Wheels (65 page)

In the end they decided to stay, and had dinner quietly in the suite.
Soon after, Erica went to bed and dropped into exhausted sleep. Next morning, Sunday, Adam assured Erica they could still leave at once
if she preferred it. But she had shaken her head, and told him no. An
early northward journey would mean having to pack hurriedly, and would
entail an effort which seemed pointless since there was nothing to be
gained by rushing to Detroit.
Pierre's funeral, so the Anniston Star reported, would be on Wednesday
in Dearborn. His remains were to be flown to Detroit today.
Soon after her early morning decision, Erica told Adam, "You go to the
500. You want to, don't you? I can stay here
.”

"If we don't leave, I'd like to see the race," he admitted. "Will you
be all right alone
.”

She told him that she would, and was grateful for the absence of
questioning by Adam, both yesterday and today. Obviously he sensed that
the experience of watching someone whom she knew die a violent death had
been traumatic and, if he was wondering about any extra implications of
her grief, he had the wisdom not to voice his thoughts.
But when the time came for Adam to leave for the Speedway, Erica decided
she did not want to be alone, and would go with him af ter all.
They went by car, which took a good deal longer than the helicopter trip
the previous day and allowed something of the insulation which had
helped her through yesterday to creep over Erica. In any case, she was
glad to be out of doors. The weather was glorious, as it had been the
entire weekend, the Alabama countryside as lovely as any she had seen.
In the company's private box at the Speedway everything seemed back to
normal, as compared with yesterday afternoon, with cheerful talk
centering on the f act that two strong favorites in today's Talladega
500 would be driving cars of the company's make. Erica had met one of
the drivers briefly; his name was Wayne Onpatti.
If either Onpatti or the other favored driver, Buddy Undler, won today,
it would eclipse yesterday's defeat since the Talladega 500 was the
longer and more important race.
Most major races were on Sunday, and manufacturers of cars, tires, and
other equipment acknowledged the dictum: Win on Sunday, sell on Monday.
The company box was just as full as yesterday, with Hub Hewitson again
in the front row and clearly in good spirits. Kathryn Hewitson, Erica
saw, sat alone near the rear, still working on her needlepoint and
seldom looking up. Erica settled into a corner of the third row, hoping
that despite the crowd she could be, to a degree, alone.
Adam stayed in his seat beside Erica, except
for a short period when he left the box to talk outside with Smokey
Stephensen. The auto dealer had motioned with his head to Adam just before starting
time, while the race preliminaries were in progress. The two of them
left the company box by the rear exit, Smokey preceding, then stood
outside in the bright, warm sunshine. Though the track was out of
sight, they could hear the roar of engines as the pace car and fifty
competing cars began to move.
Adam remembered it was on his first visit to Smokey's dealership, near
the beginning of the year, that he had met Pierre Flodenhale, then
working as a part-time car salesman. He said, "I'm sorry about Pierre
.”

Smokey rubbed a hand across his beard in the gesture Adam had grown
used to. "Kid was like a son to me, some ways. You tell yourself it can
always happen, it's part of the game; I knew it in my time, so did he.
When it comes, though, don't make it no easier to bear
.”

Smokey
blinked, and Adam was aware of a side to the auto dealer's nature,
seldom revealed.
As if to offset it, Smokey said roughly, "That' was yesterday. This is
today. What I want to know is-you talked to Teresa yet
.”

"No, I haven't
.”

Adam had been aware that the month's grace he had
given Smokey before his sister disposed of her interest in Stephensen
Motors would be over soon. But Adam had had not acted to inform Teresa.
Now he said, "I'm not sure I intend to-advise my sister to sell out, I
mean
.”

Smokey Stephensen's eyes searched Adam's face. They were shrewd eyes,
and there was little that the dealer missed, as Adam knew. The
shrewdness was a reason why Adam had reexamined his convictions about
Stephensen Mo
tors over the past two weeks. Many reforms were coming in the auto
dealership system, most of them overdue. But Adam believed Smokey would
survive such changes because survival was as natural to him as being in
his skin. That being so, in terms of an investment, Teresa and her
children might find it hard to do better.
"I guess this is a time for the soft sell," Smokey said. "So I won't
push; I'll just wait, and hope. One thing I know, though. If you change
your mind from what you figured to begin with, iell be for Teresa and
not as any favor to me
.”

Adam smiled. "You're right about that
.”

Smokey nodded. "Is your wife all right
.”

