The Feature Game - [Carlos Sainz]

Dos

"Name and ID."

Gloria handed over her passport as she stood in front of the desk to pick up her media pass for the Formula 1 weekend in Barcelona. The woman behind the desk looked up at her and back at her picture in her passport before looking back up at her once more and then closing the document and handing it back. "Here you go," she said, shoving a pass with a lanyard over the desk and looking past Gloria to ask the next person to come up. Gloria took it and pushed her passport back into her bag. It was only Thursday, but she had quickly learned after some endless browsing on X and Instagram and the internet in general, that today would be the media day. The drivers were going to do their track walks, talk to various media outlets, and do whatever marketing and PR stuff their teams had planned. Gloria arrived in Barcelona yesterday evening with all of her belongings for three months. She had received an email from Carlos Sainz' manager, who was also funnily named Carlos (and so was Carlos Sainz' father), that she would be able to fly back with Carlos on a jet.

She had never been to F1 before, she had never met an F1 driver before, and she had certainly never been on a jet before. Gloria moved the lanyard around her neck and continued her way along the signs that would lead her to the entrance of the paddock. Someone from Ferrari would be waiting for her there to take her into the Ferrari motorhome and let her meet the driver she was going to practically live with for the upcoming three months. It all felt so weird. Barely 72 hours ago, she was chosen to do this assignment for The Times, and now she was here in sunny Barcelona, already sweating too much and about to document every breath this Spaniard driving around in funny circles was going to take. Gloria hated how she barely had the time to do some proper research on him. She had briefly looked over his social media and his Wikipedia page. She had obviously written feature articles before, and they're meant to be personal, the words need to embody the person it's about, and the story needs to come alive because of the small details documented.

"Gloria?" She looked up and found a woman with red hair standing in front of her. "I'm Silvia, Ferrari's head of communication," the woman quickly added with a smile from behind her sunglasses, reaching her hand towards Gloria. She took it and introduced herself. "The paddock is getting busy, but don't let it scare you. Scan your pass and follow me," Silvia said, her Italian accent thick in her voice, her hair just a shade darker than the Ferrari red shirt she was wearing. Gloria scanned her pass and the entrance beeped as she was let in. "You will have a couple of minutes to meet Carlos, and then he's off for more interviews. As it's his home race, there are a lot of people who want to speak to him. After that, you can stay for lunch and be with us during some marketing videos," Silvia quickly updated her. "Alright, thanks," Gloria nodded, mentally taking notes on his schedule. It looked like Carlos would be very busy today, and she felt nervous about doing her job. Journalists needed to be bold sometimes, and God, she knew how it could annoy people. Her heart was beating in her throat when she passed the threshold of the Ferrari hospitality, the air-conditioned air nearly knocking her out.

Gloria lifted her sunglasses, feeling her forehead damp with sweat from the short walk from the media center to the paddock. She caught her reflection in the glass of the door, reminding herself that she looked professional and friendly and that she should be honored that she was assigned to this assignment. "Charles, dov'è il tuo compagno di squadra?" Silvia asked the guy who was just coming around the corner. He had bright eyes, and messy black hair, and he was dressed in the team's colours. A grin curled his lips, and he briefly looked between Silvia and Gloria. "He's late because he despises media day," he answers, looking at Gloria again. "I'm Gloria, by the way. The Times journalist," she says, and he shakes her hand. "I'm Charles," he replies with a friendly smile, not introducing himself any further as he assumed she'd know who he was. "Chili, devi dei soldi alla squadra perché sei di nuovo in ritardo!" one of the crew members call when Carlos walks around the corner. He lets out a huff of air in response, the corners of his mouth slightly curling up, but not too much.