One
South Lyon, Michigan, 1992
“Alex Król?” the voice on the other end of the phone said.
“Speaking.”
“Mr. Król, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“If I don’t recognize your voice, then I don’t know you. If I don’t know you, then I don’t believe you’ve had that honor.”
The voice laughed – a bit stifled, Alex thought – then said, “Yes, I suppose technically you’re right. But I hope to change that.”
“I don’t need window treatments or my furnace cleaned, or anything else you might be selling, including Girl Scout cookies.”
The laugh again, a little more genuine.
“Mr. Król, I’m not selling anything.”
“I don’t have Prince Albert in a can either.”
The laugh yet a third time; Alex was becoming annoyed. “Why don’t you start by telling me who you are?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Alicia Abney. I work for the Metro Times in Detroit, a weekly newspaper that’s distributed free of charge – and before you accuse me of trying to sell you a subscription, I’m not,” she rushed to finish. Her attempt at humor fell flat.
“What can I do for you, Miss Abney?”
“Actually, I don’t work for the Metro Times. I’m a freelance writer, and I’d like to do a story on you.”
“I’m not interested.” Alex sounded as if he were talking to a telemarketer trying to sell him a product she was convinced he couldn’t live without but about which he couldn’t have cared less.
“Oh.” Alex’s response was the one Alicia least expected to hear.
“I’ve been out of motor sports for more than twenty years. I don’t need publicity.”
“Mr. Król, it’s not about publicity. It’s a profile of a former Indy 500 champion.”
“My career in racing does not define who I am.”
“Our readers –”
“Are more interested in reading about today’s stars – Arie Luijendijk, Danny Sullivan, and Paul Tracy.”
“But none of them are from the Detroit area.”
“Neither am I anymore.”
“But you have ties to the area.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You were born here.”
“Not by choice.”
“Mr. Król –”
“I left behind that life.”
“I’m sure your hometown remembers you.”
Alex sighed. “You mind telling me how old you are?”
“Excuse me?”
“I know, a gentleman is not supposed to ask a woman her age.”
“I’m forty-seven.”
“You sound much younger.”
“Thank you.”
Alex wondered if the woman understood that his question wasn’t intended as a flirtation. “Do you know who Mauri Rose is?”
“A former 500 winner?” Alicia said.
YOU ARE READING
500 Miles to Go
RomantikaGail had been Alex Krol's girl since high school. She fell for him before she learned that he risked his life on dirt tracks during the summer months to the delight of the fans who paid to see cars crash—the more spectacular the wreck, the taller th...
