Emmy And Me

"How did it go with Madison and her new race car today?" Emmy asked when I got home.

"About as well as can be expected," I told her. "It's a big change from her old Mitsubishi. Less weight, much more power, much, much more grip, better brakes, rear wheel drive… It's going to take her some time behind the wheel to get used to the Porsche."

"Do you think she will be ready for the first race?"

"No," I answered truthfully. "But I don't think any team or driver pulls up to the first race of the season confident that they've done everything they can to prepare. Seriously, she's a rookie driver and this is the team's first race season- certainly Reggie and the guys' first race season at this level. Don't get me wrong- I have confidence in them as mechanics, but it boils down to not knowing what we don't know yet. The first couple of races are going to be all about learning how to make everything work together nicely."

"Is this typical?" Emmy asked, concerned. "Are you merely wasting a lot of money for no reason?"

"Yeah, it's typical. This is a nascent program, and privateer teams always start this way," I replied as I got myself a sparkling water from the fridge. "Our realistic goal is mid-field this year. If Maddie and the guys put a car across the line well enough and consistently enough to finish in the top half, I'll consider it a moral victory."

"But this is costing a lot of money, is it not?" Emmy objected.

"Well, it depends on how you look at it. The racing program is funded half by James' company and half by Hollywood Porsche, and in both cases it's being written off on taxes as an advertising expense, which, ultimately, is what it really is. So yes, it costs money, but it's merely diverted from other potential recipients. It would have been spent in some way anyhow," I explained, sitting down on the couch across from where Emmy sat with her acoustic guitar in her lap. "So, yes. It is costing a lot of money, but it's being absorbed by the marketing budgets of Hollywood Porsche and Atherton Capital."

"I can understand how it works for advertising your car dealership, but what does a private equity firm do with car racing for advertising?" Emmy asked, curious.

"Well, they can use the visual imagery of the race car in their promotional materials, of course, but other than that, I don't see how it's much benefit for them," I agreed with a shrug. "Really, it's mostly just a fun thing for James to be involved with."

"And for you, too," Emmy said with an understanding smile.

"And for me, too," I admitted.

"I think we need two more weeks," Emmy said over dinner about a week later. "We are making good progress on Jackson's album, but we are far from finished. You do not mind waiting a little longer to go to Cartagena, do you?"

"No, I can wait," I replied. "The trip was mostly for you, anyhow. There is a restaurant I'm thinking of moving on, but there's no giant rush on that, either."

"You do not need to do anything with the Night Children down there?"

"I've been in the loop on everything happening down there, and things are going along about as well as can be expected. Me being there won't make much of a difference one way or another," I told her. "Mostly I want to christen our new house."

"Christen it? What do you mean?" Emmy asked, puzzled.

"Well, it's not really our home until we've had sex in more than one room," I explained as if it should have been obvious. "We don't necessarily have to have sex in every room, just, well, more than just the master bedroom. Maybe the pool, definitely the speakeasy. Probably a few others, just to be sure."

Emmy laughed, one of those sparkling laughs of hers, a sign that she was regaining her joy for life.

"We have had sex here in this house in our bedroom, in the gym, the kitchen, the living room, the small pool and the hot tub…" she said, thinking about it. "You felt me up in the wine room, but that is as far as we got-"

"An obvious oversight," I said, interrupting her. "Let's head down there now to make up for lost time."

Emmy laughed again. "You truly are a beast," she said with a smile.

"This beast needs to feed… On tasty Emmy flesh!" I growled, my voice low.

Emmy laughed, then looked at my face. "Perhaps it is best for all of us if the beast is fed," she said, her voice turning serious as she set her guitar aside and stood up.

Sex in the wine room was quick and chilly, but it definitely got checked off the list. As we showered afterwards, Emmy returned to the subject.

"We have only had sex in the bedroom, the studio, and the hot tub in the house in London. Is that enough?" she asked as I shampooed her hair.

"No, but with Jeremy around it cramps our style," I said. "We need to figure out how to get him out of the house for an extended period so we can christen the kitchen and living room."

"I think you are correct. We will need to plan this out," Emmy said, her voice thoughtful. "Perhaps when he goes grocery shopping?"

