DRAG STRIP DATE (sixth installment)

Here is the fifth installment of Drag Strip Date.  In this episode Darla and Luke return to the track.   Darla meets some new friends, and confronts a person from her past.

Synopsis:

Darla Rigs is a freshly minted medical doctor with a bright future.  She’s escaped a bad relationship and moved to Victoria, British Columbia.  But now she’s met Luke Bertolucci, a philosopher/stone mason.  Darla likes Luke a lot, but will she be able to put the past behind her and start fresh?

DRAG STRIP DATE (sixth installment)

by Jerry Donaldson

Tonight at West Coast Speedway the action was on the quarter-mile oval dirt track.  By the time Darla and Luke arrived the heat races were done, and the main event was set to begin.  The grandstand was full of rowdy, cheering race fans, and the couple found seats near the very top row, where there was space and a chance, as Luke so gracefully put it, “to suck some face.”

“Ouch,” said Darla, “that sounds a little graphic.” But she knew what he was getting at, and she was on the same page.  A little privacy to snuggle, and neck a bit, maybe feel each other up. But, the Inner Voice was feeling prim and proper tonight.

“It would make sense,” the Inner Voice said, “to do this indoors.  Not out here in the open where anyone, a patient for example, could see you.”

Oh, balls to that, thought Darla, I want to get into this trip!  Beer, hot dogs, noise, baseball caps and dirt. And, after last night, when Luke had unceremoniously left her, unfucked and unsatisfied, at the end of the evening, she was feeling reckless and enthusiastic.  So, bring it on, start the race and let’s get into it. She was beginning to see West Coast Speedway as the ultimate getaway, much more fun than guitars, ukuleles and quiet discussions about eighteenth century German philosophy.  Gee, who knew?

So, seated way up at the top of the grandstand, with a giant yellow “Pennzoil” banner right behind them and paper cups of beer in hand, Luke and Darla huddled together.  A nice, cool night-breeze had come up, and Luke had brought a giant blanket with grizzly bears on it and wrapped both of them in it.  On the track two dozen colorful open-wheel race cars were lining up in pairs, preparing for the green starting flag.  It was just possible to carry on a conversation over the sound of revving engines.

“This race is sprint cars, and it’s the feature race,” said Luke.  “The cars down there on the track worked their way through the eliminations earlier in the evening, and now they will do 40 laps to decide the over-all winner.”

Darla placed her hand in Luke’s lap and stroked his manhood.  She felt it stiffen through his flannel slacks. She leaned in close and slid her tongue into his ear.  “Ooh,” she teased, “I love it when you talk dirt-track to me, big boy.”  But Luke was determined to finish his short lecture on dirt track racing.

“Dirt track racing has been around for a hundred years,” he declared. “The track is not dirt, really, it’s clay.  And it’s not smooth, it’s full of rocks and whatnot.  The cars have 800 horsepower V-8 engines.”

And then, the green flag dropped, the thunder of a two dozen roaring motors rolled up the grandstand and washed over them, and conversation became possible only by shouting.  And, just like last night at the drag strip, she felt herself drawn in, consumed by the spectacle before her.  Several laps into the race the cars had spread out a bit.  Each car sported a large wing on the roof (“for down-force,” Luke shouted into her ear), and was covered in sponsor’s advertising.  The driver’s cockpit was protected by heavy wire screen (“to keep the rocks out”).  The cars slid madly into the turns, and accelerated down the short straightaways in a spray of wet clay.  Darla was transfixed.  She began to stroke Luke’s member through his flannel slacks, slowly, steadily, persistently.  She felt his breathing quicken.  He was rock-hard.

Man, that feels good, Luke thought¸ Smart, sexy, funny:  this gal’s got it all.  And yet, he was cautious.  Since he’d ended his marriage to Rita and moved to Victoria, he had avoided romantic encounters.  He told himself that was necessary in order for him to focus on his graduate studies.  And, truly, between the University and his part-time stone masonry job, he was a busy man.  But he’d been floored by Darla.  Since the first day they met (could it really have only been a little over a week ago?), he had thought about little else.  Thoughts of Darla filled his head every waking hour.  And the way he responded to her, that was new too.  He was living a bold, manly fantasy, living free and easy and basking in her presence in a way he could not have dreamed as recently as last month.

