Chapter 4
Not much to say here. Not many questions or reviews. So other than saying you're welcome to roronoa. Let's move on to the story.
"Speed has never killed anyone; it's suddenly becoming stationary that does. That was the first thought that crossed my mind when I got behind the wheel of the PT King Coba. From the moment I turned on the ignition, I could feel the power of the beast I was in. It was roaring in fury, ready, no eager to be unleashed on the track. The experience was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. I still wish Isabel hadn't played 'Rumble' by Link Wray & His Ray Men in the background, though." – Ken Miles.
-1963-
-Isabel POV-
You know, I grew up around the racetrack in a way. Even before my parents left me to live with my grandfather, he would often take me to the track to watch the races. At first, I didn't really care for the racing itself, but the vehicles always intrigued me. They were what sparked my interest in science more than anything else. I had tinkered with things at home for as long as I could remember, but it wasn't until I saw a race car in action that I truly fell in love with the idea of engineering.
I can still vividly recall seeing a Jaguar XK120 for the first time when I was five. It was a masterpiece of mechanical engineering. With a top speed of over 120 miles per hour and a 0-to-60 acceleration in just 10 seconds, it was truly the perfect car of its generation. I didn't know what it was at the time, but I memorized every curve and line, down to the smallest detail, so I could draw it on a sheet of paper when I got home. It was just so amazing to my young mind that I desperately wanted to touch it, but sadly, as I was a child at the time, no one would let me near it.
As a grown woman now, I understand what fascinated me about the racecar as a child; it wasn't merely innocent scientific curiosity. I'm not ashamed to admit that this was likely the moment my sexual preferences began to take shape. It took me years to realize it, but I was subconsciously comparing that racecar to the body of the perfect woman: sleek in design, with curves that were truly captivating. When you add in a hint of danger, power, and mystery, you have one alluring figure. It's no wonder that I couldn't stop caressing the PT King Cobra as I would a lover; she was simply perfect.
I was so captivated by her figure that I barely heard Carroll call out, "So Isabel, what do you think?"
Glancing over from my bent position, I replied in a voice that may have sounded a bit too husky, "I think I want to have sex with her."
This caused everyone to erupt in laughter, especially Carroll. They had all come to expect my blunt honesty, but they were still a bit caught off guard.
Pawpaw, however, wasn't amused and yelled, "Isabel."
Knowing that tone all too well, I looked up and asked innocently, "What?"
"We don't use that word," Pawpaw scolded me.
I stared at him, confused, and asked, "What word? Sex?"
"Yes," Pawpaw replied in a reprimanding voice.
I turned to Carroll, completely lost, and said, "Uncle Carroll, I thought you said it was 'fuck' that I shouldn't say. Should I have said I want to fuck her?"
The guys started laughing even harder; some of them doubled over, while poor Molly looked like she was struggling to hold in her laughter.
"Isabel!" Pawpaw yelled.
Holding up his hands, Carroll said, "Okay, okay, enough. Let's just move on. And Ruth, the word you shouldn't use is 'fuck'—at least in polite company, deal?"
I wondered why Pawpaw didn't just say that, but decided to let it go.
Seeing my grandfather about to explode, Carroll intervened, still chuckling, "How about we just start?"
"Sounds good to me. Oh, can I drive?" I asked, looking up with hopeful eyes.
My grandfather was about to answer for me, but a sweet and caring voice interrupted, saying, "No, you may not drive, babe."
As I look over, I spot a young woman walking toward me, and I smile as she approaches. She's wearing a tie-dye t-shirt, bell-bottom jeans adorned with flowers stitched at the hem, round sunglasses with tinted lenses, and moccasin-style shoes. Her chestnut hair is gently blowing in the wind, and the sun highlights her natural beauty. This is my girlfriend, Blossom Roads, the typical girl of the '60s. When she reaches me, she kisses me on the lips, completely unapologetic about the open display of affection, much to my Pawpaw's displeasure.
