4 comments/ 7733 views/ 1 favorites Alt. Queen of the Left-hand Turns By: maxdname See that beautiful girl in the poster? When I first met her she was a simple hillbilly girl from Appalachia sleeping with stock car drivers in order to get a pit pass. Look at her now: she's a blond and a model with her own TV show that earns her more in a year than most stock car drivers will earn in a lifetime on the circuit. A national racing magazine is doing a nude layout of her as Miss Oval, "the Queen of Left-hand Turns." But I can remember when her name was Susan Margaret Coleman, or most often, Sissy. I was racing the Fall-line circuit. Every self-respecting southern city on the Piedmont Fall-line had at least one banked oval track and some had two. The big cities, like Charlotte, had Super Speedways. These were the venues that all banked-track drivers worked towards: the big leagues. But most of us spent countless week nights entertaining a couple thousand locals in some small southern town while we battled for second place behind one of the pro drivers, who would stop by to show us how quickly someone could cover a one-mile oval given enough money and equipment. A slim pretty girl wandered over to my car: number 36. I was called "The Professor" because I had a BS degree from an accredited university, a rare commodity amongst the circuit racers. The bottom of the food chain in racing, where I was, usually had a race team of one: driver/mechanic/fan club. The lucky ones had a pretty girl who could take over the fan club duties. The luckiest drivers had a fan club who would marry them and maybe help them create an entire pit crew with the same last name and the additional tax exemptions. I was tinkering on my old tattered carburetor when an unruly mop of brunette hair fell into the engine compartment of my Ford. "Hey," she said in her Southern drawl that made it sound like "hah-yee." "Martin's gonna be hard to beat, ta-night." I turned my head to look at the girl but didn't stand up. Every race night girls like her showed up in the pits hoping to find someone--anyone--who could spirit them away from Hairlip, South Carolina and their alcoholic mother and an over-affectionate step-father. I'd seen the same thing in Shreveport, Clovis, Kingman, Barstow, and half-a-dozen other little cities across the country. "Who are you, his agent?" "Nah. But I watched you qualifyin'. You was scrubbin' too hard in turn four. It's greasy down low. If you shoot hah, you can pull it fa-yest." I blinked but didn't answer. She pushed herself out of the engine compartment. "See ya." She was cute but wore too much makeup and her white shorts and pink tank-top screamed "for sale by owner" but I'd take help wherever proffered. I needed a win and could use any inside information. "You know this track?" I asked as she strolled away. With her hands in the back pockets of her shorts she glanced at me over her shoulder and then shrugged. "Is that a 'yes' shrug or a 'no' shrug?" The girl shrugged again. I stood up and wiped my hands on my red rag. "I'm Elliot," I said offering up my hand while I covered the short distance between us. Her eyebrows raised. "Elliot? Yer not from around're, are ya?" I pulled my hand back. "I can't tell if you're speaking like that because you think it's cute or if you were an extra for 'Deliverance.'" Without a change of expression or taking her hands from her pockets she raised herself up on tiptoes, cocked her head, turned, and walked away slowly. I wanted to say "I'm sorry," but instead I shook my head and went back to my carburetor. I needed to work on my skills with fans. But first a driver needed fans, and the way I had finished in the last couple of races I would be lucky to find a stray puppy that would hang around me. I slammed the hood down and prepared for the first heat of the night. The roar of the engine put my worries and doubts a million miles behind me: I was born to race. The flagman waved twenty cars onto the track and we started our first lap slowly until we came around the last turn and saw that flash of the green cloth in the distance. Driving on the short-track stock car circuit was more like rush hour traffic than a race, too many cars in too small an area and all going too fast for the conditions. Hanging back, I waited to make a good move on the leaders. I put turn four in my cross hairs and goosed the accelerator as I rode through the high side. No slip. Next time around I pushed it harder. By the end of the race all the other cars were following my line hoping to catch my draft. I won pulling away. A first-place finish allowed me to skip the next heat and go straight to the winner's bracket and race for money in the main event. In the pits I fell back into my engine compartment to ready my car for the main event. "Told ya so." The girl with the unruly hair leaned into the engine compartment across from me, her elbows on the fender and her chin in her palms. "Yes, you did. Thanks." She smiled at me. "I'm sorry I was snotty earlier." She shrugged. She