Once Around the Track

manufacturers. “Nicely done,” she whispered to Badger. “Before they leave, I’ll talk to them about increasing their sponsorship.”

“I just told them the truth,” said Badger, edging away from her.

“Well, you might want to resist the urge to do that. The man by the punch bowl is the representative of Vagenya.”

Badger blinked. “Senator Allen?”

“Not Virginia! Va-gen-ya. Our primary sponsor. You know, the drug for women that- oh, never mind.” She patted his arm and smiled. “Just try not to discuss it. By the way, perhaps you and I could have dinner some time to discuss the direction we want to go with this team.”

Badger nodded solemnly. “Tuggle and I would be happy to talk to you about that, ma’am.”

Christine opened her mouth to say that Tuggle’s presence would not be required, but something in his eyes made her think better of it. So he wasn’t an innocent little redneck, after all, she thought. He’s like a fox cub. If cute will get him what he wants, he’ll use it, but if not, he can bite with the best of them. Interesting. Motorsports was more complicated than it seemed in all sorts of unexpected ways.

Then they were within hailing distance of the pharmaceutical company representative, who hastily set down an overfull glass of wine in order to shake hands with Badger. “Charlie Conley, Badger. Pleasure to meet you.” His eager expression suggested that he had a pocketful of die-cast cars, but if so, he didn’t produce them.

“How you doin’,” said Badger, whose retriever affability always made him look glad to see anybody.

“We’re really excited about sponsoring your car this year, Badger,” said Conley. Then he winked. “No pun intended.”

“Glad to have you on board,” said Badger. “I hope we have a real good year.”

Someone had come up with a camera and motioned for Badger and Conley to pose together, which they did with equally perfunctory smiles and hardly a break in the conversation.

“Well, we’ll be cheering you on. We’re even getting a skybox at Charlotte. People at corporate will get a thrill out of meeting you.”

Badger nodded. “I’ll be there.” He managed to sound as if he had been ordered to take a machine gun nest singlehanded-bravely resigned to his fate, but determined to do his duty. It was an endearing expression, Suzie thought. You’d trust Badger with your life and not think twice about it.

Conley smiled. “You know we had another idea that you might get a kick out of, Badger. In a couple of weeks we’re going to be doing a pharmaceutical trade show to kick off Vagenya-you know, show the world our new wonder drug. And we were thinking it would be just a great attention-getter to have you there.”

Badger’s genial smile began to tighten at the corners, and he stood very still.

“We haven’t really thought it all out yet,” Conley went on. “There are half a dozen possibilities, I think. Of course, we could have you sign photos. I know you’re used to that, but we were thinking-and, you know, Badger, this is just off the top of my head here, but I was thinking…good-looking stud like you, boy…What about a kissing booth? Wouldn’t that be a hoot?” He winked and leered.

Badger’s expressionless stare did not waver. He did not move a muscle.

Happily unaware of the effect of his little suggestions, Conley went barreling on. “And we’d have a slogan, something like…oh…If You Haven’t Got Badger, Try Vagenya.” He turned to Suzie, as if noticing her for the first time. “What do you think?”

Suzie was spared from telling him what she thought, because at that moment, Christine Berenson, who had not been privy to the discussion, glided in, wineglass in hand. She took Badger by the arm and led him away toward another clump of guests. She waited motionless beside him until the chattering died down, and then, still clutching his arm, she announced to the group, “You know, Badger is not only a great driver, he’s also something of a humanitarian. When Suzie here visited him in his hometown, he had just rescued a large injured turtle from the local lake. A motor boat had cut its shell, and he actually saved its life.”

Her listeners responded with a suitable assortment of oohs and aahs and a few seconds of muffled applause. One large woman in flowered silk who was either an animal lover or an opportunist hugged Badger again, professing her admiration for his noble efforts.

Badger bore all this attention with a modest smile, but he wasn’t forthcoming with any information about the rescue, so that finally Christine was forced to ask, “And how is the turtle?”

Solemnly, Badger Jenkins said, “Why, ma’am, he was delicious.”

Suzie Terrell’s smile had turned into a rictus by the time she had managed to steer Badger across the threshold of the reception room and out into the hall. He was still trying to wave as she slammed the door behind them.

“Wal,” he said, “I don’t know about that Vagenya guy…”

“Shut up!” she hissed.

“No, I’m serious,” said Badger. “I try to be as accommodating as I can to the team sponsors, but I gotta tell you, that kissing booth idea of his just made my skin crawl. There ain’t no way I’m doing that. You tell them, all right? It’s not in my contract, stuff like that. Not even close.”

Suzie waved away his concerns about the Vagenya schemes. “You ate that turtle! You ate that poor defenseless, endangered-What is wrong with you?”

He shrugged and began to walk off down the corridor, but she ran after him and grabbed him by the elbow. “You barbarian!” she hissed. “How could you?”

Badger shrugged and tried to pull away, but she tightened her grip on his arm, and when he saw tears spring into her eyes, he sighed and patted her shoulder. “Okay,” he sighed. “I didn’t eat the turtle. He’s fine. Jesse down to the body shop is keeping him right now, and my buddy Paul is building him a little pen at my lake house with a little spring-fed pool for him to swim in. If the vet ever says he’s well enough to go back in the lake, we’ll turn him loose next time I get down there, and if he doesn’t ever get fit for the wild, I reckon I’ll just keep him around.”

Suzie stared. “Then why did you tell them that you’d eaten him. Did you want those women to think you were a Neanderthal?”

He nodded unhappily. “Sorta,” he said.

“But why? They pay your salary! Don’t you want them to like you?”

He thought about it. “Well, to tell you the truth-not too much.” When her horrified expression did not waver, he shook his head. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get out of here, and I’ll explain it to you on the way out.”

“I can hardly wait to hear it,” muttered Suzie. “Has your medication worn off? Is that it?”

“Look, I like animals, okay? Always have, from the time I was a little kid. And I know that ladies are real soft- hearted when it comes to animals-well, from a distance they are, anyhow. I mean, you try to keep a raccoon in the bathroom or a garter snake in your sock drawer and they’ll sing a different tune, but they like to think they like animals. You know, in the abstract.”

“Uh-huh. So?”

“So you told them about my big wounded turtle, and they were getting all misty over it, and the next thing you know they’d want to know what its name was, and then they’d try to send little presents for it. Turtle booties or something. And then they’d want to come see the turtle. Somebody would tell a reporter and a cutesy story would turn up in a tabloid, and then five hundred fans would send me turtle key chains, turtle tee shirts, turtle everything. And then they’d try to get Turtle Wax to sponsor the damn car. Then everybody would want the thing brought to the track. One time Junior Johnson’s sponsor made him race with a live chicken in a cage in his car. Don’t think any of us will ever forget that. I’m not taking any chances on having a damn turtle for a copilot.”

“Okay, but did you have to say that you’d eaten it?”

He shrugged. “Well, it saved a lot of argument. It’s a snapping turtle, anyhow, so he’s not exactly sociable. You ever see a snapper the size of a garbage can lid? This boy bit the tip off a broom handle one day. Anyhow, by telling that lie, I didn’t have to hurt those ladies’ feelings by telling ’em they couldn’t come by to see my turtle.”

Suzie smiled sweetly. “Yes, I expect a lot of women want to see your turtle, don’t they?”

He shrugged and looked away. “That Christine woman sure does,” he said. “I need to keep my distance from her.”

Her last remark had reminded Suzie of another matter she needed to mention to Badger. “By the way, speaking of seeing your turtle, I think the team wants our new publicist to write a feature article about you in your natural habitat.”