the walls of his den with his many whitetail trophies. This visual almost brought on a fit of giggles had it not been for the gravity of the situation. Gay. No grandkids to play with-unless you were to count Michael's own offspring as part of this coupling. No heir to the business. That was then-this was now, he surmised as his gaze shifted from one pensive face to the other. They knew he knew and it was almost as if time stood still waiting for somebody, anybody to say the first word.
Junior broke the silence, staring into the face of his curdling cornflakes. "Daddy…I know how this must look…" he began helplessly. Dale walked over and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't." he whispered. "It is what it is." Dale rose and poured himself another cup of coffee and gazed out the window as the denizens of the Pocono backstretch started scurrying about; things to do and places to go. And miles to go before I sleep…Dale mused as he remembered a snippet of an old poem.
Michael cleared his throat, "Dale, I'm sorry…I'm sure this must seem like a huge disappointment to you…I don't know what else to say…" He thought for a moment, "No, that didn't sound right-I'm not sorry for how me and Junior got together-I love this boy with all my heart. I'm just sorry I couldn't have told you what the deal was sooner. If this deal had to end today, I wouldn't regret one second of the time we had together and that's the plain truth."
Dale looked at him, "You take good care of my boy, Mikey. Without me, you're all he has." He whispered. He glanced over at Junior who was already fielding a phone call from Jade. "Git yer shit together, you two knuckleheads-think there's a driver's meetin' goin' on."
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Post race, Pocono.
"Well, I'll be goddamned glad to get the fuck outta here!" Junior snarled to himself as he crawled out of the battered remains of his car. "This is just flat-out bullshit...don't ever give me another piece of shit like this again!" he growled at Gilmore. "At least Michael had a decent day."
Gilmore scowled, "He should have won. We gave him a car anybody could've won in…I don't know what the hell is wrong with him."
"He broke a goddamn shock!" Snapped Stiffy. "That wasn't his fault!"
"Y'know something, Ritchie?" Junior got dangerously close to Gilmore's face. "No matter what he does-it's never gonna be good enough. Rest assured, things are gonna change around here."
"What's that supposed to mean? Don't go pullin' rank on me kid. You're just the driver." Gilmore turned on his heal and headed for the waiting golf cart.
"You better remember who's name is on the company door…" Junior growled.
Gilmore laughed sarcastically, "Like that's something I'd ever forget! Got news for ya-you better enjoy it while it lasts. Right now, the equity in that race shop is worth more than you and Michael combined. Hell, if I figure in the life insurance on you two, you're both worth more dead than alive!"
Instead of storming into his hauler, Junior met Gilmore's gaze with his own steely glare. "We'll see who gets the last laugh-I got one more ace in the hole you ain't countin' on."
Chapter 9
-flashback, 1990-
"Dale, ya shoulda left him back there…don't know why yer botherin' with that boy…" grumbled Darrell quietly. Beside him, Richard Petty nodded sagely, "He's right, you get to a point where you just gotta let `em figger it out on their own…guess they call it `tough love' these days."
Dale glared balefully at the two men gathered in his coach, "Don't know why the hell I bothered to call you two idiots down here..guess I reckoned that y'all gave a shit about that poor kid. Guess I reckoned wrong."
"C'mon Dale, don't give me that `I don't care about my brother' crap. I do care but I also can't stomach this `alternative lifestyle' shit! Hangin' out with them people-it's sick and it's just plain wrong! My Daddy didn't raise us like that-it's not right, not Christian…"
"Don't you even think about startin' that preachin' shit!" Dale growled, "How Christian is it to leave your own baby brother fer dead? You knew he was at that bar, with God only know who when he called you for a ride home, you fuckin' ignored him!" He turned to Petty, "Don't even think of pointin' that finger at me, cuz I'll break it off!" he warned. "Both of you can git off'n yer self- righteous high horses right now or get out!"
