The Perils of Paulie (A Matchmaker in Wonderland) Page 12

  Kell stopped by my table as the meal was coming to an end and said acidly, “I hope you will have more team spirit tomorrow and not attempt to make us lose again. I didn’t come all this way just to sit around in a car and see a country full of idiots.”

  “That’s rather rough, don’t you think?” I asked calmly, instinctively knowing that the best way to deal with his temper was to keep a firm grip on mine. “I’ve enjoyed the people I’ve met here thus far, and the scenery will get quite spectacular when we approach mountains, or so my brother told me.”

  Kell’s lips were thin when he snapped out, “Shows what you know. Just do your job and don’t get in my way.”

  I thought about suggesting to Paulie that we spend the night together, but since she had already left, I figured she had other things to do.

  Better things. More interesting things.

  “God, I hate it when I get maudlin,” I said aloud on the way back to my room, and shook the glum mood off.

  By the next morning, I’d given myself several lectures reminding myself that I had no intention to get involved with anyone and that, although a little mutually satisfying sex wasn’t wrong, it was better if I had no intentions beyond that.

  “The race is only for a month,” I told myself when I loaded my things into the car for the early-morning start. “After that, you return home and she goes back to California. There’s no future there.”

  “Talking to yourself again, old man?” Rupert asked, taking his place in the backseat of the car.

  “Shut it,” I told him amiably, ignoring the glare that Kell gave me as he climbed in behind the steering wheel.

  “Right,” Kell said, glancing at his phone before tucking it away inside his motoring jacket. “Let’s try something a little different today. The cameras like action, so we’re going to give them some.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Rupert asked, leaning forward to hear the answer over the sound of the engine roaring to life.

  “We’re not getting nearly enough camera time. That daughter of d’Espry is hogging all the attention, and if she thinks I’m going to put up with the antics of an amateur, she can think again. Either we get the bulk of the filming, or I’ll leave. My agent has leads on a couple of new reality shows starting up, so I don’t need a show where I’m hardly seen.”

  The car lurched forward to the waiting crew, who were sending racers off in five-minute intervals. We took our place in line, Rupert and I exchanging glances while Kell outlined a plan that was frankly fantastic. “There’s a town named Rudsville that we’ll pass in the afternoon. While we’re there, two men are going to pretend to rob a petrol station and will speed away. We’ll hop into action and chase them down. After calling d’Espry to let him know what’s going on, of course, so he can be sure to film us in pursuit.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” I asked him. “That’s the most ridiculous setup I’ve ever heard. Who did you find to agree to that?”

  “Two mates of a friend of mine. They won’t really rob the station,” Kell snapped. “You don’t have to get all holy on me. God! If I’d known I was going to be forced to be part of a team that had no idea what it’s like to be on a reality show, I’d never have agreed to this.”

  “I don’t think Dixon is out of line questioning this plan,” Rupert yelled as we hit the motorway and Kell shifted into a higher gear. “What do you expect to get out of that plan?”

  “Camera time. I thought I made that clear!” Kell bellowed.

  “But what’s it going to look like?” I asked, also yelling. “We chase down a car, and then what? We can’t arrest the people, and I doubt if these men are going to agree to being arrested just to make you look heroic.”

  “They’ll get away. We’ll express our regret that we couldn’t do more and then will continue on our way—an example of British justice at its best.”

  “What justice?” Rupert asked, but Kell didn’t answer.

  We drove on. I tried to make notes on the scenery, but there wasn’t much that elicited interest. By the time we hit Ohio, I was contemplating throwing Kell out of the car.

  “Maybe that would give him the camera time he wants,” I complained to Rupert while we were stopped for Kell to have a toilet break behind some blackberry bushes alongside the road.

  “I hear you, Dix. Maybe if we talk to d’Espry—”

  “It won’t do any good,” I said wearily, looking up when the white Thomas Flyer sailed past us. From the back of the car, an arm shot up and waved. I smiled and lifted a hand in return, even though I knew that Paulie wouldn’t see it.