Not that I minded at all. As I leaned into the kiss while wrapping my arms around my long-time friend and now girlfriend. It had been nearly 4 months since I had last seen her. As with me, she was busy, but in her case, with her college classes, which had just started earlier this year after graduating from high school. So I missed her deeply. Still, as I kiss her, I can't help but wonder why Molly looks equal parts scandalized and like she wants to kill. What a strange woman, I thought as we ended our kiss and I stepped back to look at my girlfriend. How much she has changed! I can still remember when we first met as children years ago, shortly after I started living with Pawpaw. Even then, she was very much a hippie, loving art, flowers, and, most importantly, peace.
She was the kind of child who, when she saw me reading by myself and not joining the other kids to play, would either a) try to get me to join in or b), when that failed, sit with me while I read my books.
At the time, I didn't appreciate her kindness and actually found her quite annoying, especially when she would braid my hair or put flowers in it while I was deep in thought. Fortunately, I didn't have to deal with her for long, as I quickly moved up in grades, leaving her behind. However, I began to learn an important lesson about life: it's the small things you start to miss once they're gone.
If I thought I was lucky to be rid of her at the time, I soon realized I was wrong as I quickly started to miss her. Lucky for me, Blossom refused to leave me alone even after I moved up in grades. Honestly, I should have known she wouldn't give up so easily, as she was very persistent. In her mind, if she couldn't hang out with me at school, she would make sure to do so after school, and gradually, she started to grow on me.
Eventually, she became a regular part of my life—a friend, my first and only friend, with whom I could talk about everything, including my feelings about the same sex. We were about 14 when we shared our first kiss, around 16 when we slowly began to explore each other's bodies, and 17 when we finally had sex during spring break. We didn't officially become girlfriends until this year, mostly because Blossom didn't like labels, but a fight with her parents and their cutting her off quickly changed her mind. I could still remember the anger and shock on their faces when she pulled me in for a kiss right in front of them, and it wasn't a small one. No, she basically shoved her tongue down my throat while grabbing my ass hard. Not that I minded. If she wanted to use my body for revenge on her parents, I wasn't about to stop her.
As for them cutting her off when they found out about us, well, it didn't change anything for her. I had more than enough money to pay for her college, and while Pawpaw was against me giving her so much, he didn't stop me either. At the end of the day, it was my money, and I could use it as I saw fit. Though he did sit me down and warn me about women and how fickle they could be. Perhaps I should have taken offense at that, but he wasn't wrong. People were unpredictable at the best of times. Lovers even more so as I was quickly coming to learn.
"Blossom, you came! I thought you were busy with classes," I said, my tone more questioning than I intended.
"Of course, I did, babe. You've been going on and on about how you're going to beat Ferrari, so how could I miss out on your first test run? But you listen to me, girl, you are not getting into that thing, is that understand?" Blossom replied, her tone firm and unyielding. It was kind of hot, to be honest.
Blossom never truly understood her girlfriend's obsession with machinery and science, but that didn't mean she didn't support her. It was the least she could do for what her girlfriend was doing for her. And wasn't that a trip? She had a girlfriend, and not just any girlfriend, but that quirky little girl from class whom everyone else avoided way back when. What a groovy world they lived in, Blossom thought to herself.
I heard chuckling from behind me and turned to see everyone laughing. I rolled my eyes at them. It was odd. While most of them were against homosexuality in general, many accepted—or at least pretended to accept—my relationship with Blossom. The scientist in me wondered why that was, but since I didn't care much for social sciences, I brushed it aside.
Instead, I focused on my girlfriend and said, "But Blossom, it's perfectly safe."
Looking over my shoulder, Blossom asked, "Is that true?"
"Nope, not at all. It's very unsafe. Most likely, Ken will die within the first lap," everyone answered in unison, making me look at them as though they had betrayed me or kicked my puppy.
Crossing her arms, Blossom shot me a look. It was a look I had seen countless times on other women's faces when they were unhappy with their boyfriends or husbands. I often found it amusing and confusing how such a simple expression could effectively control their significant others. It didn't make any logical sense—until I experienced it myself for the first time. It was honestly kind of scary.
Knowing there was no point in arguing with her while she was looking at me like that, I sighed and said, "Fine."
