by ANDREA SMITH
Ariel, Socrates, Witches Streak, and Runaway Jessie were entered from Sinclair Stables; Eyewear, Hail to Patsy, Junebug and Jezebel were entrants from Le Vie Belle. As I scanned the sheet, I noticed that ‘Jezebel’ didn’t have a jockey listed on the sheet. She was entered in the fourth race. I was not too familiar with Jezebel but the sheet listed Andy Graham as her trainer. I had seen Andy around with Jenna and Neely. Maybe it was time to pull in a favor from Jenna; the cheap underwear was small compensation for my stint in the hospital.
I went back over to the laundry facility and my clothes were through the wash cycle and ready to go into the dryer.
Once I had them situated in the dryer, I got my phone out and gave Jenna a call. She answered on the second ring, evidently having my cell number programmed into her contacts listing.
“Hey, Ty, how are you doing girl?” she asked almost too cheerfully.
I decided to work the guilt; she owed me not only for the near death experience, but that god awful slut underwear from Fred-X of Follywood that had added insult to injury.
“Cut the shit, Jenna,” I replied dryly.
I heard a gasp at the other end of the phone. Before she could utter another word, I got to the point.
“Look, you’re friends or whatever with Andy Graham, Jezebel’s trainer, right?”
“Yeah, so?” she countered.
“So, this is how you are going to make it up to me for missing a whole week’s pay.”
“Go on,” she replied, piqued.
“I noticed that there wasn’t a jockey listed for tomorrow evening’s fourth race for Jezebel, what’s the story?”
“All I know is that Andy’s ex-girlfriend was the jockey, and the operative word there is ‘ex’. They broke up and she told him to go flip shit. He was hoping to get her to reconsider at this late date, but when I talked to him last night, he was thinking that they were going to have to go ahead and scratch Jezebel from the race. It’s no big deal; the horse is a long-shot. Andy’s just afraid the Sinclair’s will be pissed because he didn’t have a back-up plan."
“He does now,” I said. “Jenna, you get a hold of your friend Andy, and tell him he has his jockey for Saturday night.”
“Who?” Jenna asked.
“Me!”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” she exclaimed. “Tylar, you are not a jockey, and besides, don’t you have to be certified or something like that?”
“Jenna, I’ve jockeyed, don’t worry about my credentials. Worst case scenario is even if Jezebel finishes last, I still get the $75 jockey fee which only recoups a small portion of the money I lost because of your stupid stunt when was that? Oh, yeah, last week."
“Well, I don’t know." She hesitated.
“Look, let Andy know that I’m within the weight assignment. If he wants to see me practice with Jezebel this afternoon have him call me. I want you to call me back one way or another.”
“Oh, alright,” she finally agreed. “I will give him a call and get back with you before I go on my first tour this morning.”
I was in the laundry room folding up my clean laundry when my cell phone rang. It was Jenna.
“Andy said to be at the practice track around 2:00 this afternoon. He will spend no more than an hour with you to see if you and Jezebel can clock some decent times on the quarter. Depending upon that he will decide whether you ride or he scratches her, Tylar. That’s the best I can do for you.”
“Good enough, Jenna, thanks.”
Two o’clock did not come fast enough for me. I had taken my laundry back to the cottage, and put it away. I had walked to the market and bought fresh carrots for Derringer since I planned to keep my date with him later. I got into the small trunk in my bedroom. I had brought it with me to Sinclair Stables but had yet to open it. There was no reason to until now.
I pulled several ribbons, a couple of trophies and some news clippings off the top of the pile of stuff that was in there. I located a pair of nylon riding pants, patent leather riding boots, safety vest and my cap and goggles. It had been awhile, but everything was still in good shape. At 108 lbs, everything would fit just fine. I placed it all into my backpack and made the trek back over to the racetrack.
I spotted Andy over in the infield with Jezebel, a three year-old bay. I had only been around Andy a few times this summer. He was a personable guy, a little green on the training end of it but that worked to my advantage.