watched my actions for several minutes without speaking. Finally, she offered, "Martin's gonna try to spin the second-place car coming out of turn three right before the finish." "Did he tell you that?" "Hang ba-yeck. He figures a spin'll get ever'body off his tail so he can take it easy." She stood and began to wander away "Thanks," I said with a nod. "What's your name?" I shouted from under the hood. "Sissy. Good luck." Sissy disappeared into the crowd. When the main event started I thought about Sissy's advice and let several cars get in between Martin and myself. Martin had jumped into the lead off the green flag. We were running fast and there wouldn't be much chance to push and shove like the heat races. With two laps to go the car in second place spun taking out the number three car with it. Sissy had called it. I had nothing but open track in front of me now and I opened up my machine. I glanced in my rearview to see the two cars involved in the spin slide into the infield. There would be no stopping the race. I made up distance quickly against the higher-powered car by taking a lower line and going high in turn four. Last lap. I came up behind the lead car fast and rode high at the approach of four. Predictably, Martin cut off the faster high line. So I pulled in low and let my car drift into his pushing him against the wall. This little bump slowed him down just enough to allow me to jerk the wheel and launch back into the center of the track in first place. My first win of the season. After a victory lap I pulled into the pits. Rolling by Martin I could see he was fuming at my move. He had pulled the maneuver a dozen times but he didn't like somebody doing it to him. I wheeled my car into the trailer and had shaken everybody's hand at least twice when I heard a commotion. Martin was standing, or more correctly being held aloft by several men, with his legs pumping in the air like he was astride a bicycle. Sissy lay on the ground in front of him. "Get outta here, you little slut!" Martin shouted as he kicked at the prostrate girl. She clamored to her feet, grabbed a small backpack from the ground and trotted several yards before she shouted back at him. "That'll be the last time ya'll ever hit me, ya bastard!" Sissy staggered in my direction, now sniffling as she reeled across the pit row. "Hey, Elliot. Can ah git a ride?" I answered with a jerk of my head towards my truck. "She's all yours local boy! She'll fuck you over, too!" Martin shouted at me as he wrestled himself out of the grasp of the men. I yanked the door of my old truck open and climbed in. Sissy was seated in the passenger side already. "Let me guess. Martin did tell you what he was gonna do." With tears in her eyes Sissy nodded. "All right, where can I take you?" Sissy started out the window for a moment before she answered. She turned to face me. "Where ya'll goin'?" "Greensboro. The County Fair Race." Sissy sniffled, "Sounds good." "Whoa, wait a minute. You two had a little lover's spat. I'll take you home or to your motel but that's it." "Uh uh," she said shaking her head. "Ah'm never goin' back. We weren't all that close, anyhow." "What?" "Ah only met him a week ago." I stared out the windshield, with my forearms resting on the wheel, listening to her. "Greensboro is f-eye-n." I sat back in the seat and looked at her. "Sissy," I paused. "Where do you live?" "Greensboro," she deadpanned. I started the truck and pulled out of pit row. The first order of business was to fill up my truck with gas. It had two, 50 gallon, tanks and when I collected prize money the first thing I always did was fill them. I never knew how long I would have to go between fill ups. PING PING. The bells announced my arrival. I got out, plugged the nozzle into the fill tube and walked inside to pay. Inside was a rack that held sunglasses of all description, including a set of pink plastic heart-shaped glasses like Sue Lyon wore in the movie "Lolita." I was reading the book, again and it struck me to add them to my total along with my bottled water, food, and newspaper. Filling my truck I peered inside the cab through the side-view mirror. Sissy's head bobbed to a tune while she occasionally sang a couple of the words before falling back into a head bob. Sometimes fate can deal you a funny hand to play and Sissy was that. I would give her a ride and then lose her at Greensboro, but in the meantime I thought it best to keep my cash in my shoe, just in case she wanted more than a ride. When I was done I climbed in the truck and set the bag with the goodies between us. Sissy was still bouncing in time to the radio as she peeked into the bag. She looked back up at me and then into the bag a second time. "What?" I asked in a slightly annoyed tone. She pulled out the glasses and held them up. "Ah thought you were straight, Elliot." "Stop it." I smirked at her joke in spite of myself. "I'm reading 'Lolita' and the star wore those in the movie version." "Was he straight?" For the next hour I explained the story