Melody didn’t answer because at that moment Roger d’Espry approached with Sam and Tabby, one of the two camera-and-sound teams.
“Well, ladies, what do you think of our Thomas Flyer? Isn’t she a beauty? The shell of the car is all original, although we had to have part of the frame and most of the engine work redone.”
“I’m glad to hear I won’t have to be a real mechanic,” I said, feeling awkward when Sam swung the camera around to me. I tried hard not to look directly at it, per instruction.
“Oh, but you will be called on to do simple maintenance. And that’s why Graham is here—Graham?” The mechanic hurried forward. “Graham will show you how to fill the oil, check the water, change a tire, and so on.”
“Oh. Gotcha. Hi,” I said, still feeling awkward... At least I did until I caught sight of a couple of men who emerged from the elevator halfway down the garage. Dixon Ainslie was dressed in a pair of black pants and a plaid cotton shirt, looking as coolly confident as ever, and twice as annoying. Another man was with him, onewith wild brown hair that seemed to stick out in all directions and a short goatee—his brother no doubt. Both men approached while Roger was telling Melody how they had merged together the old and new to make the cars, and what elements were true to form (steering, tires, and some basic mechanicals) and what was more current (engine, so we could go faster than forty miles an hour, seat belts, and transmission).
“Shall we get started?” Graham asked, handing me a small can of oil. “I’ll show you how to check the oil first. We’ll top her up before you leave, but it’s good for you to know how to do this in case you’re out in the wilds of Russia and need it.”
My attention was divided between the lesson and Dixon, who strolled over to watch behind the camera. His brother had stopped to chat with two pretty production assistants, giving me the impression he was a lady’s man.
“The hood straps connect here. See that?”
“That buckle, yes?”
“Right. Take that off; then you can push the hood back onto itself. And there you see a very modern engine.”
“Hopefully, you’ll keep that off camera,” Roger interrupted himself to say. “Viewers like to believe what they’re seeing, so it’s vitally important that you maintain the image of an actual antique car.”
“All righty.” I moved so my body was between the camera and the open hood. “Like this?”
“Perfect.” Roger turned his attention to his daughter, who had finished a phone conversation and come over to preen before the camera. “Louise, dear, perhaps you’d like to take the wheel and familiarize yourself with the method of driving. You other ladies will learn as well, but since Louise will be the pilot, we’ll get a few shots of her learning her stuff.”
Louise was more than happy to oblige, and climbed into the car, pausing to say, “The steering wheel is on the wrong side!”
“That’s how they were made then, love,” Roger said soothingly, and hurried over to her side to point out various elements of the steering and acceleration.
“Would you mind if I peered over your shoulder?” Dixon asked when Graham showed me where the oil cap was. “Evidently I’m to be the mechanic on my team as well, and I assume the engines are the same even if the outer car is not.”
“Good idea,” Graham said. “Will save me time. Now, do you see that gauge there? Just draw a line straight to the left and you’ll find the oil cap.”
I was very aware of Dixon leaning next to me as we peered into the engine and had to keep my attention firmly focused lest it wander to thinking of snarky things to say to him... and wanting to casually brush my arm against his. By the time we had a lesson on how to add water, where the car horn could be unplugged, and how the big brass-contained headlights were replaced, I stopped wanting to be rude to Dixon and instead admired his fascination with the car. He asked several questions about the rebuild, how the cars would operate in inclement conditions, and what sort of facilities were being arranged for repairs.
“I’ll be riding with the film crew,” Graham told him. “Ideally, any repairs we have to make we can do at night, off camera.”
“I understood that the real racers had endless trouble with their cars,” I said, recalling the Web site I’d read the night before. “Breakdowns constantly, getting stuck in snow and mud and so on.”
“So I understand, although we’re not concerned withduplicating that for the television audience,” Graham said, moving around to the rear of the car to show me how to attach and remove a spare tire from the block that would be affixed to the back of the car. “Viewers want action and drama, not sitting around in the mud waiting for a tow.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because the original race sounds like it was a hellish nightmare.”
Dixon gave me a look that seemed oddly approving, then bent to see the connectors that would hold a stack of tires onto the back of the car. After another half hour of instruction, Graham went off to see the car that Dixon and his team would use, promising to show him some of the differences between the vehicles.
Before he left, Dixon said softly, “Do you have a moment?”
“Sure.” I put a smile on my face, well aware that the camera was nearby, now filming Roger in front of a large map of the U.S., ostensibly showing Louise the route across the country.
He nodded at a spot about ten yards away, and I followed after him, curious now if he was going to say something that would annoy me after we’d spent a nice half hour learning basic car stuff. “What is it? Not something bad, I hope.”
“I hope not as well. I wanted to apologize about last night. For the... erm... reaction I had when you leaned in to speak quietly. I wanted to reassure you that it was nothing about you personally. It’s just that I have... I don’t like... Boundaries are important to me.”
“Boundaries?” I asked, confused.
“Personal space.” He waved a hand around the front of him. “I am uncomfortable when people I don’t know well breach that.”
“Are you saying you don’t like to be touched?”
