Once Around the Track by Sharyn McCrumb

Sharpie from Suzie and reaching for a photo from the top of the pile. He winced. “Oh, this one . You know, I never was too partial to that picture of me.”
    Deanna sighed. “I think you look wonderful in that shot. That solemn, dedicated look on your upturned face, and the way the light hits you. Like an angel in a stained glass window.” She willed herself to stop babbling.
    “Yeah,” said Badger, as if he hadn’t heard a word she said. “I remember when they took that shot. We had just finished a three-hour race. I came in second, and they just swooped down on me with the microphones and the camera and all, and, Lord, I had to piss so bad I thought it would come out my ears…. Who do you want me to make this out to, sweetie?”
    Deanna summoned a wan smile, “Oh…just sign it,” she murmured. There was always eBay.

     
    Christine Berenson and several of the more important party guests waited until the frenzy had subsided somewhat before they attempted to converse with the star of their team. “Such a joy to see you,” said Christine, pressing her cheek against Badger’s. Since they were the same height, this was not difficult. She nodded affably to Suzie. “I think you know everyone,” she said to the lawyer, but she recited the names of the gaggle of socialites in her wake and beamed while each of them hugged Badger, some with considerably more determination than others. Suzie thought she detected a slight reduction in the voltage of his enthusiasm. His smile seemed a bit more perfunctory, and he had begun to look restive. Perhaps he was an introvert, after all. He did spend a lot of time alone fishing on that lake back home. Being effusive to a room full of strangers must have been quite a drain on his reserves of cordiality.
    Christine had drawn Badger aside for a private talk. “How do you like the decorations for the reception?” she asked.
    “Real nice,” said Badger without a glance at any of them.
    “There’s one item I particularly wanted to show you. A piece of racing memorabilia that someone gave to me when I started the team. What do you think?” A metal chair against the wall held a cheaply framed two-by-three foot poster labeled “The Winston-Charlotte Motor Speedway–May 17, 1987.” It was a group photo of NASCAR drivers in firesuits, with Neil Bonnett, Terry Labonte, Dale Earnhardt, Bill Elliott, and Richard Petty kneeling in the foreground, and fifteen equally illustrious drivers standing in two rows behind them.
    Badger said, “That’s a dirty poster.”
    “What? It seems in mint condition to me.”
    “They did a clean version of this poster, after they caught it, but this is the original one. Look.” He put his finger on Neil Bonnett’s right ear.
    When Christine knelt down and peered closely at that part of the photograph, she realized that directly behind Neil Bonnett’s ear—but not entirely obscured by it—was the erect penis of Tim Richmond, dangling out of his white and red firesuit, while he stared into the camera with careless bravado.
    “Tim Richmond was pretty wild,” said Badger. “Great driver. Died of AIDS. That was before I got into the sport, of course.”
    If he had expected her to be horrified by revelations about her X-rated poster, he had underestimated the corporate she-wolf.
    Looking distinctly unshocked, Christine gave him a long, appraising stare below the belt, leaned close to his ear, and whispered, “Tell me, Badger, how do you think you measure up to Tim Richmond?”

     
    Now he was shaking hands with one of the few men present at the reception, the silver-haired husband of a regal older woman whose silvery dress matched her hair. The couple had been persuaded by Christine to make their furniture company a minor sponsor of the car despite their own genteel misgivings about the sport of stock car racing. Now that the object of their dubious investment had materialized, the elderly gentleman took the opportunity to question Badger as if he