as we rolled along the Interstate. "Hm, in mah hometown nobody'd pay much attention to a story like that. Ya know how ya could tell if a twelve-year-old girl in mah school was a virgin?" "How?" I asked. With an impish grin she replied, "Check her times in the 100 yard dash." "You should work for the Chamber of Commerce." I caught her staring at me out of the corner of my eye in the dim cab of the truck. "Elliot?" "Yes." "Wh-ah're you here? Ya'll don't seem like the rest." "I'll take that as a compliment. Um, my father was a professional baseball player, nobody you've probably ever heard of but he did all right for himself. He was disappointed that I didn't play ball: I was always working on cars. After high school he sent me to college, said I 'might find myself.' There was a track nearby and I started working the pits and used that for credits in my engineering degree. "When I graduated my father gave me some money to take a trip. 'See the world,' he said. I bought a car and this rig instead. He wasn't angry. He just doesn't understand it. He says, 'You could have been anything.' I say 'I am something: a stock car driver.'" Sissy smiled. "That's kinda nice." "So, why are you here?" "What? In this truck or hangin' 'round the circuit?" "Take your pick." "A'ight," she scanned the dark floorboards of the truck before she continued. "Ah'm in this truck 'cause ah saw you racin' and ah thought you had po-TENtial. Ya'll ran pretty good out there ... and ah thought'd be a shame if Martin pulled a trick on ya. So ah tol't ya what he was up to." "What about turn four?" "Ya'll were settin' up too low." I turned to look at her. "How long have you been coming to the track?" With a slight chuckle she answered quietly, "All mah life." Then she turned away and stared out the window for a long time. I was flush with cash so I stopped a motel along the route. When times were hard I'd sleep on a cot in the trailer in some truck stop. When I could afford it I'd find a cheap motel--though not too cheap--where I could get some rest and a hot shower. Tonight was one of the those special nights. As I walked away from the office I deliberately avoided eye contact with my new ward. I climbed back in the truck, threw it in gear and rolled to a stop in front of the room without saying a word. Sissy followed me through the doorway with her backpack in her hand. She stopped and looked at the double beds. I pointed at the bed closest to the bathroom and announced, "That one's yours." She smiled and jumped on it, bouncing several times before she nestled her cheek into the pillow. I walked into the bathroom and took a well-deserved shower. When I came out Sissy was curled up on her bed snoring softly. I turned out the lights, fell onto my own bed and went into a dreamless sleep. The splash of the shower roused me the next morning. When my eyes opened past full and shrank to adjust to the real world I threw the covers aside and moved towards the door. I sat on the edge of mattress staring at that cheap wooden door trying to decide if this was, in fact, the moment to leave: I could ditch her now and move on. I sat for a long time staring at that door. Too long. The bathroom door opened with a flood of white vapor that flowed towards out and enveloped the bed. "Mornin' Elliot. Didn't wake ya, did ah?" Turning halfway to her voice I distractedly shook my head. "Nah, I was thinking about ... " I could hear the rustle of her wet hair behind me as she dried herself. "... Greensboro." I finished. "Can ah he'p?" I turned my upper body to look at her. She stood with a towel around her waist and her large well-set breasts free in the morning air. Her large "virtues" caught my gaze. She watched my eyes for a moment and then covered her exposed breasts with the hand towel that she had used on her brunette mop seconds earlier. "Sorry. I wasn't thankin'." Her comment was made completely without regret or pretense. She sounded like she honestly hadn't thought how I'd react. I couldn't ditch her. Later, I sat behind the wheel of the truck waiting for her and as she leaned inside the open door she smiled and held up her index finger. "Wait. I want my 'free breakfast.'" "Sissy, that's just shitty coffee and a bagel." She moved her hand, with finger still extended, closer to me to punctuate her request without speaking before she sprinted away. The door of the office flew open as she jogged back to the truck with a bear claw between her teeth and a paper cup full of coffee in her hand. The door slammed and coffee slopped onto the floorboard. "Done," she mumbled through her pastry. I put the truck in gear and we rolled towards our next stop. The morning light was her best friend. She positively glowed when the sun hung low in the sky. Her smiles looked larger, eyes glowed brighter and her oval face shown brighter with the sun on her face or resting on her shoulder. The highway opened up before us while she sang lines of songs, pointed to odd sights along the fences, and entertained me, in general, as we headed