Speed Demons (9 page)

Blythe’s scent wrapped around her, a fruity and flowery perfume mixed with clean sweat—altogether appealing. She inhaled it greedily, only to quickly step back when the impulse to repeat the kiss startled her. “See you tomorrow, then.” Pivoting, she hurried toward her car, not daring to look back.

Chapter Eight

Blythe couldn’t get Evie’s unexpected caress out of her mind. She worked all Friday, participated in online video conferences with her business associates, edited photos, reviewed photos taken by her employees, and reluctantly wrote down some points for her acceptance speech. Still, even being this occupied, a small part of her mind skittishly recalled the feel of soft lips.

Why had Evie kissed her cheek like that? Gratitude for helping her in the park? Hardly. And it hadn’t been a polite air-kiss either. She had definitely felt the satiny texture of Evie’s full, curvy lips. Nothing polite about it. Unless she was imagining things, Evie had surprised herself as well. Blythe had heard the soft gasp before Evie had said good-bye and taken off toward her car like wolves were chasing her.

Checking the time, she winced. Time to get ready. The makeup artist and hair stylist waited in the connected hotel room. Blythe had tried to convince her assistant that she could get ready on her own, but that didn’t fly with any of them.

She showered and wrapped a towel around her hair before opening the connecting door. Then she merely closed her eyes and zoned out while the two women worked on her nails, face, and hair. It wasn’t like she’d have any viable input or offer any expertise.

“All done. What do you think?” one of the women said after what felt like hours.

Slowly Blythe opened her eyes and turned to the mirror over the desk.

“God.” She stared at the ethereal creature for several moments, quite certain that the reflection would shatter if she moved. They had used neutral colors to enhance her own, and somehow her eyes shone a piercing, porcelain blue. Her normally light eyelashes were darker and so were her eyebrows. She could still make out her freckles, but they were subdued, and her lips looked soft, raspberry pink, and shiny.

Her hair was piled high on her head in an elaborate updo, with curly little tresses caressing her cheeks and neck. “Wow,” she said, and nodded appreciatively. “You did a fantastic job. Thank you.” She made a mental note to tip them generously, since they were clearly miracle workers.

The women helped her into her dress before they left, zipping her up and making sure her appearance was flawless. The empire-cut, ice blue dress elongated her body, and the four-inch silver Louboutin sling-backs added some sorely needed height. A sheer silver knitted wrap and a matching clutch would complete the outfit. Blythe sighed at the alien sight of herself in the mirror. Not bad. At least she wouldn’t embarrass any of her staff or associates. It was ironic that the people whom the award really was about could care less about physical appearance.

The sound of fingertips rapping on the door made her jump. She sent one last glance toward the mirror, then grabbed the shawl and clutch before she opened the door.

Evie stood there looking more beautiful than ever. Her dark hair was swept up in a loose twist. Contrasting with Blythe’s feminine dress, Evie’s tuxedo suited her well. Blythe glanced down and saw why they still differed significantly in height; Evie was wearing black stilettos.

“Oh, sweet Jesus. You look amazing,” Evie said, sounding breathless.

“I never would’ve guessed you’d wear a tux,” Blythe said. “And I couldn’t have imagined how stunning it would look on you. I won’t have to worry about any cameras being directed at me. I can sit back and relax and let you take the heat.”

“As if.” Evie snorted. “You all set?”

“Yes. Let’s get this over with.” She hesitated when Evie actually offered her arm, but then took it. Not one to risk her life in four-inch heels, she was grateful to have a strong arm to hold.

*

Outside, another surprise waited. A driver held open the door to a long, sleek, black limousine.

“Oh, my.” Blythe stopped and looked up at Evie, her eyes huge. “How did you manage this at such short notice? I would imagine all the limo services around here are booked weeks in advance when there’s such an event.”

“Connections. All about knowing the right people.” Evie winked at the driver as she helped Blythe inside, being careful with the long dress. She’d made some calls and one of the guys on her team had an uncle who was a limo driver. It hadn’t taken any more than season tickets to the New Hampshire Motor Speedway to make this happen. Blythe’s surprised expression made it all worth it.

