It's Friday so they're doing practice sessions, but Jenny confirmed a meeting with the CEO of Windsor Formula One Racing, as well as Geoff, the Team Principal. Jenny lets slip that the Netflix crew will be spotlighting the Windsor team for this race and episode, so if we are approached to sign waivers, they'll be using our appearances. It's not like I expect anything less. Our names are the only reason we were invited in the first place.

        I send Brendon a text letting him know we're about to make waves on his turf and wish him good luck on a favorable practice session.

        Everywhere I look, someone is doing something. Whether it's pushing a cart full of parts or carrying a cup of coffee to someone higher up on the food chain, everyone is a cog in the machine, all of them working to put on a show. Results mean everything, but there's a layer of politics and showmanship at play in Formula One, as Brendon suggested the other night, and everyone contributes to the bigger picture.

        A badge with my name hangs from a lanyard around my neck, and I tug on it as we walk up the stairs of the Windsor motorhome.

        CEO Marcus Lambert sits at the head of a long chrome table, while the man next to him, who I can only presume is Geoff, faces away from us. When the assistant knocks on the door, they both turn to look at us with well-rehearsed smiles.

        Neither of them looks interesting, but it's hard to ignore their importance. They're well aware of the power they both hold, more so than anyone in a sport needs to wield, but it seems to be the nature of such positions.

        "MARS!" Marcus cheers like he's issuing a homecoming welcome. "Thank you so much for stopping by on such short notice. Have a seat, please. Lunch should be arriving soon."

        Neither of them introduces everyone, which rubs me the wrong way. Even though we've been briefed, I never assume anyone knows my name.

         We all move to take our seats. Marcus Lambert waves me over, but I hold back. Rami slides right through to take the chair closest to him instead, leaving a buffer.

        "How is Melbourne treating you?" Marcus asks once we've all settled. "It's a good time of year to come."

        "It's great," Rami answers. "The food here is amazing."

        "Tell me about it." Marcus playfully slaps his flat stomach. "And the beer never stops either. Whenever we fly down for the Grand Prix, I always leave five pounds heavier."

        Rami picks at the bracelet around his wrist. "And you're spoiling us today. Not sure what we did to deserve the honor but we appreciate it. Who better to introduce us to Formula One?"

        He's trying to play the role of a friendly diplomat but Rami reads people better than most, so I know he's not feeling them either.

        "We might be jumping the gun here but we just wanted to make you feel welcome," Marcus replies with a purposeful grin. He lifts a bottle of beer for a sip before placing it back down, an untouched stack of coasters inches away from his hand. "Any friend of Brendon's is a friend of ours. And if there's anything you wanted to know about working with Netflix, we're here to give you any insight you might need. I know it's daunting to work with a corporate giant like them."

        Seira, not one to shy away from a dig or two, leans back with a laugh. "What are you, their PR team?"

        Marcus takes it in stride. "No, but we understand the complicated system and what's required of those trying to navigate through all of the mess. Just because it's reality television doesn't make it any more real than their scripted shows."

        "Are you saying it's all fake then?"

        "Not all of it." Marcus shrugs. "But, if you haven't noticed, Windsor hasn't been featured as an episode lead before. This weekend will be our first."

        "We wanted to make sure we had enough control over our own narrative," Geoff adds. "Public perception is about direction. Making sure you're the one holding the camera and pointing it where you want them to watch."

        "What a clever metaphor," Seira deadpans.

        There's a brief pause in the conversation as Windsor employees waltz in to deliver a small spread of food. Jun makes quick work of filling up his plate while the rest of us follow behind. The space fills with perforated silence only occasionally broken up by someone asking someone else to hand them something. It illuminates the unusualness of our meeting that doesn't seem to have a clear purpose. Not to the band, at least. I'm sure there's some convoluted reason in their heads for inviting us. Controlling the narrative and all that.

        "What do you like most about working with them?" Jun asks in an attempt to lighten the mood.

        Marcus retains the lead. "Obviously the sport itself is why we're here. We want to push the boundaries of innovation and excel at something we're all passionate about. But when you have something as flashy as this, keeping old fans interested while attracting new ones is important. With the reach Netflix offers, our audience has grown substantially."

        "I'm sure that brings a lot of unwanted attention as well," Lauren adds.

     "Anyone in the business of entertainment knows any attention is good attention."

        "I'd disagree."

        Seira chimes in, "Probably helps to have a seven-time champ on your team. You've already got a leg up above the rest."

        Neither Marcus nor Geoff appear bashful. Their pride shines brightly enough to rival the sun pouring down on the circuit outside.

        "Idris is a star," Geoff boasts. "We're lucky to have such a strong relationship between a driver and the rest of the team. His power transcends beyond the sport."

