All eyes were on Angela as she walked back to her car. Once she actually left, Pete turned back to me. “Are you serious?”
“I know, right?” Rob said. “I’d never leave the house.”
The remaining two sessions were more of the same, just coming to grips with the way Pete’s Boxster handled and delivered its power to the ground. It was nice to come back to the garage and see Angela’s smiling face between sessions, but I felt a bit guilty about her basically just sitting around while I had my fun. She didn’t seem to mind, though, so I tried to not give it any thought.
The guys lifted the car and yanked the wheels as soon as I pulled in after my three o’clock session on the track. It amazed me how fast Joachim and Manny changed the tires using the human-powered tire machine in the back of the trailer. In the forty minutes gap between sessions they had the wheels off, swapped the race tires on the rims, balanced them all, and had them mounted on the car and ready for me to roll.
“Don’t forget,” Joachim warned as I put on my helmet. “These tires are cold. Take the first lap easy, the second lap a bit harder, and on your third lap they should be up to temp.”
For the most part I did as instructed, but I did goose the accelerator a few times to get the back tires to step out, just to judge the traction.
It was true- the race tires had much less grip when cold than the street tires did. Once they warmed up, though, they stuck like glue and gave me the ability to sail around the track with confidence. By the end of the session I had the race tires at their limits (and even beyond a few times), so I had a pretty good feeling of what they’d be able to manage during the timed run later.
Back at the garage the guys had the car lifted and the warmers going immediately- they wanted to keep those things nice and toasty. Manny had checked my position in the queue so they would know just how long they could leave it before I had to take my place in the starting lane.
“Baby, I know what this means to you,” Angela said, holding my hand and looking me in the eyes. “And Pete told me that you said you’d buy him a new one if you wrecked his race car. But I want you to go out there and don’t even think about it. I don’t want you to wreck, but I do want you to win. If that means maybe you trash his car, well, we’ll just get him a new one and he’ll be happy with that, alright?”
“I think I understood that,” I said, smiling. “And don’t worry- I’m going to do my best.”
When I was time to go, I gave Angela a kiss before putting my helmet on, and she immediately bolted for the grandstands to watch. I pressed the start button and that Boxster’s motor sprang to life, ready and eager to run.
I made my way to the hot pit lane just in time to see the car in line ahead of me start their run. The marshal waved me up to the starting line, then a little over a minute later I was off on my warm-up lap. I accelerated hard, then braked hard for turn one just to get a bit more heat in the tires. The five minutes off the warmers wouldn’t have sapped too much heat, especially since the tarmac was plenty hot, but still… hotter was better with race-spec tires.
By halfway around my warm-up lap I was at full speed, feeling relaxed and focused at the same time. That little car was nice and easy to drive, and did just what I asked of it. The hot race tires made a lot of difference in the car’s ability to corner, which was pretty stellar to begin with. The grip was so good that the engine was more of a limiting factor than the traction driving out of the turns.
From the late apex of nine onto the front straight I kept my foot flat to the floor, willing those three hundred and some horses to life. I kept my foot in it later than I could have in my Spyder, since the car weighed hundreds of pounds less. When I finally stepped on the brakes for one, I was well past the markers that I’d been using in the 918.
One went flawlessly, just as I’d expected it would. That car of Pete’s was a willing and able accomplice in my goal for speed, and did its best to give me as much velocity as I wanted.
By the time I sailed through nine and up the front straight again, that little Boxster and I had come to an understanding. I understood what it was capable of, and it understood just what it was I was asking of it. As silly as it may sound, I felt a twinge of regret on the cooldown lap- regret that I’d be handing the car back to its rightful driver. It was one heck of a fun track toy, after all. The GT3 required so much more of me as a driver, and so much more of a time and money commitment, but the Boxster, well, I could have had plenty of fun with a car like that with no mechanics, no trailer, nothing. Heck, you could drive it to the track day, if it were actually registered legal for the street.
I rolled back to the garage content with my time, whatever it turned out to be. I’d gotten the most I was going to get from that car, and left nothing on the table.
Setting my helmet on the drying fan, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind.
