i’ve returned from a nine month hiatus to throw this at you and runaway again
Wondering Why
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
i’ve stepped on a land mine w/ this i fear
His agent had warned him about using his big mouth. Jeff didn’t listen. The moment that microphone was within his reach, Jeff grabbed it from the reporter and stared the camera down.
His hair was a mess from the helmet, sticking down from sweat in certain spots and spiking out in different directions in others. The feeling of the wet hairs on the back of his neck from his freshly cut mullet sent a bizarre chill down his spine, but he spoke freely anyways.
“THAT’S FOUR STRAIGHT WINS AGAINST YOU OLD MAN! YOU KNOW WHO I’M TALKING TO, IT’S TIME TO HANG UP THE OLD BOOTSTRAPS CAUSE I’LL KEEP WINNING AND WINNING-“
Jeff grimaced as he watched himself finish his victory speech on the TV. The way he’d shoved the microphone back at the reporter and then proceeded to shower his entire team in champagne was a tad uncalled for, but it wasn’t the worst he’d done in the past.
Still, his behavior last Sunday wasn’t entirely out of pocket. Jeff was sick and tired of the old heads treating him like a child, and the only way to earn their respect was by winning. So what, he was cocky? He was the champ wasn’t he?
“You’re making a fool of yourself out there,” His agent stated plainly as he sat back in his fancy office chair behind his stupid fancy desk.
“Oh I am?” Jeff scoffed, “You called me here to bitch about the way I celebrate? How much am I paying you again?”
His agent ignored the jab and exhaled, “It’s not that exactly…” He paused for a moment and picked up the TV remote.
The volume of the television increased as the taped recording of the race moved on from Jeff’s burnout on the grass to post race interviews.
Jeff rolled his eyes, he new exactly who the first interview would be. Who else except second place?
“Mr. Earnhardt that was some aggressive racing out there today, how do you feel?” The stubby reporter asked Dale Earnhardt Sr.
The older man was always composed, even after the adrenaline of a race. Not a hair of his salt and pepper short cut was out of place, not even his stupid mustache. He looked from the reporter to the camera in an almost casual way; like he was so used to the media being around that he didn’t need to think about what he had to say.
Jeff could feel annoyance creeping up on him. Dale hadn’t even spoken a word but he took everything The Intimidator said to heart. Not that Jeff would ever admit it. As far as the world was concerned they were bitter rivals- and they were. To Jeff’s dismay, there was some vengeful part of himself that needed to prove his worth to Dale. The only way to take down the best was to become the best, and that old man was standing in his way.
“Well Henry, I will say,” Dale started in that calm thick southern accent.
Jeff wanted to scoff again, but he held it in. Of course the old man knew the reporter’s name, he was probably racing when the reporter was in diapers.
“They don’t call me The Intimidator for no reason,” Dale winked at the camera.
“Show off,” Jeff mumbled to himself and crossed his arms to show he didn’t care.
Dale continued on the television, “But just like the fans out there, I’m not satisfied with just second.”
“How do you feel about the statements made by Jeff Gordon in the victory circle just moments ago?” The reporter inquired.
Dale huffed a small laugh, “I’m not worried about Wonderboy, let him have his fun. He’ll get his ass handed to him eventually, and if it’s not by me it’ll be by someone more deserving.”
The camera cut back to the reporter, “That was Dale Earnhardt sharing his post race thoughts with us, back to you Richard-“
Jeff’s agent muted the TV and turned his gaze to his client, “Were you aware of this?”
“Aware that an old fart wants to kick my ass? Danny this happens every week, Earnhardt needs to retire. I’m the future. That’s the angle we’re going for, right?”
Why was he even here right now? If Jeff had a meeting with his management every time someone threatened to kick his ass he’d never leave his agent’s office.
“Well… it’s a bit different this time.”
Jeff raised a brow and waited for his agent to continue.
“He’s serious.”
A moment of silence passed before Jeff burst out laughing, “You’re funny, Danny,” He kept laughing, “There’s no way you actually think I should be worried about Dale Sr.”
“I think you should be more concerned than you are, Jeff,” Danny pushed up his glasses, “He’s got a lot more power in the company than you do.”
“So what? Even if he tries to kick my ass I can outrun the old timer before his lungs give out.”
“Did you not hear what I just said? Earnhardt has what you don’t. Power and reputation. He can use that against you,” Danny was far more stressed about the situation at present then Jeff thought he needed to be.
“Sponsors, Jeff. You need sponsors, and companies will cut us off the moment you aren’t marketable anymore.”
“So what does that have to do with Sr?”
“People respect him. Sponsors respect him, he’s on a legacy run and if he ends up following through with his word, nobody will pick you up anymore.”
Jeff thought it was a load of shit, “Earnhardt beats my ass on live television and I’m the one that loses backing?”
Danny nodded hesitantly, “You’ve got to pick your enemies wiser. He’s not the one you want on the opposing team.”
“So what should I do? Don’t tell me to stop winning,” Jeff could feel a migraine starting to creep up.
“No one is saying you have to stop winning. Just… maybe show yourself being a tad more respectful of your elders,” Danny spoke like a man terrified of getting fired.