The ride to the university district in New Haven took about half an hour, during which Blythe seemed lost in thought most of the time. Evie didn’t mind that, knowing full well what Blythe was thinking about. She had been to enough functions like these in her life, and she guessed Blythe was worried about presenting herself well on the red carpet, eating gracefully in public, being on national TV, and graciously receiving the award and delivering a speech without making a fool of herself. It didn’t matter that she knew Blythe would do great. Blythe was probably quite sure she’d mess up. It had to be hell for a person so private and shy to deal with this. Yet she did.

“We’ll be at the Omni in five minutes, ma’am,” the driver said. “I can see the lights from here.”

“God.” Blythe looked pale. “I truly hate this.”

“Hey.” Evie thought fast. “You know you look good, right?”

“So?” Blythe glared at Evie, clearly annoyed.

“Well, that’s one thing less to worry about.”

“All right.”

“I look pretty okay too, don’t you think?”

“You look fabulous. I told you.”

“So, two hot chicks on the runway. Don’t you see? All we have to do is grin, wave, and tell the press who we’re wearing.”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s a start. The rest will fall into place.” She scooted closer to Blythe. “Just remember. You’re not alone. You had my back at the track when Mal showed up. I have your back now.” She placed a hand on Blythe’s shoulder, aware that Blythe wasn’t entirely convinced. Okay, emergency measures.

Nearing slowly, she saw Blythe’s eyes grow darker. She pressed her lips gently to Blythe’s. She meant the kiss as a distraction, something to take Blythe’s mind off her fears, but she hadn’t counted on how the soft kiss would affect her. The moment she let go of Blythe’s soft lips, carefully checking for signs of smudged lipstick, she wanted to repeat it. Not only that, she felt desperate to repeat it, to verify that she hadn’t somehow conjured up the sound of her thundering heart, the blood singing in her veins, or the dampness of her palms.

“Evie,” Blythe whispered, her head falling against the backrest.

She ran her trembling fingertips against Blythe’s neck, reveling in the smoothness.

“We’re here,” the driver stated.

“Thank you.” Snapping back to reality, she straightened and looked out the window. Camera crews, news vans, and paparazzi. “Here we go. Ready?”

“Yes.” Blythe sounded a little less dazed.

The limousine stopped and the door opened toward the red carpet. Evie stepped outside and extended her hand into the limo for Blythe.

Blythe exited the vehicle with more grace than Evie would’ve thought possible. She looked ethereal in the harsh light, like a displaced forest creature. The only sign of her insecurity was the way she clasped Evie’s hand and wouldn’t let go. She didn’t mind. Instead she fired off her own grin, and it didn’t take the paparazzi long to recognize her.

“Blythe! Over here. Blythe! Evie! Look over here.” The demanding voices of the photographers rained over them as they slowly made their way along the red carpet to the hotel entrance.

“Evie.” A slight, barely noticeable tone of panic laced Blythe’s voice.

“Just keep smiling. You’re doing fine.” She knew how to speak without moving her lips. “Nearly there.”

Gloria Banks, a famous TV personality, stood ready with a microphone when they reached the door.

“Blythe Pierce, our guest of honor, is here,” Gloria said cheerfully. “Welcome. You must be excited about tonight’s banquet in your honor, Blythe?”

“This isn’t just about me—” Blythe said.

“And you’ve brought a, hmm, friend, and not just any friend, but NASCAR’s own superwoman, Evangeline Marshall.”

“Hello,” Evie said politely. She allowed the steel in her voice to show, and Gloria blinked and seemed to search for her next question.

“Um. That’s a beautiful dress, Blythe,” Gloria managed to say. “Who are you wearing?”

“Fernanda Cruz.”

Evie could tell that Gloria hadn’t heard of this particular designer. A petty part of her found this fact rather funny. She could tell her smile was widening exponentially. This expression didn’t elude Gloria, who now mimicked the grin of a shark.

“What about you, Evangeline? Who are you wearing?”

“Armani.”

“Ah. Stunning.” Gloria made a production of returning her attention to Blythe. “Blythe, you’re the recipient of tonight’s most prestigious award. What is it about your photos that captivates the viewer, do you think?”

“I shoot what I see.” Blythe didn’t elaborate.

“And what you see is heartbreaking, isn’t it? Our boys risking their lives.” Gloria pressed a hand against her chest in a way Evie assumed was meant to portray empathy.

“And our girls. And the civilian people.”

“Civilians?” Gloria frowned. “Yes. Of course.”

