Emmy And Me

Returning to an empty house after dropping Emmy and Angela off at the airport was depressing. Sure, I knew it was only going to be a few weeks until I’d see them again, but that didn’t make it easy on me. It was going to be weeks of eating dinner alone, weeks of sleeping in our big bed all by myself, weeks of nothing but FaceTime calls to keep me warm at night.

Yes, I was happy that Angela and Emmy had each other, but I’d enjoyed our time together in Asia and Australia and would have liked to see South America and Mexico City. At least I’d get to spend time in Cartagena and Bogotá, and I was really looking forward to that.

For the first week without Angela and Emmy I buried myself in my training and my work so I wouldn’t have time to think about how much I missed them. It helped, and I certainly got caught up in my classwork as well as with all of my work work.

As far as workouts goes, I went back to training my ass off in my little corner of the gym, not really interacting all that much with the others. I wanted to get back to the level I’d been at before screwing off for a couple of months on tour, and I was pleased to see my fitness return quickly.

I did a little sparring, sure, but I was starting to feel as if MMA in a gym wasn’t really doing much for me anymore. When it came down to it, I didn’t care about fighting all that much- what mattered was my ability to put an enemy down as quickly and as cleanly as possible, and that (for the most part) wasn’t what competition fighting was about. I needed to get back to training with Grant and Jody, or at least somebody like that. I needed to find myself another Mr Han.

“Uh, Leah, me and the other guys been noticin’ you real focused these days,” Duane said to me one day at the gym. “You got a fight comin’ up?”

“Not that I know of,” I replied. “But like they taught me in the Girl Scouts, ‘Be Prepared’, right?”

“You wasn’t never no Girl Scout,” he said, doubtfully.

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of cookies I sold,” I said with a smirk. “I’d tell people, ‘Buy my cookies!’ and they would. Or else.”

“You’re really somethin’,” he said with a smile, shaking his head slowly.

That Saturday I drove the Carrera again, more for personal amusement than anything else. I’d more than half convinced myself that if Angela was really serious and actually wanted the two of us to do some rally events, the Porsche was not the car for it. First off, it was too expensive and unique a car to put into a ditch on some gravel road somewhere. Really, it was a play car, more of a styling exercise than a practical racing vehicle. Second, it was a handful to drive fast, Yeah, it could be done, but it wasn’t as easy as any of my other cars, and I could imagine that in the heat of railing some back road at stupid speed I’d want all the cushion I could get.

The obvious answer was to buy somebody else’s ex-race car and run that. Something like a Subaru STI already set up would be perfect. I was sure I could find a top-shelf car for much less than the Porsche had cost me, and I wouldn’t cry if I wrecked it.

We would be many months away from any possible rally events anyway, seeing as how there was no way a pregnant Angela could co-drive. Sure, goofing around on Saturdays with the guys was fine, but actually racing on gravel roads in the rain? No way. That was an unacceptable risk to her and the baby.

During lunch at the Italian place that Geoff liked so much the topic of my car came up in conversation.

“It’s crazy watching you drive that thing,” Stephen said. “You get so out of shape. Are you doing that intentionally?”

“She’s just learning how to drive an old-school analog Carrera,” Geoff said. “They take a very different touch than most cars.”

“No joke, it does,” I agreed. “But yeah, I’m also doing it intentionally. I’m trying to figure out where the limit is on the car, and that means stepping a bit over every now and then.”

“By ‘every now and then’, she means every corner. Not so much in the straights,” Jimmy volunteered.

“Not every corner,” I protested. “Just… most of ‘em. The thing is, if you lift mid-turn, the rear of the car wants to find its way to the outside of the turn, right? So I’ve been trying to find the sweet spot where I can get it back in line once it steps out.”

“Makes sense,” Stein said. “But what doesn’t make sense is you looking like you’re about to crash repeatedly on public roads.”

“You do know what it is we do on these public roads, right?” I asked.

“Point taken,” Stein admitted.

“Hey, since Angela and Emmy are back on tour, do you have any plans for tonight?” Teddy Bear asked as we walked back to our cars.

“I was probably just going to spend some time on a development proposal,” I said, rolling my eyes at my own boringness.

“I’ve got to go to a producer’s party tonight, and was thinking maybe you might want to go?” he said. “I figure I’ve got to put in two hours at the most, and I’d really appreciate it if you could be my plus one.”

“Why not ask some actress? I’m sure any number of ‘em would love to go to that kind of party.”

“Well, see, that’s the problem,” he admitted. “If I invite any wannabe actress that would kill to get invited, they’re gonna be off in some bedroom somewhere blowing anybody they think can get them a role, you know? But you, you’re perfect. You don’t give a rat’s ass about the industry, so you won’t be overawed and embarrass me in any way like that, and as a plus, you’re one Hell of a striking woman, so…” he trailed off, realizing he was putting his foot in his mouth.

“So?” I asked, enjoying watching him squirm a little.

Biting the bullet, he said, “So, any industry types that sees us together will wonder who you are, and where did I find you, and how come you’re looking at them like something stuck to the bottom of your shoe? It’ll drive ‘em crazy.”