towards our destination. By the time we turned off the main road I had heard her life story up through high school. "Sissy, if your daddy was a mechanic on the super speedway circuit why are you riding in my truck to yet another crappy one-mile oval track?" Staring out the window at the LED billboards advertising the lowest prices of diesel she mumbled, "He died... Hey," her arm stayed fixed on a roadside sign as I pulled onto the off ramp. "That sign said 'Fairgrounds.'" "The sign didn't say anything," I corrected. "It 'read,' Fairgrounds." "Yeah, well it 'read' that ya'll should be takin' a right and you ain't in the right lane." She chirped in a sarcastic tone. I shot a steely stare at her as I glanced over my shoulder and pulled quickly to the right. "Where'd y'all learn that, 'Dukes o' Hazzard?'" she asked as I darted into the turn lane. I had to chuckle. She was funny kid and I found myself honestly enjoying her company. We wandered the midway together before I had to register for that night's race. A booth, at the far end of the sawdust and flashing lights, had movie posters: two darts in the bullseye wins a prize, a dollar a chance. A win took three dollars but as I pointed to a poster in the grimy corner, out of the glare of the first run hits featuring explosions and fast cars, I considered it a worthwhile investment. Sissy couldn't see which poster I had picked for her and I made her wait until we were away from the noise of the midway and seated back inside my truck before I let her see it. She pulled the tightly rolled paper from the clear plastic tube and examined it at arm's length. "Sissy," I said. "That's Sue Lyon as 'Lolita.'" Sissy smirked at the picture of a 12 year-old peeking over her heart-shaped glasses while she french-kissed a giant lollipop. Then Sissy giggled out loud. "Ah like it," she said with a nod of her head for punctuation. She bounced across the bench seat and kissed my cheek and then held the poster at arm's length once more. Back out on the midway she put her arm in the crook of my elbow as we walked to the registration booth. A hand-painted sign nearby announced a contest for a "Ms. New Guilford County Raceway" with a first prize of 150 dollars. Duties included: handing out the trophy after tonight's race and posing for a photo session. I pointed and suggested Sissy could give it a try. "Are you cr-ay-zy? Those girls're beautiful." "Try it." She was unconvinced but shrugged and wandered to the booth to sign up while I paid my race fees. As we walked back to the truck I explained to Sissy that all she needed was to do something that would be noticeably different from the rest of the girls and she could win easily. Then, the two of us sat at the edge of midway making up stories about the people who passed by us while I ate popcorn and she munched on an "elephant ear" confection. I shook my head. "Don't you know that thing is nothing but fried oil, air, and dough?" "Don't fergit sugar," she added as she made a "yummy" noise. With a giggle she punched my arm playfully. "Ya'll gonna be my doctor, now?" "Pass," I said as I shook my head. The time had come for me to prepare for the race and she needed to get ready for her competition. Together, we strolled back to the truck. I rolled my car off the trailer and popped open the hood. Sissy came back from the cab of the truck clutching her backpack. "I gotta go put on mah bay-thin' suit." I looked up at her backpack. "You carry a bathing suit?" She screwed up her face briefly. "Shut up and work on yer car, Elliot." Her expression softened. "Ya'll gonna wish me luck?" Preoccupied, I turned my face towards hers, winked and replied, "Make it look easy, kid." She gushed out a giggle before she strolled off. Several yards away she turned to see if I was still watching her. I was. Then she waved and hurried away. I returned to my engine. When I finished I looked for the chunk of Styrofoam I used while doing engine work. I placed it over the intake to make certain nothing could fall inside. It was gone, along with a screwdriver. I looked around quickly. Sissy's big event was coming up so I had to postpone my search. I wiped my hands and hurried to the stage where the girls would be lining up. One by one the girls sauntered onto the stage to the sounds of a throbbing heavy metal tune played too loud for the cheap sound system. Each girl, in turn, was announced as she sashayed down the runway, turned once, waved and walked back to form a line next to the announcer. The judging was based on audience applause and so far nobody was running away with the prize. When Susan Margaret Coleman was announced it caught me off guard: I had never heard Sissy's whole name before. The curtain flew open and Sissy paraded forward wearing a bathing suit, the "Lolita" glasses and licking a lollipop. It wasn't really a lollipop: she had stuck my wayward screwdriver into my Styrofoam so it appeared to be a six-inch diameter sugar confectionery. The crowd hooted, screamed, blew kisses at her, and sprayed the