        "Didn't look too shabby at the Met Gala," Seira chuckles.

        "And Brendon is a star in the making." Geoff pauses to take a sip of his drink. "It's not a question of if he'll win the championship one day, but when."

        "Just like it's just a matter of time before you win a grammy," Marcus adds with a flourish. Casting a look in my direction, he adds, "Two entities on a similar trajectory. Brendon is lucky to have friends in high places."

        "You make it sound like a business transaction," I reply. "Us being friends."

        "Wouldn't be the first one. But that's not what I mean. It's good to have a close-knit group of people who understand what you're going through, especially in a business as fickle as the one we're all in."

...

About an hour after we first sat down for lunch, I excuse myself to head to the restroom. Geoff left half an hour before to see how things were wrapping on the track.

        I overhear on my way out that the second practice session has finished and everyone is getting ready to spend the rest of the day (and night) preparing the cars for tomorrow.

        After I finish up inside the restroom, I exit to see one of the Windsor employees waiting anxiously. She's apologetic about asking, but holds her phone up as if to say picture, please? Pretty please?

        One thing I've learned is to set boundaries and safeguard my peace meaning I don't accept requests for pictures at certain times or places—one of them being right outside a bathroom.

        Not everyone handles these interactions the same way. Jun is the kind of sweet-hearted soul that will grant anyone their wish if only to see the smile on their face. I get why he does it, I do. But if I take pictures with one person while I'm in the middle of lunch with a friend or on my way through an airport to catch a flight, other people want to take part in the action, and the next thing I know, I feel like I'm about ready to jump out of my own skin.

        Keeping these facets of celebrity life to situations that are clearly defined in my mind is much easier. Once it begins to take over other parts of my life, the parts that allow me to maintain some sort of control over my existence as a person, I lose sense of myself.

        I politely decline but try my best to make it clear that if she can find me on Sunday, I'll take as many pictures as she wants. Her face falls before she apologies once again and scurries away. It's enough to almost make me feel guilty about it, and as I'm ready to run after her, a familiar face steps into view.

        "Are you in the habit of breaking hearts, Stevie?" Brendon says with a smile.

        His face glistens with a thin sheen of sweat, complemented by the subtle dampness of his hair. His race suit is pulled down so the sleeves are wrapped around his waist. The all-white shirt underneath clings to his body, all of his clothes scattered with Windsor and sponsorship branding.

        I groan, leaning my head against the wall. "Don't. I'm trying to be human here."

        "I was messing with you." He reaches up with a towel in his hand and rubs it across the top of his head. "She's fine. Some of them get excited whenever celebrities come to visit the races but it's not unusual for people to miss out on getting a picture or something. Don't stress."

        "I know it's what I need to do, but when does it get easier?" Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. "When do I stop feeling guilty like I'm shattering someone's dream?"

        Overthinking is a specialty of mine, so it's not surprising I'm contemplating my response to someone asking for a picture this much. It's already a fallacy that anyone wants a picture with me, and pointing that out makes me feel silly. It's not like anyone should feel devastated about missing out on taking a picture with me.

        Having Brendon witness my inner turmoil is the cherry on top of the whole shitty sundae.

        And I hate cherries.

        "You do what you gotta do." He shrugs. "Just because someone is a fan doesn't mean you owe them your existence. If they like your work, they appreciate the art. And if they like you, they respect your boundaries."

        He puts it so simply I have no choice to believe him. While the rest of the Windsor team hurries around us, Brendon anchors himself in place, waiting for me to come back down to Earth.

        "Shouldn't you be analyzing shit?"

        Brendon tucks his bottom lip under his teeth before replying with a chuckle. "We had a briefing before lunch. I need to grab something before I faint."

        "How'd practice go?"

        "Alright. The car feels good, but there's stuff they need to work on tonight before FP3 and qualifying tomorrow." He peeks at me before adjusting his suit. "Boring tech stuff."

        "I'm already falling asleep."

        He kicks his foot out and taps it playfully against mine. "Did lunch suck by any chance? I could use some company."

        "I don't think there's any shortage of people here that would like to have lunch with you." I brush my face-framing bangs behind my ear. "But do you not have enough faith in your boss to treat us to something good?"

"I just know you have better taste than him."

"Flattered. But lunch was good." I pause. "I think they want to show us around but I can sneak away if you need me."

        Brendon kicks off from the wall. "You're fine. Enjoy all the pleasantries Windsor has to offer. I'll just grab something quick and head back for more boring talk."

        "If you're sure."

        He taps the bottom of my chin before I swat him away. "Thanks, friend, but I'll see you on Sunday."

        "Hopefully with an afterparty for a win," I reply.

        "I'll meet you at our spot."