Petty shrugged, "Dale, I love that kid to death, you know it. But after what happened to Tim, I ain't getting' myself or my company sucked into that scene…it's just plain ugly. I hate to say it, but you know damned well if Michael don't get his shit together and get away from them fags, NASCAR'S gonna revoke his license. If you think you can straighten him out, more power to ya."
Darrell cocked his head back and glared, "Dale, you ought to tend to fixin' yer own backyard before you go messin' with someone else's. How would you feel if it was one of yer own kids? Could happen for all the attention you give `em…"
Dale rose angrily, "That's it, party's over. Clear out of my coach, the both of ya!" When they left, he sighed, wondering if perhaps it would have been wiser to stay out of it. He shuddered as he remembered half-carrying Michael out of the that awful nightclub. He was a good kid, dammit! All he needed was somebody to give a shit about him now and then. To Dale, Michael's antics often bespoke of a cry for help. He grew up in the shadow of his brother, his own dreams of racing only realized by his own hard work-never a bit of support from Darrell or his parents. But now, he was dangerously nearing a point of no return. The heavy partying was only the tip of the iceberg and judging from the shape he was in last night, who knows how many partners had satisfied themselves at his expense? Dale didn't need to know these details-the bottom line was his friend was hurting, broken in body and spirit.
A barely recognizable whisper behind him broke his own thoughts, "How can you put up with me? Why ain't you disgusted with me like Darrell?" Michael slowly eased himself into the sofa; a blanket tightly wrapped around him and looking for all the world like death itself. He dropped his head into his hands, shoulders shaking, "I'm so sorry Dale…so very sorry.."
Dale sat beside him, tentatively putting an arm around him, "Sorry? You don't' have to be sorry. People make mistakes sometimes…that's how we learn not to fuck up again."
"I didn't want to drag you into this. Of all the people I've let down…" He looked up, eyes sunken and luminous, "I don't want to let you down too."
"You ain't lettin' me down. You'd let me down if ya give up yerself. You're a good kid, Mikey. You're a better man than to let yerself be treated like this. Darrell will come around eventually; he's just an ol' prick. Got a Bible stuck up his ass actin' so high an' mighty-don't pay any attention to him. Stick with me, kid. You lay down with the dogs and you're gonna get fleas-you don't need that pack. People in this business judge ya by yer friends-don't forget that. When the time's right, I can put you in cars you'll win with and all these assholes will be kickin' themselves for not believin' in ya sooner! You'll do ol' Jaws, Petty and the rest o' em proud."
&&&&&&&&&&
Dale woke up early, all ready deciding to head back north. He had no idea why that old memory materialized. He quietly watched his son and Michael picking at their breakfast. Michael seemed to be deep in thought and Junior was equally moody, thanks mostly to his miserable run on Sunday.
"Yer too quiet. Penny for your thoughts." He playfully nudged Michael, who looked up with half a donut stuffed in his mouth.
"Just got a lot on my mind. You know my contract's expiring this year, right?"
"Michael, I drew up that contract as an indefinite. It was supposed to be open-ended. Only you could terminate it." Michael and Junior looked sharply at him.
"Nooooo…that's not the way it is now. Or has been..since..uhm since 2001. In fact." Michael paused for dramatic effect, casting a glare at Junior. "I was advised that if I did not make the top-10, I could find myself another situation."
"Now why did you look at me like that?" Junior snapped, "I had nothing to do with that decision and you know it."
"Just like the crew and equipment swap this year? Sorry, babe, but I ain't buyin' it. I'll tell ya one thing-if I can't keep Tony Jr. on my team next year-if there IS a next year-I WILL be packin'!"
Dale sat back, flabbergasted. So this is what it had come down to. He watched the two glare at each other. It was simply heartbreaking knowing that this was destined to tear these two apart.
"C'mon you two…stop this bickering! We can get this mess straightened out. Stop yer fightin'!"
