ALICE Ch 132

Bright lights shine on the simple chair.

Toto Wolff of Mercedes looks mild, as usual. There’s the sense that he’s genuinely ambivalent about being there. A part of him wants to talk. Another part has other things to do. He’s been considering the producer’s last question for a full ten seconds.

“Certainly, one component of Formula One is purely psychological,” he says finally. “The rumors and the considerable coverage being devoted to FUTA are for the most part positive things for a newer team.”

“I asked you what your thoughts were on the notion of teammates dating,” the producer reminds him.

“I know what you asked me. FUTA has refuted those rumors.”

“You believe them?”

“What I believe is irrelevant.”

“I’m not asking specifically about the rumors,” the producer presses stubbornly. “It’s the idea. The idea of teammates being romantically involved. How would you feel about that on your team?”

“Lewis and Tanaka? Unlikely.”

“Well, for the sake of imagination, suppose you took on one of these conventionally attractive women, of whom there are plenty in Formula One at the moment. Suppose Missy Woodcock was driving for Mercedes with Max and you learned that they had begun a relationship off the track.” The producer shrugs and holds out her hand. “What would your thoughts be then?”

Toto’s face darkens and his eye twitches.

FF1

Bright lights shine on the two simple chairs.

The Woodcock sisters wear matching outfits and matching expressions of barely-contained glee. They exchange a look.

“Well, we hope it isn’t true,” Sissy says.

“Wouldn’t want Alice to be unavailable,” Missy agrees with a giggle. “Reckon she wants to marry into money?”

“Has Glynda Darcy got money?”

“She’s marrying Faye, not Glynda, you halfwit,” Missy says. “And she’s not marrying her. Only shagging her.”

“That’s a rumor,” the producer tries to interject, and the twins give her matching looks of disdain.

“Have you met Alice Wilde, mate? She probably does it with Faye then goes and chats up Glynda,” Sissy says sagely.

“She does have a type,” Missy agrees, holding up her hands by her chest as though to cup large breasts. “Explains a lot, actually. She’s been quick lately. Perhaps Glynda’s incentivized her.”

“Love gives you wings,” Sissy says with a theatrical sigh.

“That’s Red Bull, you daft—”

“Let’s pivot to Williams,” the producer cuts in. “There’s talk of improvements to the car.”

“Can’t talk about that,” the sisters reply in unison.

“And don’t ask about Miami,” Sissy says.

“Miami didn’t happen,” Missy agrees. “We should be talking about the real issues: where’s our Diorgasm endorsement, then?”

“The French. They're madmen. To take Alice and Valeria over us,” Sissy says, indignant.

“It’s outrageous.”

“As relatively new drivers, how are you feeling looking at Monaco?”

That cuts through the sisters’ levity as though it isn’t there at all. They exchange a look. In unison, they fold their arms.

“Tight, stupid street circuit,” Sissy says. “Crashes. Safety cars. God save us if it’s wet.”

“What’s not to like?” Missy adds with a shrug.