We spent an hour or so going through the paces. It didn’t take long for me to build a rapport with Jezebel. Andy provided me with background on her racing history; along with her strengths and weaknesses. He handed me a DVD of her races last season to review.
Andy explained that in the Kick-Off Stakes Saturday, a bonus race would be scheduled about forty-five minutes after the last race concluded. This was a special incentive purse that Sinclair Stables had put up for $75,000.
Each winner of the eight previous races would contend for the purse in the bonus race. The jockeys would get a 20% cut of the purse instead of the usual 10%. The purse in the other races was only $10,000 each. If Jezebel won the fourth race, I would get my $75 riding fee, plus 10% of the purse, or $1000. If Jezebel went on to win the bonus race – Holy Moses that would be $15,000 in my pocket!
Andy and I worked with Jezebel for another hour, timing her sprints. She was consistently clocking in at thirty to thirty-three seconds.
I let Andy know that I would work with her again in the morning after I had an opportunity to review the DVD’s. He was in agreement.
I had not been back at my cottage for more than an hour when Ray was tapping at my door. 'Showtime" I thought to myself. Luckily I had been able to avoid him throughout the day. Hopefully no word had reached him
about my name being put in tomorrow's racing lineup. The programs wouldn't be out of the print shop until an hour or two before the gates opened. Ray had no reason to review the programs as this was handled by the special events group.
“Hi Ray,” I smiled as I opened the screen door for him.
“How ya feeling, Ty?” he asked, concerned. “I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to stop by and check on you. I know Trey will be pissed when he calls later.”
(Trey is having Ray check up on me I see.)
“Then don’t tell him,” I said with a grin. “I’ve been fine. Got my laundry caught up today; cleaned the cottage, took a walk. Just kind of, hung out, ya know?”
“Hey, so you know that you start Monday over at ‘the Belle’ right?”
“Yeah, so I was told.” He didn’t have to know who had told me.
“Now that’s just a temporary assignment, Ty,” he explained, expecting me to throw a hissy fit I suppose.
“I know, I know, Ray. Don’t worry about it; I can survive for a couple of weeks over there. I forget, who do I report to and when?”
“Report at 9 a.m. to Mrs. Johnson over in the main office. She will give you the rundown, okay?”
“Sure enough, Ray,” I replied pleasantly.
Ray was beginning to look at me kind of skeptically.
“Whew,” I fake yawned, stretching a bit. “I may have overdone it today with the laundry and cleaning. I think I’m going to just chill out on the couch and catch some T.V.”
“Okay, well I won’t keep you then, you take it easy, okay?”
“You got it. Good-night Ray,” I called after him as he walked down the steps off the porch.
I kept my promise to Derringer, taking some carrots to him at the stables. As I passed Jenna's cottage, her usual Friday evening lingerie show was in full display. I could hear some music blasting inside from her stereo.
Distracted, I hadn't noticed someone closing in behind me on the path. Suddenly, from behind, a body lunged at me and shrieked, “Got cha!” I nearly had a coronary right then and there. Instinct took over. I whirled around my right arm rigid and extended and landed my fist across his broad chest.
“Ummph,” Luke bellowed as some wind was knocked from him.<
br />
“Holy shit, Luke!” I yelled, “What were you thinking coming up on a me like that?”
“Christ, Tylar! You pack a punch for being kind of pint sized,” he laughed. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to catch you off guard, well at least, not that much.”
He was a grinning fool and I knew why.
“Gonna help Jenna take in her laundry?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Maybe,” was the only reply I got. “Hey, but how are you feeling? Hear they got you scheduled over at ‘the Belle’ with the old ladies next week. Drag, right?”
“I’m feeling back to normal and to answer your second question, ‘yes’ and ‘definitely’ on the third one. I’m hoping to shorten that assignment some when Trey gets back.”
“I wouldn’t count on that too much.”
“Why?” I asked.
