Maranello - the F1 soap opera
Episode 3
Scene 6 - The Catalunya
circuit.
It's 2am, Sunday and the pit area is completely deserted
save for the occasional Spanish security guard on desultory
patrol. Suddenly, a weaving figure approaches the front gate,
fumbles his pass through the barrier (succeeding on the fifth
attempt) and makes his way, with the inept purposefulness of the
truly drunk, towards the garage of a well-known rival team. As he
passes below a security light, we can see that he is wearing a
sweat-stained purple and green shell suit and is brandishing a
bottle of Moet et Chandon champagne, some of which he has spilled
down the front of the suit.
EDDIE: |
(muttering to self) Fuggin' well
show them. Yeah, I'll show them. Fuggin' silver cars.
Look like fuggin' Christmas decorations. Fuggin' pair of
blonde poofters. Not as good as Michael. Nobody as good
as - (He staggers and falls, almost
breaking the champagne bottle.)
|
EDDIE: |
- fugging Michael. He sez to get
rid of someone. He sez...what was it he sez? 'Will nobody
rid me of this whatsit driver.', yeah, thassit. He wants
rid of that driver. Which driver was it...fuggin' 'ell,
it's so hard to remember who's who and who isn't talking
to who in the paddock with the mobile phones....course
you're not meant to say anything about your contract of
course. (He straightens up and suddenly
puffs his chest out. His voice becomes stronger.)
|
EDDIE: |
Not unless yer Michael, of
course... then you don't have to say anything anyway...
where'd I leave my fuggin' fags? (belches) There they
are... what was I sayin'... Of course, Michael can sign
any contracts he fuggin' well wants... but nobody ever
asks me what *I* want to do next year. Fuggin'
journalists are all poofs anyway. Like that little
Italian poof. Runs me off the fuggin' road and all he has
to say to me is (he mimicks high-pitched Italian accent)
"Hahaha! I do you a favour, yes? I sweep you out of
ze way so that ze peet mechanics don't 'ave to worry
about 'ow to let Michael pass you in *zees* race! Ees not
Suzuka anymore, huh!?" I'll fuggin' show him ...
I'll fuggin show 'em all.... |
(By now he has arrived at the relevant garage and is
prising open the doors. Amazingly his own garage key opens this
door too, and he is soon standing in front of the shell of an
MP-14, dully gleaming in the moonlight. With amazing swiftness
given his inebriation, he finds the right inlet and empties the
contents of the bottle of champagne into the car's brake fluids.
EDDIE: |
I'll save you the bother of
deciding who to spray your fuggin' champers on tomorrow!
You won't be on the podium any more. You'll be in the
fuggin' hospital! Press yer fuggin' brakes and nuthin'll
happen! An' then I'll tell Michael, and he'll let me come
to McLaren with him next season....(he
drools slightly, then keels over in a small heap.)
|
Scene 7 - A plush bedroom
in the Hotel Marmoset, Barcelona. The bed is strewn with pizza
boxes, magazines and empty cans of Diet Pepsi - and a pair of
Nomex overalls, with a picture of Daffy Duck on the front, lie
crumpled on the floor below. On the bed, two figures lie
intertwined: a
beautiful young woman is enthusiastically kissing a slender young
man, who appears to be resisting and trying to push her away.
BBD: |
Hey! I was enjoying that! (slyly)
And I think you were, too, sweetie... |
Heinz: |
Umm... I'm sorry, it's just... are
you sure - I mean, I've never - I don't know... |
BBD: |
(purring) That's OK, Heinz. I
understand. But haven't you ever - you know, wondered?
About a woman? Wondered what a woman feels like when
she's - interested? |
Heinz: |
(blushing Ferrari-red) Ummm... I
guess. I mean, I've kissed a few girls, of course - |
BBD: |
That's all I'm suggesting. I don't
want to make you feel uncomfortable about anything. I
really like you, Heinz (artlessly). Now I've given you a
back massage, you're nice and relaxed... |
Heinz: |
Mmm. That was nice, yes. |
BBD: |
So just come here and let me give
you a cuddle. You must be so stressed out these days. Do
you want to tell me about it? (she strokes his hair) |
Heinz: |
Oh, I'm not that stressed really.
It was worse last year when I had to worry about keeping
Michael and Jacques apart all the time. Frank said it was
my job to make sure that Michael "didn't do a Damon
Hill" on Jacques this year. I'm still not sure what
he meant, but I just drove the car and hoped for the
best. |
BBD: |
But surely it must be tougher this
year? With the car not doing so well? |
Heinz: |
Well at least I don't bump into
that Italian photographer who was hanging around with
Jacques all last year. He tried to take a shot of me as
well once, umm, you know, in the, um, the gents... |
Heinz: |
I asked him would he please leave
me alone, and he made some rude gesture and swore. I felt
upset for ages. |
BBD: |
You're so nice, and sweet - not
like all the others in Formula 1, like my dad. Money,
money, that's all they ever talk about. Money, and
publicity. |
Heinz: |
I don't care about all that stuff
really. I just like cars, and being able to go to
Disneyland. |
BBD: |
Mmmh. You have such strong hands
and shoulders, for driving the car- |
Heinz: |
I work out every day, yes. It makes
it easier to do my job well. |
BBD: |
(after a pause,*too* casually) So
what's it like working with Jacques? |
Heinz: |
I hardly ever see him, to be
honest. I mean, we get on OK, but he lives in a different
world from me. Frank says he lives in a different world
from everyone, but I don't see that. It's not Jacques'
fault he's got so much money, and knows everyone - |
BBD: |
Is he seeing anyone at the moment? |
Heinz: |
Goodness knows. Like I say, he's
away all the time - doing photo shoots, travelling to the
jungle, backpacking with Mika Salo - they hang out
together a lot. Frank says he should spend more time
testing, but I don't mind doing most of it. We don't
socialise much. I don't think he likes me really. |
Heinz: |
He *was* going out with some
Canadian woman he'd known for ages, but she threw him
over. Said she never saw him and he was boring - all he
ever talked about was computers or survivalism. |
Heinz: |
Yeah, she poured her heart out to
me one evening in a hotel bar, I think it was when we
were in Japan. She was a really nice girl. She said one
really weird thing, though - |
BBD: |
What was it she said? |
Heinz: |
She said she didn't think Jacques
was really interested in women at all. At the time, I
thought she was just being bitchy - you know how people
can be - |
Heinz: |
But now I think - well, who knows?
