Page 65 of The Perils of Paulie
He sighed dramatically. “I’ve told you. I’ve told Paulie. Hell, I’ve told everyone that the Essex Esses are not to blame for all our bad luck. Yes, it was their car that ran into your brother, but I’m convinced that was a simple accident brought on by a bit of unintentional negligence. This idea that you have of putting the Essex team squarely behind every problem that has blighted us is simply unrealistic, and, trust me, if it was possible to pin this curse on any one person or team, I’d gladly do so.” He ran a hand through what was left of his hair. “I don’t know why I can’t conduct a simple television shoot without bringing out all the crackpots intent on destroying my career.”
“If it’s not the Essex team behind it, then who is?” I asked, accepting a top hat that was so glossy, I could see a distorted version of my face in its gleaming curves.
“I wish I knew, Dixon. I really wish I knew. No doubt it was an ill-wisher who followed us across country, but now that we’re in Kazakhstan, we should be rid of that evil influence. I’m not saying everything will go smoothly from here on out, because that’s just tempting the fates, but at least we should be rid of our saboteur, whoever that is.”
I wasn’t at all the least bit convinced of that, but said nothing more on the subject. After all, neither Paulie nor I had any proof other than circumstantial evidence that the Essex team was working through their list to eliminate the cast members.
The so-called wedding was short, mostly because neither Paulie nor I understood the Russian spoken by the person Roger had found to pretend to officiate, but I had to admit that it was an oddly touching ceremony nonetheless. Paulie looked more beautiful than I thought possible in a dress of purple with a fussy bit over the top, her eyes almost luminous when she stood next to me atthe great arched windows that overlooked the hotel’s garden.
“Your responses to all the questions are ‘da,’ which is basically you saying yes,” Roger had told us before the cameras started filming. “I’m told it’s not strictly the proper response, but since this wedding isn’t real, it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Not in the least,” I told him. A thought occurred to me, and I asked Paulie, “Do you speak Russian?”
“Only a few swearwords. Dad said I was American, so I needed to learn English, not Russian.” She shrugged. “I only speak a little French and German.”
“I have to say I wish you had a little Russian under your belt, because I’m afraid the only words I know are the ones I read in the phrase book flying to New York.”
“Eh. We’ll be OK. I have an electronic translator thingie on my phone, and part of the fun of an adventure is to overcome obstacles, right?”
“Right,” I agreed, and took her hand. Tucked away in my pocket was a ring Paulie had worn, since there was no time to go shopping for one. She held a small bouquet of white and blue flowers and smiled at me throughout the ceremony.
Oddly reflective, I took stock of my life at that moment. There I was, a glorified accountant for my brother’s estate, standing in the middle of a country far removed from my roots, holding the hand of a woman whose shining spirit filled me not just with happiness, but with a sense of rightness that I’d never experienced.
I decided I was getting sentimental over a faux wedding, and took my emotions in a firm hand.
“Right,” Roger said, consulting his watch once the filming had stopped and Paulie and I had been pronounced reality TV husband and wife. “We have just enough time for a wedding breakfast, and then we’ll havethe official setoff at noon. I believe the hotel has managed to pull together a meal for us...”
We followed him into another room where a group of round tables had been set up. The Esses were already there, perusing the dishes that servers were setting up. Other servers were quickly putting down place settings and arranging wineglasses.
“No wine!” Roger said sternly, and, with the interpreter in tow, herded the server who was wheeling out a cart filled with bottles back toward the kitchen.
“I feel like I should be toasting you, or at least giving a speech, since I was the best man,” Max said, lifting his water glass at Paulie and me. “But since the cameras are off, and time is at a premium, I’ll just say good racing.”
“Good racing,” everyone murmured.
There wasn’t a lot of conversation after that—I suspect people were tired from the long flight, but also nervous.
I glanced at Paulie, next to me. She was pushing her food around, not eating any of it, but moving it around on the plate in artistic mounds.
“Not hungry?” I asked her.
“No.” She bit her lower lip, making me instantly want to kiss her. Dammit, since when had I allowed my self-control to slip in that way? “To be honest, I’m a bit jumpy.”
“Frightened?”
“No, more... I don’t know. Nervy, I guess. I feel like my skin is about to twitch with irritation.”
“I’m a bit on edge myself.” I pushed back my plate. There was some sort of seafood stew, which I hadn’t partaken of due to a shellfish allergy, as well as a quiche and a beet dish that was tasty despite its appearance. “I think it’s the combination of our first day of out-and-out racing and the disasters of the last couple of days.”
Her glance slid over to where the Essex team sat, butshe said nothing, just nodded and pushed her food around into a different arrangement.
An hour later, we were assembled in the parking lot, listening while Roger went over the course of the race from this point out.
“Naturally, we can’t cover three cars with two camera crews, although I will say that it is quite a bit easier filming the three of you than the original seven.”
Sam was filming Roger while he spoke, but spun around to catch Paulie and me. Behind Sam, Tabby, holding the big boom microphone, gestured toward her face while she smiled widely. Obediently, I put a smile on my face and my arm around Paulie. She shot me a startled look.
“As you all know, this is where the race truly becomes a race,” Roger continued. “Henceforth, there are no time checks, no speed limits that you must adhere to—other than those of the countries you’ll pass through—and most importantly there is no starting and stopping time. That said, I will remind you that you all signed a statement guaranteeing that you will not drive more than eighteen hours in a single day. While I know you all want to win, we don’t want anyone else being injured.”
