The story is largely fictitious, built from what I saw the last time I went to Corner Two. Part Loving Wives, part Romance, part Mature, this tale could be told in many categories. The message is simple. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Angela's Revenge
She was a strikingly lovely woman, and I couldn't understand why the man with her was marching along a couple of metres ahead. He didn't seem to care that she was trying to keep up, slowed a bit by her stylish, heeled half-boots on the sloping terrain. Tall and slim, perhaps in her mid- 30s, her blunt cut, ash-blonde hair framed an attractive angular face with big expressive eyes. She deserved better.
The man ahead of this beauty strode along, his face set and scowling, seemingly oblivious to the eyes following her. She stood out from others nearby- her tailored black leather jacket highlighting a fine chest underneath. It was a bit cool that morning, so she wore matching black gloves, along with tight blue jeans showcasing her long, shapely legs. He didn't seem to notice.
Corner Two is probably the best viewing spot on the entire circuit- for people and cars. I've been here often over the past forty years, first with my father, later with my ex, then with our son and some of my friends. The race cars crest a low hill at high speed, then careen down the other side blind. There's a tight, off-camber left turn at the bottom which pushes the speeding cars to the outside, toward the tire barrier.
Spectators gather on the gentle slope along the fence by the track marshals' stand. Here we're above the cars, safe from the machines blazing past less than ten metres away. It's close enough to see the driver's frenzied movements as they steer, down-shift, and brake to avoid disaster.
The couple was passing in single file in front of me, and I wanted to talk to the lady. It didn't seem like much of a risk, given the usually friendly ambience at the track.
"He's a lucky man!" I boldly commented to her, nodding toward him, adding, "Too bad more women don't join their men here."
"Thank you," she smiled sweetly, and I noticed her sad, blue eyes.
"What did you say?"
The guy had overheard me and possibly her softer reply. He turned back to glare, but I saw that I had height and muscle on him. Still, I was polite- you just never know.
"Just saying that you're a lucky guy to have your woman come here with you. Mine came once, but didn't like the noise," I explained.
"Yeah, I suppose," then turning to the ashen-blonde beauty stopped in front of me, he barked, "Come on, Angela!"
He abruptly turned on his heel and continued on while Angela gave me one more shy little smile and rushed to close the distance between them. I shook my head at how shabbily he treated this beautiful lady.
Later in the afternoon, they came back to Corner Two again, just before the feature race. He was leading the way once more, Angela trotting along obediently like a trained pet. She had discarded her leather jacket, now carrying it slung over the shoulder of her tight, pink sweater. My suspicions about her upper body were confirmed by the swell of her proud breasts.
Angela noticed me looking at her, so turned my way with a little smile of recognition and a mouthed, "Hello". Then they moved about twenty metres from me along the fence to watch the cars on their pace lap, the guy paying no attention to her whatsoever. During the next hour, I probably spent more time pretending to follow cars down the hill while actually staring at Angela. She was very attractive and beguiling.
When the hour-long Vintage feature ended, I could see that they were about to leave, so I maneuvered myself to a spot where they would need to pass by me. Sure, Angela's good looks and fine figure drew me, but there was something in that little smile and those big, sad eyes that held me. This time when they passed, I stepped out to talk to the guy.
"So, did you like the race? That big Cobra blasting past the Lotus on the blind crest was a ballsy move, wasn't it?"
A comment like this from a complete stranger at a sporting event wouldn't seem unusual at all. Fans are like a fraternity, drawn by the same interests. He stopped and Angela almost walked into the back of him.
"Yeah, good race," was all he had to say, and not in a particularly friendly tone.
"How about you? Did you enjoy it?" I asked Angela before he started off.
"Yes thanks. I like old cars." she said softly, with a smile that lit up her lovely face.
She looked right into my eyes for a few moments, then gave a little shrug of her shoulders and a sad pout before turning to rush off behind him. I thought that would likely be the last I'd ever see of Angela, this apparently unhappy and ignored woman.
****
I'm a divorced man with grown children. Halfway through my fifties, I live alone and have a career in graphic design. Now there's plenty of time for my own interests, particularly watching motor racing, and I work out at the gym a lot. It's important to me to look and feel good. Who wants to become a decrepit old man?
My life moves along easily enough from week to week, from event to event. It's smooth, but rather empty because something is lacking. I have plenty of friends who share my interest in fast cars and fitness, but not much female company. My wife and I grew apart a long time ago, and at this age I don't care for the bar scene.