"No, we need to give him a day off and tell him to go to Brighton or something so we can have the day alone," I responded as I massaged Emmy's scalp.

"He will come with us to Cartagena, right?" Emmy asked. "So we need to plan on how to get him out of the house there, too."

"Who knew it was such a problem having people around all the time?" I asked.

"I know you did not grow up this way, but for me, having household staff around all the time was simply the way it was," Emmy said, leaning back into my hands. "This was the life I knew until Stanford. Well, really, until I spent that time living with you in your apartment in Fallbrook," she corrected. "Now we have Ana, Mike and Jeremy here, Luisa and Mia in New York- and Jeremy, too. In London we only have Jeremy and the cleaning ladies. Who will we have in Cartagena?"

"I actually have my guys screening potential candidates," I told her as I stepped back to let her rinse her hair. "I want them to come from the local population, but they need to be completely trustworthy."

"How are the Colombian Night Children doing?"

"Well, that's a tricky question," I replied as I started in with the soap on Emmy's smooth, onyx skin. "Almost all of the locals have agreed to accept our shadow, so that's good, and we've given quite a few of them jobs, which is also good, but building the schools and community centers is taking a while. From what I understand, the locals understand that it's a process, but I'd like to give them the benefits as quickly as possible."

"Their lives cannot be changed overnight," Emmy said. "Even if it takes years, if they see you are doing what you promised, that is more than almost anyone has done for them in the past."

"Yeah, objectively I know that," I agreed. "And we're working off a five year plan, so things are going according to schedule, but still… I can always wish it was happening faster."

"Of course," Emmy said, taking the soap from me so she could lather me up, which I didn't mind at all. "But if the local Night Children know and understand that you are making progress, they will be content. You must follow through, but they will be willing to give you the time to get things done."

"So, returning back to the original conversation," I said. "No, it doesn't make any difference if we're there next week or next month. Do what you need to do on Jackson's album. We can go down to Colombia when you're ready."

"Thank you," Emmy said as she spent an inordinately long time soaping up my back and buns.

"Are you done back there?" I asked jokingly after a while.

"No," Emmy said. "This will take me a very long time. Your back is so very large!"

"Em?" I asked. "Have I told you I love you?"

"Yes, you have once or twice," she confirmed, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

"Well, it's true. I love you," I told her.

"I love you very much," she replied, wrapping her hands around my waist. "And there is very much of you to love."

"You promised me you'd take me with you when you went to Colombia," Teddy Bear reminded me at lunch after a Saturday's drive.

"What's in Colombia?" Geoff asked. "Besides cocaine and weed?" he added.

"Leah has a house down there, and she and Emmy are planning on heading down soon," Teddy Bear explained. "When we were in Japan we got to talking about it and she said that I could go with 'em and hang out next time they go down there."

"Why would you want to do that?" Stephen asked.

"Dude, Angela was from there," Teddy Bear said. "If she's in any way typical…"

"Yeah, O.K., I'll give you that," Stephen replied.

"There are a lot of pretty women down there," I said, "but there was only one Angela."

"To Angela," Teddy Bear said, raising his glass in a toast, and everyone responded by clinking their glasses to his. "To Angela."

"So, um, not to pry, but why do you have a house down there, now that, um, Angela's gone?" Geoff asked, knowing it was a delicate subject.

"I have a non-profit humanitarian aid organization there, and of course, Angela's parents and sister still live there, and we like spending time with them," I said, with a shrug.

"Liz, you have got to be the most interesting person I know," Jimmy said. "Your life is not normal."

"Here's to Leah's Abbie Normal life!" Teddy Bear said, raising his glass in another toast.

"So, I don't actually know if we really are going to go to Cartagena anytime soon," I admitted. "The recording on Jackson's solo album is going slower than expected and Emmy can't leave until they finish."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"What does Emmy have to do with Jackson's solo record?" Stephen asked.

"Despite everybody calling it his solo album, Lee and Emmy are both working with him on it," I said, making a wry face. "Yeah, I don't understand it, either, but that's the way it is."

"Well, no, I can see how it makes sense," Geoff said, thinking about it. "I mean, it's his album, right? He's writing the songs and he gets to play lead and sing, sure, but he can't play everything by himself, so he's got to bring in other musicians, right? May as well ask the two he knows best."

