Badger’s genial smile began to tighten at the corners, and he stood very still.
“We haven’t really thought it all out yet,” Conley went on. “There are half a dozen possibilities, I think. Of course, we could have you sign photos. I know you’re used to that, but we were thinking-and, you know, Badger, this is just off the top of my head here, but I was thinking…good-looking stud like you, boy…What about a kissing booth? Wouldn’t that be a hoot?” He winked and leered.
Badger’s expressionless stare did not waver. He did not move a muscle.
Happily unaware of the effect of his little suggestions, Conley went barreling on. “And we’d have a slogan, something like…oh…If You Haven’t Got Badger, Try Vagenya.” He turned to Suzie, as if noticing her for the first time. “What do you think?”
Suzie was spared from telling him what she thought, because at that moment, Christine Berenson, who had not been privy to the discussion, glided in, wineglass in hand. She took Badger by the arm and led him away toward another clump of guests. She waited motionless beside him until the chattering died down, and then, still clutching his arm, she announced to the group, “You know, Badger is not only a great driver, he’s also something of a humanitarian. When Suzie here visited him in his hometown, he had just rescued a large injured turtle from the local lake. A motor boat had cut its shell, and he actually saved its life.”
Her listeners responded with a suitable assortment of oohs and aahs and a few seconds of muffled applause. One large woman in flowered silk who was either an animal lover or an opportunist hugged Badger again, professing her admiration for his noble efforts.
Badger bore all this attention with a modest smile, but he wasn’t forthcoming with any information about the rescue, so that finally Christine was forced to ask, “And how is the turtle?”
Solemnly, Badger Jenkins said, “Why, ma’am, he was delicious.”
Suzie Terrell’s smile had turned into a rictus by the time she had managed to steer Badger across the threshold of the reception room and out into the hall. He was still trying to wave as she slammed the door behind them.
“Wal,” he said, “I don’t know about that Vagenya guy…”
“Shut up!” she hissed.
“No, I’m serious,” said Badger. “I try to be as accommodating as I can to the team sponsors, but I gotta tell you, that kissing booth idea of his just made my skin crawl. There ain’t no way I’m doing that. You tell them, all right? It’s not in my contract, stuff like that. Not even close.”
Suzie waved away his concerns about the Vagenya schemes. “You ate that turtle! You ate that poor defenseless, endangered-What is wrong with you?”
He shrugged and began to walk off down the corridor, but she ran after him and grabbed him by the elbow. “You barbarian!” she hissed. “How could you?”
Badger shrugged and tried to pull away, but she tightened her grip on his arm, and when he saw tears spring into her eyes, he sighed and patted her shoulder. “Okay,” he sighed. “I didn’t eat the turtle. He’s fine. Jesse down to the body shop is keeping him right now, and my buddy Paul is building him a little pen at my lake house with a little spring-fed pool for him to swim in. If the vet ever says he’s well enough to go back in the lake, we’ll turn him loose next time I get down there, and if he doesn’t ever get fit for the wild, I reckon I’ll just keep him around.”
Suzie stared. “Then why did you tell them that you’d eaten him. Did you want those women to think you were a Neanderthal?”
He nodded unhappily. “Sorta,” he said.
“But why? They pay your salary! Don’t you want them to like you?”
He thought about it. “Well, to tell you the truth-not too much.” When her horrified expression did not waver, he shook his head. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get out of here, and I’ll explain it to you on the way out.”
“I can hardly wait to hear it,” muttered Suzie. “Has your medication worn off? Is that it?”
“Look, I like animals, okay? Always have, from the time I was a little kid. And I know that ladies are real soft-hearted when it comes to animals-well, from a distance they are, anyhow. I mean, you try to keep a raccoon in the bathroom or a garter snake in your sock drawer and they’ll sing a different tune, but they like to think they like animals. You know, in the abstract.”
“Uh-huh. So?”
“So you told them about my big wounded turtle, and they were getting all misty over it, and the next thing you know they’d want to know what its name was, and then they’d try to send little presents for it. Turtle booties or something. And then they’d want to come see the turtle. Somebody would tell a reporter and a cutesy story would turn up in a tabloid, and then five hundred fans would send me turtle key chains, turtle tee shirts, turtle everything. And then they’d try to get Turtle Wax to sponsor the damn car. Then everybody would want the thing brought to the track. One time Junior Johnson’s sponsor made him race with a live chicken in a cage in his car. Don’t think any of us will ever forget that. I’m not taking any chances on having a damn turtle for a copilot.”
“Okay, but did you have to say that you’d eaten it?”
He shrugged. “Well, it saved a lot of argument. It’s a snapping turtle, anyhow, so he’s not exactly sociable. You ever see a snapper the size of a garbage can lid? This boy bit the tip off a broom handle one day. Anyhow, by telling that lie, I didn’t have to hurt those ladies’ feelings by telling ’em they couldn’t come by to see my turtle.”
Suzie smiled sweetly. “Yes, I expect a lot of women want to see your turtle, don’t they?”
He shrugged and looked away. “That Christine woman sure does,” he said. “I need to keep my distance from her.”
Her last remark had reminded Suzie of another matter she needed to mention to Badger. “By the way, speaking of seeing your turtle, I think the team wants our new publicist to write a feature article about you in your natural habitat.”
His brow furrowed. “What’s that mean? They wanna come to my house?”
“Well, yes, but not to your place in Mooresville. They want to send someone back to Georgia to see where you grew up. You know, the life and times of Badger Jenkins.”
“Follow me around and all?”
“Right. Take photos, put together a little human interest story about you. Would that be all right?”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind, if she doesn’t get in my way. I don’t want to spend my day off sitting around being interviewed. But if I can do my fishing and all while she asks me stuff, it’ll be all right.”
“Good. I’ll have the publicist call you to decide on the particulars. Her name is Sark.”
He nodded solemnly. “And does she want to see my turtle?”
Suzie did not trust herself to reply.
CHAPTER VII
Taran Stiles reread the online notice in Engine Noise for the third time. All-woman pit crew… That bit of information interested her somewhat, but what really caught her attention-what held her so spellbound that her luncheon cheeseburger cooled into a puddle of grease in its wrapper on her desk-was the other bit of information tucked in the article. Unable to contain her emotion at this momentous news, she let out a yelp of joy, right there in the office.
Matt Troxler, in the next cubicle, rolled his chair back until he could see her computer screen. “What is it now, you silly git?” he asked, in tones suggesting that he didn’t want to know. “A long-lost Tolkien manuscript discovered?”