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1.The Act of Wanting
I wept and wept. I had come to believe that if I really wanted something badly enough, the very act of my wanting it was an assurance that I would not get it.
—Audre Lorde, from “Zami: A New Spelling of my Name,” published c.1982
Date: November 23rd, 1986
Location: Yens, Switzerland.
The suburb of Yens housed young desperately in love couples, young children, and the divorced 1985 World Driver’s Champion, Ms. Alaine Marie Pascal Prost, and her daughter, Victoria Danielle Prost.Her last name, not his, not since he walked out on their daughter because she wasn’t the son he wanted. Since he walked out on her after promising the world. All of Alaine’s love had turned to hate, to loathing, to terror.Yes, terror. Terror that he’d come to Yens with papers and demand custody of the last thing Alaine had in her life. Daniel was supposed to help her, her beloved older brother, two months gone. He had barely gotten to meet Victoria before the cancer took him, and Alaine was left to face the burden of motherhood and dwindling funds for the rest of her life. The prize money was one thing. Her share for winning was large, more than enough for one woman to survive for ten years. Not enough for a young mother and her daughter in a foreign for ten years.Alaine was already feeling the strain after a few months, drained and cut off from all her support network, constantly tending to Victoria and running around trying to settle any debts Daniel and her family had left over. She worried constantly over colic, fussing over vaccine schedules and milestones, worried and worried and worried until she felt out of her mind with worry.When Victoria got sick when she was two months old, she had cried and cried in the waiting room of the clinic. ‘Where is your husband?’ the paediatricians would ask, and Alaine would have to say ‘It’s just me, it’s just me.’ and not flinch when their eyes softened with pity.Worry suffocated Alaine, and there was no escape from it. It crept into her everyday life and there was no prying it from her mind. Let the baby cry, mothers around her said, eyes bright. It’s good for them. But Alaine couldn’t live with Victoria’s ceaseless wailing, a nightingale at every hour, screaming and crying for Alaine to hold her, to care for her, to love her even when she wanted to throw her out the window.Worry drover her mad. Alaine in the house of a foreign country, seeing the years slip by, watched as a new woman signed onto McLaren, but not knowing any more of it as she tried to make her way in the world with a child who didn’t have a father anymore, and a walking grave of a mother with unfulfilled dreams. She wanted Niki, and Elio, and Keke, but Niki was far, far away from Alaine, and Elio was dead, and Keke was busy with his own son, so all she could do was breathe around the worry. Even if she couldn’t sometimes, even if she was drowning in it.Alaine sighed, rubbing her face against the comforter. Victoria gave a soft whimper, making her eyes snap open, tense and prepared to soothe her, but it was only a sleepy whimper. She let out a soft sigh. Worry was going to drive her crazy, if being here alone didn’t.
A knock to the door in the middle of the day had Alaine peering suspiciously through the blinds as Victoria played with her blocks. They were good for her, soft rounded edges to avoid pain if she should hit herself accidentally, whittled by Alaine herself, putting the lessons of the furniture store to good use.A woman stood there, either very foreign or very Italian, either way, not a person Alaine recognized. But the cap on her head, oh, Alaine recognized that. She glanced at the trophy, unpolished and dull, two years of mistreatment taking a toll on it. Attention to it sacrificed for a child.Alaine bit the inside of her cheek. This must be her replacement, come to laugh at how far Alaine had fallen, a single, divorced mother who had barely been able to wrangle her weight down into something that would fit in the car.She swallowed, lifting her fingers to her mouth and began to chew on her nails, considering the merits of opening the door.Another knock, this time louder, more deliberate. Alaine severed a nail, holding it between her teeth and ripping at the skin inside her lip with the sharp point.Well, her replacement was already here, no other way around it, Alaine supposed. She picked up Victoria, who clung to her blocks, still inspecting then.She opened as her replacement knocked again. Her fisted hand hovered centimetres above Alaine’s cheeks and her brown eyes wide as she took Alaine in.She was well aware of her messy curls, the color of dark mahogany, spilling down in a strange stretch of tight and loose, of the bags beneath her eyes, and that her clothes hung off her. She hadn’t been eating well, back on her diet of fish, much to the contrition of her doctor.“Alaine Prost?” she asked. “I’m Aytana Senna, and I need you to come back to racing.”Alaine shut the door in her face.