"He's pretty talented," I countered. "He probably actually can play it all himself. I've seen him play the guitar, bass, drums and harmonica, so yeah… He probably actually could do it."

"Still, you get my point," Geoff argued.

"No, it makes sense," Stephen agreed. "Why bring in session musicians you haven't worked with before if two of the best are willing to do the job?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much what it boils down to," I confirmed. "Emmy and Lee are perfectly willing to follow Jackson's lead, playing whatever it is he wants them to."

"I find all this very fascinating," Stein said. "But this still doesn't answer the question of why Teddy Bear is following you around like a puppy dog."

"It's all about the treats," Teddy Bear said with a smile. "Leah has the best treats. Besides, I've got nothing better to do until shooting resumes in June."

"Is that when your procedural returns to shoot the next season?" Stein asked.

"Yeah," Teddy Bear agreed. "We'll be on-set pretty much non-stop until mid December, then it's straight to New York for the film I've booked."

"Film?" Jimmy asked, perking up. "You got a starring role in a feature film?"

"Starring, yeah, but not the headliner," Teddy Bear confirmed. "My name'll be on the poster, but third. I play the bad guy."

"Is it an action film?" Geoff asked.

"Yeah. The plot is pretty tired, but the writing is good and the cast is solid, so it should do O.K.," Teddy Bear told him. "I'm looking forward to playing a heavy. I'll be working with a special coach to get the mannerisms just right."

"Mannerisms?" Geoff asked.

"When I talked to the producers about me playing the role I told them I didn't want to play some sort of cardboard bad guy. I wanted to be scary, but complex," Teddy Bear said.

"That seems to be a trend these days," Stein said. "A lot of what I've seen on the screen has the bad guys be more interesting than the heroes."

"That's what I'm shooting for. I'll only get about a quarter of the screen time of the protagonist, but I want those thirty-four minutes to be memorable," Teddy Bear said. "I'm hoping it's a gateway to more varied roles in the future."

"You need to do a Rom-Com next," Stein said. "Like, immediately after this action movie where you play a scary psycho."

"Maybe a musical?" Geoff suggested. "You got a shit-ton of Likes on Youtube for that video of you singing Leonard Cohen."

"A Rom-Com about a singing psycho!" Jimmie interjected. "I'd pay to see that!"

"Maybe you can sing in this action film?" Geoff suggested, and one thing led to another and the conversation devolved into what songs Teddy Bear should sing in various roles he might or might not get.

"I am concerned we may not have much time in Cartagena," Emmy confessed over dinner a few nights later. "The album is taking longer than any of us expected, which means that we will have to push back our departure a bit more, but I- and I am sorry for bringing this up so late, but I only just found out about it- I need to be in London by the middle of April."

"What's happening in London?" I asked.

"David Gilmour will be auctioning his guitar collection at Christie's, and there is one… Well, honestly, I would love to buy all of them, but one in particular…" Emmy said, her voice wistful.

"I think we can work with that scheduling," I said, amused. Emmy reminded me in that moment of a little girl who desperately wants that shiny new toy… Not that I was one to throw stones, mind you. If Emmy wanted David Gilmour's guitar, I was going to do what I could to buy it for her.

Sonoma Raceway was a decent drive for Lainey and Maddie, but that's where we'd booked her second private track day. Well, second and third, since we had the track for two days. James' Nissan had come in, so he was planning on sharing the track with Maddie on day two. My new BMW was in also, but on display in the Temecula BMW showroom. I wasn't going to drag the crew all the way to the Bay Area for just a developmental day. No, I was going to buy myself some track time at a more local track for that.

But in the meantime, I found myself standing in the garage at Sonoma, a cup of Reggie's coffee in my hands, watching the rain pouring down outside.

"It's supposed to clear up by noon," James volunteered.

"I say she goes out," I said. "Maddie needs to get used to driving in the rain, and we just don't get that much of it here in California."

"She took third place last season in the rain at Buttonwillow," Lainey said. "She can handle the rain."

"This track gets slipperier than snot when wet," Reggie said. "Taking a new-to-her car out in this is asking for trouble."

"I'm standing right here!" Madison protested. "Leah is right- I need to learn the car, and rain is a real thing at some of the tracks I'll be racing at this season. I'll start out slow and easy."