  “What’s this?” Rupert asked, cocking an eyebrow at me before looking after the car. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a smile of a man who was interested in a woman. That was the suffragette car, wasn’t it?”

  “What are we going to do about this mad plan of Kell’s?” I asked, blatantly changing the subject.

  Rupert shrugged. “Nothing we can do to stop him if he insists on doing it. Best I can say is that we stay out of it if he does bring the cameras in to watch us. That way, we won’t look like the fool he will most certainly appear.”

  “I don’t know why he can’t be content with focusing on the race. There’s enough here to keep us interested, especially once we get done with this timed business and can truly race.”

  “I heard a rumor that we won’t be doing the part through China,” Rupert said, taking his place behind the wheel when Kell emerged from behind the bushes.

  “Why? I was looking forward to seeing China, even if we were only going to be there for a few days.”

  “Word is that the visas that Roger had applied for are not coming in. Something about the government not wanting to give permission for the film crew to be there.”

  “What’s this about the film crew?” Kell plopped himself down in the backseat and took up his phone, glancing up and swearing under his breath when the Italian car passed us, the camera car right behind them. “Dammit, get going! Let’s not waste any more time.”

  “You’re the one with the weak bladder,” Rupert said, but obediently started the car and pulled out into the traffic. “Kim said we might be skipping China.”

  “Who’s Kim?” Kell yelled.

  “Production assistant. Blond. Big tits. Visa trouble with China,” Rupert recapped at the top of his lungs.

  “Oh. Good. Never wanted to go there in the first place.”

  An hour later, Kell insisted we pull over to the shoulder. We’d just passed the Thomas Flyer at a roadside stand (I assumed it was stopped for a restroom break), and all was well until Kell became agitated. Reluctantly, I pulled over, surprised when he shoved me out of the seat. “Just going to call d’Espry and tell him we witnessed a station robbery and are in pursuit.”

  “Kell, don’t do this—” I started to say, but Kell held up an imperious hand and proceeded to tell Roger a tissue of lies. “Roger! It’s Kell! Where are you? Good, you’re ahead of us. You’re not going to believe this, but we’re at a petrol station just outside of Rudsville, and two men ran out of the station with guns waving and hopped in a car to race off. Clearly they just robbed the place, and we’re chasing them now. If you get a camera crew up here, you should be able to get some exciting footage!”

  “For the love of god,” I murmured, and moved to let him take the driver’s seat. I looked straight at the camera on the windscreen and said loudly, “I want a record that I’m dead against this deception.”

  “Me too,” Rupert said, leaning over the backseat. “It’s a mad plan.”

  “The robbers are in a small white sedan. There are two of them. The car has a bunch of bumper stickers on the back,” Kell told the phone, and yanked hard on the acceleration lever, sending us jerking forward. “Look, lads—there they are! Let’s get ’em!”

  To the right of us, a small white car
sat waiting at a petrol station. It was exactly as Kell described, and as we passed it Kell waved his arm wildly. The driver of the white car responded with a similar signal. It pulled out and quickly overtook us.

  “Hanging up now, Roger,” Kell yelled. “It’s too dangerous to talk and drive. We could be killed if I don’t give this wild chase all of my attention.”

  I couldn’t help it—I rolled my eyes . . . at least I did until we passed another petrol station. This one had a familiar long white car sitting at a pump. Coming around the side of the building, Paulie emerged at a run. Standing in their car, d’Espry’s daughter waved her hand, clearly calling to Paulie. At the wheel was the woman named Melody, hurriedly wrapping a big white veil of netting around her head.

  “There’s the suffragette car,” I called as we sped past.

  “Good! They were ahead of us. It means we’ll make up some time,” Kell bellowed in reply.