stage with beer aimed from their well-shaken bottles. Sissy won by a landslide. Alt. Queen of the Left-hand Turns When I showed my race pass the security guys let me backstage. Sissy spotted me and ran forward. "Did ya'll see me?" she shouted above the noise. I nodded. "Ah did what you said and it worked!" The music and the hustle backstage rivaled any pit row. I shouted back, "You made it look easy." She grinned and kissed my cheek. A man in a suit grabbed Sissy's arm and tugged her in the direction of a photographer. Waving as she was hustled away she paused long enough to wink and mouth "Make it look easy, kid." The first heat race was no big deal. I made the winner's bracket with a first-place finish. In the main event I took second and a portion of the purse. I stood on the winner's circle while the first-place finisher held Sissy in his arms and waved at the photographer. Riding in the truck Sissy said little about her reign as Ms. New Guilford County Raceway. Instead she was more concerned about "our" next stop. We picked up a pizza and a six-pack of beer to celebrate in the next cheap little motel. In the room, that night, we ate and played cribbage. Our cribbage board had been drawn in the top of the pizza box, the cards came with the room and our pegs were toothpicks. She told me her father had taught her the game when she was young and they had played countless nights together. Hours later we lay on our beds facing each other talking about our plans. "Elliot, how come ya'll haven't tried to jump my bones?" "Jump your bones?" I mimicked. "Don't you think ah'm pretty?" My eyes wandered around the room searching for an answer. I took a deep breath and started to speak but stopped before words came out. Sissy dropped her head onto her biceps as she continued to look at me, her eyes imploring. At last, I spoke up. "You don't owe me anything," I said shaking my head. "Ah know. Ah like you, Elliot. Ya'll 'ave treated me better than anybody." I forced a weak smile. She whispered, "Elliot, I want to... With you, ah mean." I climbed off my bed and lay down behind her forming my body to fit the curves of hers. She grabbed my hand as I draped it over her side and she tucked it in tight against her breasts. I measured their heft in my hand while I listened to Sissy's breathing as she responded to my touch. The pretty little nape of her neck was my palette while I played my lips and tongue against her delicate skin. She began to grind her firm ass into me and I felt my body respond. I tickled the hardness of her nipples through her thin bra and tee shirt. A shiver from her entire body greeted my attention. I buried my face into her neck; kissing, biting, nipping her skin, and attacking her responsive body. Somehow, this cute little hillbilly girl had captured an emotion deep inside me that had been long dormant. I became a predator attacking prey: she answered by giving herself to my aggression completely. Self control was relinquished to the animal inside me. Clothing ripped in my hands and my sweet Sissy purred, cooed, cried, panted, and clawed at me in an attempt to ease my ardor one moment and fuel it the next. When I entered her she squeaked in both pain and pleasure and when my pounding began against her wide open flesh she clutched at my neck murmuring in tongues. Her head whipped back and forth as she dug her nails into the exposed skin on my back and she echoed my name. The unrequited passion of two lifetimes crashed headlong into one another. I was vaguely aware of a voice murmuring, "Look at me when you come!" When Sissy's eyes popped open to stare into mine I realized it was my voice. Muscles deep inside the center of her body jerked and clenched and Sissy tried to curl into a fetal position but my flesh pounding inside her prevented that. As our passion cooled I stared into Sissy's eyes. She lay beneath with her entire being wrapped around mine: caressing and milking it. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks as we returned from our height of passion to the cheap little motel. "Are you okay?" I asked breathlessly. Weeping softly she pulled my chest closer to her cheek. "Shut up and hold me, Elliot." I fell asleep inside her. At the next race Sissy helped me get ready, gave me a wink and said, "make it look easy, kid." I took home the first-place purse. That night, we got a room with one bed. Snuggling together she asked me a question. "Elliot would you take me fer a 'fun' ride in yer car?" Sissy made her eyes go wide at this request. "Sure, I'll take you for a spin when the track opens..." "Nah-ow!" Sissy interrupted. "We cain't do that Elliot. Don't be dance." "Don't be 'dance?'" I repeated. "Dance... dumb... stupid." She stared at me. A switch clicked in my head as I realized the gist of her request. "Ohhhh. That kind of 'fun ride.'" I was laughing out loud, now. She wanted to have sex while we tooled around the banked track. Sissy looked at me seriously and shook her head. "Now ah'm not rulin' out yer idea, mind ya..." "Maybe, you