Michael sighed, "You're right, it ain't worth fightin' over but you can see now some of the shit I've been dealin' with. I'd be in the top-five right now if I wasn't handed an assload of R & D equipment- not to mention getting' run over…" Junior's eyes blazed at that remark.
"I thought you were over that! You always drag this shit out and play it like yer throwin' some sort of trump card. What about all those times you just couldn't handle shit? Yer too depressed to drag yer ass outta bed and you just barely make it to the driver's meeting. Those times you'd take a winning car and just lay down half-way through the race? You threw away the last half of '03 because Jeff Green wrecked ya at Bristol. You never pulled yourself out of it and don't blame the equipment!" He smiled sweetly, "Like you said, it all comes down to the nut that holds the wheel!"
Wounded, Michael shot one last look at Junior and walked out the door. "I'll see you to the plane." Was all he said to Dale.
Dale quietly turned to Junior, who sat staring downcast at his feet. "If he's havin' depression issues, bringin' `em up, throwin' it in his face and and draggin' him the the ringer ain't the way to deal with it. You know better than that. He loves you to death, boy. Don't screw this up."
Junior shook his head, "I'm sorry, Daddy. We've all been under a lot of pressure lately. I'll go talk to him."
Dale sighed. I know God kept be around for some purpose but I ain't a miracle worker….
Maple View, NY
The smell of fresh coffee and old motor oil blended nicely in the cool morning air as Burt cursed the old truck that refused to part ways with it's old filter. Bolts long frozen with age and rust but perhaps a little Liquid Wrench would add just the right amount of persuasion to loosen them up. He casually flipped on the old Thomas radio in the corner, sitting amongst a cluster of old paint cans and snoozing cats. Ah, the Old Troubadour, Hank Snow, still walkin' the floor over you…these new kids can't hold a candle to him. About to pour himself another cup of mud, he looked up and grinned as Dale swung the sack of donuts on the work bench.
"Weeelll hey there, stranger! Thought you'd be on your way back to Carolina!" Inwardly, Burt was happy the old man had come back.
Dale helped himself to the coffee, "Well, there is some business I want to take care of….don't know if I'm gonna stay down there or not." He said quietly and shook his head. "Don't even know if I belong in that world anymore…so much has changed, Burt."
"Did you get a chance to see your son? Must've been one hell of a shock..."
Dale looked at him sadly, "He ain't the only one who got set up for a shock. Lessee…the company I built has been reduced from a top tier racing establishment to a mediocre outfit at best. My wife's livin' it up by sellin' my name on everything from teddy bears to jockstraps. And-oh yeah-my kid's gay and my best friend's his-his… uhm..boyfriend? Partner? I dunno…whatever they call their significant other these days…" He grinned sardonically, "I know that sounds like the worst punchline but I gotta laugh at it otherwise I'm gonna spend the day cryin' in my beer!" He took another sip of coffee and tore into a donut. "Well ain't this a bastard-no peanut donuts! What's this world comin' to?"
Burt's eyes widened a little and he whistled, "That kid that drives the Budweiser car and that big guy Mikey are…uhm involved? Well, that is a helluva situation…never woulda thought…" "Thing is, I don't really mind it. Mike's good for him-keeps the boy grounded if you know what I mean. He'll take good care of him. Thing is, Junior is lookin' at me to waltz right in and take over and he doesn't see to realize that it ain't gonna be that easy." He sighed, "I've already come to the conclusion that I don't want it anymore. Yeah, it was good to be back at the track but things have changed. I've changed."
"Like the old song goes, you can't go home anymore."
"So true, Burt. So true."
"So what are you gonna do?"
Dale paused, already dreading the impending confrontation with those who had taken so much away from him. "I'm goin' home-I do have a score of sorts to settle with the wife. I'm gonna make my presence known to those who hold the purse strings. I'm gonna make sure Junior and the kids have complete ownership in that company before Teresa runs it bankrupt. There's a couple other freeloaders that need to toe the line or I'm gonna send `em packin' too."