Because the end of his marriage to Rita had been far messier than he had let on.  And, if he and Darla were to continue on into a real, grown up relationship (which seemed to be a possibility), he would have to come clean with her, tell her about what his relationship with Rita had really been about.  But, first, he would have to come clean with himself about that chapter of his life.  Find his way through the fog of shame that clouded the matter and made moving forward impossible.  Luke had made great strides forward academically and socially here in the Garden City, true.  But the wreckage of his life in Toronto in the final years was weighing him down and preventing him from moving into the next phase of his life, and from becoming the man Darla deserved.

And tonight, sitting in the grandstand with Darla snuggled up close, he felt ready to break clear of the past.  And he resolved to have a heart-to-heart with Darla . . . beautiful, sexy, wonderful Darla . . . and let the chips fall where they may.

“Holy moly,” said Darla, jumping to her feet.  “Look at that!”  Down on the track two cars, fighting for the lead mid-way through the corner, had tangled wheels, and a collision ensued.  Other cars plowed into the two leaders, and there was a major pile up.  The crowd leaped to its feet and a roared as one person.  On the track cars crashed into each other and slid in every direction.  One car, number 101, rolled over and over and wound up in the infield, upside down.  Parts of sprint cars flew through the air.  One of the cars caught fire, and flames licked all around the driver as he fumbled with his safety harness, trying to break free of his burning car.

“Watch the corner marshalls,” Luke shouted into Darla’s ear.  “They know just what to do.  Watch for the yellow flags to come out.”

All the cars involved in the pile-up had now finally come to a halt.  At intervals around the track corner marshalls were waving yellow flags, and the drivers who had, through luck or design, avoided the pile-up slowed their cars and maintained their positions.  A cloud of smoke hung over the area.

“Yellow flags mean caution, and don’t pass,” Luke said.

“Don’t they stop the race?” Darla said, “What if someone’s hurt?”

“That’s the red flag, and it only comes out in the absolute worst cases,” Luke replied. “Pile-ups are part of the sport.  The cars are fitted with roll cages and harnesses, and the drivers have safety suits and helmets.  And sprint cars are top-heavy, so they roll over a lot.”

“I guess,” said Darla.  She was unconvinced, and she wondered briefly if she should volunteer to get involved.  But, men with fire extinguishers were running to the scene, and soon the burning car was extinguished and the driver freed, apparently uninjured.  Other drivers got out of their crashed cars, and walked off the track.  The cars that could still roll were pushed off the track onto the infield, and tow-trucks with flashing lights arrived to remove the more badly damaged cars.  Track workers with brooms, shovels and pails moved about picking up parts and pieces.   In the infield half a dozen race workers surrounded the flipped car, several of them on their knees and apparently communicating with the driver.

“See,” said Luke, “they’ve done this many times before.”  And Darla relaxed a bit.

Soon the clean-up was almost complete and the track was clear.  The yellow flags were still waving and the cars still in the race continued to travel around the oval, though at far less than race speed.  But in the infield the race workers still surrounded the upside-down Car 101, and the crowd of race fans grew quiet.  A gate at the far end of the grandstand opened to allow an ambulance to cross the track and drive onto the infield, its lights flashing.

“I hope he’s okay,” said Darla.  Luke said nothing.

The minutes ticked by and the crowd was quiet.  Every eye was on Car 101.  The ambulance stopped near the scene, and two paramedics got out to join the group surrounding the wrecked sprint car.  But there was no sign of the driver and Darla feared the worst.

Then, the group of race workers around the car pulled back, and Darla saw an arm appear though the driver’s side opening.  Willing hands pulled back the wire safety mesh and a second arm emerged, and then a helmeted head.  And then the driver hauled the rest of his body clear of the car and onto the grass of the infield.  And still the crowd held its collective breath.  The driver lay there on his back while the paramedics fussed over him.

And then, the driver was getting slowly to his feet with a paramedic on each arm.  And still the crowd was silent.  The driver walked an uncertain two or three steps with the paramedics’ assistance, then he stopped and waved them away.  He stood there slowly unfastening his helmet, and still the crowd waited.

