Chapter 8 : 'Ambient'
"I'd hate to hear he won't be going," the posh voice stated over the phone. Ray and Gale in the hotel lobby, accompanied by Quincy and Leon, listened nervously.
"I'm sure Storm will attend," Ray spoke, despite being certain Jackson had already bailed out.
"He knows what his responsibilities are."
"As a spokescar for IGNTR: Liquid Adrenaline, Mister Storm is to attend all galas and events hosted by the Piston Racing Series," the representative said in a monotone voice.
"He won, they can't be grateful?" Quincy muttered suddenly. Gale shushed him before the IGNTR official could hear anymore.
Ray sighed, Jackson had been training for days, dealing with minor backlash from other racers, and just won his first race. Now, IGNTR wanted him to attend a 'Champion Gala' hosted by the Piston Series at a hall not far from the hotel. Ray wanted his racer to rest, as they had a long road ahead tomorrow, but it was in Jackson's contract to attend all meets and greetings unless death be upon him.
"I'll– I'll get him to be there in an hour," Ray replied, defeated. He glanced beside to see a nervous Leon, a weary Gale, and a grumpy Quincy. They all knew the rookie had to attend, but it was a means of convincing him to go.
"Great," the rep mused, "make sure he speaks with the Press and gets several photographs. We'll schedule the interviews."
The call ended, and the tone began beeping.
Ray's gas tank turned, Jackson would not be endorsing that kind of attention so easily, unfortunately, he really had no choice as a sponsored racer now.
Gale studied Ray briefly, as he stared off into oblivion, lost in thought. "Ray, why don't you call it a night, I'll talk to Jackson about the gala."
Ray turned to her, hesitation across his hood as he thought about it, "Gale, are you sure you can convince him?"
"Well, I'm sure if he just stops by and does a toast, smiles for some cameras, IGNTR will be grateful," she answered.
"Hmm," Ray pondered her idea, he rolled in reverse, his bumper resting against the wall.
It wasn't a bad idea. Sure, Ray knew Jackson better than Gale, but he wanted the racer to be more social with cars, make some friends besides rivals. Gale was the one, she was friendly, proactive and determined in her role. Unlike Ray, her patience was as long as a highway.
"I'll help too," Quincy said. Gale exchanged" a glance with him, then back to Ray, awaiting his approval.
"Alright," Ray replied exhausted. "But if there's any trouble, don't hesitate to wake me up."
Gale, Leon and Quincy, watched as Ray left down the hall.
"Let's head into the Storm," Gale smiled as she headed for the elevator, Quincy followed, chuckling.
"I'll be down here if you guys are looking for me," Leon said, as Gale waved him farewell between the closing elevator doors.
The steady idling of Jackson's engine broke the uncomfortable silence of the hallway.
He rolled down the hall, slowly passing his suite. Jackson studied the door beside his room, remembering the 'peach girl' had hurried out of the room the night prior. This had to be her room, although he was certain she probably wasn't in there.
Jackson's expression remained blank as he blinked, continuing his cruise down the hall, he remembered the final lap.
Listening as Ray instructed him to the finish line, and hearing the foreign female voice chanting for him among the blurred array of McQueen fans hollering in the grandstands. Jackson wasn't going to miss her this time, and he caught her, entranced, staring back. Her hood got rosy, and her eyes wide. She looked like a child with her hood in the cookie jar.
He would never admit it to the others, but something about 'peach girl's' indifference to be judged for cheering for an unknown rookie, like him, made winning the race feel all that greater.
But now, he couldn't find her anywhere. It was hardly passed 8PM, and Jackson guessed she would be roaming the halls, the same way she roamed the stadium. There was not a sight of the peach convertible anywhere.
"Jackson?" Gale's voice was a high whisper as she cruised towards the racer, Quincy by her side. Jackson turned to face them, his expression remaining bored.
"Why aren't you at your party?" Gale questioned innocently. Jackson raised a brow, he drove into his suite, not answering. Gale and Quincy exchanged glances, before following him inside, closing the door behind themselves.
"A party?" Jackson inquired in a monotone voice, "no thanks."
"IGNTR says you must," Gale replied. "Otherwise their reputation will be stumped..."
"Did they forget who won that race?" Jackson's voice grew louder as he thought about Gale's words. "I did the training, I did the laps, I smoked McQueen, I won the cup."
Gale breathed a sigh as she listened.
"IGNTR is breathing down our backs, just please– say 'Hello' and make a toast, then you can leave... I'm sure." Gale said, her eyes resonating confidence and assurance.
