CHAPTER TWENTY: BRAZIL
Sara
From the moment we set foot in Sao Paulo, I love it. It’s big, exciting and beautifully multi-cultural. In light linen, Andy looks right at home.
We’re on a yacht for a photoshoot, Andy looking to the city. “I paid a local boy to take me up there once.”
My chiffon dress flutters in the ocean breeze, the briny smell coming off the water refreshing. “Where’s that?”
He points. “The favelas.”
“Why?”
“There’s this dish they do up there, a stew,” he rubs his belly, “you need a concrete-lined stomach, but it’s incredible.”
“You weren’t worried about your safety?”
“If you’re not looking for trouble, it rarely finds you.”
Trouble—it sure as hell found us in Mexico. We haven’t really spoken about it, but a night hasn’t gone by where I don’t wake up covered in cold sweat, heart beating out of my body. “Who said that?”
“Andy Fortes.”
A PA holds onto the side of the yacht a little green around the gills. “We’re ready for you now, Mr. Fortes.”
The photographer waits at the front of the yacht, an assistant holding a diffuser looking like he’s about to be blown overboard at any moment.
“Duty calls,” winks Andy, walking away.
I take a moment to consider where I am, how far I’ve come from Rosie, from the Big Apple to the world.
You are dating Andy Fortes and he is head over fucking heels in love with you.
I cannot help but smile, my heart doing little somersaults in my chest, nostrils flaring and eyes closing, the gentle rocking of the yacht magical. I open my eyes, but the sun remains. For a moment the abduction is forgotten. There’s not a cloud on the horizon.
Yet.
*
Race preparation is proving particularly difficult for the team. I imagine they’ve been drinking too much caipirinha. One glass almost knocked me out completely.
A shipment of tires has gone missing, a problem with the data-logging software. Steven’s pulling his hair out all day, Andy keeps his distance but looks similarly agitated. Tensions are high.
Andy stands by my side, mechanics rushing around manically. “I’m going to confront him, get him to admit it.”
“Who and what?”
But I know.
“Steven.”
I take his arm. “Don’t, not this close to the end of the season. We’ll deal with it after the championship, take it to the police.”
“It’s not fucking right, Sara. He was responsible. I know it. He shouldn’t go unpunished.”
“You don’t have proof.”
“I don’t need it. I’ll talk to him man to man, look him in the fucking eye and ask the question.”
“You can’t possibly think that will go well. Even if he is responsible, what benefit does he get from admitting it? You think you’re so alpha you can puff out your chest and he’ll confess everything?”
He stiffens. “Yeah, I kind of do.”
“You’re impossible.”
“To love?”
“No, but I’m telling you. This is not a good idea.”
He walks off, calling behind himself, “We’ll see”.
Damn it.
I trail him to the transporter and Steven’s office.
I crouch beside the door.
“Got a moment?” says Andy, standing in the doorway.
“I’m a little busy, Andy. Can it wait?” comes Steven’s icy reply.
Andy walks in and closes the door, but I can still hear them. “No,” he says firmly, “it can’t”.
“If this is about Carl…”
“It’s about Sara.”
“Sara?” Steven sounds surprised. “I don’t care if you two are seeing each other. Fuck in the middle of the grid for all I care.”
Andy comes straight out with it, blunt as a butter knife. “You were behind it, weren’t you? You kidnapped her in Mexico.”
“What?” Steven’s trying to sound confused, but he’s not pulling it off. There’s hesitation in his voice.
“I know it was you. Stacey said as much.”
Andy’s bluffing.
“Stacey? Stacey Solomon, the party planner? What the hell are you talking about, Andy?”
Andy starts to shout, temper lost. “Fucking have the balls to admit it, Steven. Why the fuck did you do it? I mean, I knew you were a cunning, crafty bastard, but that shit? Too far, my friend, way too far.”
“Andy, you’re making no sense here.”
“Really?” Andy laughs. “You deny it, kidnapping Sara and forcing me to drop the race?”
I think Steven’s standing up. “You need to leave—now.”
“Admit it and I’ll go. I’ll even let you keep your consciousness.”
“Are you threatening me, Fortes? I’ve been threatened before and I do not take kindly to it.”
“I imagine you have.”
“Listen to yourself,” Steven shouts. “You sound insane.”
“I don’t have proof, asshole, but I know it was you. If you think that’s going to scare me off, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Andy, I plead, come on.
He’s not done. “You’ve gone too far this time, Steven. It’s personal now and I’m not stopping until you’re destroyed, begging on your knees for my forgiveness.”
Steven’s voice moves again. “You better watch yourself. You forget who provides the cars you drive, your team… your safety.”
Andy’s voice moves forward in the room to match. “What the fuck did you just say?”
I’ve got to get Andy out of there before he explodes. I stand and push the door open, locking my arm around his. “Andy, he’s not worth it. Let’s go.”