“That was so fast!” Angela said, giving me a big squeeze. “So impress! Much wow!”
Laughing, I turned around and pulled her in even tighter. Her eyes were wide and bright, the excitement clear to see.
“Did you see my time?” I asked.
“No- where would it have been posted?” Angela asked.
“1:27.75,” Joachim volunteered.
“Six and a half seconds down compared to the 918,” I said. “That sounds about right.”
“Still plenty fast,” Joachim said. “Plenty fast.”
After peeling out of my suit and shoes, I enjoyed the relative cool of wearing nothing but my base layer top and tights. Relative cool, because it was over a hundred degrees in the garage, and even hotter outside in the sun. Still, at least I had some airflow. Racing suits might be great at keeping you from catching on fire, but they are pretty poor at keeping you from getting hot.
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I was talking to Manny about driving my X6 back to the house so I could ride with Angela when Pete rolled up in the 918.
He’d already ditched his own suit and helmet, wearing Dad shorts and a Polo shirt with a pair of Dockers without socks- stereotypical Porsche guy wear.
Handing me back the key fob, he asked what I thought of his Boxster.
“Honestly, I thought it was a lot of fun. It handles great and has enough power to be fun, but not enough to be intimidating,” I told him, sipping on my bottle of water. “Seriously, it’s a great little machine.”
“You talk about horsepower being intimidating,” Pete said, taking a seat on the cooler. “It’s scary how hard the 918 accelerates. I had four sessions to wrap my brain around it, and even there at the end I had a hard time really stepping on it.”
“It’s the quickest car I’ve ever driven,” I agreed.
“But not the fastest?”
“No, not the fastest,” I admitted. “As good as the 918 corners, it just can’t equal my GT3 for outright speed.”
“I’d love to try a car like that sometime,” Pete said, his voice wistful.
“You know what’s funny? That last session, I was thinking about how nice your Boxster is for track duty. Just drive up with the car on a flatbed trailer and you’re ready to go. For me to get the GT3 going, I need to bring the team rig, four mechanics, and so on. I calculated it once, and it costs over twenty-five dollars a lap just in running costs. And bringing it to a normal track day like this? People get upset,” I said. “That usually means private test days, and an empty track can get sort of boring.”
“And never mind the cost of the car initially,” Pete said, shaking his head.
“Four hundred grand, if you have connections,” I agreed.
“Must be nice,” Pete said.
“You gotta pay to play,” I said.
After Pete left, I went into the trailer to change into street clothes- a pair of shorts, Chuck Taylors and my Porsche Club of Los Angeles T shirt.
I told Angela I’d be ready to go in twenty minutes- I just needed to talk to a few people.
“I’ll go with you,” Angela said, her smile bright.
“We’ll hit the road as soon as we get packed up,” Joachim said. “See you back in LA.”
“If you get to the house before me, go ahead and leave the cars in the garage,” I said. “I owe you guys. Thanks a lot for helping me out this weekend.”
“Any time,” Joachim said, and Manny nodded in agreement. “Any time at all.”
Angela and I walked over to the classroom to look at the weekend’s combined times. I had the top spot with my Sunday lunchtime run, followed by Jeff in his Saturday afternoon run in his GT2 RS. Pete had sixth overall in my 918, confirming my suspicion that he was unwilling to risk the car.
As odd as it may seem, I was proudest of taking the fifth spot in Pete Miranda’s little Boxster race car. I’d beaten his time in the Spyder, to my delight. The list was going to be posted to the club’s website for everyone to see, hopefully shutting up all the quiet grumbles about a chick driving a supercar that I’d been overhearing.
Satisfied that I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do, I dragged Angela over to Pete’s setup.
“Thanks for letting me use your car this weekend,” I said as he and his wife packed up all his gear. “I really enjoyed it.”
“Thanks for the fresh tires,” Pete said with a grin. “And thanks for letting me play with your 918. That was one hell of a treat.”
I told him I’d see him next time, and we took off. Angela had asked me to drive, and I was fine with that. As I got behind the wheel I realized I’d never actually driven the little Z4. Recalibrating my expectations took a little while, but once I remembered that it was the basic four-banger automatic I could accept that it was slow and squishy. What it did have, though, is a killer air conditioner, which was very welcome in the dry desert heat of the late afternoon.
