Dubbed, "Shirley Muldowney, Jr" by her racing peers, Daria was making quite a name for herself as the only woman on the male-dominated NASCAR circuit.
When a race started, rather than dropping to the inside of the track on a corner, like other drivers, Daria chose the center line and dropped the pedal to the floor. While exceedingly unorthodox, it usually bought her a precious few seconds as well as excellent traction, as the curves were always very slick from the thousands of tires which had previously gone around them. That move alone had the dubious name, coined by a sportscaster, of the, "Summer's Suicide Slot." The few men who had tried it only wound up as so much twisted fiberglass and metal against the wall.
Daria was known to be a gracious winner as well loser. Her last loss was at the Charlotte Motor Speedway in North Carolina when her right rear tire blew out as she exited the last turn. Incredibly, she hadn't spun out, nor had she hit the wall or any other car; she did, however, drop from a solid fifth place into dead last. She shrugged it off and told the cameras, "Shit happens."
Neither knock-dead gorgeous nor hideously gruesome, Daria was the type of person one would pass on the street and not look twice at. Standing five feet, ten inches tall, with light brown hair done up in a bun, she was slender but her short-sleeved shirt showed that her muscles were well-toned.
"Hey, Lillian," she smiled cheerfully. She walked over and gave the older woman a peck on the cheek, then turned to Sharon with an uneven-toothed grin. "You really did a number on that guy. Good for you!" She stuck out her hand.
"I'm Daria," she said simply. Sharon wiped her mouth and grabbed Daria's hand, grinning like an idiot.
"Hi, Daria. I'm Sharon. It's nice to meet you," Sharon said, blushing. ANOTHER celebrity knew who she was! Wow!
Lillian motioned to Kumiko who clicked over to the cabinets, returning with the necessary items for an extra place setting. She proceeded to fork meatloaf and side dishes onto the plate, taking care not to let the food touch. Lillian cast her eyes on Sharon.
"I've known Daria since she was four years old. Her family lives next door."
"Yeah," chuckled Daria. "If you call, 'next door,' a ten minute drive around the woods. Or a ten minute walk if you go directly through." Kumiko placed a frost-covered mug in front of Daria and poured a beer for her, setting the nearly empty bottle beside it. Daria thanked Kumiko and took a long drink of beer, then started forking the food into her mouth. "Lillian, I just came by to let you know that Dad bought a log splitter and I'll be by tomorrow to split that wood out back for you."
"So, you're father decided to enter the modern age, huh?" Lillian grinned into her sake' cup. Sharon's head swiveled back and forth as she ate in silence, watching the pair converse.
"You know Dad," replied Daria around a mouthful of food, "He's had the same truck for thirty seven years. First vehicle he ever had. He finally decided that he was getting a bit old to split wood by hand, and that his little girl had bigger fish to fry. He refuses to hire farmhands." Daria furrowed her brow and hunched her shoulders, clearly imitating her father. "'A man should do his own work! Not hire some college-boy to tell him what he ain't doing right!'"
All three laughed at the imitation. Somehow, Daria had managed to clean her plate and drain her beer in the few minutes she had been here; Lillian and Sharon still only halfway finished.
"Anytime after eight in the morning, love," smiled Lillian, "I came here for peace and quiet. I'd hate to be woken up by that racket."
Daria wiped her mouth with the provided linen napkin, threw it in the middle of the plate and stood to kiss Lillian's cheek. She turned to Kumiko, grabbed her, kissed her passionately and then headed for the door. She stopped as if remembering something. Turning to Sharon, she reached into her back pocket and pulled a folded envelope from it.
"Here ya are, Captain Krav Maga," she handed the envelope to Sharon, and winked at Lillian. "For you. See y'all later." She strode out followed closely by the maid.
Sharon looked in the envelope and pulled out a plastic covered badge complete with a lapel clip. She gasped and squealed as she showed it to Lillian. The badge identified her as a bonafide member of the "Moonwheel Racing Team." It displayed Daria's car number superimposed over the NASCAR logo, surrounded by various sponsors. Sharon had been given the title of, "Aide To The Team Owner." The badge was endorsed on the back by the president of the NASCAR commission, himself.
"Ms Lillian, do you know what this is?!?!?" Sharon was aghast, and continued excitedly without waiting for a response, "It gets me into ANY race that Daria's in!" Her food was forgotten.
Lillian just smiled and took another bite of food. Sharon stared at the badge, turning it this way and that. Her cute little brow furrowed as she put it all together.
"Waitaminnit..." Sharon said, "The owner of Moonwheel is...an...auth..." Her jaw dropped as she looked between the badge and Lillian who was calmly eating, taking a sip of Japanese wine occasionally; a Mona Lisa smile on her face.
"You?" Sharon smiled from ear to ear. She jumped out of her chair and practically bowled Lillian over when she jumped on her, hugging tightly and kissing her cheek. "Ms Lillian! I...! YOU!?!?!?! HOLY SHIT!"
Lillian's fork was knocked from her hand to clatter on the floor when the teen attacked her. She laughed merrily as she hugged Sharon back, her laughter filling the kitchen with its melodic sound.
"I told you, Beloved, I demand only the finest and I intend to spoil you." The pair locked lips in what Sharon termed, "a happy kiss." A happy kiss was simply a regular kiss mixed with a little exuberance.
"Ms Lillian," Sharon said, "you're full of surprises. I love you so much." She continued hugging Lillian, burying her face in her lover's shoulder. She began crying softly.
"Beloved, what's wrong?" Lillian asked seriously, as she scooted back from the table and gently pulled the sobbing teen into her lap.