(he shrugs). It makes no difference to me. Is there any
of that pizza left? |
BBD: |
Heinz. Forget the goddamned pizza.
(She takes her t-shirt off in one fluid movement, to
reveal her tanned, naked breasts.) |
BBD: |
I want to show you what love is,
Heinz! I am a woman, and I need you! (She pins him to the
bed, and this time he doesn't appear to be resisting....) |
Scene 8 - The hugely
expensive and fashionable restaurant in Barcelona city centre.
MICHAEL is still sitting at his table, although he has
now switched from Bollinger to chilled Evian. His wife has left,
taking the pug dog for its nightly walk, but EDWARD has returned
after a brief, unexplained absence. The crowd of Beautiful People
is still clustered around them.
MS: |
...so then I said, "Jean,if
you don't change the tyres to Bridgestone by the end of
the month, I'm signing that silver-bordered contract I
was telling you about - |
Eddie: |
You're absolutely right, Michael.
You're absolutely right about those tyres I mean, fuggin'
'ell, I know about tyres myself, more than most, but
you're the expert, no doubt about it. |
MS: |
I think he will listen to reason. |
(There is a slight commotion at the doorway of the
restaurant and a youthful version of MICHAEL is seen coming in.)
MS: |
Ah, there is Ralf. Good. |
(RALF enters the restaurant but crashes into the first
table he encounters, sending it flying with cutlery, glassware
etc. crashing to the floor. The Maitre'D runs over.)
MS: |
(sighing) I don't believe it. At
the first table, again. |
Ralf: |
Maitre'D, I am so sorry. |
MD: |
Senor, I regret, you must leave. I
do not care who you are, you cannot do this to my
restaurant! |
(RALF retires from the restaurant at the first table.)
MS: |
I'll have to meet him somewhere
else. Somewhere with no furniture. (He gets out his
mobile phone, but before he can dial, there is another
commotion as a bejewelled, fur-coated and very drunk
woman storms in, making straight for his table.) |
MS: |
Thank God my wife has gone home. |
Bernie's wife: |
Michael! My darling - I must speak
to you! Why won't you return my calls? |
MS: |
Mrs Ecclestone, how charming to see
you. I haven't received any messages from Bernie recently
- |
BW: |
Don't speak to me like the boss'
wife! Speak to me as the woman who loved you when you
were nothing, who held you, who made love to you in your
trailer after the races - |
MS: |
I'm sorry. (He beckons the maitre-d
over.) Maitre'D, can we find somewhere more private? I
think the lady has had rather too much champagne this
evening. |
MD: |
Certainly, senor. This way, please. |
(They are ushered into the manager's office, plushly
carpeted.)
MS: |
(snarls) What the FUCK was all that
about? What are you trying to do, ruin me? |
BW: |
(sulkily) And if I do? I will not
be treated like this, cast aside, left as nothing - |
MS: |
We agreed it was over. I had to get
married. And your husband is too powerful for even me to
defy. |
BW: |
He *knows*, Michael! I tell him
everything! |
MS: |
(snorts) I bet you haven't told him
about Giancarlo. |
BW: |
*Everything*! He understands me. I
thought you understood me, once... |
MS: |
Darling - I enjoyed our dalliance,
our interlude. But I thought you understood that it could
only ever be an affair, a brief period of sweetness in
our lives - |
BW: |
You told me you loved me. |
MS: |
Time passes, people move on, people
change... (He is interrupted by a slap on
the cheek.)
|
BW: |
You bastard! You used me, to get
into the right places, to meet the right people - |
BW: |
And I thought it was true love. |
MS: |
Please, don't distress yourself so.
You'll get over it, just as I have. |
BW: |
I can't get over you. I've tried,
and nothing seems to work. I even made a pass at Jacques.
I thought that maybe if I slept with the real World
Champion and not the has-been - |
MS: |
(laughs) That midget fag? I'm sure
*that* was a raging success. (He
withdraws a nailfile from his suit jacket and begins
trimming his cuticles, clearly bored with the
conversation.)
|
BW: |
And he just shuffled around,
muttered, said he had a previous engagement... He didn't
want me, you don't want me, and soon Giancarlo won't want
me either! God knows Bernard doesn't want me anymore. All
he wants is the deal, the big score. |
MS: |
And those deals pay for your
designer sunglasses and your vodka, my dear. |
BW: |
I can't take it any more. I'm going
to kill myself tonight. And you can have *that* on your
conscience, you bastard! How could I ever have thought
that you loved me? |
BW: |
You always did. (She
storms out. MS puts his nailfile away and walks calmly
back into the restaurant.)
|
MS: |
So - where shall we go next?
Dancing perhaps? |
(Chorus of approval from hangers on. Outside, in the hot
Barcelona night, the weeping figure of Bernie's wife can be seen
climbing into a chauffeured limo, as the theme music fades in
slowly.)
Will the 'brake fluid' be discovered in time? Will the
truth about Jacques come out? Will Heinz Harald survive the
night? These answers, and more, to come in Episode Four...