Date: June 21, 1986
Location: Detroit, USA
Aytana doesn’t start from pole position, by God, she made Detroit her bitch. Her back ached from the shaking of the car, and the inside of her mouth tasted like blood from all the sores she had a bit into it to keep from yelling curses at John.It’s not that Aytana didn’t like John Watson, it was that Watson made a point of comparing her to Niki Lauda and Alaine Prost, and generally being exhausting. Prost was—is—Aytana’s ultimate goal, the first to do it all.And not the last. She could taste the championship on her tongue, it tasted like blood; could feel it in her bones, it felt like agony.“You’re brooding again.” Leonardo said, not looking up from his book. He’s studying business, making Pai proud, while Aytana fucked around in cars and Vivane began her grand plan of ruling the world through kindness. “It’s unbecoming. You’re too beautiful to brood.”“Gee, thanks.” Aytana said in an overly affected English manner. Leonardo rolled his eyes again. She glared at him, then sighed. He was her chaperon in all but name. Their parents adored Stella and Mauricio, but even they weren’t comfortable letting Aytana leave to England without more company. At the start it had been her cousin, Tiago, his Italian good, his English better, and they made it work.Last year, he had gotten married, and now Leonardo was following her around while he took his gap year.Aytana, of course, spent her gap year fucking around in Formula Ford, much to her Pai’s despair.“Becão,” Leonardo said, Aytana rolled her eyes at him. She still took a seat next to him, even as the garage fluttered about. They looked nothing alike. He was pale like a white man in this weather, his features weaker, his eyes a more clear brown than hers. Glassy, like they were on the brink of tears or unfocused. Aytana used to fight her classmates, and his classmates. She would take off her uniform and slip into something of Mauricio’s who had nothing but rags from his various siblings and beat people up.How the tables had turned. Now, he fought McLaren when it tried to push the fiery, sexy Latina angle, and cussed out Nelson more than few times.“Leo.” she echoed, knocking her boot against his. “What do you want?”“You’re thinking about her again.” he said. Aytana didn’t have to ask who she was. “You miss her.”“We barely exchanged words.” Aytana rebuked. “I wasn’t as important as a championship to her.”“You have posters.” he pointed out, perfectly sensible. Then, because everything always came back to business with her little brother. “A collaboration would be good for the Senna brand.”Aytana sighed. “Must everything be about the brand?” The answer was yes. The brand was hope, the brand was excellence and victory, and charity. Aytana had to reflect that at all times.“If you can find her, it’d be for the best.” Leonardo said, and Aytana could pick up on the undertone.“So now you believe me.” she said bitterly. “I told you when she didn’t turn up at the funeral that something had gone terribly wrong, Leo. I wasn’t teammates with him for long, but they were close, attached at the hip with Piquet.”Leonardo looked at Aytana. (He looked nothing like her, and that was normal.) “They found a woman strangled in her bathtub yesterday. No arrest have been made.”Aytana gave a little shrug, pushed her hair out of the face. A camera flashed. “It’s always been like this.” she said pityingly. “You’re just looking up for the first time, Leo.”Her brother said nothing.
Date: November 23rd, 1986
Location: Yens, Switzerland.