Then the driver of car 101 took off his helmet and thrust it up, stiff-armed, over his head. The crowd exploded into a mighty roar of cheering and whistling.  The driver shook his long red hair loose, and he waved at the crowd with his free hand.  He walked around waving and blowing kisses, and the crowd loved it.

Darla exhaled loudly, realizing that she had been holding her breathe.  “Wow,” she said, “he’s okay!”

“Yes indeedy,” said Luke.  “He’s hamming it up a bit, but the fans are right into it.  And I guess he earned it.”  The crowd continued to roar and cheer and whistle, while in the infield the all the drivers and race workers shook hands and slapped each other on the back.

In due course the race resumed, and too soon (in Darla’s view) it was all over.  The winning driver burned donuts on the track in celebration after the checkered flag, and was then joined by his crew for an ecstatic round of backslapping and high-fives, while the crowd cheered and cheered.  Eventually, Luke and Darla worked their way down off the grandstand, and joined the crowd of race fans streaming slowly to the exits.  On the track the pit crews were loading their cars up onto trailers for the ride back to their home garages.

“They come from all over the Island,” Luke said.  “The cars damaged in the big pile up will be repaired over the next few days, and they’ll all be back next Saturday night.”

To Darla that was reassuring, comforting almost.  “So, they’ll all get another chance,” she said.  By now the young couple was in the dark parking lot, headed back to Darla’s little Honda.  On impulse, Darla pulled Luke to a stop, then reached up and pulled his face down to meet hers.  The young lovers exchanged a long, deep, delicious kiss that went on and on.  Tongues intertwined and each drank deeply of the other’s breath until the outside world shrank away to nothing and there was only now.  Luke, sweetheart, lover, she thought, take me now! I can’t stand it, my heart is full, my ears are ringing and I’m yours!  And the kiss went on and on.   Until the honking of a car horn intruded, and they remembered they were standing squarely in the middle of the road to the exit.  They turned their heads, bathed in in the headlights of the honking car, frozen in place like the proverbial deer.

Darla moved first.  She broke off the embrace and tugged Luke out of the way of the honking car.  But, then the passenger’s window rolled down, and a male voice was speaking her name from the waiting car.

“Doctor Riggs, hello, hello,” the voice said.  Darla peered at the car more closely.  Then the passenger door opened and a familiar fat man squirmed out and straightened up with a grunt.  It was Glenn, whom she had last seen being loaded onto a stretcher in the men’s change room at the YMCA.  He was wearing a blue nylon windbreaker with “Argus Towing” in a circle on the back, and his name embroidered across the shoulders in gold letters.

“Doctor Riggs, I’m Glenn Ransom.  I didn’t thank you for helping me this morning, I’m so happy to see you,” Glenn said.  “Are you a race fan?”

“Hello, Glenn, I’m happy to have been of assistance,” Darla said. “And, yes, I consider myself a race fan.”  She turned to Luke and said, “Luke, this is Glenn.  He and I met at the “Y” this morning.”

“Pleased to meet you, Glenn,” said Luke, leaning in to shake Glenn’s hand.

“The same,” said Glenn.  “Doctor Riggs is being very circumspect and correct in protecting my privacy, but I don’t mind telling you that she and I met while I was undergoing a full-on epileptic seizure.  The paramedics told me how she helped me while I was unconscious, and they told me her name.  I didn’t have the opportunity to thank her at the time.”

“And you, Glenn,” said Darla, “I guess I don’t have to ask if you enjoy the Speedway.”

Glenn chuckled, “Yes, I can say without reservation that motorsports are a big part of my life.  The epilepsy prevents me from holding a race licence, so I crew for one of the sprint car teams.  Let me introduce you to a couple other team members.”  Glenn turned and beckoned to the car idling in the aisleway. “Come on out, guys,” he said. “Come and meet some people.”

The driver’s door and both back doors opened; two men and a woman got out and walked over.  All three wore the same blue “Argus Towing” jacket that Glenn wore, and Darla recognized the two men immediately. One was Warren, whom she had last seen with young, blond Charlie in the men’s change room at the “Y”.  And the other was the red-haired driver of Car 101, last seen on the infield with his helmet thrust defiantly skyward, as if challenging fate to take its best shot next time.  When the red-haired driver turned to close the car door behind him, she saw his name on his jacket: Lance.