  The wind ripped away the rest of his words. I glanced worriedly at the dials set behind the steering wheel, noting that we were now speeding along at a rate of fifty miles per hour. Although the cars more or less were equipped with modern engines that didn’t require hand cranking and were infinitely more powerful and reliable, the frames of the cars were original and not built for high speeds. We’d all been warned about pushing the cars over the limit of fifty-five, a speed that we found made the De Dion shake horribly.

  “Slow down!” I yelled, pointing at the gauge when Kell applied more pressure to the accelerator lever. The car began to make a horrible rattling noise.

  “We have to make a show of it,” Kell answered.

  “He’s going to shake the tires off,” Rupert shouted, leaning over the back of my seat. “What the hell is he thinking?”

  “He’s not. That’s the whole prob—”

  The word stopped in my mouth as a white bonnet appeared to my left and a raucous horn sounded.

  Rupert and I both turned to watch, astonished, as the Thomas Flyer pulled past us. In the backseat, swathed in white veil, Paulie waved and mouthed something, giving us a thumbs-up as their car pulled past.

  Kell snarled something anatomically impossible and wrenched on the lever to give the car more speed. Snatches of words could be heard over the sound of the rattling and wind: “. . . they think they are doing . . . Roger told them. I will have my agent . . . stupid bitches getting in the . . .”

  “Slow down!” I screamed, clutching the windscreen when it began to vibrate furiously. I was afraid the damned thing would come out of its frame and smash over us. “Kell, you’re going to tear the car apart!”

  “We’re fine! It’s just noise! I’m not going to let those bitches beat me to the camera!”

  I turned my head. Next to my shoulder, Rupert was gripping the back of my seat, his knuckles white. “Call d’Espry,” I yelled. “Tell him Kell is trying to kill us.”

  “You do, and I really will!” Kell screamed over the noise of the engine, car, and wind.

  Rupert ignored him and pulled out his mobile phone and dialed.

  A high-pitched scream of anguish emerged from Kell’s open mouth. At the same time, I saw ahead of us the Thomas Flyer on the side of the road along with a small white sedan and a third car belonging to the camera crew. The cameraman stood on the hood of their car, filming as the ladies bounded over tall grass edging the road. Beyond them, two dark shapes bolted into a dense growth of trees.

  A car approaching from the opposite direction screeched to a halt on the shoulder, and Roger emerged.

  Kell began pounding on the steering wheel, obscenities polluting the air around him. I relaxed my hold on the windscreen as we started to slow, then suddenly was thrown forward, my head hitting the wooden dash of the car. Kell slammed on the brakes, still swearing profanely. The car fishtailed and skidded, one of the tires exploding loudly while we continued to skid to an eventual stop halfway off the shoulder into a shallow ditch.

  “Christ!” Rupert yelled, fighting with his seat belt. “What the hell do you think you are doing? You could have killed us! Dixon, are you all right? There’s blood all over your face.”

  The car shuddered slightly when a large lorry passed us. I sat up and felt my forehead, my fingers coming away red. “I’m all right despite Kell’s attempt to send me through the windscreen.”

  Kell didn’t wait to hear more from us. He ripped his seat belt off and leaped out of the car, running to where Roger was standing with the film crew. Across the field of tall grass, the three ladies were slowly returning.

  “That’s it,” Rupert said, his face grim. “I’m done with this race. I hate to be a quitter, but life is too valuable to be riding around with that madman.”

  “I agree, but I’m not going to quit.” With shaking hands, I got my seat belt undone and crawled out the side of the car away from passing traffic. “I am, however, going to demand that Roger replace Kell. He’s a downright menace.”

  The cameras had turned from the women, now almost back to their car, to where Kell was storming up and down in front of Roger, his hands waving wildly, his face contorted with anger.

  One of the women veered away and trotted over to where I stood clutching the side of our car.

  “Dixon, the most exciting thing happened! Roger called us to say that someone had just robbed a gas station just down the road from us—holy shitake! You’re bleeding!”