“So, you won.” Alaine said, setting down the cup of tea. Aytana hadn’t touched hers, nose wrinkling at the strong scent of earl grey. “What did you come for me for?”Aytana Senna gave a small shrug, her ears are too big for her face, but somehow, with the cap, she makes it work. “It’s as I said, I want you to race again. I beat John this year; you beat Niki last year. I think it’s time to see if we can beat each other.” She smiled. It fit her better than the solemn look, it made her look more confused than serious.“I haven’t touched a car or kart in a year.” Alaine said. Funeral preparations, child rearing, and the all consuming dread. The divorce papers underneath her bed. A ring, her mother’s ring, vanished into the depths of her closet. “Besides, I have a daughter.”Aytana drummed her fingers on the table, bouncing her leg up and down. Male habits. Her mother hadn’t allowed her to pick any of them up, and her husband had hated them. “Is that your only issue? She could come with us to Woking, I have friends, a house she can stay at. I have other properties too, in Monaco, in Brazil. In Suzuka too, although that’s more Honda property, but they love me there.”Alaine looked away, down at her tea. She took a sip. Her mouth felt terribly dry. The cars were tough, years were spent in the mid-pack honing her skills in shitty designs, and while Alaine admitted she had an unfortunate habit of getting fired, given all of her first stint at McLaren and then Renault, Alaine wouldn’t deny she had worked for it. She had worked for her championship, she had worked to make Daniel proud. Alaine had worked and worked, and it had all vanished when he laid his hands on her hips.Alaine thought it was love. His kisses, his words, the way he said her name. She thought it was love with the way he said my son, when he touched her stomach. She thought it was love, and now she was in a foreign country, left with nothing but a dying legacy and a trophy in her name.If you’re going to be the first, are you only going to do the bare minimum? Daniel asked, his eyes were gentle as he looked at Victoria. He couldn’t hold her, too weak to support her head right. Are you just going to stop when you loved it so much you changed the course of your life.You changed my life, Alaine replied, helpless.You should’ve been racing, he said, and they didn’t talk about it again.“I’m not racing.” Alaine said. “You can’t change my mind. Not only is the travel murder, but I haven’t been training, I haven’t kept up with the changes. I’m lagging behind.”Alaine had chosen to be left behind. She thought she did anyway.“Then we will train together.” Aytana said like that resolved everything. “I will catch you up, and help you take care of Victoria, and in turn, you will give me the season of my life. You can retire after.”“You just want to see me in equal machinery.” left Alaine’s mouth before she could stop herself.She could say no. She should say no, but she couldn’t make the words come out of mouth.A whole season! And it could be hers.Someone brash and bold! Who was willing to fight her instead of demuring.A friend! Something Alaine hasn’t had in years.And—You should be racing. A disappointed corrected, a dream fulfilled again.“Let me call my lawyer.” Alaine said instead.Aytana Senna beamed, brighter than the sun itself, cheeks flushing red. “I knew it!” she cried happily. “Oh, we’re going to destroy everyone else! Viva McLaren!”Ah, Alaine realized as she watched Aytana do a strange victory dance in her kitchen. This might be a problem.
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2. I Want Your Time
I want your time (time)
Don't ask me questions (questions)
That you don't want (want)
The answers to (to)
— The Strokes, “Why Are Sundays So Depressing?” from “The New Abnormal”, c. 2020
Date: November 30th, 1986
Location: Yens, Switzerland.
Aytana had been here for a week, and already Alaine wanted her to either stay forever or vanish into the woods. She woke up before Alaine and bothered Victoria, who giggled at her gleefully. She stole all the hot water for a bath, and urged Alaine out for runs and wanderings, carrying Victoria on a sling around her chest. And it was a sling. The fabric, a delicate and sheer muslin that had been gifted to her, or so Aytana claimed. Alaine suspected she had actually bought it for Victoria. Aytana was loud and brash and bold, and everything Alaine hadn’t been allowed to be since Renault. Her English ugly in its crudeness, she had dirt and oil under her nails, and saw nothing wrong going around wearing only her bra within Alaine’s property.