“Will there be anybody I know?”

“Probably not, but in this town, who can say? It’s gonna be almost entirely film industry types, not TV, if that makes any difference,” Teddy Bear said.

“Will I have to dress up?” I asked.

“It would be awesome if you did, but, like, classy sexy, not trashy sexy, if you understand what I mean,” he replied.

“O.K., I’ll do it. What time will you pick me up?”

“How about nine? I figure nine thirty is as good a time to get there as any,” Teddy Bear said.

“Oh, no way, TB,” I told him. “If you’re gonna drag me to an industry party, you need to feed me first. And not Korean tacos.”

“Those tacos are awesome!” Teddy Bear protested.

“They are, but I am not getting Sriracha on my cocktail dress,” I told him.

“O.K., O.K.,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll get us in at Verlaine. Will madame accept to dine in such a lowly place?”

“Verlaine’s good,” I said. “See you at seven?”

“With bells on,” he agreed.

‘Something classy sexy,’ I thought, looking through my closet that evening. I didn’t want something that said ‘attention-seeking starlet’, but I also didn’t want to suit up and look like somebody’s expensive lawyer, either. I finally settled on a midnight blue jersey mini dress, but with a blazer on top, since it was a bit chilly in the evenings.

“Holy shit!” Teddy Bear said when he came to pick me up. “You look great! And, um, seriously tall, too.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” I asked.

“What, that you’re, like, seven feet tall in those heels? I’m cool with it. I’m not like Tom or Sylvester, who can’t have anybody tall stand next to them, you know?”

“Wasn’t, um, that model that Stallone married… Wasn’t she tall?” I asked.

“Brigitte was a couple of inches taller than him,” Teddy Bear agreed. “Which is why she always wore flats and he wore lifts.”

Walking into Verlaine, the two of us definitely got long looks from the other patrons, but I was used to that with Emmy, so I didn’t give it much thought.

“The industry types in here, they’re all trying to figure out who you are,” Teddy Bear said in a low voice once we’d gotten our drinks order in. “They know who I am, so the immediate assumption is that you’re an actress. The fact they haven’t seen you in anything, but you walked in like you own the place, well…”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” I said with a laugh.

“Hey, in this town you have to find your joy where you can,” Teddy Bear replied with a shrug and a smile.

Dinner was excellent, living up to the restaurant’s reputation. I’d heard stories of poor service, but our waiter was attentive and there when we wanted him, but unobtrusive when we didn’t. All in all, the place lived up to the hype.

Teddy Bear was a decent date, too. In contrast to the stereotype of actors he didn’t make the conversation all about himself, but he did have a lot of great anecdotes about life in front of the camera and on the boards. He also asked about aspects of my life, like what got me into cars, or what was it like playing volleyball… In general, he was a great conversationalist, and it was easy to imagine that his natural charm absolutely killed the ladies.

After dinner we had a couple of drinks in the adjoining cocktail bar. “Pre-gaming,” Teddy Bear called it. “Of course there’ll be plenty of alcohol at the party,” he said, “But most just use their glasses as props. They’ll hold that Champagne flute until the bubbles are all gone, just so they look like they’re drinking, but lord God, there is no way they want those calories on their hips.”

The party was at this ridiculous Bel Air monstrosity which was twenty thousand square feet (at a rough estimate) of narcissistic ‘I’m so cool’ interior decoration. The crowd gave off a similar vibe, but that was fine. I was there to support a friend and drink free Champagne, right?

At one point Teddy Bear went off to talk to somebody he knew and left me alone. Of course, this immediately opened the door, and several guys zoomed in to talk to me once the coast was clear.

This one middle-aged guy with a paunch tried the whole, “I thought I knew everybody in the business,” approach, and when I told him I wasn’t in the business he ran out of steam immediately.

The second guy was that actor from all those revenge action movies- the ones that usually feature fast cars in a prominent role. He clearly expected that a smile would get me into bed, and when I gave no indication that I even knew who he was, much less cared, he was left nonplussed.

“I’m one of the top action stars in Hollywood,” he actually said at one point.

“Ohhh, that’s right,” I said. “You were in that movie that had the BMW Seven Series car in it.”

He gave me a long, disbelieving look, then admitted that yes, one of his movies had featured a 735 fairly prominently.

“Those were nice cars,” I told him. “That E38 had a nice, classic look to it.”

Again, he gave me a long look that said, ‘What is this chick’s story?’

“How do you know so much about BMWs?” he asked.

“I own a couple of dealerships,” I said with a shrug.

“What,” he said.

“I’m in negotiations to buy a Porsche dealership, too. You know how it is,” I said. enjoying how his wires had totally crossed.

“So… What car do you drive?” he finally asked.

“Honestly, mostly my M6 Competition. That’s my commuter, you know. On Saturdays, when I go out driving with the guys, I’ll usually drive my 918, or maybe my new Porsche rally car. I hardly ever take my Aston out anymore.”

“A Porsche 918?” he asked.

“Yeah, Weissach,” I said. “It’s a pretty nice car.”

“Have any pictures?” he asked, half disbelieving and wanting proof and half just wanting to see pictures because it is a cool car.

