Revving It Up Box Set by W.S. Long

Author:W.S. Long [Long, W.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2018-10-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Caleb straightened his tie, cleared his throat, and tried the best he could to make it look like he was comfortable. He’d been at the Speedway over an hour, and he’d met, re-met, and reintroduced himself to several in the organization as well as several of the other owners.

How does Joan do this day in and day out?

When a server brought around a tray, he eagerly grabbed a champagne glass. He’d turned down beer, wine, and champagne for the past hour, but he couldn’t resist this time.

Hell, maybe the time will pass faster.

Gnawing at Caleb was his realization that he was a stranger now in a strange land. Since Earl told him there would be no third car, and the likelihood of driving in a major race was not in the remote future, Caleb seemed adrift in the charity event. From the corporate hospitality lounge, he peered down to the track. Groups were taking a walk along the track and its infamous thirty-one degree angle turns. With the backstretch gone from the renovations, the suite box had a greater view of the oval.

I should be driving on the track, not doing this here.

Caleb heard Joan before he saw her; her voice caught his ear.

“Now, here’s my baby brother, even though he’s much taller than me.”

Caleb faced her and prepared to smile, and chitchat as he’d down for the past hour but when he saw whom she was talking to, he threw out his hand to shake Wendell Watson’s hand. “I’m Caleb Youngblood.”

“I know,” I’m a fan.

“Really? I mean, that’s great.” Caleb blushed at his over eagerness. Wendell’s recent album had just come out and Caleb had been a fan since his first album three years ago. Joan smiled next to another man who stood behind Wendell.

“Listen, I’d like to take a selfie, so my wife won’t call me a liar. Do you mind?”

“Oh, I can take the picture,” offered Joan.

“Sure, that’d be great,” said Wendell. He promptly fished out his cell phone from the back of his Wrangler jeans and handed it to Joan who then took it.

“All right, smile.” Joan took one picture and then changed the position of the one. “Let me take a couple more.”

“You have a really good album out. I love that song, ‘Midnight Rain’.” Caleb caught himself. Shit. I’m acting like a teenager.

The man next to Joan spoke up. “Well, I’m glad you liked it. It’s a great song. I’m Tom, Tom Jacques by the way.”

Tom stood slightly taller than Caleb and had graying hair on the sides. Wendell appeared much thinner than his album covers suggested, solid square jaw, a nose broken a few times from Alabama bar brawls, from his days as a bouncer before he made it big. Wendell’s face broadened to a crooked smile. “Tom’s my agent. He’s booking me to sing the American anthem or something here for the 400.”

“You raced in the 400 last year, right?” asked Tom.

“Yes, he did. He placed second.” Joan beamed. “And Cujo Bannon, who beat him by a few seconds, now races for Youngblood Racing.

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