Hey everyone (all three of you reading this!) I finally got inspired to finish up what I started. Anyways....
Graham woke with a start, his cell-phone doing double-duty as an alarm clock. Disorientated he was. He had been having a dream that he was actually late. Double-parked in his Land Rover Discovery by a big semi-truck. Only this truck wasn't just big, it was HUGE. And it was blocking Graham from leaving his parking space, so that now he feared he could actually be LATE. For once in his life. Late! And he was never late! 
Damn truck! Where was the driver?
Graham laid on the horn...WOOOONK!
Nothing.
He got out of the Discovery, only to find this truck really was gigantic. From where he stood, he couldn't even see the truck's cab. He looked from left to right...all he could see was a huge expanse of steel. Where the truck actually started and where it ended? One could only guess. It may have been a train for all he know. Well, he wasn't as up on traffic zoning laws as he should have been, but shouldn't such a huge vehicle be illegal on a Seattle street?
But none of this mattered. His cell phone saved him...awaking him from all this tribulation. Ahhh. As his dream disintegrated into its netherworld, he realized his disorientation had only just started. 
He felt over to his wife, only to find she wasn't sleeping next to him. He looked beside him, only to find she was in another bed??? What the hell? Had she re-arranged the entire bedroom? 
They only had one bed. Right??? 
The curtains were drawn, so that all he could see were dark shapes, but still...everything looked way different! The cabinets, the television, everything seemed out of place!! Even Tiffany seemed to have shrunk..or maybe it was because she was in another bed. Another bed? Why the heck couldn't Graham remember the nite before? 
Finally, it all came back to him. That wasn't Tiffany, it was Princess. 
He wasn't in his bedroom, he was in some hotel in a European town with a funny name. A fairytale type of name. Grindy-something. Grindymaldy. Yea, something like that. Graham looked to his rolex watch, perched fastidiously on the nightstand next to the bed, to find it was 6:15 am...1+ hour to Greenwich time zone. Perfect. He wasn't late after all...if anything, he would be way-early for his approach to do some practice runs around the town track. 
And off he went! Graham had spent the previous evening with his daughter, bitching about the lack of refreshing beverages as usual, while she bitched about the fact that she missed her mother & grandma, who were still down in Italy. Ugh. He finally settled on hot chocolate and some scones, went to bed, and had trouble sleeping. Not to worry now! He was walking down the road, which had been meticulously barricaded off in various places overnite. Nobody was about, and it was now 6:59 am as he strolled to the garage/paddock area. Princess had also arisen, and was wearing jeans with pre-cut holes (as the fashion dictated these days) with a pink trainer top since the morning was rather cold.
"You are early, as I anticipated".
Helmünd Gunter called out as he saw the well-dressed gentleman approaching the garage. As the rumors spelled out, Graham looked perfect: his shoes were a shiny burgundy, his slacks, jacket, and tie looked sombre, as if the guy were about to attend a formal meeting of some sort, rather than tear about a race track. Shaven. Even his hair looked perfect. It looked as if the guy had moussed it! A dark, sandy-blonde, not a hair out of place. Could this be any more surrealistic? Helmünd thought (only he thought it in German). With Graham was a girl, who was maybe 12 or 13 years old. Her hair was darker, and worn casually around her shoulders. She was dressed more sloppy than he, with a series of bracelets on both wrists. Who was this girl? She hadn't been present the day before.
"Ah yea, well, the early bird gets the worm, and all that!"
Graham called back as he approached his Infiniti.
"Huh?" says Günter. "You ate a worm???"
"No! It's an expression we have in English." says Graham, smiling.
"Ah. And who is this...young one you have here?"
"OH! Forgive me. This is Princess. She's come along to keep me in line! Make sure I don't do anything stupid." Graham joked.