Jeff couldn’t manage a true response at the moment. The whole situation was ridiculous, when had everyone become so soft? Racing was what he was good at, and if that made him better than the legends then so fucking be it.
***
The following Sunday was another race day and it was early enough before qualifying that Jeff was able to sneak away from his team to get his bearings of the track. He’d won on this track before so there was no doubt in his mind he could do it again.
The sun was up but not enough for it to be sweltering just yet, and the light morning breeze ruffled Jeff’s hair as he walked the empty track.
He thought back to the interview Danny showed him earlier in the week. His agent hadn’t brought it up again since that day so Jeff’s hope was that the whole ordeal would blow over.
“Wonderboy…” Jeff kicked a loose pebble into the wall on the first turn, “I’ll show you Wonderboy…”
He couldn’t get the old man’s words out of his head.
“He’ll get his ass handed to him eventually, and if it’s not by me it’ll be by someone more deserving.”
Jeff wasn’t threatened by Dale Sr’s words, he’d had his ass handed to him plenty of times. The industry could be brutal and Jeff was young, of course he’d been beaten up. He could take that. It was what his agent brought up after that worried him the more he thought about it.
Power and Reputation.
As he continued walking the track, Jeff let the words rattle about in his brain. He knew he wasn’t exactly popular with the current set of Nascar fans, maybe the younger crowd, but definitely not the majority. The number of fans he had didn’t matter, Jeff had the drive and will to win and Sr was threatened by that.
He needed to focus. The right headspace was keen to winning another race and if anyone noticed Jeff wasn’t entirely where he needed to be, that was a vulnerability.
“Well, well,” A voice drew Jeff out of his thoughts, “If it isn’t Wonderboy.”
Dale Sr was perched on a bench at the edge of the pitt by the final turn. Far away enough from the group of people gathered in the middle so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting hounded by cameras. He wore his usual jeans, boots and cowboy hat. The same casual clothes he’d worn for the last twenty years on race day. A cigarette dangled from his lips and he inspected Jeff’s approaching figure.
Jeff held in a scowl, he quickly shoved down any insecurity or uncertainty he was feeling and bucked up his chest. He tried to exude confidence as he spoke, “Who’re you callin’ Wonderboy?”
Dale blew smoke from his nose and shook his head like he was amused, “Easy killer, I’m not here to make good on my word just yet.”
Jeff felt heat rise to his cheeks, maybe he was coming in a little hot.
“How’d you find me?” He asked, trying for more casual.
“I didn’t come lookin’ for you kid that’s for sure,” Dale crossed a leg over his knee and leaned back on the bench.
Jeff did his best to not take Dale’s bait. As much as being called “kid” drove him crazy, he knew it was what every driver before him referred to him as. But Wonderboy was the one that always had him fuming.
Dale beat Jeff to a response, “I see you walk this track every race.”
Jeff blinked, taken aback a bit, “You watch me walk the track before every race?”
Dale shrugged, “I guess you could say we have a similar pre race ritual.”
“You walk every track before the race?” Jeff asked.
It wasn’t exactly the most unique pre race ritual in the industry. Every driver knew the small differences between each track and it was common to see drivers pace the entire thing before qualifying. But the old heads didn’t usually make an appearance until they absolutely had to.
“Not exactly,” Dale flicked extra ash off his cigarette and gestured to the space next to him on the bench, “Come have a seat.”
Jeff wasn’t sure what to expect. He had every right to feel nervous at the invitation from the older man; even if he did say he wasn’t there to make good on his word.
“I don’t bite, kid,” Dale broke the tension in the air, “Just want to talk is all.”
Swallowing, Jeff finally moved to sit down next to the older man. He smelled of oak, leather, and cigarettes, which only suited him. It was a smell that told a story. How many times had Dale’s old boots walked this exact track? How many cigarettes had Dale gone through in the victory circle as the years passed? If Jeff was anyone else he’d be intrigued by Dale’s ability to last so long in the industry and remain successful.
“I don’t think we’ve got much to talk about,” Jeff finally said, hoping his words came off stronger than they felt.
He knew what he’d spat about the older man in the camera was adrenaline fueled; he didn’t actually think Dale should retire, he was simply speaking-
“You talk outta your ass, kid.”
Dale’s words brought Jeff out of his head, fast.
“Huh?”
“I know how it is,” Dale looked at Jeff, one side of his mustache quirked up to give away a rugged smile, “You’re so locked in all you can think about is the win. And when it finally happens you feel so invincible you start talkin’ outta your ass.”
There was no reason for Jeff to deny that, but he opened his mouth to speak anyways.
Dale beat him to it, “You’ve got balls kid, no one can deny that.”
Jeff watched the smoke of Dale’s cigarette drift and swirl into the sky.
“But you’ve got a load of people that wanna see you fail.”
Considering the older man’s words, Jeff huffed a laugh, “You wouldn’t be the first one to tell me that.”
Dale slapped a large hand on Jeff’s shoulder before he moved to stand. So much for a conversation, “Then I think maybe it’s time you listen to ‘em.”
With that, he left Jeff on the bench with his thoughts. Another ominous warning spun through Jeff’s head, but all he could focus on was the lingering feeling of Dale’s hand on his shoulder.
