The Big Cat Nap by Rita Mae Brown

Author:Rita Mae Brown [Brown, Rita Mae]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-345-53239-8
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-04-02T16:00:00+00:00

The thick odor of high-test gasoline, rich exhaust, and burning rubber assailed Harry’s nostrils. The screaming of the engines, on the other hand, thrilled her, just as Beethoven thrilled a music lover.

Waves of heat wiggled up on the tarmac from the exhaust pipes. Friday night, 7:00 P.M., the sun was still about two hours from setting at this exact spot in Waynesboro. The temperature was still in the high seventies, the day’s warmth hanging on.

Racing continued throughout the weekend, but Friday nights drew the fellows fresh from work, eager to roll and without big-enough wallets to compete with the Saturday men. The semipros used Central Virginia Hot Rod Track on Saturdays and Sundays. Those big dogs knew how to use the bleach box—also called a burnout pit—to heat their tires before reaching the staging area. Warm tires held the track better. But even the fellows with lighter wallets knew how to get their front tires just right. The staging lights were lit, next the big ambers, then green, and vroom. Sometimes a driver would miscue and the front end of his car would stand up: sure way to lose a race. The top fuel dragsters could do a quarter mile in 4.9 seconds at close to 200 mph. But even at the lower level, the driver’s body was subjected to close to 4.9 g-force pressure. It was a wild high.

True to her word, BoomBoom accompanied Harry. Alicia was in Richmond for a fund-raiser for the Virginia Historical Society and was only too happy to miss the noise and smell. Fair accompanied Alicia, as he, too, adored history and would read anything about Virginia history. So it worked out perfectly for both couples, each member having an escort, each member doing what he or she truly wanted to do.

The two women perched high on the bleachers.

Conventionally gorgeous, BoomBoom drew many an appreciative stare. But the men then looked at Harry, a far more natural-looking woman. Two good-looking women new to the viewing stands lifted spirits. The two high school classmates wore short-sleeved thin blouses, Bermuda shorts with espadrilles. BoomBoom fanned herself with an old-fashioned palm-frond fan, the kind that used to be given out in church during the summers.

“What do you think a paint job like that costs?” Harry indicated a flaming orange—a kind of burnt orange—on a Camaro with the black numeral 15 on each side.

“Metallic painting costs more, and that’s an unusual color.” BoomBoom squinted. “I guess five thousand for starters. I mean, to get that depth of color would take countless applications, and the paint would need to be really thin.”

“Bet you’re right. God, when you think of the money spent on these cars, it’s pretty overwhelming.”

“Yes, it is, but the people I worry about are the ones who don’t have a passion. The ones who always worry about the money and how everything has to make sense.”

“Are you criticizing me?”

“No. You worry about money too much, but you don’t lack passion. You love your horses, the farm. I’d have to say you even love your crepe myrtles.

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