"I think Lightning McQueen is suing us," says Clara, RSN's newest intern, as she flips through the mail. Her voice is small.
"Nah, he's just threatening to," says Breezy. (Or at least, that's how he says it. Clara maintains that his employee badge says BR-Z. It's completely natural she'd mispronounce that!)
"Seriously? McQueen? What for?" asks Clara's boss, Rick Swaybar, Esquire.
"Classic Carrera-speak," Breezy replies. "I knew her back at school. This is what she'd always do in hypos, too. Basically, they just want to talk. They don't like the spin we're putting on the whole Reverham thing. The Hudson stuff, probably."
"But it's not even slander. We're saying good things," Clara objects, and immediately regrets it. Whenever Breezy regards her, his expressions always make her feel stupid.
"Honey," says Breezy. "We're RSN Legal. We're not saying anything."
"McQueen, huh?" Swaybar chuffs. When he sees Clara staring at him, wide-eyed and questioning, he shrugs. "Just not who I would've expected. He doesn't usually touch this kind of thing. Not sure it's ever occurred to him before that he could."
"Gosh, is it just me, or did this Reverham stuff get super heavy? Like it was sad, and then it was kind of whatever. But they just called everyone in and told us about like, the phone numbers for grief counselors and stuff," one of Clara's cohort the next day, as she inspects the detailing she'd just had done on her rims. She's a legal observer for the Piston Cup. Today, she and Clara are sipping Dinoco frappucchinos in Decatur.
"I guess they just want to make sure," Clara says quietly. She dips her lip into her foam, the way she likes to.
"Isn't it a little late for that? What changed?"
Clara sips her foam noncommittally. "Better late than never, I guess."
There's some extended edition of a morning talk show on the cafe's TV. It was supposed to be a re-run of the Reverham retrospective, but RSN pulled it. She knows they're in new negotiations with the family - exploring the possibility of shooting a new one. How it'd be different, Clara's not sure, but she'd helped Breezy and Swaybar approve the language of RSN's invitation. But apparently in the old one, they hadn't mentioned when it was that Ray had died. It's possible they hadn't mentioned that he'd died at all.
"Never done this before," says Breezy. "Pay attention, Clare. You could be making history right now!"
Clara doesn't suppose she is, but it's her birthday the next weekend, and her boyfriend bought them both VIP passes to the race, so she keeps thinking about it. Basically, this means Clara gets to wander the pits alone - bored, awkward, and lonely - while her boyfriend runs around getting rare collectibles signed so he can fence it all to fund next year's VIP tickets.
Story of their relationship, honestly. But they do have good seats, so she supposes she can't complain too much. According to her boyfriend, she shouldn't be complaining at all.
Ramirez is in the middle of a pre-race autograph session, and most of the crowd is huddled over there. Clara's more of a Rodcap girl, so she takes the opportunity to scan the pits without the extra traffic. The 19's crew chief is talking to Jackson Storm, for some reason - Cam Shaftley, that's his name. He's not known for being a big personality, so Clara doesn't know much about him, but it seems a little weird. She can't imagine he and Storm are friends.
She keeps far enough so as not to eavesdrop, but it seems mostly like Cam telling jokes and Storm suffering them. Eventually, Cam leaves, and exchanges a few bashful words with Danny afterwards. Their expressions are tender, like a newly healing wound. A reconciliation of sorts, perhaps.
The 24 car approaches Storm next. Generally the 24's soundbites tend to be short and bright, but with Storm he stays a while.
Half an hour later, Clara's waiting for her boyfriend in the stands. He left his binoculars with her, so she props them on her hood and looks down on Jackson Storm's pit stall. Just out of curiosity. His crew chief station's still empty, and there aren't flowers this week, but Cruz Ramirez is talking to Storm now, too.
Storm doesn't look grateful, necessarily, but he's clearly listening to her. He doesn't seem to say much back, and cuts her off abruptly, but Ramirez doesn't look mad about it.
"I thought you were into Rodcap," says her boyfriend, as he squeals into his seat. His trunk's being held closed with a bungee cord, visibly full of shopping bags. He slaps her rear bumper when he pulls up, in the way that she hates, and that he knows she hates. "Don't tell me my competition's Jackson Storm now! I can't compete with those emo, angsty guys! Man, I wish I'd gotten so much Reverham stuff autographed before - "
"Can you maybe shut up?" asks Clara. She's never said something like that to her boyfriend, ever. "We're in the middle of a minute of silence. Maybe make use of that."
"But I didn't even know him. I'm not sad." He sounds more defensive than confused.
Clara holds her ground. "Then think about the cars who are."