Suddenly, it all made sense to Günter. The nice clothes. The formal behavior. The briefcase. Graham was some sort of ....concierge. A protector of the princess! Of course! This young girl was some sort of royalty, and the man was merely her servant! But what were they doing here? Why wasn't the Gran Turismo organization made aware of the fact that they would be having royalty about, so they could set up some sort of official suite for the couple? Away from the public? Perhaps the very fact that the man and the princess stayed at Memories in an ordinary hotel room was simply a ploy...some sort of cover-up, to keep the tabloids out of the loop. In his mind, Günter decided this ploy was perfect in a way. If a princess were to suddenly embark upon their small town, who would be aware that such nobility would stay in an ordinary hotel room? Especially since the girl was wearing torn-up jeans as an ordinary teenager would. But if she was nobility, why had her concierge (Graham) merely blurted out her presence to him? Plus, Günter wasn't entirely sure, but he thought America didn't have any sort of royalty or nobility. An American princess? It didn't make sense.
But, Günter didn't want to be rude. So he bowed to the princess. "At your service, madam." he greeted her.
Princess merely stared. "Huh???
Frrreak!!!!" she said.
"Now, Princess. Don't be rude." Graham said, winking at her.
"What-ever!"
Princess said in her usual flippant fashion, strolling off. "I'm going to find something to eat, since
YOU have to get to work!"
"PRINCESS!" Grhama yelled.
But she was off.
Günter thought this a bit rude. How does a princess act so untrained? So uncouth? Well, she was from America, that much he could determine. She had an American accent for sure. But he didn't want to be rude and ask too many questions. Günter was here to perform a service, and that service was to be a GT racing coordinator.
"You are.....very early, Mr. Wellington. Perhaps a bit too early. Please allow me to drive round the track first". said the large man. "I will use my bullhorn, and clear anybody off the street who is lingering". he added.
"Okay...let's get started!" Grham says.
Yes! He was looking forward to this....he had spent a good portion of the night studying the track's map, in an effort to anticipate how to drive around it. He managed to convert the downloaded map to his usual pie-graphs and bar-graphs, studying his odds at this point, just as if he were studying a for an upcoming trial. An effort to stay on top, and all that. 💡
Turns out, there was nobody lingering. Everybody here in Switzerland apparently followed the rules (unlike in Rome), so that the track was perfectly empty. 
Anybody "lingering about", as Günter used the term, was lingering about behind a barricade, or in a shop...getting an early spot to watch the day's races. This made everything easy, and pleased Graham. One thing he liked about Switzerland? Certainly, its peoples were meticulous. No trash anywhere. Everyone following rules. Perfect. 👍
The track clear, Graham took off with no worries. There were a few early spectators to witness as Graham warmed up his engine and did a slow practice lap.
*****
Seeing no reason not to, Graham did the following lap much more aggressively. He slid slightly sideways into a couple turns. Going up the big hill, he didn't anticipate an upcoming signpost, and his car bashed into a barricade as he braked too late. Sheesh! A dent! could it be pulled? Günter had cautioned Graham not to wear his suit as he drove and later raced, which Graham didn't understand at all. Couldn't anyone see the logic in looking professional??? 
Sheesh!
He managed seven laps before Günter finally called Graham back to the pit area...his best time posted at x:xx.xxx. Just as he pulled into the pits, the Infiniti's check engine lightflahsed back on! DAMMIt!!! 
"Sehr gut!! Very good, Herr Vellington! Du bist...how shall I say...sehr accomplished!"
Günter chirped as Graham looked irked. "Is everything alright, Herr Wellington?"
"Well. My
check engine lite just came back on. Could you get somebody free to check it for me?"
Now THIS Günter did not expect. Check engine lite? Who the hell cared about a check engine lite????
"Um. Herr Vellington. I notice you...have had modifications. You have sport muffler. No doubt your air-filter and perhaps...mass air-flow sensor have also been changed. You will be fine. Your car is fine. You do not need to turn off the lite."