"I think so," Adam said.
They could hear the tempo of the race increasing, and went back into the
company box. Auto races, like wines, have vintage years. For the Talladega 500 this
proved to be the best year ever-a fast and thrilling contest from its
swift-paced outset to a spectacular down-to-the
wire finish. Through a
total of 188 laps-a fraction over 500 miles-the lead switched many
times. Wayne Onpatti and Buddy Undler, the favorites of Adam's company,
stayed near the front, but were challenged strongly by a half dozen
others, among them the previous day's victor, Cutthroat, who was out
ahead for a large part of the race. The sizzling pace took its toll of
a dozen cars, which quit through mechanical failure, and several others
were wrecked, though no major pileup occurred as on the previous day,
nor was any driver injured. Yellow caution flags and slowdowns were at
a minimum; most of the race was full-out, under green.
Near the end, Cutthroat and Wayne Onpatti vied for the lead, with
Onpatti slightly ahead,
wheeig 455 though moans resounded through the company box when Onpatti swung into the
pits, stopping for a late tire change, which cost him half a lap and put
Cutthroat solidly out front.
But the tire change proved wise and gave Onpatti what he needed-an extra
bite on turns, so that by the backstretch of the final lap he had caught
up with Cutthroat, and the two were side by side. Even thundering down the
homestretch together with the finish line in sight, the result was still
in doubt. Then, foot by foot, Onpatti eased past Cutthroat, finishing a
half car length ahead-the victor.
During the final laps, most people in the company box had been on their
feet, cheering hysterically for Wayne Onpatti, while Hub Hewitson and
others jumped up and down like children, in unrestrained excitement.
When the result was known, for a second there was silence, then
pandemonium broke.
Cheers, even louder than before, mingled with victorious shouts and
laughter. Beaming executives and guests pummeled one another on backs and
shoulders; hands were clasped and wrung; in the aisle, between benches,
two staid vice-presidents dan
ced a jig. "Our car wont We won!
echoed
around the private box, with other cries. Someone chanted the inevitable,
'Win on Sunday, sell on Monday
.”

With still more shouts and laughter the
chant was taken up. Instead of diminishing, the volume grew.
Erica surveyed it all, at first in detachment, then in disbelief. She
could understand the pleasure of a share in winning; despite her own
aloofness earlier, in the tense, final moments of the race she had felt
involved, had craned forward with the rest to watch the photo finish. But
this . . . this crazed abandonment of every other thought . . . was
something else.
She thought of yesterday: its grief and awful cost; the body of Pierre,
at this moment en route for burial. And now, so soon, the quick
dismissal
'Win on Sunday; sell on Monday
.”

Coldly, clearly, and distinctly, Erica said, "That's all you care
about
!
"
The hush was not immediate. But her voice carried over other voices
close at hand, so that some paused, and in the partial silence Erica
spoke again. "I said, 'That's all you care about I'"
Now, everyone had heard. Inside the box, the noise and other voices
stilled. Across the sudden silence someone asked, "What's wrong with
that
.”

Erica had not expected this. She had spoken suddenly, from impulse, not
wanting to be a focus of attention, and now that it was done, her
instinct was to back away, to save Adam more embarrassment, and leave.
Then anger surged. Anger at Detroit, its ways-so many of them mirrored
in this box; what they had done to Adam and herself. She would not let
the system shape her to a mold: a complaisant company wife.
Someone had asked: 'What's wrong with that
.”

"It's wrong," Erica said, "because you don't live-we don't live-for
anything but cars and sales and winning. And if not all the time, then
most of it. You forget other things. Such as, yesterday a man died here.
Someone we knew. You're so full of winning: Win on Sunday
!
. . . He was
Saturday . . . You've forgotten him already . .
.”

Her voice tailed off.
She was conscious of Adam regarding her. To Erica's surprise, the
expression on his face was not critical. His mouth was even crinkled at
the corners.
Adam, from the beginning, caught every word. Now, as if his hearing were
heightened, he was aware of external sounds: the race running down, tail end cars completing final laps, fresh cheers for the new
champion, Onpatti, heading for the pits and Victory Lane. Adam was conscious, too, that Hub Hewitson was frowning; others were embarrassed, not
knowing where to look.
Adam supposed he ought to care. He thought objectively: Whatever truth
there was in what Erica had said, he doubted if she had picked the best
time to say it, and Hub Hewitson's displeasure was not to be taken
lightly. But he had discovered moments
earlier: He didn't give a damn!
To hell with them all!
He only knew he loved Erica more dearly than at
any time since he had known her.
"Adam," a vice-president said, not unkindly, "you'd better get your wife
out of here
.”

Ada
m nodded. He supposed for Erica’
s sake -to spare her more-he should.
"Why should he
.”

Heads turned-to the rear of the company box, from where the interruption
came. Kathryn Hewitson, still holding her needlepoint, had moved into
the center aisle and stood facing them all, tight-lipped. She repeated,
"Why should he? Because Erica said what I wanted to say, but lacked the
moral courage? Because she put into words what every woman here was
thinking until the youngest of us all spoke up
.”

She surveyed the silent
faces before her. "You men I"
Suddenly Erica was aware of other women looking her way, neither
embarrassed nor hosti
le, but-now the barrier was lif
ted-with eyes which
registered approval.
Kathryn
Hewitson said firmly, "Hubbard!
"
Within the company Hub Hewitson was treated, and at times behaved, like
a crown prince. But where h
is wife was concerned he was a h
usband-no
more, no less-who, at certain moments, knew his obligations and his cues. Nodding, no longer frowning, he
stepped to Erica and took both her hands. He said, in a voice which
carried through the box, "My dear, sometimes in haste, excitement, or for
other reasons we forget some simple things which are important. When we
do, we need a person of conviction to remind us of our error. Thank you
for being here and doing that
.”