ONE MONTH LATER
NATALIA
Despite Nefeli’s annoyance with my tantrum in Santorini,ARJhas been putting me up in great hotels. For the first race of the year, I was booked at Sofitel Bahrain Zallaq Thalassa Sea & Spa, where, as a “season kickoff bonus” (because, in the words of Nefeli, “You’re a nervous wreck, love”), I got an amazing massage. This week I’m looking out at a gorgeous palm-tree-silhouetted nighttime landscape from the windows of my suite at Shangri-La Jeddah.
It’s Saturday night and the grand prix is tomorrow. I’m madly typing, fingers flying across the keyboard, cross-legged on my bed with a bottle of mango juice and bag of Mr. Chips falafel-flavored snacks on the bedside table in arm’s reach.
There was plenty of drama in qualifying today, and I’m putting together a mini-article for the ARJ Pit Lane Pulse column on our website, trying to get it proofed and posted by the top of the hour. Cosmin Ardelean from Emerald is on pole, with Allonby’sworld champ Drew Powell in second. Row 2 has Team Easton’s Owen Byrne, and in quite the shake-up, Sage Sikora is in fourth. Harrier’s second driver was stricken with appendicitis, so Sage is standing in again and has risen to the challenge impressively.
It’s remarkable not only for being the highest quali positioneverfor a woman driver in F1, but also because it’s odd for a Harrier car to be that close to the front. Historically, they possess all the speed and cornering finesse of a Zamboni resurfacing the ice on a mall skating rink. But the HR78 is looking surprisingly racy this season, and there were a couple of helpful grid penalties for other drivers that bumped Sage up.
Also she’s just pure magic on track. The combination of a quicker car this year and a driver whose style is balls-to-the-wall gutsy (“ovaries-to-the-wall”?) rather than cautiously analytic… it seems to be working beautifully for them.
I’m already a huge fan of women in sport, but since the day at Klaus’s cottage when Sage gave him a metaphoric smack on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper for trying to incite my jealousy, I’m especially a Sage Sikora superfan. She may be an “agent of chaos” on track for Team Harrier, but personally she’s Team Sisters-Before-Misters, and I love her to death for it.
My fingers hover, frozen above the keyboard while I strategize how to phrase the concluding paragraph. Klaus and I haven’t had, um, a “sleepover” again since Santorini—the beginning of the season has been crazy for us both. But despite the in-person cooldown, which I’ve hoped would help me to maintain my journalistic objectivity, there’s still an internal censor popping up as I write.
Since the issue of trust was the iceberg that sank us last year,we’ve discussed, this time, the fact that honest communication will be imperative to the development of… whatever this could become. Klaus doesn’t treat me “like the press,” but I also don’t get anyspecialaccess that could imply favoritism.
Our still-nebulous “relationship status” isn’t public—I can’t risk having my boss see me as unprofessional, right after she gave me a generous raise and entrusted me with this deep-dive piece, which is commanding major resources.
The biggest change for Klaus and me is that instead of making assumptions or hiding things, weask each other. There’s a refreshing maturity in it. I feel like the “third Little Pig” who finally got smart enough to make a house out of bricks.
I refocus on my laptop screen, trying to finesse the last sentences of this article. I’d love to conclude with a great quote. There’s been a lot of chatter already this season about Emerald’s car bearing such overt similarity to last year’s winner from Allonby. Drew Powell—a driver who’s normally quite stoic—even commented on the issue. I can hardlynottalk about it. Fans are referring to it on social media as the “EmerAllon.” There’s even an#emerallonhashtag. I can’t ignore the controversy.
I stretch to grab my phone, considering the late hour before swiping it open to my message thread with Klaus. It’s nearly midnight, and he’s either still at the paddock and exhausted, or mercifully asleep. Either way, I probably shouldn’t bother him.
I scroll back through the exchange from this morning, when we “had breakfast together” via text. Pics of our food (me: cappuccino and some of the best house-made date granola I’ve ever eaten; him: salmon Benedict) and reminiscences of our favorite childhood breakfasts. I told him about the smiley-face pancakesmy aunt would decorate with raisins and how my favorite topping was aerosol whipped cream. He told me about the deep-fried apple rings his mother made with beer batter (!) and topped with powdered sugar.
I asked if he had any childhood photos on hand, and he sent a picture of one he carries in his wallet—he and his mother in a little green rowboat on a lake when he was around four years old.
I saved it to my photo file, and… yeah, I’ve looked at it a few times today—not gonna lie. He was an adorable kid, all big dark eyes and mussed curls.
I go ahead and send a quick message:
Me:Hope this doesn’t wake you if you’re asleep, but if not, I’d love a quote for the piece I’m wrapping up.
Charcoal Suit:I’m in the car, riding back from the paddock. I’d have messaged you but thought you might be asleep. Such a treat to see your name on this screen. Thinking of you today, even amidst the pre-race pandemonium.
Warmth spreads in my chest. With a shaky little delighted sigh, I type back.
Me:You just might have crossed my mind one or two (hundred) times too. :)
Me:Can you address what Drew Powell said after quali today?
There’s a long pause, and I’m worried I shouldn’t have said anything. But I’m taking Klaus at his word—the reassurance in Santorini that I don’t have to be gloves-off. I send him a screenshot of the piece from Sky Sports, showing the brash Powell quote: “If Emerald had pinched one of our sponsors rather than our car design, maybe they wouldn’t be in financial trouble.”
Moments later, Klaus’s reply:
Charcoal Suit:The heat from having Cosmin in his mirrors must be getting to him, to lash out with such an absurd accusation. The next thing Cosmin will “pinch” is the WDC title—that is Allonby’s real fear.
Me:Ooh, nice one. Aggressive, yet artful. I think I’m a little turned on.
Charcoal Suit:My god, I wish I could go to your hotel rather than my own. If I didn’t have to wake up in four hours to return to the paddock, I’d love to indulge in some “aggressive yet artful” acts.
I’m about to send a cheeky reply when a new email chimes on my laptop, popping into the corner of the screen. Before it slides away, I note the sender:
Pinkie_evans.