Hearing that, Blossom turned to the old man, Isabel's grandfather, with a triumphant expression. It was no secret that they didn't get along well. Given her anti-establishment beliefs and his military background, it was natural for them to dislike each other, often resulting in clashes rather than actual conversations. More often than not, their interactions resembled fights and yelling matches. Yet despite their mutual dislike for each other, they did find themselves on the same side when it came to dealing with Isabel, who was a headache even on her best days. Although Blossom viewed many social norms, especially those concerning women, as oppressive, she and the old man could agree that Isabel's complete disregard for them was a bit much.
For example, Blossom rarely took her girlfriend, Isabel, out to meet her friends—not because she was embarrassed by her or thought Isabel wouldn't fit in, but mainly due to Isabel's bluntness. Most of Blossom's friends didn't like Isabel because, frankly, she was too intelligent. There was almost no subject that she wasn't familiar with, and she could effectively argue both for and against any topic, depending on her mood. Blossom still remembered the first party in college when she took Isabel along, and she witnessed Isabel break down and debate nearly every subject that came up. Then, without missing a beat, Isabel would turn around and argue in favor of the same topic with someone else. That was when the name-calling began, and Isabel, in her characteristic fashion, simply laughed at them, finding them even more foolish than she already believed them to be.
"I think your koibito is right, Isabel-san. It's best to let the driver do his job," a man behind me said.
I turned to see a man about 30 years old of Japanese descent. His name was Sawano Maresuke, a representative from Toyota and a fellow engineer. He had a pleasant demeanor, though he appeared somewhat stern. More of an overseer than a traditional representative, he was there to ensure we didn't waste Toyota's money—a practical approach from practical people.
I liked him nearly right away, and surprisingly, my grandfather felt the same. His mind, when it came to certain things like my own, was the same. Practicality over show. It also helped that he wasn't just a boardroom snob; he enjoyed getting his hands dirty like everyone else here. That was evident, as he was wearing mechanic overalls while helping to prepare the PT King Cobra.
"Yes, yes, I understand, Maresuke-san. Ken, let's do this," I said before stepping away from the race car. Then, going over to a record player I had built in my spare time for outdoor use, I turned it on, and Rumble by Link Wray started playing.
Ken pauses for a moment and gives me a look that clearly says, "Really?" Then he says, "Alright, let's do this."
He jumps into the race car and turns on the ignition, and the engine roars. Making Blossom jump a bit in fright.
To me, the sound of the engine is music to my ears—a powerful roar that brings over 500 horsepower to life. It's not just a purr; it embodies strength. However, I quickly notice problems emerging as the car begins to shake noticeably. While it isn't severe enough to cause immediate concern, it's evident that the balance is off.
Ken quickly takes off down the track. I time how long it takes the King Cobra to accelerate from 0 to 60 in my head. Faster than a stopwatch, I grab a clipboard and write down the number. I show it to Maresuke-san, who is standing next to me, and he reads the numbers and frowns when it shows 6.1 seconds—far slower than expected. It was supposed to achieve that in 5 or maybe 5.1 seconds. All we can do now is watch as it completes its first lap.
As I continue to calculate in my mind, I write down another number and show it to Maresuke-san: 170-175 mph. He remains silent, and his frown indicates his disappointment. This speed is at least 25 mph slower than projected.
Meanwhile, Paw observes how the car handles the turns and yells out, "She isn't taking the corners well and is losing too much speed coming out of them."
"I think the gearbox is slipping. The brakes don't seem to be too good either," Phil adds.
"Most likely, she's just trying to fly," Maresuke says with a grim expression.
"We'll have to wait until Ken comes in and see what he says, but I think you all are right," I respond, though I don't frown. This was all predictable and accounted for.
The most important factor is how long she can stay on the track, and that is where she shines. Even with everything else working against her, and the engine working overtime to compensate for everything else. She lasted a full six laps longer than Ferrari did last year.
That would be enough for Toyota for now. It wouldn't be enough to beat whatever it was Enzo was cooking up, but for now, it was a good step forward.