  My head throbbed now, causing me to flinch back when she ran up and reached for my head. “Don’t,” I said, more roughly than I’d intended, especially when I saw the hurt in her face. I grabbed her wrist and continued. “Not because I don’t want you invading my space. My head hurts. I don’t want it touched.”

  “Oh,” she said, relaxing, and pulled a couple of tissues from between her breasts. “How about if I dab up the blood running down your cheek? I won’t come near the cut. What happened to you?”

  I let her dab at my face, flinching when she got close to the wound. “My head hit the dash. I’m sure it looks worse than it is.”

  “You’d better see a doctor anyway.”

  “Perhaps.”

  5:43 a.m.

  Fell asleep last night writing up the day’s adventures. No time to add to it now. Must remember to pick up the story later.

  Paulina Rostakova’s Adventures

  JULY 24

  6:22 p.m.

  Room 28 of local motel somewhere in Wyoming

  Well! So much has happened in the last couple of days. I haven’t had time to write it all down, but I’m going to catch up now while I’m waiting for Dixon.

  The most interesting was the day that Dixon and I got together in his hotel room (the second day of the race) when I was all sorts of conflicted. Not for myself, but for him. He said it wasn’t a problem, us being all itch-scratchy with each other, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s one of those men who holds on to grieving to protect themselves from ever being hurt again.

  I wanted to talk to him about that, but we had to get down to the dinner that night, so instead I dashed across the hall into my room and took a shower. I was late to the dinner and could see that Dixon was busy with other people, so I sat with Melody. Louise and two of the Italian team joined us almost immediately.

  “How did your first day go?” Luca asked when Louise stopped hogging all the conversation. “You had the flat tire, yes?”

  “It was a bit hairy because I was worried the bolts would come off, but fine otherwise.”

  “Hairy?” he asked, his face screwing up.

  “Sorry. In that circumstance it means difficult. How did your day go before your engine crisis?”

  He shrugged. “Carlo, he wants to drive all the time, but he is bad at it. Francesco misses his wife, and talks to her on the phone the whole day. Me, I don’t like driving the old car, but it is part of the day, so I do it.”

  “Sounds like there are
personality clashes in more than just our car,” I said, my eyes on Louise where she was leaning over while talking to Carlo, giving him the opportunity to see down her sleeveless shirt. “We did have some excitement when Roger told us about a gas station holdup. We lit out after the robbers and caught up with them, but they ditched their car and bolted before we could get to them. It was all very thrilling, if slightly anticlimactic at the end.”

  “Ah, yes, I heard about that. Carlo, he says that the TV star will leave the show because it wasn’t him that ran the robbers off the road, but Fra and I don’t think he will leave. He likes that camera much, that one.”

  “Fra?” I asked; then it clicked. “Oh, Francesco. I’m kind of in your camp on that—he’s like someone else I could mention, and very caught up with who has the maximum exposure on camera.”

  I refrained from looking at Louise, who was, at this moment, scanning the room to see if anyone had a live camera (they didn’t).

  “It is so. You have a husband?”

  I was a bit startled by the change of subject. “No, I don’t.”

  “Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

  I hesitated for a couple of seconds. “No boyfriend or girlfriend.”

  “Good.” He flashed extremely white teeth at me in a broad smile. “We go to bed, then? I like the ladies with plumpness.”

  I sat up straight, sucking in my gut as I did so, then immediately released it, because I’d be damned if I let some man’s idea of what women should look like matter to me. “I beg your pardon?” I said stiffly.

  He made a gesture in the breast region. “Plumpness. Is not the word? I like women with bodies like in the paintings of Raphael, yes?”

  “Bully for you,” I said, then amended it by adding, “Look, I appreciate that you like women of size, but I’m not interested.”

  He frowned. “You said you do not have boyfriend?”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m going to hop into bed with you.” I glanced toward where Dixon was sitting, wondering if there was room at his table for one more, and if there was, if it would appear clingy on my part to go sit with him.