"Don't worry. Do what ya gotta do-take care of your business. You'll always have a home here."
He grinned. "Thanks Burt, I knew I could count on you folks. They say you're never given any more than you can handle but I have a feeling this is gonna be the hardest thing I've ever had to fix. If I can fix it, that is…"
Chapter 10
Daytona
June slipped away after Pocono, along with a season that had gone from one of promise to one bitter disappointment after another. Unbeknownst to the boys in Napa blue as they cheered home their driver under the checkers at Michigan, it would be their last top-10 finish of the year. Now, as the sun dipped blood-red over the mammoth banks and grandstands of a place that would be forever linked with heartache and victory in equal measure, there seemed to be a feeling amongst one team that this one race could be all the difference between success and failure. They all knew their driver was in the midst of his contract negotiations and his decision was the lynchpin for all of their futures.
The crew chief poured over his notes as a crewman ran one more coat of silicone polish over the glossy blue surface of the high-powered steel thoroughbred. Fresh from the wind tunnel, Tony Eury, Jr. shook his head in dismay over the practice times. She was still down in sheer horsepower and he wondered if the beast would survive this journey unlike her previous incarnation's untimely demise in the 500. The only car that could run with Tony Stewart's Home Depot machine suffered a terminal engine failure with 60 laps to go; erupting spectacularly on the front stretch, falling back through the pack like a crippled race horse and limping back down pit road in a cloud of smoke. Oh, if only she could've hung on! Michael would have loyally followed Tony to the last 10 laps and then the real race would be on. In his mind's eye, Stiffy could still picture Michael pulling ahead of Stewart and charging towards the checkers in a mad dash as he did at Talladega; dauntlessly fending off the likes of Stewart, Jeff Gordon and yes, his own team mate.
Ah, but the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, Stiffy mused. The reality of it all ended with a smoking, useless pile of junk, a heartbroken crew and a dispirited driver. Hardly championship material there. Still, Michael and the crew rallied on and for a few weeks, they were on fire. They seemed unstoppable for awhile with the skies the limit; clearly exceeding all expectations for this not-so-young gun. Something had happened after Pocono… perhaps it was lingering fall-out from that goddamn wreck at Lowes; something Stiffy wasn't quite sure if he had completely forgiven Junior for, cousin or not. Something was still amiss between the two-they were rarely seen associating with each other of late. "Lover's spat" a few snickered and Junior had no lack of eager suitors; men and women who vied for his attention. Michael, by his very nature, was moody and lately he had become down-right surly, especially when since these past two weeks had been spent in earnest review of his 2006 contract.
So engrossed in thought, Stiffy nearly jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. The burly form of Greg Zipadelli appeared out of the lengthening shadows with a broad grin. "Gonna be a good night for dancin' and I'm a-thinking we'll be needin' us a partner…or two."
"Huh?..Oh sorry, Zip…just caught me thinkin'…"
Zipadelli smirked, "Well don't hurt yourself, Stiffy. I just wanna know if that bitch is gonna last 400 miles." He jerked his thumb towards the Napa Chevrolet. "Y'know the outcome of the 500 woulda been a helluva lot different if your car didn't die."
Stiffy glared, "Do ya honestly think, Greg, that I've been thinkin' of anything else all weekend?? Do ya??"
Zipadelli shrugged, "Well, it wouldn't have been so bad if Jooyna hadn't bailed on Tony like that. When he blasted by Tony, you know that caught him off guard..that's why he got shuffled back there and became Johnson's personal piñata!"
"Hey…after 20 laps, all bets are off anyway. Junior thought he had enough car and he went for it. Tony woulda done the same thing- shit, he'd freight-train his own momma if it meant winnin' the 500 and you know it. So don't be cryin' them crocodile tears, Zippy. I know ya better than that."
