August 10th
Monte Carlo, Monaco.
Max's POV.
I sit in front of the camera and shift in my seat, squirming uncomfortably. I think I've already established well enough the fact that no matter how many times I've done this before, I'll probably never get used to it. I'll never stop seeing it as nothing more than a chore. An unnecessary one at that. But then again, that might just be the pessimist in me.
Micah's voice takes me out of my own thoughts for a second. "Are you ready to start recording?" she asks, and I have to blink a few times to regain awareness of my body.
"Yeah, It's okay." I reply, fixing my eyes and straightening out my posture on the chair placed in the middle of my living room, our newly chosen background for the interview segments of the documentary, at least during the summer break. Maybe, if my posture is stable enough, my answers will be good enough to get this over with.
Nick stands behind the camera and smiles at me reassuringly, showing me a thumbs up that boosts my confidence as he fixes the settings of the device. All I have to do is focus on that and not on Micah's fierce eyes burning holes into me. The effect she has on me is the opposite of Nick's. It's like I can never relax when she's around, I'm always on my toes, watching my every step. It's not good for my ego, that's for sure. "Action!" he says and I manage to focus on the task ahead quite easily this time.
"You've had quite the start to the season, haven't you? Six wins out of twelve races. How do you think you've managed to achieve that?"
An episode of self reflection, Micah had called it at the beginning of the day, before we started filming. I'm still not quite sure what she meant about that, but at this point I was still on a high from last night, it seemed as if her attitude towards me had begun to shift, which could only make both of our jobs easier. So, rubbing my chin with the palm of my hand, I replied in the best way I could muster up.
"Of course it's not just something I did. The team gave me a great car, and from that moment on we have been focused enough to make the best possible calls at the right time strategy wise, and maximize every opportunity we've had. So, of course it's a team effort but it obviously feels good to be the guy that's winning. That's always the goal."
Micah nodded along with my words. "How do you maintain a winner's mentality throughout the course of a season as long as this? Does your confidence never falter?"
I thought about my words for a moment, knowing that they'd be able to edit out any points of hesitation. I find podcasts terribly boring, but this seemed oddly alike to being interviewed for one. "I don't really think it's about a winner's mentality or being overly confident. I don't think there's any like, mythical thing about me. I'm just a driver. I enjoy what I do. And winning is my job so I do whenever I can to do that, because I like to be good at my job. I think that even if I did end up becoming a bus driver like my dad used to joke about, I'd still be trying my best to be good at it. There's nothing more to it. And having a great team behind you obviously helps you be more confident because you know you have certain freedoms that others don't have, in the sense that you can experiment and bend your driving style a bit more because you know the car will respond to it."
For the first time, Micah seemed truly interested in what I was saying, and not in a journalist-interviewee sort of way, she seemed to be genuinely invested in the conversation. Her shoulders slumped a little as she found a more comfortable position in the single seater sofa where she was sitting, she crossed one leg over the other, her hands weren't trembling like they did the first few times, and she wasn't triple checking the notes in her lap. She seemed more at ease with me sharing all of this. And I realized that in turn, it made me feel more at ease, so much so that here I was fully expressing my thoughts. Nick's phone began to ring and he had to excuse himself, leaving us alone to continue with the interview.
"What about you?" I asked, eyes on her as I waited for an answer that didn't come for a second.
"What?" she asked in disbelief, blinking a few times as she was surely shocked by me asking her a question and altering the nature of the conversation.
I wasn't bothered by it, though. I knew they could always cut the bits of the interview that weren't useful, after all that's what documentaries were, a montage of declarations. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about who the girl that lived in my house really was, realizing I still knew next to nothing about her besides her profession and nationality.
"Yeah, how do you deal with the pressures of your job. I'm sure it can't always be easy. Not all the people you interview are as lovely and easygoing as I am." I asked, smile fresh on my face as I asked, making her scoff in the process.
"I'm not the one getting interviewed." she rolled her eyes. "We'll cut this out." she told herself. We were alone in the room as we recorded this, so she was clearly making about a million mental notes to correct my odd behavior in post production. I felt her getting more serious as she readied herself to dig deeper. "Has there been any added pressure with everything that's been said about you in the press?"
"Pressure to perform?" I asked, mulling over the words in my head as she nodded to encourage my response. "Not really. I have too much to think about when I'm going into a race weekend to care about what's being said out there. I try to just focus on the things I have to do in order to do a good job and maximize the package that we have, and then I come back home and just live a normal life."
"Is it really possible to live a normal life with this amount of exposure?" I think the question surprised even her, it didn't seem like it was planned, but we had already settled into a flow where she could ask almost whatever and know that I'd do my best to try to answer.
I shrug. "I try to. I don't really go out much, which isn't all that normal I suppose. But the people I surround myself with treat me like just Max. That's the most important thing to me." I explain. "I'm not saying I don't care about the fans. It's great to know there's people following my career who enjoy what I do, and genuinely want me to succeed. I appreciate that."