“He has been a royal pain in our asses ever since what happened last Friday with you and all. That man for all we’ve seen him in the last three years has outdone himself this last week and most of the time he was spending was at the hospital with you, how did he find the time?”
“Well, you don’t look any worse for the wear it appears.”
"Yeah I got the stamina," he grinned, flexing his muscles for me.
"I can take anything 'ole rich boy dishes out. Poor Clint though, he has him working twelve hour days between here and the Belle. Clint's busting his ass getting ready for this weekend."
"Oh," he added, "Just so you know his royal highness
didn’t permit any of us to go see you in the hospital. He felt it might be upsetting to you. He made that damn clear to all of us.”
“Yeah, I wonder what that was about,” I murmured, clearly puzzled about Trey’s motives.
“Who knows, but we all felt bad and were worried and wanted to come up.”
“Don’t worry about it, Luke. It’s all good.” I smiled at him.
“Headed to the barn I see.”
“Yes, and I’m late for my date with Derringer. Have fun Luke!”
I grinned devilishly in the direction of Jenna’s cottage as I half turned away to continue down the path.
“Be careful,” he warned.
“You too.”
Derringer as always was pleased with my visit. Someone had been taking good care of him. His stall was clean; he had been brushed to a glossy sheen.
Once back inside my cottage, I put some microwave popcorn in preparing to watch Jezebel’s DVD. My cell phone rang. I snatched it off the kitchen counter, noting the same phone number as the previous night.
(Maybe I should just program him into my phone. I bet Charlotte has him programmed in hers. Grrrr...)
“Yes?” I answered in a clipped tone.
“Bad time?”
His soft, silky voice always unnerved me. I could handle his ‘mad’ voice, or even his ‘attorney’ voice, but this one, it just turned me to jelly.
“No, not really,” I responded coolly. “I was just popping some corn, getting ready to watch a video or two.”
“What did you do today, Tylar? Were you a good girl?”
(Objection: Leading the witness!)
"If you are asking me if I 'sat tight' as ordered then
the answer is no, I did not, Mr. Sinclair. I can tell you that I did not report to work – just as you requested. I did talk with Ray, got my assignment for next week. Let’s see, I did a couple of loads of laundry and cleaned the cottage. Oh, and least I forget, I took some carrots down to Derringer. There, satisfied?”
“Not as satisfied as I’d like,” he commented playfully.
(What the hell is up with that?)
Was it possible that Charlotte hadn’t lived up to his expectations in the sack? Secretly, I hoped more than anything that was the case. I was not nosy or brave enough to ask him.
“Do you have enough food to last in your fridge until I get back?” he questioned.
(So it was him that filled my fridge with groceries. Why can’t he be this sweet and thoughtful to me all of the time?)
“Oh, that was you? Yes, thank you, Trey,” I replied softly.
I could feel his smile over the phone. I was betting that his dimple was showing. He liked it when I used his first name. I liked the feel of it on my lips.
(I like the feel of his lips on my lips, too).
My cheeks flushed pink remembering our kiss.
“Are you still there?” smooth and silky asked. “Our connection seems much better tonight, don’t you agree?”
“Hmm. Yeah . . . I mean, yes. Not all of that background noise tonight.”
(Charlotte’s whiney voice right next to you.)
“Is there anything you need?”
(Objection: Vague)
“I’m good, for now.”
“Well, alright then. I don’t want to keep you from your videos. Please get your rest. I will see you soon.”
“Okay, then, see you soon. . . Trey?”
“Yes, Tylar?”
“Never mind, it’s nothing.”
(I miss you, Trey)
“Okay then, please sleep well.”
(I miss you, Tylar.)
I spent the next three hours studying last season's races with Jezebel. I had her moves down to a science by the time I finally collapsed into bed.