"You and I both know Michael woulda stuck with Tony. He's got
enough sense on a plate track not to fuck it up for himself or his partner. I like Junior but he did Tony dirty back there." Zipadelli's eyes narrowed, "Smoke didn't forget that either. Mike might not be around for very much longer but Junior's gonna have to race with Tony for quite a while to come and he's always the first to bitch about not havin' any friends." He gave Stiffy a wary smile, "Little E ought not to be burnin' up his bridges out there…"
Stiffy sighed, he knew Zipadelli was right-Junior was his own worst enemy at times. If his own actions weren't getting him in trouble his irrepressible mouth was. "If Mikey can get behind Smoke, you know he'll be your wingman. But if he gets a run on Smoke those last few laps, it's gonna be `may the best man win'. 10 to go, we need a win too, Buddy."
&&&&&&&&&
Inside the Napa hauler, Michael leaned back against the leather couch and closed his eyes; before him on a small table, sat the last revision of his contract. He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up into an even more tangled mass of dark curls. Despite the cloying heat and humidity, his hands felt cold and clammy. He didn't need to read the contract or recall his last conversation with Gilmore and Teresa to know that it was over. Five years of his life was wrapped up in a neat, little package; to be reviewed further by his own legal counsel-if he chose to re-sign it. Many drivers in his position would've jumped at the chance- hell, this was job security! True, a steady job as an R & D driver with no chance to be competitive; spending the next year simply driving around in circles in questionable equipment. Certainly not the future that he or Napa envisioned befitting a top-tier competitor, he thought bitterly.
"Are you gonna sit there and brood all night?" Michael looked up from his reverie as Teresa sat beside him; her hand lightly resting on his thigh.
"I thought I might." He muttered petulantly. He felt like feeling a bit sorry for himself right now. His whole world felt as though it was slowly crumbling and there was little he could do but stand there uselessly holding an umbrella.
"Why don't you come out to the yacht tonight after the race? We can go anywhere you want-you can just escape for a little while, come back Monday with a clear head and you'll see that this is the best option we can offer." Her grip tightened just a little and her hand ever-so-slowly drifted further towards his lap.
Michael glared, "And I suppose you know just how to clear my head." His voice was a low growl. In no mood for games, his hands drifted to the fly of his firesuit, "Why don't you just cut to the chase and forget about the games?" When he saw her puzzled expression, he smiled thinly, "Ain't this what you want, babe? You've been chasin' my ass ever since his car hit the wall!"
"Michael!" Unnerved, Teresa backed away from him. The sudden cold look in his eyes genuinely frightened her as she became keenly aware of his size and strength. He could easily break her in two and right now was not the time for any power plays. "H-how could you say such a thing?"
Michael leaned close, his voice a deadly whisper completely devoid of it's usual sweet Kentucky drawl. "The question is, how could you do such a thing? You see, I know now. I know what you did to him and the lie you're presenting to the world."
Desperately trying to keep her composure, Teresa backed slowly towards the door of the hauler, "I-I don't know what you're talking about! You're absolutely mad, Michael and I'm pulling you out of that car! You're clearly in no shape to drive. Y-you're having some sort of a breakdown…!"
"Would you rather I announce his existence or would you rather he did it himself? Because if you pull me out of that car, the whole fucking world is gonna know what you did to him!" Michael hissed through clenched teeth. This conversation was over, he had to leave now lest far more physical emotions get the best of him. Furiously, he brushed past the stunned woman and stalked towards the garage.
Martin Truex barely avoided being run down as he stormed by him. Face flushed with the rage that was boiling inside him, he was obviously in no mood for any rookie questions. Standing nearby, Junior was quietly conversing with Tony Stewart-planning strategies for later no doubt-when he also noticed his highly agitated team mate. He cast one glance at Teresa's pale visage beside the hauler and that was all he needed to know that things best not revealed had indeed come to light. "O Fuck…" he muttered.
Stewart's black brows knitted themselves together, suddenly finding himself in the rather uncomfortable middle of a team feud. "June- what's up..?" Junior shook his head and walked away with an equally confused Martin towards the Busch garage. Stewart shrugged and trotted off behind Michael. Being something of a `holy terror' himself, it took a lot more than Michael to intimidate him.