Jackson closed his eyes, breathing a deep sigh, "Alright, alright. I'll go, but just until I've said 'Hi', then I'm gone."
"Gotta make a toast, too," Quincy said simply, Jackson gritted him teeth for a second.
"A toast? You're joking."
"That's what they said, it's tradition." Gale replied.
"I don't have a toast written," Jackson remarked, rolling towards the window.
"Then lets get started!" Gale smiled brightly. Jackson turned to face the two vehicles, bored out of his mind.
"Oh, no, You can take over that. I'm not good for writing crap," Quincy said, he approached the end table beside the bed, minding his own business as he opened a bottle of gasohol stored under his fender, and drank it down.
"So how should it begin," Gale said, grabbing some paper off the dresser. Jackson blinked slowly.
"How's everyone tonight? Were you as satisfied as me when I beat McQueen?" Jackson said, Gale giggled.
"You know, that might not be so bad, but we should add a little more grace and humility to it," the truck began writing, and Jackson raised a brow as he read the sentences.
"IGNTR has been a brilliant sponsor. With all the training, the hard work and the unconventional start, I'm proud to be as talented as veteran racers who have dominated the sport of racing, for years." Jackson said, adding his own paragraph. Gale's face became surprised and enlightened, while Quincy nearly choked on his drink.
"I think these guys will be blown away," Gale chuckled, as she began printing his words on the sheet.
"Is he gonna show?" Bobby asked the green race car beside him. They watched the guests parked at their tables, most looked bored under the glamorous décor and soft jazz music played by the live band.
"Who knows, man," the Vitoline sponsored car replied, "If I had to attend another party for my win, I might just call it a night too."
"Brick, you had two wins last year," Bobby replied chuckling, "Imagine how many parties McQueen had to attend."
Brick cringed, "You know, I get the celebrations and all, but sometimes recharging the batteries is good enough for me." He stretched his axles out.
"So, where's McQueen anyway?" Brick asked, he pushed his drink towards the forklift waitress as she refilled it a second time.
"Said he was gonna take his girl, the Porsche, out cruising"
Bobby replied, watching the 'IGNTR: Liquid Adrenaline' logo glowing ominously behind the stage front.
"The still aren't married?" Brick raised a brow, "they've been together for eleven years." he smiled to the waitress as she headed away.
"He's probably waiting for the right moment... " Bobby said, a laugh creeping in, "…or forgot"
Brick joined in laughing away.
The room suddenly dimmed, and guests became quiet in confusion and anticipation.
"Ladies and gentlemen, here to relish his win, partnered with IGNTR: Liquid Adrenaline, the champion of the 2017 Piston Cup Race, here at Copper Canyon Speedway– Jackson Storm."
Applause and hoots rang through the banquet hall as the black race car approached the microphone from the behind the curtain. A half-smile and calm disposition coating his face.
"Thank you, I appreciate it," Jackson said, as the cheering began to die down. "A beautiful, clear night to celebrate."
"When I first entered the track today, I thought I could learn a thing or two from these veteran racers, kicking it hard on the horsepower." Jackson said, as he rolled from the center, to the left side of the stage, patrons nearby containing their awe at his paintjob and sleek, sharp frame. Cameras flashed every few seconds.
"And when the green flag came out, I did what IGNTR and the rest of my mentor taught me best, I raced down that track with the best." He began rolling to the other side of the stage.
"With full horsepower, I saw the three leaders, and gave it my all to be the first rookie of 2017, to win the Piston Cup." The cars cheered.
"A toast, and thanks to IGNTR. They have been a brilliant sponsor. With all the training, the hard work and the unconventional start, I'm proud to be as talented as veteran racers who have dominated the sport of racing, for years. Thank you."
Brick and Bobby watched as Jackson rolled off the stage, and smiled to some fans, posing for a photo with them.
Brick stared on, "I remember when I was a rookie, never won a thing."
"There's gonna be more races, we got the whole season left." Bobby replied. He toyed with the straw in his drink.
Jackson shook tires with Chick Hicks, the retired racer appeared suddenly, startling and both annoying Storm. He kept his negative thoughts at bay.
"Eyy, there's our Stormy-Boy," Chick mused, nudging Jackson once on the fender. "Must've felt great beating McQueen, huh? I know how that feels."
Jackson stared back, his expression bored. "You want something?"