This was a weekend event, so I towed my small camper [caravan if you're British] and set up in a shady spot along the forest fringe, not far from the top of the long, back straight section of the track. It's another popular spot because the cars reach maximum speed as they thunder uphill through the trees to another hillcrest. I've seen cars become airborne there at 250-kilometre speeds, a sobering experience.
There was a line of trailers parked there, one rig larger than the rest. After the first day's events were finished, I sat in front of mine, beer in hand. I'd come alone this time, everybody busy with something else this early spring weekend. Then Angela walked by, dutifully following her guy and what looked like a loud group of his male friends. She spotted me, and gave a smile with a discreet little hand wave.
"What a fine woman!" I thought. "I wonder where she's sleeping tonight?"
Then I watched as the group turned in at the big rig just beyond me. They went inside and the guys soon came out with beers in hand. Not Angela though, probably inside getting food ready for them, I guessed. Later she came out with several big bowls and her guy fired up the barbeque. It was time to get my own supper together. I hoped that I'd see Angela again at Corner Two tomorrow.
Sometime after midnight I awakened to a frantic knocking on my trailer door. Was I dreaming? No, there it was again! I opened it, forgetting that I was wearing only my boxers, and Angela quickly pushed past me and rushed inside. She was very upset, still dressed as I'd seen her a few times earlier in the day. But there was some blood on her chin, and it had dripped onto the pink sweater. She was sniffling.
"Quick. Shut the door!" she sobbed.
"Angela! Jesus, what happened? What's going on?"
"I don't want him to hit me again!"
"He hit you! Is he coming after you?" Fight or flight? I was instantly ready to kick his sorry ass.
"My bastard husband. He kicked me out. Told me just to fuck off."
"Good lord! I'll get you a cloth and some water. Let's clean you up. Where's that cut?"
"My bottom lip. It hurts!"
"Let's see. Damn... he split it open! Nasty cut. I have some ice or it'll swell up all black-and-blue."
"Thanks.... I don't even know your name, but you seemed friendly at the track today. His friends are as bad as him. No help to me tonight."
"Greg.... Greg Carpenter. I know you're Angela. He doesn't treat you very well, does he?"
"No. Like shit a lot of the time!"
I had the ice cubes now and put them in a little plastic bag to press against her lip. Meanwhile I dabbed away at the blood on her chin and looked down at the drops on the front of her sweater. I hesitated.
"Much as I'd like to get that blood off your sweater, Angela, it's right on your.... Well, here, I'll hold the ice against your lip while you dab at the sweater."
She gave me that beautiful smile then grimaced as a fresh flow of blood oozed from her split lip.
"I was right about you, Greg Carpenter. You're a nice guy."
I couldn't help but notice how beautiful this woman looked close up: smooth, flawless skin- currently tear stained- full, bowed lips, and big liquid blues. And some asshole was beating on her! It seemed unbelievable. She continued.
"I've been with Rocco for nearly ten years now. Ten too many. He doesn't care a damn about me anymore. Maybe he never really did?" and she started to cry.
"Careful now. You don't want that lip to bleed again," I soothed her, bringing my arm around her shoulder to comfort. I hate to see women or little kids cry.
She didn't flinch, so I pulled a little tighter, and met no resistance. To my surprise, Angela took my hand and squeezed it. When she stopped sniffling and was breathing easy again, I spoke softly to soothe her.
"Angela, what will you do now? There's a hospital about twenty minutes south of here if you want to go to Emergency. I can take you. Been there myself once."
"I think my lip will be fine if you have a bandage. It's not bleeding anymore, as long as I don't smile or laugh."
"I'll get my first aid kit out. There's a bit of everything in there," I replied.
"But I don't know what to do now. Rocco hit me and pushed me out. Said he didn't care if I lived or died anymore because I was no use to him. He makes me feel like garbage sometimes. I don't want to go back there tonight."
Now what? Was Angela asking to stay with me for the night? That would great but I didn't want to get myself into the middle of a domestic dispute, especially when Rocco had his posse of buddies to back him up. But I didn't want to send her back there either. There had to be some other solution. I thought about it for a bit as I carefully applied a couple of bandages to her mouth.
"You know, Angela, this lip is worse than I thought. It's still seeping, and it looks like your teeth cut down into it when he hit you. I think you need to have a doctor look at it. It would be a shame to have such a nice face disfigured by that jerk of a husband."
I was appealing to her vanity, but something also told me it would be wise to have this abuse documented.