The following day was full of preparations for opening day at Le Belle Vie racetrack. I worked out with Jezebel early in the morning. Her time was improving steadily. Post positions were conducted prior to the race in a draw. I was keeping my fingers crossed that Jezebel would get an outside position. She tended to do better with fewer distractions as what was more typical with a middle post position. Jezebel was a late breaker which meant an outside position would be to her advantage.
Andy promised me that his pre-race feeding schedule for Jezebel would accommodate the equine digestive system. There was nothing worse than watching race horses being led out onto the track and having them dump a pile on the turf.
I dressed in the ladies restroom over in the paddock area due to the majority of the jockeys being male. Most of them were riding in a couple of the races this evening on different horses; I only had to focus on Jezebel in the fourth. Andy had given me the jockey silks for Jezebel this morning which were the traditional colors for Sinclair Stables, purple and gold. I changed my cap cover to purple to match the silks.
I made my way into the paddock area where Andy was preparing Jezebel. The post positions were in. We drew number eight.
“Yes!” I screamed, hugging Andy as he spun me around.
The next in from far outside. It didn’t get much better than that for this horse.
“Tylar?” someone called out behind me.
(Holy horse manure!)
I was afraid to turn until he repeated my name. It was Clint. I recognized his voice. It had a definite edge to it.
“Hey Clint,” I greeted going over to him.
I gave him a warm hug.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice now having more than just an edge to it.
(Just what I need a junior version of Trey hounding me).
I stated the obvious.
“Riding Jezebel in the fourth.”
“Are you nuts?” he yelled at me. “Do you know how much more trouble I will be in with him if I allow you to do this?”
(Did he say allow? Allow? Oh, hell no).
“First of all, Clint, you don’t have the responsibility for deciding what I am allowed to do or what I am not allowed to do, got it?”
I was clearly pissed and made no secret of it, pointing my finger and jabbing at the air in front of his chest.
“Secondly,” I continued, on a roll, “He doesn’t have responsibility for deciding what I am allowed to do, or what I am not allowed to do on my own personal time!”
Clint was fuming; at any moment I fully expected smoke to curl out of his ears, they were beet red. Andy had walked away from our argument and for that I was grateful. He had no clue who Clint was tal
king about. If he did he would likely side with Clint, preferring to take the heat for having one of the Sinclair horses scratched versus having the wrath of Trey Sinclair upon him.
“He sure as hell does if you’re riding a Sinclair horse!” He was furious. People were starting to look over at us. Andy seemed unperturbed from the distance. I decided another approach was needed.
“Clint, look,” I said quietly to him. “Nobody has to know that you saw me, right? And hey, they have me listed under a different variation of my name, so it will be easy enough to argue you didn’t recognize it on the roster
if need be, okay?”
Clint pulled a program from his back pocket. He skimmed down through it, and then looked back up.
“Jockey: T.J. Preston?”
“I know, right?” I smiled proudly. “Tylar Jamie Preston, T.J. for short.”
“Oh yeah, I see what you mean, Tylar. That will throw somebody off for, gee, like a full ten seconds?”
He was quickly becoming more exasperated with me. It seemed as if I had failed in my appeal to him. Trey must’ve really made his life miserable this past week. It was clear that I was not going to win Clint over. I could not waste any more time debating this with him. I needed to set about finishing the rest of the preparations.
“You know, Clint,” I snapped, “You do what you have to do. It’s apparent that our friendship means very little to you. I should’ve figured that out when I didn’t see you at the hospital all this past week.”
(Perhaps a sprinkle of guilt …)
“Besides that, Trey’s out of town. So there is really nothing you can do about it now anyway.”
I turned my back to him and walked back over to help Andy finish cinching up the outer girth’s on Jezebel. When we finished I turned back around, relieved that Clint was nowhere in sight.
CHAPTER TEN
I loved the pageantry of horse racing as much as anything else. I loved jockeying. It had always been a part of my life, starting as far back as junior high school. Back then I lived for county fairs and 4-H. I was so fortunate that during my years in college I had been afforded opportunities to ride and train in racing and dressage.