I took my phone out of my little purse and scrolled through, finding a picture that Joachim had taken at the Porsche track day. It showed me leaning against the car in my Nomex suit, helmet under my arm.

“It’s fucking pink?” the guy said, disbelief in his voice.

“Lavender, actually,” I said, finding another pic Joachim had taken of me flying past the grandstands. “This was at a Porsche club track day.”

“You drive your 918 on the track?” he asked, stunned.

“What’s the use of having a toy and not playing with it?” I asked. “But no, honestly, I don’t usually track the Spyder.” Scrolling a bit, I found the picture I wanted and showed it to him. “Usually I drive my race car when I hit the track.”

He stared at the picture of the GT3 car at Inde, then scrolled to the next that showed my in the driver’s seat, helmet on, talking to my crew chief. Scrolling again, he looked at the next picture of me cresting turn seven.

“Is this really you?” he asked.

Just then Teddy Bear returned, and he and the guy I’d been talking to gave each other nods of acknowledgment. “Leah, are you showing off your cars again?” Teddy Bear asked. Turning to the other guy, he said, “Has she shown you pictures of her new car yet? That thing’s crazy.”

“Crazier than this race car?”

Glancing at the phone in the guy’s hand, Teddy Bear said, “Well, that BMW isn’t crazy, per se, just fucking fast. When she blitzes around you on turn eight at Willow Springs Raceway and leaves you for dead, well, I tell you, it scars a man.”

“That really is her car?”

“Yeah, that’s her track car, but sometimes she drives her street cars on the track just to fuck with the rest of us. It fucking sucks to think you’re going good when all of a sudden she passes you sideways around the outside in her M6. She freaking waves as she goes by, man. Demoralizing, I tell you.”

“I was just trying to be friendly,” I protested.

“So, do you do your own driving in your movies?” I asked the guy.

“They don’t let me,” he said, frowning. “Liability concerns, they tell me.”

“Jace is a pretty good driver,” Teddy Bear volunteered. “He’s got a couple of R8s.”

“A couple?” I asked.

“They gave them to me- you know how sponsorship deals go,” Jace said with a shrug.

“Have you ever taken them to the track?” I asked. “I’ve never driven an R8, but they seem really capable.”

“Um, no, I never have,” he said.

“You really ought to,” I told him. “It’s the only real way to find out how good the car really is, after all.”

“And of course, to find out how good a driver you are,” Teddy Bear added helpfully, enjoying Jace’s discomfort. “It really helps with the verisimilitude, too, when you’ve got so many car scenes in your franchise.”

“Yeah, maybe I should,” Jace admitted.

“It’d be great to see you out there,” I told him. “It’s a lot of fun. You’ll have a great time.”

“As long as you don’t get butthurt when Leah here rails past you like you’re in reverse,” Teddy Bear said.

“I’m a pretty good driver,” Jace said, a bit defensively.

“Yeah, I like to think I am, too,” Teddy Bear agreed. “Everybody gangsta until Leah shows up.”

Shaking his head and realizing he was going to get nowhere with me, Jace said, “Well, it was nice to meet you. See you around, Theodore,” he said to Teddy Bear as he turned to go.

“You enjoyed that a lot,” I said accusingly to Teddy Bear. “Maybe too much.”

“Guilty as charged, your honor,” he said, holding up his left hand, since his right still had his mostly full Champagne flute in it. “But so did you.”

I laughed and shrugged. “Also guilty.”

“Hey, do me a favor,” Teddy Bear asked. “Ditch the jacket. Show off those shoulders.”

“What are you expecting will happen?” I asked, taking off my blazer and handing it to him to deal with. “Don’t lose that- it was quite expensive,” I told him.

“I’m gonna put it in my car,” he said, leaving to do just that.

Amused by Teddy Bear’s games, I wandered around to mingle. Now, I will admit that I’m not the incredible social butterfly that Emmy or Angela can be, but I’m also not particularly shy, so I didn’t find it difficult to put myself out there. I still didn’t know what Teddy Bear wanted, but I’d play his game. He was turning out to be a decent friend, after all.

I spotted an actress I recognized as having starred in one of the superhero movies that had just come out in the last year, and figuring I could let myself have a little fun, I wandered over to where she was talking to a couple of middle-aged guys.

I approached the group nonchalantly, but as I neared the three all took notice of me. To be fair, I was six foot six in those heels, so very hard to ignore.

“Hey,” I said in greeting as they turned to look at me. “You look familiar,” I said to one of the men, who didn’t look familiar at all. “But I’m terrible with names. Where have we met before?”

He was a touch on the shorter side, so I stood nearly a foot taller than him, making him have to crane his neck to look up at me.

“I think I would have remembered that,” he said dryly.

“Excuse me, we were talking here,” said the actress, clearly irritated at being upstaged.

“Oh- I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t see you down there.”

The two guys’ eyes bugged out and one I hadn’t just spoken to couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Seeing the look on the actress’ face, he said, “Oh, come on, Liz. You have to appreciate a sick burn like that.”

She did not appreciate a sick burn like that.