JULY 20
6:22 p.m.
Dorcet Hotel, New York City
Just a quickie update before I get ready for my date... er... dinner with Dixon. And Daddy and Angela, of course.
We drove around an abandoned strip mall on Long Island and practiced parking, turning, backing up, and accelerating and stopping. Driving in the Thomas Flyer is an absolute hoot. Hard, but a hoot.
“The first thing you’re going to notice are the three pedals on the floor,” Graham said when it was my turn to learn how to drive.
“Yup,” I said. “Gas, brake, and—what, a clutch?”
“No. Right is your brake, middle is your reverse, and left is the clutch.”
“Um...” I looked down at my feet. “Where’s the gas, then?”
“That lever on the right side of the steering wheel. What you do is push the clutch all the way to the floor, give it some gas, then let up on the gas and lift up your clutch foot.”
I stalled it the first couple of times I tried to getmoving, but at last I got the dance down and was soon zipping across the parking lot at a heady twenty miles an hour.
“Louise worries me,” I told Melody later, once we were out of the subject’s hearing.
Melody cast her a thoughtful look. “She doesn’t seem to be very good at telling the clutch from the brake, does she?”
“That, and she’s so busy smiling at the car with the camera, she’s not paying attention to where she’s driving.”
“Perhaps we can suggest she let us do the bulk of the driving,” Melody suggested.
“She’s not going to want to do that if the cameras are on.”
“No, but they won’t be filming us all of the time. If we can limit her driving to just film times, then we should have a greater chance at completing the race without... problems.”
“Like crashing into something,” I added grimly.
Crap. Must go fling myself in the shower and put my hair up. I wonder if it’s too late to add some color to it.
Paulina Rostakova’s Adventures
JULY 20
7:31 p.m.
Dandie’s Lion Restaurant, Manhattan, ladies’ room
My father is an idiot.
Paulina Rostakova’s Adventures
JULY 20
7:44 p.m.
Dandie’s Lion Restaurant, Manhattan, ladies’ room
Dixon is an idiot, too.
Paulina Rostakova’s Adventures
