Once Around the Track

“When do they need me?” he asked.

“Well, this afternoon,” said Deanna. “At one o’clock. But I checked on the whereabouts of that textile mill you’re visiting, and they are too far apart. You’d never be able to get to the hospital in time.”

Badger nodded. He looked up at the black-rimmed clock on the wall behind the desk. Five minutes until ten. “Which Roush driver is sick?” he asked.

Deanna told him.

“He’s a good guy,” said Badger. “He’s doing this for nothing, of course.”

“Yes, I’m sure he is-or was. Before he got the stomach flu.”

He ran his hand through the bristles of his newly cropped hair. “Yeah, he would. He’s not rolling in money, either. Not yet, anyhow.” He sighed. “Did you tell them I had another commitment?”

Deanna shook her head. “I told them I’d ask you and let them know.”

“So you think I should do it?”

She gasped. “Oh, I would never tell you what to do, Badger. I just didn’t want to make a decision without consulting you first.”

“I appreciate that, Deanna.” He sighed again. “I think I ought to go. Look, is there anybody around today who could go with me? Is Sark here?”

“No. She e-mailed her press release about the race and said she wouldn’t be in. Almost everybody is off today. Well, Rosalind Manning is here. The engine specialist. She stopped in for coffee on her way to the shop, but she’s not a publicist. She doesn’t seem at ease with people somehow. I mean, she’s polite and all, but…”

“She’s smart, though,” said Badger. “Went to MTA, didn’t she?”

Deanna fought to keep a straight face. “MIT,” she said. “But they’re both found in Cambridge.”

“Whatever. I just need somebody to carry the autograph cards and help me field questions in case any reporters show up. And, you know, keep me on schedule. I have a real hard time saying no to people, even when I know I have to.”

“I’m sure she’d be glad to go with you,” said Deanna, who wasn’t sure at all, but she could not imagine anyone turning down a chance to spend the day with Badger. “If you were going, that is.”

“Call them back. Tell them I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” said Melodie Albigre from the doorway. There was a dangerous lilt in her voice, and she was jingling her keys as if she might throw them at his head.

Deanna, who had picked up the phone and was in the process of punching in the number of the Roush office, gasped at the sound of the Restrictor Plate’s voice. She started to replace the receiver, but Badger touched her wrist, and said, “No. Keep dialing, Deanna,” he said. “It’s all right.”

Melodie made a show of consulting her watch. “We need to get going, Badger,” she said. “You know what traffic is like on I-85 on weekday mornings.”

Badger nodded. “I can’t go,” he said.

“What do you mean you can’t go?” She swept into the room, her voice rising with every step she took.

Thank God for cordless phones, thought Deanna, scurrying toward the back room just as someone on the other end of the line picked up. She figured that as long as she was out of earshot she’d call Rosalind’s cell phone, too, and tell her to get to the office as fast as she could. Badger needed rescuing.

“I can’t go to the textile mill,” said Badger, who was using his slowest drawl and wearing his most mournful retriever expression in hopes of averting the coming storm. “Something important just came up.”

His manager’s scowl suggested that she ate retrievers for breakfast. “Something came up, did it? Where is Tuggle? She can’t schedule practices on my day.”

Badger hesitated. Tuggle would back him up. She said she would. Any time he needed an excuse, she said, he could claim he had a team meeting, and she’d swear it was true. He sighed. The hospital appearance would probably make the local papers, anyhow, which meant that Melodie would find out sooner or later. Why postpone her tantrum? Besides, Badger generally told people the truth, anyhow. He was handsome enough to get away with it. In his experience, people usually forgave him for whatever it was he had done to piss them off. And if they didn’t, well, there were always more people to replace them in his constellation.

“I’m filling in for a Roush driver at a visit to a children’s hospital,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed until they looked like knife slits in her doughy face. “Why should you?”

“It’s an emergency. They asked me.”

“I see. And how much are they paying?”

“It’s sick children, Melodie. I don’t want any money for doing it. It’s the right thing to do.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are so hopeless! When NASCAR finally dumps you, you’ll be living in a packing crate and sharing your last can of Alpo with one of the other has-been field fillers.”

Badger’s eyes glistened and he took a couple of deep breaths. Finally, he said, “Maybe so.”

For form’s sake, Rosalind knocked on the already open door. “I heard you were looking for me,” she told Badger. “Deanna told me about your appearance today. I’m ready if you are.”

Deanna, who felt it was safe to return to the room now that reinforcements had arrived, rushed to her desk and began rummaging in one of the lower drawers. “Don’t forget your autograph cards, Badger! And I have a new box of Sharpies that you can take.”

“I’ll take them,” said Rosalind, eying Badger’s Restrictor Plate with a look that bordered on civility. She had overheard that last exchange, and her expression suggested that she had not liked it. “We should get going, though. That signing is at twelve, isn’t it?”

Badger and Deanna looked at each other, both remembering that he was scheduled to appear at one. “Yes!” they said in unison.

They turned to leave, but then another thought occurred to Badger. “Do you reckon they want me to wear m’ firesuit?”

“Do it,” said Rosalind. “Little kids love purple.”

Melodie’s cell phone began to chime. “I see I’m wanted elsewhere,” she said, glancing at the caller ID. “Hopefully with someone who is cooperative, and therefore capable of being helped. I’ll talk to you later.” She swept out without waiting for a reply.

Rosalind picked up the stack of autograph cards and stuck out her tongue at the retreating figure of Badger’s manager. She murmured to Badger, “Well, now that we’ve got the restrictor plate off your carburetor, go change into a firesuit, and let’s go see some kids.”

Rosalind drove her BMW, because oddly enough Badger didn’t mind being chauffeured around by other people. She put him in charge of the directions, which had been faxed over from Roush headquarters.

“Do you want to talk shop?” asked Rosalind, when they were safely onto I-85 heading south. “I don’t have much in the way of chit-chat. I’m an engineer. With all the social deficiencies that implies.”

“Fine with me,” said Badger. “I’m still tired from yesterday.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a question first?”

Badger had leaned back and closed his eyes. “Shoot.”

“Why do you put up with that fourteen-carat bitch who runs your life?”

He opened one eye. “Melodie? Oh, she’s an expert. Got a college degree and awards and everything.”

“Who told you that?”

“Oh, she did. She’s not a bit shy about telling folks her qualifications. She’s going to help me hook up some business deals.”

“But surely there are lots of management people who could do that. Why do you put up with someone who treats you like a stray dog with mange?”

“I guess I’m used to it,” said Badger. “Women always end up treating me like that sooner or later. They say it’s the only way they can get my attention.”

“But doesn’t it bother you? Tuggle would like to beat her with the jack handle, just from having to watch her hassling you.”

Badger sighed. “Tuggle hassles me, too.”

“Not like that, though. Tuggle is tough, but I think she likes you. She respects you, anyhow. But that woman acts like you’re something she stepped in.”

“Well, if she makes me rich, I guess it’s worth it.”

“Fine. Whatever,” said Rosalind, who wouldn’t have put up with such treatment for any amount of money.