“Do you act like this when you’re at the factory?” Alaine asked, horrified. Aytana shrugged, her breasts jerking up and then down in the confines of the bra. They were bigger than Alaine’s now that she had stopped breastfeeding Victoria. “Of course.”Alaine shot her a scandalized look, and walked away. If Aytana wanted to be ogled at, Alaine wouldn’t encourage her, even if her cheeks were a dark red as she left.Victoria had taken to Aytana happily, and Alaine felt something in her chest loosen. She busied herself with studying blueprints and preforming her exercises. The same ones she had done for years before Victoria, stretching, working, and contorting herself into painful but necessary positions to loose weight. As close to starving was the joke. It was less of a joke when it was true.Alaine had the benefit of being small. She wasn’t waif thin, her ribs didn’t protrude grotesquely out of her skin or anything, but Nelson had called her boney with a mildly concerned look, and Elio’s mother would poke at her skin with a grimace. “Men like thin, not dehydrated.” she said. “Eat more pasta, Alaine.”She had lost weight after the birth, eating only unsatisfying cereal, depressed out of her mind, and hardly able to function enough to change and feed Victoria. Alain would like to think she’s gotten better since July. That the month of misery from an early birth, a bitter divorce, and depression over not going to the funeral of her best friend, all culminated in those two terrible months before she got her head out her ass just before Daniel died.“You’re gloomy.” Aytana said, sitting down next to Alaine, taking up space. her dark hair spilled down her back, fluffy and formless, only a suggestion of control. Not like Alaine’s which was now being painstakingly maintained again now that she found the time. “Did you not like my dinner?”Aytana had made everything that her dietitian had told her to eat when she was still racing. Alaine had no complaints, just eyeing the scale with trepidation, wondering if she would ever get back to her pre-pregnancy weight. “No, dinner was good.” Alaine said. Her eyes flitted back to the blueprints, terribly aware that she had been staring at Aytana. The car was more low-slung, different than what Alaine had won her first championship in. A challenge, but one Alaine was terrified of messing up. “Just thinking about how behind I am with all this.”Aytana blinked, slowly, watching Alaine and not either bothering to be shy. “You are a World Champion, you missed out on two championships on the barest margins I’ve ever seen. Nelson, the fucker, respects you, and doesn’t call you a dyke cunt like he does to me. We call you the Professor for a reason, so please, don’t insult my faith in you by lying to me.”Alaine swallowed, oddly touched. Aytana had been Elio’s, maybe that’s why Alaine found her so settling. Sure, Elio had hated her, found her pushy and overbearing, pulling the team up and around her. But, even then there was a type of fondess. Hatred could only come from the oxygen of affection, that’s what her mother, and her marriage, had proven to her. Alaine hadn’t cared for Aytana, refused any photos that weren’t on the podium. She hadn’t been allowed to be a symbol, not because she hadn’t wanted to be, but because she had other goals, other dreams.Do you want to win this as a woman or as a racer? Niki asked her, and Alaine had been so stunned she hadn’t been able to respond to him. Being a woman was one thing, it was Alaine’s defining trait to anyone who didn’t watch racing. Her driving defined her on the track, though. Her tire management, her consistency, her ability not to throw a massive fit in front of the cameras unless she was well and truly riled up. I want to win this as a racer, she thought. I want to win this as a number one driver, I want to win this as Alaine Prost coming back from a year-long sabbatical and give Jean-Marie the middle finger, I want—Alaine wanted, and she believed for the first time, it might be enough. “Explain to me the design. It’s a Brabham isn’t that right? I can tell from the model, but I’m not sure about the engine.”
Date: December 1st, 1986
Location: Yens, Switzerland.
“So, I won’t be home for Natal” Aytana said apologetically, Victoria wiggled against her chest, not pleased to be in the sling. At almost four months, she had begun to make her preferences clear as her sight began to focus. She liked the sling sometimes, other times she needed to be in Alaine’s arms otherwise she’d be throwing a fit. Aytana’s ears hadn’t recovered from the last one.“What bullshit is this?” Vivane demanded, sharp and angry. Aytana gave a nervous laugh. “Aytana Senna da Silva, you listen to me here—”“I’m working, Vivi!” Aytana hastened to cut her sister off. “I’m getting Prost back on track.”Viviane was quiet for a moment, Aytana could picture her doing her beloved breathing exercises. “So, a French Christmas?” she said, tone flat.“Swiss, actually.” Aytana said, now on far better terms. “Me, Alaine, Victoria.” “Ahhh, so it’s Alaine now.”“Viviane, please.”“No, I see how it is. You don’t want to spend Natal with your family who you only see at the start of every year, you want to spend it with the woman who you have posters up on your bedroom wall, I see. Well, Becão, I hope you can explain this to Mãe, because I sure won’t.” Viviane hung up, and Aytana sighed.“Torizinha, I’m really in it now.” she told the baby, who decided it was the right time to tilt her head back and shriek. Aytana cursed and hurried to get her into Alaine’s arms, her ears really wouldn’t recover from this.
