been like that from the very start of the race.
I finished the drink, put the glass down on the refrigerator top and went back into the bathroom. I turned on the cold water and plugged in the portable Jacuzzi whirlpool pump and watched the clouds of steam leap from the churning water while I stripped down. The bathroom was filled with steam by the time I eased myself into the hot water.
I leaned my head back against the tub and let the churning water push away at the aches and pains in my bones. I tightened up my gut and closed my eyes. It happened again. Like it always happened every time I closed my eyes for the past five years.
I saw the first lick of the flames coming up from the engine against the windshield. I down-shifted into the curve and fought the wheel. The high wall came up in front of my face and we hit at one hundred and thirty-seven miles per hour. The beast went up on its nose and hung there for a moment while I stared into the roaring stands, then the flames reached up and we went over the wall into them. The sick sweet smell of my burning flesh and scorched hair came into my nostrils. In the distance I could hear myself screaming.
I opened my eyes and it was gone. I was back in the tub with the Jacuzzi singing its soothing song. Slowly I closed my eyes again.
This time it was all right. I floated in the water.
The telephone began to ring. Modern motels have everything. I reached across the john and took the telephone from the wall.
“Mr. Perino?” the long-lines operator singsonged.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Loren Hardeman calling. Just one moment, please.”
I heard the click and he came on. “Angelo, you all right?” There was a genuine concern in his voice.
“I’m okay, Number One. And you?”
“Good.” He laughed. “I feel like a kid of eighty-five.”
I laughed. He was ninety-one on his last birthday.
“What the hell is that noise?” he asked. “Sounds like you’re going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. I can hardly hear you.”
I reached over and cut the Jacuzzi. The roar faded. “That better?”
“Much,” he said. “I’ve been watching television and saw you go into the pit. What happened?”
“Valves burned out.”
“Where do you go next?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “The only thing I’ve penciled in for sure is Watkins Glen. But that’s not until the fall.” I heard the outside door open and Cindy’s footsteps come toward the bathroom. I looked up and she was standing in the doorway. “I thought maybe I’d go over to Europe for the summer and try the action there.”
Her face was expressionless. She turned back and went into the other room.
“Don’t do it,” he said. “It’s not worth it. You’ll get yourself killed.”
I heard the refrigerator door slam and the clink of ice in the glasses. She came back with two Canadians on the rocks. I took one from her hand and she put the cover down on the john and sat there. She sipped her drink.
“I won’t get killed,” I said.
His voice was flat. “Quit now. You haven’t got it any more.”
“I’ve just had a run of bad luck.”
“Don’t give me that crap,” he said. “I watched you on TV. I remember when you wouldn’t give up a turn to God. On that last lap before you went in you left a hole big enough for Coxey’s Army to drive through.”
I was silent. I took a pull at my drink.
His voice softened. “Look, it’s not so bad. You had some pretty good years. In ’63 you were the number-two driver in the world. You would have been number one in ’64 if you hadn’t climbed that wall at Sebring and been laid up for a year.”
I knew just what he was talking about. And I had the nightmares to prove it.
“I think five years is enough time for you to give yourself to find out you haven’t got it any more.”
“What do you think I should do?” I asked sarcastically. “Join the ‘Wide World of Sports’ as a commentator?”
A touch of asperity came into his voice. “Don’t
I finished the drink, put the glass down on the refrigerator top and went back into the bathroom. I turned on the cold water and plugged in the portable Jacuzzi whirlpool pump and watched the clouds of steam leap from the churning water while I stripped down. The bathroom was filled with steam by the time I eased myself into the hot water.
I leaned my head back against the tub and let the churning water push away at the aches and pains in my bones. I tightened up my gut and closed my eyes. It happened again. Like it always happened every time I closed my eyes for the past five years.
I saw the first lick of the flames coming up from the engine against the windshield. I down-shifted into the curve and fought the wheel. The high wall came up in front of my face and we hit at one hundred and thirty-seven miles per hour. The beast went up on its nose and hung there for a moment while I stared into the roaring stands, then the flames reached up and we went over the wall into them. The sick sweet smell of my burning flesh and scorched hair came into my nostrils. In the distance I could hear myself screaming.
I opened my eyes and it was gone. I was back in the tub with the Jacuzzi singing its soothing song. Slowly I closed my eyes again.
This time it was all right. I floated in the water.
The telephone began to ring. Modern motels have everything. I reached across the john and took the telephone from the wall.
“Mr. Perino?” the long-lines operator singsonged.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Loren Hardeman calling. Just one moment, please.”
I heard the click and he came on. “Angelo, you all right?” There was a genuine concern in his voice.
“I’m okay, Number One. And you?”
“Good.” He laughed. “I feel like a kid of eighty-five.”
I laughed. He was ninety-one on his last birthday.
“What the hell is that noise?” he asked. “Sounds like you’re going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. I can hardly hear you.”
I reached over and cut the Jacuzzi. The roar faded. “That better?”
“Much,” he said. “I’ve been watching television and saw you go into the pit. What happened?”
“Valves burned out.”
“Where do you go next?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “The only thing I’ve penciled in for sure is Watkins Glen. But that’s not until the fall.” I heard the outside door open and Cindy’s footsteps come toward the bathroom. I looked up and she was standing in the doorway. “I thought maybe I’d go over to Europe for the summer and try the action there.”
Her face was expressionless. She turned back and went into the other room.
“Don’t do it,” he said. “It’s not worth it. You’ll get yourself killed.”
I heard the refrigerator door slam and the clink of ice in the glasses. She came back with two Canadians on the rocks. I took one from her hand and she put the cover down on the john and sat there. She sipped her drink.
“I won’t get killed,” I said.
His voice was flat. “Quit now. You haven’t got it any more.”
“I’ve just had a run of bad luck.”
“Don’t give me that crap,” he said. “I watched you on TV. I remember when you wouldn’t give up a turn to God. On that last lap before you went in you left a hole big enough for Coxey’s Army to drive through.”
I was silent. I took a pull at my drink.
His voice softened. “Look, it’s not so bad. You had some pretty good years. In ’63 you were the number-two driver in the world. You would have been number one in ’64 if you hadn’t climbed that wall at Sebring and been laid up for a year.”
I knew just what he was talking about. And I had the nightmares to prove it.
“I think five years is enough time for you to give yourself to find out you haven’t got it any more.”
“What do you think I should do?” I asked sarcastically. “Join the ‘Wide World of Sports’ as a commentator?”
A touch of asperity came into his voice. “Don’t
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