could wave to the crowd..." I managed as I chuckled. "Guess that depends on what ah'm waving'." Sissy giggled before she pushed herself down the sheets until her face hovered directly above my penis. Her kisses on the bottom side of my organ roused my lust quickly. She took me deep inside her delicate mouth and sucked on me with a gentle urgency and I knew her wish was to thrill me more than any woman had: or maybe ever would. A man rarely meets a woman that truly lives to make him happy in his lifetime: I had met Sissy. I pulled her face to mine now and our tongues played tag until I let my lips wander down her body to her pink rich nipples. A simple touch from my lips caused her aureole to tighten and wrinkle which brought her hard nipple forward begging for attention. I nibbled at her. She placed her hands on my head and whispered, "Bah-yet 'em, Elliot." I complied. A hiss came from deep in her throat as she leaned close to my ear. "Harder..." I could feel her nails dig into my scalp as I did and her body trembled slightly. I let go of her nipple and tripped my tongue to the center of her. I could feel her excitement as my breath hit her body. My tongue broke the resistance of the thin hood that guarded her pleasure and she let out a long quiet whine as her hips rocked against my attack. I found her clitoris and flicked it lightly, bringing a shiver to her entire body. She pulled my head away from her body briefly to peer into my eyes and then she pushed my head roughly to her lust again. I lapped at her button rapidly now and her head rolled from side to side and her breath came in short gasps. I slid my finger inside her and she groaned and bucked her hips. Her chin fell to her chest and she held her breath while a small series of squeaks came from her closed mouth. Now a whine grew steadily louder until she grabbed my head and tugged at me roughly. "Now, Elliot!" she gasped as she reached between us to guide me into her moist hungry sex. Her whimpers filled my head as I filled her body. I grit my teeth as she dug her nails into my back and her teeth left a purple impression on my shoulder. Her body shook against mine and she twisted and turned in a fit of pure sexual pleasure. I rammed myself deeper inside her while Sissy arched her back. I felt her body stiffen against mine as her feet kicked, bunching up the sheets. Her back slammed onto the bed and inside her I felt muscles spasm rapidly. I let loose from deep inside myself. Everything in me was now in her. I collapsed on her chest, those lovely pointed pink nipples poked into my chest. I lay between her inviting legs listening to the sounds of joyous weeping, trying to determine if it was her voice or mine. Over the next two months I placed well in almost every event, with a fifth-place finish my worst. Sissy and I rode along the highways singing with songs that played on the radio or making up stories about the things that flashed by as we rolled along at 55 miles per hour. At each event she would wink an tell me to "make it look easy, kid" and for a while I did. We were in Fayetteville when I picked up a letter as I paid my race fees. It was in care of me but addressed to Sissy. Her photo session had piqued the interest of some television producer who wanted to run a weekly show during the race season covering all the events on the NASCAR. A week later, as I walked her down the concourse in the Nashville Airport, a feeling of dread grew inside me. She sensed my distress and smiled. "Ya'll know ah'm comin' back. Shoot, whatta they want with a hillbilly girl like me?' She took my face in her hands and brought my eyes even with hers. "I'm goin' 'cause it's a free plane ride. Elliot, ah'll be back 'fore ya know it." I nodded weakly After a peck on my cheek she turned and hurried down the ramp clutching her backpack. At the doorway to the airplane she turned to blow me a kiss. I winked at her and mouthed the words that had come to mean so much to me: "make it look easy, kid." Somewhere along the line she became a blond and her program was a big hit while she was on her way to becoming "the Queen of Left-hand Turns." She sent a dozen letters that caught up with me when I registered at a race, but seeing her do so well while I was still in the "bush leagues" made it difficult for me to write back. Pride is a funny thing: it can make you do things you never thought possible or do things that are plain foolish. Her letters were quick little notes, with her creative spelling and narrative style of writing, about her busy schedule and the new people she was meeting: with a closure of "when are you comin out?"