Page 22 of Dirty Air
“It feels good.” That’s such a lame reply. “I am very happy to have my family here with me. More than that, I am excited to deliver a result my team deserves.”
“Any plans to celebrate tonight?”
“I am sure we will find something to do.”
The VFIBR leadership team finds aBiergartenwilling to close to the public for a night if Fritz takes pictures with the staff. He is more than happy to oblige. When the brats and pretzels make their way down the aisles, he’s extra grateful to be celebrating on his home turf.
There is absolutely nothing trainer-approved on the menu, which must be killing Dieter. Fritz wouldn’t know, since he purposely sat his mother between the two of them.
It’s fine, he's celebrating.
Any amount of points shoots the smaller teams all the way up the ranks so early in the season—especially eight points in one race. The entire team is in attendance, celebrating their first time in fifth place for the Constructors Championship in twenty years.
Fritz argues about football teams with Alex and Hans while Ella sketches out new merch designs for his store.
When he finishes his liter, Fritz looks up and accidentally makes eye contact with Henry, who sits about six or seven people away. The race engineer holds up his own liter for a cheers, but all that’s left in Fritz’s glass is foam.
He flags down thekellnerin. “Noch einen, bitte.”
“Nein, no more,” Dieter huffs, leaning around Fritz’s mother. “You are dehydrated, drink water.”
“Mama,” Fritz pouts. “I want to fire Dieter.”
“You just want to be fat and drunk,” he spits back.
The kellnerin hands Fritz another liter and the driver stands up, asking everyone for attention.
“We have a saying in Germany.” He raises his glass and everyone follows. “Ich möchte einfach nur fett und betrunken sein.”
“I just want to be fat and drunk,” the company repeatsunsteadily before taking a gulp. It’s a lot of syllables to remember.
Still, at least his friends look amused.
When he stumbles back down, falling into his seat, Dieter smacks him on the back of the head. The man, in turn, receives a scolding from Fritz’s mother.
He’ll be fine—he’s a family friend.
Fritz catches Henry’s eye again and lifts his beer to him. Holding eye contact, he brings the glass to his lips and gulps, hoping for a reaction.
Henry doesn’t give him one. He casually turns away and starts a conversation with the man across from him.
Ah, well. It wouldn’t be the first time Fritz’s interest was unrequited. At least there’s the professionalism excuse. It’d be much weirder if Henry stood up and declared his undying lust for him, right?
Though Fritz fully intended to pick up the bill for the night, Craig is two liters down and happily full on carbs, so he foots it.
They gather together for an end-of-meal group picture. It's a too-crowded thing they can post on social media to show how cooperative everyone is, so the team forces both drivers front and center.
Fritz hasn’t forgotten that William’s team tried to take his tires, but he smiles anyway.
“I took a video of the toast,” Madison says, pulling Fritz aside.
“I suggest you do not post it with sound.”
“Yeah…” She sighs as she pockets her phone. “When the restaurant staff started laughing I thought that might be the case.”
There’s a bus outside, ready to take the team back to their hotel, but some of the younger crew members and Fritz’s friends push him down the sidewalk, towards the clubs.
“You’re home,” Alex pleads. “And with something to celebrate!”