"What would you say is the downside to it, then?" she asks, and I can tell by the way she's looking at me with caution that there's something else she's debating on whether to ask or not. I wish she would. The longer this is going on, the more insight I get on the kind of journalist she is, the kind of professional she's trying to become. It will definitely be useful if she's going to be the one cleaning my image for a while. Or trying to.
"When my words are twisted, or people see a 10 second clip, make up a story and then everyone just goes along with it." I say with honesty.
"Like the situation with Kevin Magnussen?" I feel my airways closing for half a second. I'll give it to her, she caught me off guard with that one. My eyes were now stuck somewhere under the camera, unable to really look at anything. Truth is, yes, I apologized and everything's fine between me and him, but I still feel somewhat ashamed. So I nod.
"I obviously wish I had handled it differently but at the time adrenaline was running high, and his move was dangerous for all of us. I think people underestimate what it's like to be so high on adrenaline, literally risking your life, and then things like that happen. Of course, I have since apologized, everything's fine, but I don't think there's much of a point in continuing to talk about it since obviously people will believe what they want anyway."
It was disheartening, for sure. But as usual I wasn't going to allow it to take up too much space in my brain. And I think Micah sensed that I desperately needed change of topic. However, if this was going to work, I might as well take full advantage of the platform. There were other things I wanted to say, settle once and for all.
"I'm also not just going to sit back allow someone to insult my family just because they want to call themselves a journalist. I can't speak for anyone other than myself, I can't absolve my family's mistakes, or the things they've done. But I think I have a better idea of what their journey has looked like than they do. I'll just not allow it. I simply refuse to." I say, the tension of the memory building up inside my body as I shifted in my seat, trying to find a better position. "The worst part is when they just blindside you in the middle of a press conference when they know you can't escape or you'll be fined for skipping press duties. It's just manipulative, and a pussy move if you ask me." I huff. Micah's eyes widen. "Shit, I can't say that, can I?" I run a hand across my face to get my thoughts together.
"Hey, no, it's okay. I'll let you watch the footage before it goes into editing and you can tell me if you want to keep that bit or not." she offered, a soft smile painted on her features.
I can't help the sigh that leaves me. "Thanks."
"Do you want to keep going or should we stop?"
"I don't mind answering a few more." I would never admit it out loud, but this interview had turned out to be quite liberating.
She nods and smiles professionally, the wall dividing Micah the journalist and the big ass mystery that was Micah Weiss the real woman, at an all time high. "You've pulled out of DTS in earlier seasons, where do you think the differences in values that you cited come from?"
"Purpose, I guess? I've said it before. I fell in love with racing when I was a toddler. I fell in love with the races, the cars, but also with the entire environment of the garages, the paddock, the hard work everyone is putting in. When we were shooting the 1st season, I was under the impression that it was going to be a documentary. And I was like, Cool! Imagine how many people who may never get the chance to see the whole thing from up close will now fall in love with the sport? I thought it was going to be a good thing. And in some ways it has been, because people are interested. I just fear they're interested for the wrong reasons. I think some have started to see us as TV show characters, or reality TV stars, but we're not. We're athletes. And to me it does matter if you just watch to find drama in everything and create TV narratives to make TikToks about, instead of learning about the sport." I let it out, and it felt good, and I could tell Micah wasn't expecting it either. Maybe this would be edited out too, maybe I had gone too far. "I like that people are interested, I like that people are talking about it. I only have a problem with people who make up their own narratives and run with it, without even having been there or even knowing much about us besides a highly dramatized and questionably edited TV series."
Micah cleared her throat, making me smile widely, feeling accomplished to have left her momentarily speechless before she sent another question my way. "How do you think this Documentary Series we're doing is different?"
"I don't know, you tell me, boss." I joked.
Her grey eyes stared back at me. I met her eyes and there was a silent understanding between each other. Maybe getting along wasn't the easiest thing for us to do. But whenever we both committed to doing our jobs, we were able to reach good results. That's what makes this different. Netflix doesn't care. Micah cares about her job, and her job depends on me getting my shit together. I care about my job, and my job depends on her working her magic. We care. "I think this will reach the right audience." I simply stated.
——
The view of Monaco from my pool was stunning, the infinity walls were perched up on a hill, and there was nothing blocking the breathtaking sights below me. I swam around for a bit as the sun went down. I had spent most of the day on the sim after the interview, feeling weirdly both like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and like I had made everything ten times worse by being so honest. I hated to be stuck in my thoughts. I hated feeling like I had said too much. I didn't owe anyone any explanations. Nobody was entitled to them. Especially not Micah. I knew nothing about her, and yes, that was usually how it went with journalists: they ask you questions and you're supposed to answer honestly, but you'd never ask them anything in return. But none of this was normal. She was living in my house. I was curious, and maybe I did feel a bit entitled to know at least the basics about her. Call me hypocritical, I don't care.