“Doctor Riggs,” Glenn said, “I think you know Warren, and this is Lance, our red-hot driver, and Emily, his wife.”  Handshakes were exchanged all round.

“That was quite a crash, Lance,” said Darla.  “We were a little worried.”

Lance scuffled his feet and looked anywhere but at Darla’s face.  She couldn’t see clearly in the dim light of the parking lot, but she’d swear Lance was blushing.  “Oh, yes, on Lap 9, me and Donnie mixed it up a bit,” he said.

“Donnie drives for the JP Autoparts team,” said Glenn.  “They are our main rivals.”

“Donnie’s fast,” added Lance.

“Not as fast as you, sweetie,” said Emily.  She was a head shorter than Lance, with blond hair and big glasses.  She smiled up at Lance and he bent down and kissed her.  A horn honked.

“Hey you guys,” a man’s voice shouted from a large four-wheel drive pickup that had pulled up behind the Argus Towing team car.  “Get a room!”

“That’s Donnie,” said Warren, tugging on Glenn’s sleeve. “He wants to go home.  So do I, so do I.”

“That’s right,” said Glenn.  And then in a loud voice, so that Donnie and the JP Autoparts team could hear him from their idling pick up truck, he said “The JP team’s in a hurry to get home and make their car fast enough to keep up with the big boys!”

“Wait until next Saturday night!” Donnie shouted back.

“We’d better go,” Glenn said to Darla. “Thanks again, Doctor Riggs, and nice to meet you Luke.  Hope to see you next weekend.”

And then the Argus Towing racing team, Glenn, Warren, Emily and Lance got back into their car and left the parking lot in a spray or gravel.  The JP Autoparts team was right behind them.

“Wow,” said Lance, watching the two sets of taillights disappear up the road.  He turned to Darla and pulled her into his arms.  “You’ve had a big day, cookie.”

“Yes,” she said, “I guess I have.  She placed her cheek against his white shirt (he still wore his necktie), and she pressed the entire length of her body against his.  She listened to his breathing and the beating of his heart.  She felt warm and comfortable, and the two of them stood there as other cars passed, pulling out of the parking lot.  We are all there is, she thought, Luke and I, we are love.  By now it was after midnight, and Darla was beginning to feel a little done-in.  More than done-in, she was bone-tired.  But happy.  Warm, contented, whatever words fit.  And, she realized, home in bed was where she needed to be.

“Luke, lover-boy,” she said, “Let’s call it a night.  I’m beat, I’ll drive you home.”

There was no push-back from Luke on this.  Truly, he knew he wanted Darla badly. More badly than he had wanted anything.  He yearned to take her to bed, and to make slow, serious love to her until they both lay sated and exhausted, watching a pale yellow sun rise into the gathering dawn.  A dawn that could be the first dawn ever, the emergence of a beautiful new world in which he and Darla were the first two people.  A new world where the two of them became one and all their problems were behind them.  But it was late, and he knew he still had to clear away his Toronto wreckage, in order to be able to come into that new world clean and strong and new.  To be the whole person she deserved.

So, the two of them got into her little Honda and drove back into town.  Arriving at the old converted house where Luke lived in his tidy studio apartment, Darla pulled to the curb, put the car in park and threw herself into Luke’s arms.  They kissed long and hard, and he held her against him while she nuzzled his neck and purred helplessly into his ear like a cat for several minutes.  Then she said, “Okay. You, out.”

“See you tomorrow?” he said from outside the car, leaning down to speak through the passenger’s window, a huge grin on his face.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, and I’m sleeping in,” Darla replied.  “I’ll text you after lunch.”

“Goodnight,” he said.  She watched him turn, walk up the front steps of the house and go inside.  And then she drove toward home through dark, quiet street, smiling. What a wonderful evening, she thought, I’m in heaven!

She made the final turn onto her street, and drove to her building mid-block.

Parked in front of her building was an all too familiar black BMW.  Her heart dropped. Conor had found her.

(to be continued)