Resting her hand on the bare skin of my leg, Angela said, “I wish I would’ve seen you set that fast time in the Porsche. That must have been amazing.”
“It is an amazing car,” I agreed.
“You know, we could have driven that back home and had the guys put this car in the trailer,” Angela said.
“We could have,” I agreed. “But I didn’t think of that. Anyways, this is a nicer car than most people have anyway, right? I mean, seriously.”
“It is,” Angela said, patting the dashboard. “I love my little blanquito.”
Charmed, I gave Angela a smile. “We’re going to have to buy you something bigger when you have your baby. It’d be hard to put a car seat in this little thing.”
“I’ll drive the X6,” Angela replied quickly. “I’m keeping this car.”
“Whatever you want, baby, you know that. Heck, I’d even buy you a minivan if you wanted.”
“Oh, Dios, no!” Angela said, making a face. “No minivan!”
“They can be pretty nice,” I teased.
“Absolutely not!” Angela replied. Thinking about it for a moment, she said, “Livy and Margaret just bought a new SUV- a Lincoln, I think. It’s really nice, and has a lot of room for the baby seat and stroller and everything else.”
“It should have a lot of room. Those things are about as big as a bus!” I said.
“Yeah, they really are,” Angela agreed.
Angela called Emmy on the way home and asked if she’d had dinner already, and if we should pick up something on the way home. Listening to the two of them talk about such domestic matters warmed my heart. It was such a simple thing, but it showed the care that Angela felt for Emmy, and when they each signed off with simple, “Love you” it was clear that the two really did.
Later, after dinner, Angela regaled Emmy with my feats on the track while we relaxed in the hot tub. I thought Angela’s recounting of my hot laps was funny, since she hadn’t seen most of them- presumably Joachim and Manny had told her about events from Saturday and Sunday morning before she got to the track.
“I would have liked to have seen you set the record,” Emmy said, crossing over to straddle my lap.
“I didn’t set any records,” I protested. “Just the best time of the weekend, that’s all.”
Emmy laid her forearms on my shoulders and leaned in for a kiss. “I am glad you bought that Porsche,” she said. “And I love the new color. It is very…” she said, searching for the right word.
“Lavender?” I suggested, sliding my hands up the sides of her ribcage. and around to her back.
“It is very, very lavender,” Emmy agreed, her amused smile lighting up her face. “But I think the word that I was looking of is ‘distinctive’. It is very distinctive.”
“I think that I made my point loud and clear this weekend,” I agreed. “The guys who were there this weekend will absolutely remember being schooled by a chick in a pink car.”
“You are so…” Emmy said, again at a loss for words.
“Sexy?” Angela suggested, moving across the hot tub to sit on my knees, crowding Emmy from behind. Angela reached around Emmy and put her hands on my boobs, pinching my nipples gently. She kissed Emmy’s shoulder, which caused Emmy to tilt her head away to give Angela better access.
“Yes, you are very, very sexy,” Emmy agreed, looking into my eyes. Her own eyes shone in the light from the bar area behind me, big and green. “You are the sexiest,” she said, her voice husky and breathy.
“I think I’m a distant third in that category as far as this family of ours is concerned,” I objected. “You and Ange are the two sexiest women on Earth.”
Emmy and Angela leaned forward together so they could both kiss me. “I look at you, Leah, and I see a goddess,” Emmy said. “I could not imagine a more perfect woman.”
“Then you must not look in the mirror much,” I replied. “You and Ange are both way hotter than me.”
“We are very different from you,” Angela said, her hands still working my breasts. “You’re like Atena, the goddess from Greece. You’re so big and strong, and powerful. Emmy once said that everybody is terrified of you, but I don’t think that’s quite right. I think everybody is intimidated by you.”
“Yes, that is right,” Emmy agreed. She kissed me again, then sat up. “I think that tonight is a very good night to not get any sleep,” she announced, a saucy smile on her lips. “We should take a shower, then go straight to bed.”
“But not get any sleep,” Angela confirmed.