He finally relents, backing away slowly but keeping his eyes locked on Steven. He shakes his finger at him. “This isn’t over.”
Steven smiles back, shuffling papers. “No, I don’t think it is.”
Outside, I know nothing I can say is going to get Andy to cool off. He wants blood.
“I’m going back to the hotel,” I tell him.
He seems surprised. “You’re not staying for the race?”
“I’m sorry, Andy, but after what happened… I don’t feel safe.”
“I can get extra security, whatever you need.”
I place my hand reassuringly on his chest. “It’s fine, really. I’ll watch it on TV. Win, okay?”
“Oh, I’ll win alright.” He looks to Steven’s office. “I’ve never been so determined in my whole life to stick it to someone.”
“Are you sure he was behind it?”
“He was behind it alright, and now he has to face the consequences.”
*
I can’t deny I’m nervous even locked in my hotel suite. I haven’t let on to Andy, but the whole kidnapping thing has me seriously rattled. I’m even scared to bring it up with Gretchen, let alone Mom. She’d never let me leave the US again.
The worst part of it all is that I still don’t know what happened to me between the lunch with Stacey and Andy rolling me over in some strange hotel in Mexico City. Anything could have happened, not that I’m hurt. I’d know if they’d… I don’t even want to think about it. And who are they? I know Steven wants to see Andy fail, but surely he wouldn’t go that far. It’s too much even for him.
I try not to think about it anymore, switching on the TV.
During qualifying, Andy is on fire. He drives like a man with a point to prove, smashing the lap record and easily making pole position, Carl second.
The race is no less intense, but Andy is untouchable. Carl tries, weaves behind Andy almost constantly but in the end cannot make the ground required to pass. He’s forced to take second and eighteen points, Andy’s twenty-five narrowing the gap between them to four points overall. One more win and he’ll be ahead.
*
Come night and the party may as well be Checkpoint Charlie. It looks like a party but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like one.
I keep my distance from Steven and Stacey, even Carl. I stay close to Andy where I can, continuously checking behind me seeing shadowy figures in my head with syringe in hand, a bag and rope… I’ve been dreaming about them, dreaming over and over about being tied up and helpless, and Andy is there but never close enough, always an inch or two away from saving me. The room fills with water and I drown, black and lonely in the darkness.
I take a breath and focus on Stacey. I don’t want to talk to her, but I have no choice. She was the last one to see me. I’ve been putting it off, but no longer.
Andy sees me walking towards her. “Where are you going?”
“Just a little girl-to-girl chat.”
“With fucking Stacey?”
“Trust me.”
Stacey sees me coming. If she’s surprised. She doesn’t show it. “You’re looking better.”
“Why did you ask me to lunch, honestly?”
“Honestly? Okay. I wanted to find out what Andy saw in you.”
“Wow, that is honest. And?”
“I can see it, but I have to admit you’re a bit of a lightweight when it comes to handling your drink.”
I’d slap that smug smile right off her face if it wasn’t for the countless cameras in here. I keep myself in check. “What happened? I don’t remember much after main course.”
She looks away. “You were drunk. I called a cab and helped you in, told them to take you back to the hotel. I tipped the driver well.”
“Which company?
She chokes a little on her champagne. “Company?”
“Taxi company? Which one did you use?”
“Why, did something happen?” She’s avoiding the question.
“You could say that.”
Feigned concern. “Sara, I had no idea. Did he…?”
I shake my head. “No, but I do need to know the taxi company you used, chase them up.”
She takes out her phone, pretends to run through her call log. “I can’t find it, sorry. Must have lost the number when I did a system update the other night.”
How fucking convenient. “Not to worry. Do you remember the driver?”
This lie she can fill in. “Oh yeah. Typical Mexican, balding, moustache, maybe forty, forty-five?”
“A name?”
I notice Steven is watching us intently from the other side of the room.
She shakes her head, stupid cow. “Pablo maybe?”
“Well, thanks,” I tell her. Thanks for fucking nothing.
“For you, anything,” she purrs, all snake.
I turn to find Andy. He’s at the bar right beside Carl, the two of them face-to-face.
Fuck.
I rush over there. “Andy?”
Andy knocks a glass off the bar. It shatters next to the bartender. He shoves Carl in the chest. “Stay the fuck away from me,” he tells him. “On the track and fucking off it.”
Carl bows. “My pleasure.”
I pull Andy aside. “What was that all about? I thought you were going to cool it for a while?”
Andy rounds on me. “You know what he said to me, that asshole?”
“What, Andy? What did he say?”
“He said he wouldn’t be surprised if I cheated last season, like my win was down to an illegal part, some under-handed bullshit. Fuck him.”
Andy sees Carl watching. He looks back at him. “Yeah, fuck you too, pal!”
“Let’s go,” I tell him, guiding him as quietly as I can from the party before this turns into one giant MMA match.