Just as if I had beckoned her over with my brain, the sliding doors that led to the latio opened up wide once the sun was merely a tiny orange slice merging with the sea in the horizon, and there she was. The orange light was casted on her tan skin, and she was carrying not one, but two glasses of wine.
"A peace offering." she said, her feet entering the water as did the ends of her long yellow beach dress. She sat down by the edge of the pool looking over at me and extending a hand to offer me a glass.
"Is it an offering if you're drinking my wine?" I said, taking it nevertheless.
"I actually bought this one, thank you very much."
"Okay, then. You really shouldn't have. I was only joking."
"I've learned my lesson not to touch your things." she says with a slight lift of her mouth, recalling one of our first feuds, only days ago. "I actually wanted to thank you, for being such a good sport today."
I shrugged, taking another sip from the sweet white wine and doing everything I can to avoid her stare. "It's nothing. I didn't hate it." And I wasn't lying.
"I'm glad you didn't." she spoke into the silence of the approaching night. A few moments later, I caught her fingers fidgeting with the glass. She was such a fidgeter, it's insane.
"Spit it out." I said, causing her eyes to fall on mine. "I can tell there's something bothering you. Say it." I shrug again.
"It's nothing."
"I bet. So say it."
She's the one who shrugs this time. "You always say you don't care about what others think about you. But in our last meeting with Christian, he said something..." she stopped as if she was considering whether to ask or not. "He said you know you care. I'm just curious."
"You have a freakishly good memory, I hope you know that." I tease, swimming closer to her so I can pull myself up to sit beside her, feet drawing circles on the water. "Let's just say he knows me better than most. But I'm not lying when I say I don't care. I just... I don't care in general, but I do care about certain people's opinions. My friends, my family, my team. I care about what they say."
She nods, taking another sip from her wine. "That makes sense."
"What about you? Do you care what others think?"
There's a silence that follows and I nearly convince myself that she'll never let anything about her slip. Why is she so hermetic? Is this about her work ethic? Because it's not as if I'm asking her to tell me her whole life story.
But she does break the silence, only it's not to say what I wanted to hear. "My life really isn't all that interesting for people to talk about it." she jokes.
"I mean, I wouldn't know, you never want to tell me anything." I whine mockingly.
"You ask an awful amount of questions for someone who doesn't care." Touché.
"You're living in my house, what if you're a sociopath?"
"You think I'd tell you if I was a sociopath?" Touché, again.
The silence no longer feels heavy. We simply sip from our cups and embrace the overcoming darkness enveloping us under the night sky. It truly is a nice sight. I turn to look over at her and catch her placing a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
"Ask, then." she says, looking directly at me. And suddenly I feel like I have way too much power in my hands and I don't know if I want it or not. What should I ask? I have a million questions and yet none of them seem appropriate as a starter.
So I settle. "How old are you?"
She chuckles, a warm, melodic sound that pushes her head back and has me staring a little bit, kind of startled at her response.
"What?" I ask, dumbfounded yet smiling over at her as well.
"That's really all you wanted to ask?" she says, as if my question had been the most ridiculous thing she's been asked before.
"Not really, but it's a start." I say honestly.
"Well, I'm 27." she replies with a nod.
"Okay." I say. I don't know why but getting a direct answer from her feels like an accomplishment. I turn to my right to face her, my leg now crossed between us while the other one still dangled from the edge, grazing the water. A smile settled on my face as I thought about my next question. "Where are you from?"
"Wait, don't I get to ask you something?"
"Absolutely not, you're always the one asking me stuff. Just humor me." I tell her with a joking huff.
"Alright, alright." She said, hands up in defeat. "I was born in Jerez in Spain, but my dad is from London, and that's where I grew up. I still live there." she said. It was as if the more she told me about herself, I was able to begin to put together the pieces
of an extremely complex puzzle.
I felt emboldened. Maybe too much. Maybe my next question wasn't a smart choice. But I asked anyway. "Tell me a secret."
"That's not really a question, is it?" she said.
"You already know one of mine." I stared into her eyes. They reflected the blue light coming from the pool.
"Lila?" she pronounced the name careful, as if testing my reaction.
I simply nod.
"I thought you said she isn't your girlfriend?" she questioned with a teasing grin.
"It's complicated." I say with a shrug. Her smile widens and I realize that I'm not getting anything else out of her. Not tonight at least.
"Well, then let's agree to keep some secrets to ourselves, shall we?" she says softly, putting her empty glass down and placing her warm hand on my shoulder to push herself up.
I stare after her, way longer than necessary, feeling my skin burn where hers touched it. And I find my mouth agape even after she disappears from my line of view.
Who the hell even is this girl?
———
Hiii!! Omg I know it's been too long but I'm finally free from work for a few weeks. So expect some updates semi regularly! I missed writing these two.
I hope to read alllll of your thoughts in the comments!! They're kind of opening up to each other, albeit painfully slowly lmao.
- Em.