“If you get a chance to look at the book, you’ll see that fifty percent of my subjects are the civilian Afghans
and their daily life.” Blythe spoke quietly, but in a surprisingly authoritative manner that had Gloria leaning in to hear her.

Evie was ready to applaud Blythe for standing her ground with such class.

“Enjoy the evening. Both of you.” Gloria’s shark-like expression flashed at them as they resumed walking their gauntlet.

“Don’t let go.” Blythe muttered the words as they passed a horde of photographers.

“Nearly there.” She felt Blythe relax marginally as they entered the hotel lobby, leaving the press behind. “Whoa, Nellie.” She had to laugh at the relief on Blythe’s face. “That was quite the red carpet.”

“Any more of that, I’ll be a nervous wreck.” Blythe carefully let go of Evie’s hand. “Any fractured fingers?”

“Nah, I’m sturdier than that.” Wiggling her fingers to regain some blood flow, Evie looked around. “As your date, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Just some club soda, please. I better stay very sober, at least until after the damn speech.”

“Be right back.” As Evie made her way toward one of the waiters carrying trays of champagne and other drinks, she glanced over her shoulder. She half expected Blythe to revert to the uncomfortable, shy person she had first seemed to be. Instead, she appeared to converse with a couple of people that had approached her.

Evie took two glasses of club soda from the waiter’s tray and began to stroll back toward Blythe. She took her time, weaving through the crowd consisting of celebrities and media people, all the while keeping her gaze locked on Blythe.

Chapter Nine

“…for her sensitive and insightful documentation through photography, as well as for showing the courage required to go into enemy territory to carry out her work. Add to this the artistic manner in which she tells the story of our soldiers, the native population of Afghanistan, and the non-government organization employees she worked beside. Few other people have been able to bring us the experience that Blythe Pierce has with her latest book.” The chairman of the award committee spread his arms in a wide gesture. “Ladies and gentlemen, this year’s recipient of the National Photojournalist Award—Blythe Pierce.”

Evie couldn’t take her eyes off Blythe as she rose from her chair, her cheeks pale rather than pink, but looking collected. She casually walked among the circular tables until she reached the stage, where she accepted a glass sculpture in the form of a camera, boasting a gold-rimmed lens. She turned to give her acceptance speech, but the microphone was more than a foot too high, and one of the presenters hurried forward and lowered it. She thanked him and then faced the audience.

“Thank you, everybody. I’m grateful for being shortlisted and for being awarded this prestigious prize. I could not do this job and stay in business without my staff and associates. That said, there are some wonderful photographers out there, and being chosen this year is completely surreal. I love doing what I do. Photography has been my passion for so many years, and normally it’s just my camera and I, making our way among interesting, courageous people while trying to immortalize them for others to see. I’ve been fortunate to visit places and meet people that have exceptional stories to tell. I prefer to regard myself and my beloved camera as a catalyst. Simply by observing and documenting, we change the reality we’re in. So, I don’t know how or to what extent, but I know that my presence in Afghanistan did alter lives. I was a Western woman directing my camera toward my countrymen, the Afghans, and others, and some things happened—so I just kept pressing the release and trying to bring them home with me the only way I knew how. And…” Blythe swallowed hard, her eyes searching the tables. “And s-some of them…some of them…” Gripping the podium tight, Blythe took a deep, trembling breath.

Evie pushed away from the table and stood. Her movements caught Blythe’s eyes and Evie nodded. The spotlight directed at Blythe made the rest of the room seem darker. Evie didn’t think too many people wondered why she was on her feet. Several others stood too.

“Some of them will never come home any other way than through these photos. Precious lives of young men and women. Of children.” Blythe’s voice became steady again, her eyes steadfastly looking into Evie’s. “I’m honored that the committee has chosen to recognize my work, but the only way for that to make sense is for us to continue to acknowledge the ones who will live on only in these images. We must also remember the people who loved them and who are left with nothing but their memories. If we don’t…then the pictures in this book are only pixels on paper. This is the true significance of this award. It acknowledges not so much the person behind the camera, but the individuals seen through the lens.” Blythe stopped talking when thunderous applause echoed throughout the ballroom. Now her cheeks colored faintly in the stark light. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She took the glass sculpture and the envelope from the podium and walked off the stage.