“Suffragettes, that’s right. I just met the leader of the team.” I dropped the volume of my voice, glancing around to make sure no one could hear me, and leaned in to him to whisper, “She’s a bit of a diva, I think.”
Dixon, to my horror, stepped back just as if I had been covered in cooties. I blushed again and busied myself with examining the bottles and glasses on the table, telling myself that I was a fool, a big, awkward, idiotic fool who spoke without thinking and leaned close to men who didn’t like that sort of thing.
“Sorry,” Dixon murmured, looking extremely uncomfortable.
“No, it’s my fault,” I said, taking the high ground and apologizing. “I shouldn’t have leaned into you that way. Not everyone likes it. Just so you know, I have a couple of gay friends.”
His eyes widened. “I’m not gay.”
“No? Well, then I guess it’s just me.” I swallowed down the hurt sting of that knowledge and turned away to grab an open bottle. I had no idea what was in it, but at that moment I didn’t care so long as it was alcoholic.
“This is horribly awkward. I suppose I should—”
I didn’t find out what he should do because at that moment a man with a fringe of red hair around a mostly bald head tapped on a microphone set up in the middle of the ballroom and said, “Hello? Is this on? Ah, it is. Hello, old friends, members of the crew, and new recruits. Welcome to what is going to be the greatest show on earth! If I could get everyone to grab a seat, we can get on with the orientation.”
A quick glance at Dixon showed me he was avoiding looking at me, which stung even more. I headed off to the nearest table, still yelling at myself mentally, although, to be honest, I couldn’t figure out what I’d done that had so offended him. Maybe I smelled of body odor?
I took my seat and used the opportunity of setting my purse on the ground to take a covert sniff of my armpits. Nothing was amiss there, so I pulled out a small pocket mirror and made sure I didn’t have anything unsavory poking out from my nose, or obnoxious eye grit, or potatoes growing out of my ears.
Dixon took another seat at my table. Not next to me, but one away, and just as I was thinking of how to say something to him, Tessa bustled up with a tall dark-haired man in tow. “There you are! We were looking for you. Paulie, this is my husband, Max.”
“Pleasure,” Max said, giving me a little head nod before holding out a chair for Tessa. She sat directly next to me, chatting happily as her husband took the chair on the other side of her. I looked at Tessa and, suddenly feeling annoyed, looked at Dixon and cocked an eyebrow at him.
His jaw tightened, but he couldn’t do more because at that moment Tessa asked his name and he had to respond.
“You must be the third English team! Max and I anda friend are in the duke’s car. Awesome. Jeez, Roger, keep your knickers on! We were just meeting and greeting!”
The last was in response to the bald man saying pointedly into the microphone that they would get started just as soon as the noise died down.
The man—who must have been Roger d’Espry, the producer—made a face at Tessa. She blew him a kiss.
“Welcome, again, everyone. I’m so glad to say that, as of four o’clock this afternoon, we’ve filled the last position of team members. The modern race teams are still being pulled together, but as they are being filmed by a different production company, we will have little to do with them.” He gave us a warm smile. “I think we all know which race the public will prefer! Now, I thought we’d have some brief introductions first, just so everyone knows who everyone else is. I am Roger d’Espry, producer with Vision! Studios, and this is Graham Strey, our resident mechanical genius responsible for our fine mostly vintage automobiles. Graham, stand up.”
A harassed man of about fifty or so stood, a pair of glasses pushed to the top of his head. He waved wanly.
“Next is our beloved crew. Tabby, Sam, Dermott, and Clarissa are our film-and-sound teams, and they are the people who’ll be capturing your every word, so make sure they’re good ones.” Roger laughed heartily. There were a few polite titters, but most of us just looked uncomfortable.
Four people who were at the far table stood up and waved. One of the women pointed at Tessa, who gave her a thumbs-up.
“There are seven production members connected with the studios. Stand up, gang.”
I kind of zoned out at the introduction of a bunch of people who were evidently responsible for all the workto keep the production going, as well as a handful of race officials who would be keeping tabs on the racers.
“More about that later at the race meeting,” Roger said when the five men and women who were the officials retook their seats. “And now, the talent! I see that you’re somewhat mixed up at various tables, so if you’ll just stand when I call out your team names, we can zip through the intros. First we have the Essex Esses: Samuel, Stephen, and Sanders. Gentlemen, if you would stand...”
Three men in their mid-thirties stood, their hands held up in triumph.
“Next we have the Ravishing Romeos, our friends from Italy in the form of Carlo, Luca, and Francesco.” The three dark-haired men rose and bowed. Several women cheered loudly, which made them preen.
“The fine country of Germany has given us the Hessen Hausfraus: Anna, Martina, and Claudia. Ladies?”
Three women rose, all of them in their forties or later, and each wearing an identical purple tracksuit. They looked like comfortable moms, and I wondered what on earth they were doing on an around-the-world race. “Empty nesters, do you think?” I murmured to Tessa.
“Probably. I bet they’re going to be hellish competition, though,” she whispered back. “They look sweet, but that probably means they’re ruthless and will beat us all.”
“Representing Britain we have three teams. First up is the Engaging Englishmen in the form of brothers Dixon and Rupert, and a man who is no doubt familiar to anyone who watches reality TV, star of bothStrictly Come Dancingand the hit reality showThree Men in a Flat: Kell! Gentlemen?” With a little sigh, Dixon got to his feet. Across the room, a man I assumed was his brother bobbed up, while seated centrally to Roger was a third, a goateed man with long blond hair pulled back in a man-bun. He rose, waved,blew some kisses, bowed, and made the Namaste gesture before bowing a few more times.
“The ham element of the show,” Tessa said in an undertone.
