Once Around the Track by Sharyn McCrumb

had slept with one, would that, too, have become a source of bragging rights? Sometimes after an evening at the sort of party that throws social lions to the jackals, Suzie would feel like going home and showering in Lysol to get rid of the taint of celebrity-baiting.
    But sophisticated people were expected to know better than to behave boorishly toward the famous. Surely these well-to-do women would be more sophisticated than to misbehave around Badger? No, there were nearly a dozen of them. The odds were too great that there’d be at least one idiot in the bunch. She resolved to stay within earshot of the guest of honor, just in case he needed rescuing.
    Badger had made an effort to be presentable, she decided. He was dressed in jeans, of course, and clunky brown work boots that might have added a grace note to his height, but he had put on a crisply ironed sport shirt instead of a tee shirt, and he was even wearing a silk tie, although the way he kept tugging at his collar suggested that he had mistaken it for a noose. He carried a gym bag, and she wondered what he’d thought it necessary to bring. He had trotted along beside her as obediently as a guide dog, prattling happily about nothing in particular. He didn’t seem nervous, but as they approached the conference room, he touched her arm. “I need to find the men’s room,” he said.
    Well, thank God you’re not going to pee in the punch bowl, she thought. She nodded, somehow managing to keep a straight face, and she stationed herself in the hallway outside the men’s room to wait. Three minutes later, a man emerged from the rest room, and Suzie had to look twice to make sure it was him.
    He had put on the new team firesuit over his street clothes.
    Suzie stared. He looked taller, stronger, wiser—more important somehow. Noticing her sudden loss of composure, Badger smiled. “Yeah,” he said, “firesuits are magic, aren’t they? Nobody can say no to a guy in a firesuit.”
    “Did they ask you to wear it?” she stammered.
    “No, but I figured they’d expect me to look like a race car driver.”
    Suzie nodded. “Well, I guess you won’t need your name tag.”
    It was a good psychological ploy, she thought. Maybe Badger was more shrewd than she’d realized. The suit had royal purple sleeves, collar, belt, and trousers, while the chest area was white and emblazoned with the logos of NASCAR and various sponsors, such as Sunoco, the official gasoline of NASCAR, and thus everyone’s sponsor. In the center of the chest, at diaphragm level, was the large logo of the principal sponsor: an embroidered red heart and the slogan Vagenya Is for Lovers!
    The get-up should have been silly, Suzie thought. A grown man standing in the hall of a corporate building dressed like Buck Rogers, but Badger was right: A man in a firesuit was a vision of power and nobility. She didn’t feel like laughing. She had to keep telling herself that it was just Badger, to keep from feeling that she was in the presence of some transcendent being. Firesuits. She wondered if medieval knights got the same mileage out of suits of armor. She thought that probably they did.
    “You’ve already got the job,” she told him. “You know that. They just want to meet you. They’ll probably be very excited about it. I expect some of them will want your autograph, or to have their pictures made with you.”
    Badger nodded earnestly. “That’s kinda usual.”
    “I expect it is. You’re right about the firesuit…. It’s perfect for photo opportunities. The corporate people are just going to eat this up. Are you ready to go in?”
    “Sure,” said Badger. “If there’s anybody there who’s really important, maybe you should give me a heads-up, though. I’m not too good at recognizing names. I’m always meeting people like TV stars who think I ought to know who they are, and I never do. I wouldn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings.”
    “I’ll stay close by,” said Suzie. “Anything