- "gotta run" or something similar. When she sent me an autographed copy of her big nude layout in a national NASCAR publication that only made matters worse. I'm sure my run of bad luck wasn't connected to that sexy little hillbilly muse. For some reason, I lacked the desire to run with the "big dogs." I promised myself I would write to her when I could tell her about a first-place finish that held a big purse. The next thing I knew, I looked at the calendar and realized a year had passed. I was working on my temperamental carburetor with my head buried in the engine well when I heard the telltale thump-thump-thump that usually signaled the arrival of a big name NASCAR driver. They would fly in, with their machine waiting for them, run the course at record speeds and fly out again before the trophies were handed out; leaving the mundane task of picking up the prize money et cetera to some public relations guy. As the sound grew louder a voice boomed over the PA that a "special guest" was headed to the track. Over the din in the pits it was difficult to hear exactly who it was but the crowd absolutely roared at the announcement. Maybe I could pick up a second place, I thought. The helicopter landed and an entourage climbed out and headed into the pits. Whoever the "special guest" was, they were important judging by the size of the hangers-on and the frequent flashes from the cameras. I busied myself with my car until I noticed a crowd approaching. I stood up and spotted Sissy, "the Queen of Left-hand Turns," walking straight towards me. In a panic, I looked around for a place to hide. I didn't want her to see me like this: a second-rate driver on the Fall-line Circuit racing to pay for a cheap motel room. She had broke into the big time and here I was still struggling to break even. "Hey, it's the Professor. Ah heard a' you," I heard a familiar voice, with a giggle barely beneath the surface, call out at me. I couldn't help but smile at the sound of it. I turned to face her, sheepishly. "Hi'ya Sissy," I answered meekly. Her arms shot straight away from her body as she approached me and she exclaimed, "Gimme a hug, Elliot." "Oh, I'm dirty..." She never even slowed down a step as her arms snaked around my waist and she pulled me close. "Elliot, I've missed you so much," she whispered in my ear as she held her body against mine. She sniffled and wiped away a tear as she pushed me to arm's length to get a better look at me. "You bastard!" She playfully punched me in the arm. "Ah've looked all over the greater southeast fer you." "Why is that?" I asked fighting a tightness in my throat. Sissy looked genuinely hurt. "Wh-ah? Didn't ya'll get my letters?" "Well sure..." "Elliot, ah wanted ya'll to come out there with me." "And do what? Take your picture when you come to the Fall-line Circuit?" As I spoke the words burned like bile in my mouth. I knew I was being unfair but Sissy had a whole new life ahead of her in the big time and I was afraid I would only drag her down Sissy's big soft eyes grew wet with tears. "Elliot, ya'll 'ere so smart but ya don't understand what's really good." "Tell me, 'what's really good.'" I said sarcastically. "Havin' somebody who cares about you." "Like those girls who follow the super-speedway drivers around? Or havin' your own TV show?" "Nah, hell no. Somebody who's really cares about you." "I'm sorry. I still don't get it." "I know ya don't. Wh-ah is somebody gonna care about you?" I shook my head. "I don't know." "'Cause you care 'bout them." She said softly. Her words cut me like a knife. It felt as if my heart had suddenly stopped and then started again. "Ya'll love somebody 'cause they love you. An' ah been in love with you since the minute we met. Did ya'll know that? It's true. Ya'll made sport of the way I talked but ah still knew ah was in love with you. Ah knew it right then and ...ah ... still... know it." She poked me in the chest with her index finger to punctuate her words. "Ah just need to show ya'll it don't matter what yer doin' or what ah'm doin' or what people say or... ana'thing." Her blond hair rushed to catch up with her head as she shook it gently. Suddenly, I was aware that the crowd had grown silent. I looked at their faces and they were looking back at mine. I turned to Sissy again as her words sank in. "Elliot, ah know how ya'll feel 'bout me and that's wh-ah ah feel the same fer you. Nobody out there really cared about me. Not like you did," she said quietly. She stood before me with her chin held high and her bottom lip quivering. I swallowed hard and tried to control my voice as I spoke. "I didn't think... um... You were doing so well. I thought you weren't ever coming back here..." My words trailed off. "Elliot, yer here. That's wh-ah ah'm back." Now tears plowed through her mascara leaving thin rivulets of black trailing down her pretty face. I groped for something to say until I finally blurted out, "Maybe I can I take you for a 'fun' ride in my car?" "Elliot!" she admonished before she began laughing. She threw her arms around my neck and pulled me close. The crowd began to speak again and I heard words of encouragement and felt several hands slap my back. Over the PA I heard the announcement to ready for the next heat race. Sissy sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Ah guess that's you, huh?" I nodded. She looked deep into my eyes, winked, and then whispered, "Make it look easy, kid."