Here’s the thing—Aytana was a reckless person when it came down to people like Alaine Prost. She hadn’t thought twice about not spending Christmas and the New Year with her family, hadn’t thought about inconveniencing Stella and Mauricio when they made their way to Woking for the factory, and that was her biggest weakness.Aytana, contrary to what many people think, was completely aware of her flaws. Too loud, too bright, too unfiltered. Her shame was reserved for God and God alone. Her demure nature didn’t exist, why would it? She grew up wealthy, a social class above all those around her, and that made her better.Aytana lost her virginity at thirteen in a back alley with a prostitute Tiago had paid for, and no one had cared because she was a cut above. Her own family treated her like she was their firstborn son, Leonardo called her brother a few times when her hair was short, and Aytana had never corrected him. Their parents had. Aytana was never sure where she stood with them. Whether she was a son-daughter or a daughter-son, afforded the privileges of one and all the heartache of the other. She spent her gap year in Formula Ford, winning, dominating, and was snubbed by Ron Dennis once. She didn’t let him make that mistake twice.“Not hiring me will be the worst mistake of your life.” Aytana told him. Tiago nodded, the smoke of his cigar clogged her throat. Ron glanced between both of them, his eyes narrowing, turning to Tiago to talk, but stopped by a realization.It was not her cousin he needed to talk to it was her. “We did have a deal.” he said, slowly, reluctantly, like it pained him to even say it, and Aytana could picture the look on Elio’s face when he realized he left for nothing. She liked messing with him, he would make the most curious expression and throw the funniest of fits.I regret it, she told Tiago who patted her back and sent her off to a brothel to ‘shed it off’. He was her cousin, but sometimes Aytana wondered if he was more of an uncaring spectator given the way he treated her and those around him. He had taken away her friend, last year. Her favorite pilot, and he had told her mother, and they sent him away, and now Leo was supposed to be coming in, and everyone kept taking and taking—Aytana tried to avoid thinking of Elio a lot.So, Aytana fought and won, and won, and won, until she was standing on that podium with no intention to step back until she knew she was done. She destroyed John Watson who stared at her with hatred and grudging respect. She won races, and shone brightly, she smiled and beamed, and everyone cheered for her because they wouldn’t be the ones who got mauled by the Brazilian in the crowd.“I’m proud to be Brazilian because of you.” one of her fans say during a signing and Aytana can’t breathe. “You lift up the flag, you speak up about the truth. You are humble before God, and loud in front everyone else. It’s inspiring.” Aytana won again, his words ringing in her ears. “Another champion.” Niki Lauda said, and Aytana could hear the undertone. Another woman. “You’re good, but not refined, maybe if she were here—” he trailed off, and Aytana clenched her jaw so hard she could here something pop.Aytana had first seen Alaine Prost when she was in England. She had followed all of her races through the radio, running from high-end friend to high-end friend trying to get the right signal for the Grand Prix, but this was the first time she’d actually gotten to see her on good quality television. “She’s very good.” Stella said, taking a sip of her coffee. Aytana had added butter to it, she hadn’t seemed to notice.“Better than good.” Mauricio rebuked. “She’s amazing.”“She’s perfect.” Aytana corrected. Prost looked at the camera, the quality was good, but still grainy for the close up. Aytana wasn’t sure if her eyes were blue or brown. Maybe they were both. Maybe they were neither. “I’ll beat her one of these days.”“No,” Stella said, taking another sip. She swallowed. “You’ll destroy her.”Aytana didn’t doubt her for a second.
Date: December 2nd, 1986
Location: Yens, Switzerland.
Victoria rolled over and Alaine started to cry.“Are you okay?” Aytana asked genuinely confused while Alaine sniffled in joy.“She’s hitting her milestones.” Alaine hiccuped and Aytana silently patted her back, a befuddled look on her face. “Oh, my baby, I’m so proud of her.”Alaine swooped down, snagging Victoria off the cushioned playmat, and continued to cry as she cradled her daughter. “Cherí, my darling, mon petite chou, my daughter, so brave, so brilliant, so bright.” Alaine muttered. She pressed her lips on Victoria’s forehead, the fabric of the little hat was soft against her lips.Aytana watched with a strange look on her face, like she couldn’t conceptualize Alaine’s pride over what she believed to be nothing. Alaine didn’t care, peppering more kisses on Victoria’s soft face as she kicked awkwardly in her hold. A mother was right to have pride in her daughter.
“Do you think you’ll win?” Aytana asked, her dark eyes intent on Alaine as she cradled Victoria against her chest. Her daughter suckled at the bottle, and Alaine was terribly relieved she had weaned her off breast milk. She used to cry whenever she had been told to do so by the nurses, making a mess of herself and leaving an unhappy child.“I think I will.” Alaine said, soft. “I think I want it enough again.”Aytana smiled. “Well, I want it too.”There are three hundred questions stuck in Alaine’s throat. All begging to be asked.Why did you come for me then? Why do you agree to this? Why do you want me back?Who are you underneath you happy mask? Yes, I know it’s a mask. Who are you really? What do you want besides this?Why do you want me?Alaine doesn’t ask any of these, and so, Aytana doesn't anwser.