CHINA
When he gently wiped the mess off my face, I almost fell over. When he tried to help me clean up, I was in awe. When he knew what an Alexander McQueen original was, I was slightly confused. Officer Mason didn’t seem to be the gay type, but my gaydar could be off when I’m this drunk.
Pushing it out of mind, traversing through the varied exhibitions, I’m reminded that my reason here tonight is more important than the puzzle of one Officer Mason.
Escorting me, people seem disinterested in engaging me in the usual droll conversation. I have to admit, he’s scrumptious dressed up, and I’m about to hire him as the defensive lineman for my social events. I was dreading tonight with all the condolences, and for that I’ll have to give the good officer thanks. It’ll be the only thanks he’ll get, obviously, as he’ll be my enemy again soon. I doubt I’ll see him after I end up in LA County for twenty days, so I’ll graciously accept the view of his tight backside for now. Once I’m inside the slammer, he may be my dream during badly needed mental escapes.
Fuck. I don’t look good in red, never mind jumpsuit orange.
Entering the Grand Salon and moving toward the stage, I pause at the doorway. It’s the first time I’ve seen Dad’s car since the crash. It’s not the one from that day, but one of his that’s been on display for years. There’s no engine, but it’s still there in all its glory, sparkling and reminding me of him. Taking a deep breath, I hold it in, looking over the sleek machine. Its bright colors, and the badge that holds his name in eternity is heart-wrenching to see.
“I c-can’t,” I stammer.
Stopping short of entering, Officer Mason turns to me. I can feel his body heat as he stands close and bends low. His soft voice is understanding as he breathes just by my ear. “It’s the first time you’ve seen it, isn’t it?”
Nodding slowly, I swallow back the tears. I can’t find the courage to speak.
“Is there another person who can do this?”
Shaking my head no, I blink back the moisture that’s fighting its way to the surface, contending with the pain that’s building inside. On the outside, I’m a sight to behold in a stained, dirty, designer dress with raspberry cream coating my legs, as my emotions fly to the surface. It makes me an even bigger target for the reporters that are waiting in the wings. Days like this are their favorite.
“Do you want me to take you home? Do you want to leave, China?” Placing a hand on the small of my back (I love his touch), it feels like safety and warmth as I lean heavily toward it.
So badly I want to say yes, but I promised that I would do this so that James wouldn’t have to. I have to prove I’m strong enough to follow through. “I have to,” I say, gaining strength in each word. My father and mother would tell me to push through it, and that’s what I’ll do.
Stepping away from his hand, feeling the imprint of where it rested so casually, my skin cools. I have to do this. There’s no choice.
Step by step, nodding at the appropriate people and smiling as I take in the leering stares, shocked looks, and accepting the obvious bad photos that will ensue, I make my way to the stage.
Everyone takes their seats. Looking over the sea of faces, I take in those still conversing and not giving me their full attention. I didn’t create a speech, but I doubt there’s much to it.
I hope.
Standing at the podium, there’s a full pitcher of water and a clean glass. Pouring myself one, I guzzle it before speaking. The last thing I need is to choke because I’m parched from my overindulgence in wine.
Tapping the mic slightly, I start. “Thank you for coming out tonight. This evening will assist in the furthering of young racers in our industry.” As soon as my voice carries, the din dies down as the remaining stragglers take their seats. “As you can tell by my dress,” I wave my hands around the outfit, “my life is still taking the mickey out of me. I think I’ll give Alexander a call to show him that panna cotta is the new design this summer.” At least the crowd laughs at my good humor.
“We’ve worked hard this year to present as many scholarships as possible. Personally, I was lucky enough to meet with many of them during training days, watching their formal introductions to sponsors, and I’ve been in attendance on the track as they mentored the new teams over and over. Seeing someone fulfilling a dream that they thought unattainable feels good.” Looking at the faces, and finally seeing where my girls are seated, I give them a weak little grin.
“Tonight’s ceremony wouldn’t be possible without us and without you. Open those tight ass wallets and give graciously to the cause.”
Knowing I need to say something about the elephant in the room, I look back over at Dad’s car and decide that now is probably the only chance I’ll get. “Crown and Anchor Foundation started twenty years ago. My parents, and Jason Anchor, felt it was a good way to source new blood for the sports they loved. They felt that not all racers were born with a silver spoon in their mouths.” Saying these words strains my resolve, but I continue on.
Clearing the tightness from my throat, I raise the half empty water glass and begin once more. “Please, raise your glass in a toast to the late Jason Anchor, as well as my parents, Jax and Marca Crown.” Raising it, I hold back the tears. “To the future endeavors of the Crown and Anchor Foundation, and its recipients.” As the same tears pull to the surface once more, I look over to the entrance where Officer Mason stands, right where I left him. Looking like a guardian, a sergeant at arms, or a Viking waiting on their lord, he watches me intently. I’m not sure what it is that draws me to him, but I feel better peering his way.
Swallowing down the pain and accepting the ruckus applause, I start toward the stairs. The first is fine, the second marginally worse. But by the fifth stair, I’m swimming in emotions that I can’t hold together. I vaguely see Cathryne, Hallette and Harlow as they cut through the tables toward me in all their finery. Their perfectly coiffed hair and exotic looks make them look like dolls primped and prepped for a very expensive tea party.
As I hit the final stair, tumbling toward the floor in a heap of turmoil, I’m an attraction at a sideshow for what not to do in public when the dam breaks.
“I’ve got you, Miss Crown.” I hear him, but I’m so enveloped in the pain pouring out of me that I can’t answer. Feeling his strong, thick arms folding me into his body, pulling me tight, I can’t help but think of how good it feels. Tucking close, taking in his scent, my chest heaves from the pressure as I’m trying to catch my breath.
I don’t care how I look or how I appear to everyone, and I honestly don’t give a fuck that he’s the cop that arrested me, as long as he can get me clear of here fast, I’m glad.
Everything seems surreal. The crowd that was listening so intently to me moments ago, laughing along and applauding, has now started to say “Oh, that poor girl” and “That’s so sad.”
This is what I was fearful of.