"Alright," Reggie said, as if we'd come to a decision. "We'll throw the wets on and soften everything up as much as we can for added grip. But Mads- slow and gentle until you get the feel for the available traction. I don't want you running into any walls with this shiny new Porsche, O.K.?"

"I'll be careful, Reg," Madison assured him.

"She'll be fine," I assured Reggie. "Besides, we have plenty of bodywork spares."

Madison left the garage for her first stint out on the track with a look of determination on her face. She accelerated carefully but with conviction when the marshal waved her onto the track.

The grandstands were exposed to the rain, so we made our way to the clubhouse's second story observation deck to watch the teenaged girl driving the half-million-dollar car on the slippery track.

"She's going pretty good," one of the track officials said as we watched. "She's really your driver for the Porsche Cup?"

"Yes, she is," James confirmed. "It'll be her rookie year as a professional."

"That's a heck of a big step," the guy commented.

"It is," James agreed. "But we have high expectations for Madison. We think she'll do well."

With every lap Madison's speed picked up just a little, and to her credit she didn't back off when she got out of shape every now and then. When she finally brought it back in to the garage, the car still had all its paintwork looking nice and undamaged.

Madison and Reggie were hunched over the laptop's screen and looking at the data when we got back to the garage.

"I know I can brake harder," Madison admitted, "but I want to sneak up on it. I need to figure out how it feels as I get close to the limit."

"That's the right approach," Reggie agreed. "But see- we can see by the wheel slip trace here when we overlay the braking force that you've got a lot of margin left."

Leaving the two to their discussion, I asked Lainey how it had gone for Madison's first session in the wet.

"She said she had a lot of fun," Lainey replied, looking far more frazzled than Madison did. "She said it was really slippery out there, but that just made it more challenging. She'd never driven this track, either, so she had to learn it at the same time as learn to drive the Porsche in the rain."

"She had the racing sim to learn the turns," I countered.

"Yeah, and she said it helped, but it's just not the same thing as really being here."

"No, it isn't," I agreed. "It gives you a bit of a head start, but that's all."

During Madison's second session out on the track, I asked James about jet ownership.

"You'd be in the market for something bigger than what I have," James said as we watched Madison really starting to push, breaking loose frequently enough that I thought she must be doing it on purpose. "I wanted something I could pilot myself, and the Embraer was about the limit of single-pilot private jets. It's really only just Imogen and me, so we don't need much in the way of passenger accommodations. You and Emmy, though… I'd imagine you travel with an entourage these days?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "Four at the minimum, as much as ten or maybe more on some trips."

"Including you two?"

"Including us," I confirmed.

"Realistically you need something two steps up from what we have, then. What kind of range would you need?" James asked as Madison ran off the track on turn six, but recovered quickly.

"At the minimum it needs to be able to cross the Atlantic, New York to Paris."

"Yeah, that means you're looking at the big leagues for private jets. A Bombardier 650, something like that. You're better off buying used, for a couple of reasons. First off, the depreciation is murder. Second, delivery times ordering new can be well over a year from the time you put down your deposit."

"So, what are we talking?" I asked.

"Fifteen to twenty million purchase price, and annual running costs somewhere between a million and a half to two and a half million a year, depending on usage."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," I admitted. "It's hard to rationalize that expense."

"It is, even for a little plane like mine," James agreed. "It takes a lot of first-class tickets to come anywhere near the amount of money a private jet will run you."

"So why do you have your own jet, then?" I asked.

"She's doing great down there," James said we watched Madison accelerate hard towards the finish line. We could hear the irregular firing of the engine as the traction control did its best to deal with the car's tendency to hydroplane across the puddles on the track. "There are two reasons I wanted my own jet- well, three. The first is the flexibility. Imogen and I can go wherever, any time or place. Sure, it's more of a hassle than pulling the car out of the garage, but if we decide on a Friday night we want go skiing in Aspen the next day, we do it. No amount of First Class service is ever going to allow that."

"And that's where I'm starting to think seriously about getting one," I confirmed.