Michael leaned against his car, his head falling into his hands as he leaned against the roof. Concerned, Stewart cautiously laid a hand on his shoulder. "Michael? Hey man, you ok??" Stiffy wandered over, equally concerned. He leaned close on the other side of Michael, glancing over at Stewart's worried expression when neither got a response.
"Mikey? Listen, bro…if you ain't feelin' up to it, we can get another driver…" Michael looked up sharply.
"NO!" he practically shouted, "I'm alright. Just got a lot of shit on my mind." Stiffy glanced at his watch, it was almost post time. Too late to find another driver if he wanted to. He glanced over to his pit box and noticed Teresa anxiously looking at them. Something major was going down here, he surmised but right now they had a race to run. She was motioning him to the war wagon, and that usually meant an impromptu conference.
"Take it easy, ol' man." He said simply, leaving Michael and Tony. Tony grasped Michael's arm. Daytona was not the place to drive under distraction and a driver who's head was not in the game could be a deadly menace out there.
"You are not ok. What happened back there?" Soft brown eyes peered questioningly up at him.
Michael sighed, "I'm driving for my life, Tony. And the harder I try to keep it all together, the more it feels like my world is falling apart. There's things going on right now that I can't talk about now…maybe later when things start getting sorted out but not now…" He knew he wasn't making much sense but the re-assuring squeeze on his shoulder seemed to make him feel a little better that somebody actually gave a damn about him.
"Mike, I'll try and stay with ya, man. We'll work together, ok?" Tony looked casually towards the Budweiser Chevrolet and could almost feel Junior's gaze boring into him. Michael nodded as he swung his long legs into the car. "Take it easy, Michael."
"Thanks, Smoke-for everything." Michael gave him a sad smile as he slipped into the Napa Chevy's cockpit.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Maple View, NY
Dale turned on the small television and settled himself on the ratty recliner. He had planned on heading down a few weeks ago, but those damned spells kept coming back. For the past few years-even before his fateful wreck-he would occasionally suffer a mild case of vertigo. But this time, blinding headaches added to his misery. Oh, he knew they would pass soon enough but until then, it was best that he simply stayed put.
On top of the headaches and dizziness, just the thought of leaving the place he called home now actually terrified him. Yes, terrified him. Just the thought of facing Teresa again…he honestly didn't think he could drum up the courage again. She had beaten him and left him but a shell of himself.
He looked settled down as the race unfolded. Daytona was always something to see a night-the cars flashing by under the lights looked as if they had come to life. He watched the 15 pounding it's way through the ranks and held his breath as several cars folded together in a heap of smoke and twisted metal. Fortunately, the first dozen or so escaped unharmed and he smiled as Michael settled himself not far behind Stewart.
The green flag waved and he held his breath as the 15 bobbled at the restart. Dammit Michael! You were always terrible on a restart! But no, it was more than a missed shift-a flat! Double damn! His heart sank as the orange nose of Jeff Burton's car punted the dark blue Monte Carlo towards the apron, neatly clipping Greg Biffle's machine in the process; leaving both cars ruined and smoking.
"Awww Mikey…sonofabitch!" Dale watched the in-car camera on Michael as he sat still in the car. He couldn't help it but a tear found it's way down his cheek as he could only imagine the torment his old friend was feeling. He fingered the cell phone in his pocket. No, not now, perhaps I'll wait a little longer. Might not even be able to get through to him…
He watched the rest of the race, silently the ramifications of his sudden appearance back from the grave. Would it make any difference? Did he even belong in that world anymore? Years ago, he would have been barking orders and trying to figure out what went wrong before it ever did. Now, here he was, an old man crying over his friend's wreck and getting all sentimental over a flat tire! He did understand one thing-if he was going to be of any use, he had to become the man he once was and put his own demons behind him. Chapters 11-12