"Wow, you don't beat around the bush, huh?" Chick said, turning to face the racer, "Since you asked, RSN would love it if you did an interview with champion racer, Chick Hicks!"
Jackson flexed his jaw once, his eyes trailing around the room in boredom.
"I'll take that as a 'maybe', which in my world, is a 'yes'," Chick grinned, as Jackson made a perplexed face. The green racer soon headed off, flashing his thunder cloud sticker to some on-looking cars, repeating "Ka-Chigga" a few times with small group of fans. Jackson blinked slowly, heading for the exit of the banquet hall. The gala was boring.
Once outside, headed down the dark street, the racer yawned, stopping at a red light. The hotel was a few blocks away, and he could enter through the back entrance, away from prying eyes.
As the light changed to green, Jackson cruised along the avenue, soon hearing the sounds of water sprinkling, he glanced to the back of the hotel from the road.
Fountains, shining with gold and blue floodlights created an ambient, white noise among the clear, quiet night. Jackson approached the yard with his headlights dimmed.
He was about to pass through the water works, when he caught sight of another car, idling nearby.
It was her, the girl he was looking for. The peach convertible, she was daydreaming, lost in thought as she tapped her tire on the pavement, the other tucked beneath her. Her eyes opened, and scanned the fountains around her, stopping when she met the eyes of Jackson Storm rolling over.
"Hey, you in the peach," Jackson called, unintentionally cornering her, "you're the girl who chanted from the pits, right?"
She looked like a tractor-in-the-headlights as she stared back. She opened her mouth, and thought for a second.
"Yes, I," she glanced down and then back up to his eyes, "I said that."
"Screamed, you mean?" Jackson said, simply.
"I'm so sorry! I hope I didn't almost throw you off your win!" She said, suddenly. Jackson's face became dumbfounded.
"You didn't throw me off, no one can throw me off," he scoffed.
Jackson briefly studied her, noting she looked younger than she probably was. Her hood was rosier than usual, and her eyes were big and brown. By the edges of her windows, the paint seemed to glow in an icy-blue color under the floodlights. She looked... interesting.
Storm's eyes came back to hers, and she reversed a few inches. His eyes narrowed, "I just want to know why you did it."
"Sportsmanship," she answered, her voice less nervous now. "It was good sportsmanship. To wish you luck."
Hearing her speak in full sentences was different. Being used to loud engines, squealing tires, and shouting fans– her voice was like a fan in the background, like ocean waves crashing by the shore. Ambient and somewhat, soothing to the hearing.
"... and congratulations on your win, Mister Storm," she said She began cruising about the yard. Jackson followed, staring back, his eyes calm and half-way open as usual.
"Thanks," he replied, glancing to the scenery surrounding him once more.
"Why aren't you at your party, Mister Storm?" she inquired, innocently as she turned to face him, away from the fountain in front of her. His eyes darted back to her in front of him.
"I don't need to be there," Jackson answered, noticing how small she was. Her roof was painted the same color as her frame, making it questionable if she was completely convertible and not a hybrid of some kind, but the size of her said otherwise. Convertibles were almost always smaller than other cars.
"Well, you're interrupting my party," she said, her face contouring a silly smirk, as Jackson's eyes narrowed and he presented her another look of stupor after glancing around to see nobody, but her. The peach car began giggling, as Jackson's face remained a mix of slight embarrassment and total confusion.
The racer suddenly revved his engine, and she nearly jumped out of her chassis, reversing into a fountain that sprayed her undercarriage before she fell into the shallow pool below. She squealed once, then began struggling to straighten back up.
Jackson's face went from initial surprise as she fell in the fountain, to gentle amusement as she began paddling inside the small pool.
"uh?" he said, confused and unsure. He reached a tire out, and began pulling her from the water.
She coughed, and shivered as her frame dripped water. Glancing in front of her to see grey eyes on a dry, shiny frame. Jackson gave her a half-smile as she stared on, still in shock from the cold water.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Mm-Mel-" she shivered, Jackson rolled forward to hear her better. "Melise." She stated, then sneezed in a high pitched octave.
"Hm," Jackson drove around, lining himself up beside her, and taking her tire. He cruised into the hotel, sporting his usual cool expression. Before Melise could stop coughing to see what he was doing, a large towel landed on her roof, covering her entire frame.
She opened her eyes to see the racer's eyes looking her up and down, "take care," he said, reversing into the elevator. Jackson's eyes remained on hers, until the doors closed.
Melise sneezed again, nearly reversing into the painting behind her.
'interesting night' she thought.