Apparently, nobody had instructed the well-dressed man about modifying a car's air-flow system. To do so would cause the MAF sensor to sense a massive change in the car's air intake flow & pressure, which would trigger the light to come on.
Günter's lesson, however, did nothing to deter Graham. He merely stood there, looking nonplussed. 
Expecting something to be done.
"aaaaah...."
"Look. Here. Have a peice of tape," Günter advised. "And put this tape over your
check engine lite. Trust me, if we shut off the light, it will only come back on eventually.
Graham looked at the barrel-chested Günter suspiciously. Damn mechanics. Always, it seemed they were trying to pull some trick over he, the customer! What the hell was a "mass air-flow sensor? Gunter could have just made this term up...and Graham would not have a clue what the hell he was talking about. He made a mental note to look it up on the internet later. But for now, Graham relented. He put the tape over the lite. It would only cause less hassle in the long run...and really, what did he care if his light was indicating a problem? It seemed to run fine, after all.But in the back of his mind...he knew it would still be there...lurking behind the electrical tape.
"Okay. You win," he said somewhat dejectedly.
It was now edging towards 8 o'clock, and finally some track-workers were showing up, along with assorted early spectators. As Princess finally made her way back with some sort of pastry, Graham also noticed his new friend, Ben Dover, approaching the paddock area.
"Hey how ya doon?"
Ben said in his slight Jersey accent. Graham and Ben had met in Rome. Ben was also a driver in the GT2 series, although he and Graham hadn't raced against one another.
"Peachy!" says Graham.
Ben paused a moment while trying to think of a way to say what he wanted to say, without offending the attorney.
"Um....I notice your car," Ben says.
"Yep. A '91 Infiniti G20, she is. REally, I wanted a Lexus, but Gran Turismo 2 rules state one can't spend more than $10,000 for a starting vehicle and all that..."
"Graham. I say this as a friend. Your car may not be suitable for this level of racing. I mean, you might want to trade this one up for some sort of sports car. It would only be best!"
"A
sports car??? A little DEATH TRAP is more like it!" Graham said. "Now this INfiniti is a fine piece of machinery. Just because it has a few luxury appointments to its interior doesn't mean it's not fast. Trust me. I drive a
Land Rover Discovery back at home,
and I'm a
good driver to boot! Always on time, I am. Usually early!"
"Graham, I know you are a good driver. I saw your performance in Rome. But I'm just telling you....you're gonna get eaten today. I"m a doctor. I have to tell people bad news all the time. And I'm tellin you now...trade up. Don't bother racing today. It'll count against you when they tally up your
win ratio".
"Well. So what are
you driving, then?" Graham quizzes his friend.
"Well...it's not really mine. I started my GT2 career with $10,000 just like you...only unlike you, my career started 'cause my practice was doing charity work. I'm driving a Lancia Delta today".
"You're driving a
what?"
"A Lancia. It's a Italian car. they don't sell them in the States." Ben said, as if this would explain everything.
Well Graham didn't know what a Lancia was, but he was sure it would pale in comparison to his 'entry-luxury sedan'.
Little did he know the truth of what he was about to face.....
Stay tuned for the race!
It'll require I get my cell camera ready for some pictures....the race, of course. And they're not easy to capture without these huge lines showing up in the picture. 
.
. Looking forward to the pics 
--in the courtroom or on the race track, when up against this so-called friend. 
Graham already knew Ben; now he sized up the rest.
Graham felt completely silly wearing it, but hell...he'd humor his daughter just this once.
WHAT THE HELL? How could she have KNOWN? How could she have FOUND OUT? 
HOW CAN THIS BE???
Towards the back of his mind, Graham Wellington briefly thought of his wife again: "Is she really here?", but this thought got erased as the crowd cheered and the photographers uh.....photographized. 
He jumped confidently from the G20, briefcase in hand, and took a moment to re-knot his tie!!! 
Money!!!! 
