Courting Disaster

It was a low moment for a woman who secretly prided herself on her good sense, and quietly laughed at all those people who thought she was a dim bulb who fell off the turnip truck at regular intervals. Not about to confess her deepest shortcomings, Elizabeth prudently kept silent.

Rebecca humphed. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me. Me, the person you work with day in, day out. Me, who has toured the last twelve months with you, sharing after-concert French fries, when Calder and Peter refused because it was bad for their hearts. Me, your friend. You don’t have to say a word, you keep those secrets all to yourself, but I’ll be watching….”

“There’s nothing to tell,” answered Elizabeth, wishing the words from her new song weren’t whirling in her head. So easy to fall into the dark pull of desire, to sell my soul for what I see in your eyes…

“‘…innocence lost can never be found,’” sang Rebecca, in a breathy imitation of a woman on the verge. “That’s a woman ready to leap off the bridge, Bethy.”

“I’m not jumping off any bridge,” she said, sounding just like a woman on the verge.

“It’s a metaphorical bridge, Elizabeth.”

“I’m not jumping, metaphorical or otherwise,” snapped Elizabeth.

“I think it’s high time you did,” said Rebecca, “We’ve been playing together for five years, and I’ve watched you go from one useless boyfriend to another, without a backward glance. Three dates and they’re out, just like in baseball. But you never wrote a song about a single one of them. Ever. Now you think you’re going to escape a full-blown interrogation? Oh, no. Honey, when you do, you have to tell me all about it. I want to hear every single, sordid detail.”

Sordid details ran through Elizabeth’s mind like late-night cable television—scintillating, titillating, late-night cable. Desperate to escape, Elizabeth checked her watch. “Peter is going to shoot you for keeping us late tonight, Rebecca. He’s got plans for this evening.”

Rebecca snickered. “He won’t be mad after I tell him what we were talking about.”

“You can’t!” hollered Elizabeth, a lot louder than she intended.

Rebecca wiggled her brows. “See, I knew there was something to tell. You’re getting a break today, but just remember…I’ll be watching.”

Chapter Five

She hadn’t planned on watching the racing trials on Friday. Elizabeth had hair to wash, fingernails to polish, but there she was, sitting in the tippy-top row of the stands, camouflaged in a blue cotton skirt, with a scarf on her head and Hollywood sunglasses over her eyes—so hopefully he wouldn’t notice. And she didn’t think that he did, because the stands were full and the track down below was busier than any beehive she’d ever had the pleasure to study up close.

It was a hair-raising experience watching the low-slung cars and the whole crew of mechanics that did everything but wipe the windshield and buff the tires. She kept telling herself that driving a racing car was not hazardous to anyone’s health, but her eyes were trained on the red car with the hot-looking driver, and every time he went around the track, her nerves followed in those same fast-wheeling curves, dragging her stomach along behind. It wasn’t pretty, and Elizabeth thought it wasn’t healthy—not only for the low-slung cars, but for her, as well.

The whole circuit format was new to her. These weren’t circles, but sharp, winding turns that didn’t seem to scare anybody but Elizabeth. The engine buzzing was loud in her ears. Even from the top of the stands, it was louder than the speakers at one of her concerts, ringing in her head. The first time around, all twenty-one cars raced, but then a few minutes passed and officials came and eliminated some from the track. Both of Sterling’s red cars stayed in. A few minutes later, the officials returned, kicked off more cars, and this time there were only ten cars left, including the two red ones.

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