"Right, but for that ultimate flexibility for us it had to be solo pilot, so I could fly it myself. This is where you give up a bit with a crewed aircraft, since you'd need to give the crew enough warning to be ready. For us, we merely drive down to the hangar, file our flight plans, and go. It's a tradeoff. Solo pilot means a smaller aircraft, which means, well, it's smaller. Less room, less range. A significant step less in overhead costs, too. The drawback, of course, is that when Imogen and I fly back East we always have stop to refuel and stretch our legs in Omaha or someplace like that."

Seeing that Madison was exiting the track, James and I made our way down to the garage.

"So, if Emmy and I decided we needed to go to Aspen, how much lead time would we have to give our crew?" I asked.

"I think that becomes an employment contract issue," James said as we walked. "I'd imagine twelve hours would be minimum? Maybe as few as four hours in a crunch? I'd think that the more lead time you could give the crew the happier they'd be."

"It is soooo slippery out there!" Madison was saying to Reggie when we arrived at the garage. "It's like ice! You wanna know something funny, though? I'm kinda having fun!"

"As long as you keep it away from the walls," Reggie grumbled, but with a smile he couldn't hide.

"I would have been O.K. with it raining all day," Madison said at lunch. "I think it was a really good lesson for me. I know it sounds funny to say it, but it's actually easier to drive the car on a really slippery track like that."

"What do you mean?" Lainey asked.

"Well, every move I make has to be soft and smooth, or bam! I'm sideways, right? I have to step on the accelerator like it's made of eggshells, and the same for the brakes. My steering- it's got to be like this," she said, holding up her hands as if they held the yoke, and moving very gently. "Not this," she said, yanking her hands back and forth vigorously. "I just can't muscle the car at all, know what I mean?"

"Smooth is fast," Reggie said. "Just keep doing the same thing as the track dries this afternoon. Smooth is fast."

"I think it also helped me get a feel for the car, too," Madison said. "It's too bad it stopped raining."

"Don't worry, Missy," Reggie said with a laugh. "You'll get plenty of rain back east."

A familiar voice interrupted my workout at The Pit the next morning.

"You didn't let me know you were gonna be in town!" Ashley said, indignant. "I feel like we don't communicate anymore!"

"Hey, Ash," I replied, setting down my dumbbell and straightening up to look at her.

"What, don't I get a hug?" Ashley demanded, her hands on her hips.

"I'm all sweaty," I protested.

"That just makes it hotter," Ashley replied with a wink. Before I could object, she closed in and wrapped her arms around me, leaning her head on my shoulder. There was nothing for me to do but hug her back, so that's what I did.

"I could get used to this," Ashley said, not letting go. "It's been so long! I missed you."

Finally stepping back, Ashley said, "Hey, um, I know it's been a while and all and we haven't really seen each other much recently, but I was kinda hoping…" she said, looking away, nervous. Finally, she worked up her nerve. "Can you come to my graduation this May?"

"Yes," I said, wiping the back of my neck with my towel.

"Yes? You'll come? Just like that?" Ashley asked, amazed it had been that easy.

"Just like that," I agreed. "Look, Ash, you're a friend, and this is a big milestone. All you had to do was let me know you want me there."

Ashley stepped in and gave me another hug. "Thanks, Leah," she said. "Thanks."

I wound up abandoning my own workout to watch Ashley's kickboxing class. I didn't know the coach- she was new since Emmy and I had left the Bay Area and I'd stopped being a regular at The Pit, but she led the group well, focusing on correct form and proper stance.

"What did you think?" Ashley asked when the class finished. "Am I ready for the UCF?"

Laughing, I said, "Don't quit your day job, Ash."

"So, hey, let's take a shower and then go out and do something," Ashley suggested coyly.

"Shower, singular?" I asked, amused.

"Well, California is in a drought, you know. Sharing a shower is the ecologically conscious thing to do," Ashley said, as if it was obvious.

"Uh huh," I said with a chuckle. "Of course. Sorry to disappoint you, but I have to go in to the office today," I told her. "We could maybe do something this evening, though."

"Like what?" Ashley asked. "You know what? It doesn't matter what. Whatever it is you want to do is cool with me."

"Alright," I told her. "I'll think of something. I'll text you to let you know what to wear, O.K.?"

"Or maybe what to not wear?" Ashley suggested with a saucy smile.

"That's the Ashley I know and love," I said with a laugh.