Page 107 of Overtake
More cameras appear, more questions are shouted, more chaos builds.
“Petra, how do you respond to Kelley’s interviews about your relationship?”
“Nico, is this relationship a PR stunt?”
Oh, seriously?
“Nico! Petra! How long have you been together?”
“What do you say to people who claim this relationship damages your teams?”
That last one pisses me off, but now isn’t the time to address such bullshit. I just want to enjoy a dinner date. That shouldn’t be too much to ask.
Finally we’re in the middle SUV. Oscar sits in the passenger seat while Eduardo drives. Rodrigo and another security member occupy the back row behind us.
Oscar turns to address us. “The route’s been altered since this afternoon, Señor Belmonte,” he explains in English. “We’ll take the longer way to avoid traffic.”
I’m impressed. “You’ve done this before.”
“Many times.” Oscar smiles. “Señor Belmonte has been coming here since he was a boy. We have arrangements in place with the restaurant.” He speaks into his radio in rapid Spanish.The lead vehicle pulls out, followed by ours, with the third SUV close behind.
The convoy winds through Mexico City’s evening traffic, constantly moving. Stop-and-go traffic is where the danger lies. A vehicle trapped by traffic becomes an easy target for armed thieves, something F1 teams have learned the hard way.
“My father found this place,” Nico explains as we turn down an alley. “Back when he was managing WolfBett’s F3 team.” He smiles. “The owners are like family.”
All three SUVs pull up behind acarnicería. The first vehicle’s team emerges and takes position, followed by Oscar, Rodrigo, and our security detail. The third SUV’s team secures the perimeter. It’s a coordinated dance, with Rodrigo seamlessly integrated into the local operation.
The area is quickly locked down, with security personnel staged at every entrance and exit point. Rodrigo positions himself near the gate while someone speaks into a radio, and only then does Oscar approach our door.
“They’ll remain outside.” Nico guides me toward a gate set into a high white wall.
I’m thrilled to see more of this city than just the airport, hotel, and circuit. WolfBett and PNW Nitro have reason to fear their drivers could be robbed or kidnapped, but I’ve always hated being shut away when we come here. One of the things I love about being in F1, besides winning of course, is seeing the world and all its cultures.
Nico opens the wooden gate and a wave of delicious smells hits me—spices and grilled chicken, fresh hot tortillas. Oh yes, I’m suddenly famished as we enter a small courtyard. A huge bougainvillea vine spills hot pink blossoms across the wall. An enormous colorful mural covers the other three courtyard walls. It depicts everyday scenes of life in Mexico, except one panelthat’s clearly an homage to Formula One and features Nico’s face.
Well, color me impressed.
A red and white awning shelters a handful of tables. The space feels worlds away from F1’s demands.
“¡Mijo!”A small woman similar in age to Carlos and my dad emerges from the building, arms already open, Spanish spilling over us. “Roberto just told me you were coming tonight.” Her silver hair is cut short and she wears jeans and a turquoise blouse.
“Esmerelda.” Nico’s smile is huge as he returns her embrace. “I hope it’s alright that I brought someone special.”
Her hazel eyes light up when she sees me.“¡Ay! La campeona!”She switches to English. “We watched your race Sunday. Your control of that compromised car was impressive.”
A man appears from the back of the building. He wears a white apron over his black shirt and jeans. “Ah,cariño. I thought I heard Esme losing her mind.” They embrace, then Nico introduces me to Roberto, Esmerelda’s husband. He takes my hand between his and smiles. “Welcome toBajo la bandera.”
“Thank you. Your restaurant is beautiful and the food smells amazing,” I reply in Spanish.
“Your racing speaks for itself.” Roberto nods approvingly at Nico. “We’re glad you wanted to share our food with someone important to you.”
“Sit, sit!” Esmerelda fusses over us like we’re underfed children. “I have your favorite, Nico. And forla campeona...” She studies me appraisingly. “Mymole.” She waves a finger. “You won’t be disappointed.”
“I’m sure that’s true.” The warmth here feels like stepping into another world. One where championships and politics don’t exist.
Roberto bringscervezain frosted glasses, waving off Nico’s protest about race weekend. “One beer. To celebrate!” He winks. “Besides, it’s Monday and you don’t drive for a few days.”
“How is Carlos?” Esmerelda sets down dishes that make my mouth water. “Tell him he owes me a visit. And you!” She points at Nico. “It’s about time you brought a girl here.”
