by ANDREA SMITH
I had not seen Clint since the incident in the barn earlier. I was out in the infield with Andy. I felt bad about arguing with Clint. He was obviously intimidated by Trey. It wasn't as if I had purposely put him in an awkward position with Trey. God knows, I hadn't felt it was right for Clint to have taken the brunt of the blame for my unfortunate accident at the pool. I had said as much to Trey. It now seemed as if Clint was walking on pins and needles where I was concerned; that wasn't fair to either of one of us.
The announcer had started the introduction of the horses, their owner, trainer and jockey in that order. Socrates was scheduled in this race in the number four post position. The bugle sounded the familiar chords in three successions. The announcer’s voice blared across the sound system.
“And the horses are entering the track for this evening’s featured first race in the Annual Kick-off Stakes Amateur Challenge here at the beautiful Le Vie Bell Race Track!"
I saw Socrates wearing the Sinclair’s signature purple and gold colors, jockey astride in matching silks. Clint was on the escort horse, Trafalgar, which was customary for the trainer to do as the horses were introduced onto the track.
“In the Number 4 position, we have Socrates, owned by Sinclair Stables, trained by Clint Cavanaugh, piloted by Luis Cappezio.”
I looked over at Clint, but he was busy trying to get Socrates maneuvered into step using Trafalgar.
Socrates was skittish and not handling the reining well. The announcer finished with the rest of the lineup for the first race. Nine horses took their places at the gate. Clint
and Luis were still having some problems getting Socrates into his post position inside the gate. That was never a good sign.
Once all of the horses were secured in their post positions, the trainers left the track on the escort horses. After a few minutes, the buzzer rang out and the gates opened with the loud pounding of quarter horse hooves sprinting onto the turf track. There was so much advance preparation for a race that lasted less than a half minute with any luck.
The announcer had to have the ability to talk faster than an auctioneer; no easy task with some of the names given these horses. There were a lot of bets being placed at the windows. This was a fairly lucrative business for the owners. I wasn’t sure how they divided up the winnings exactly between the track and the horse owners, but I had seen enough to know that neither side was hurting.
Socrates came in second, so no shame there. A horse from Alexandria, Virginia took the purse, clocking at thirty-two seconds.
There was a ten minute break between each race, giving people time to get their bets in. Clint would be busy for a little while anyway, getting Socrates back to the paddock and rubbing him down. Maybe luck would hold out and he wouldn’t come back out before my race. Deep down, I knew that he would, if only to see how the rest of the Sinclair horses performed in the upcoming feature races.
The third race finished. Andy and I checked and rechecked the saddle and girths to make sure everything was tight and secure. Jezebel was calmer than either of us it seemed.
"Good Luck, T.J.," Andy teased me, "Don't get overly concerned if she’s not first out of the gate, she works into her stride in about eight or nine seconds when she’s on the outside post position.”
“I know I got it,” I laughed. “I saw the movie, remember?”
He was making me more nervous with his fussing.
“Oh, and the horse to beat is ‘Lucky Lulu’ she’s Number 3 on the inside, got it?”
“Got it,” I replied again as I climbed up on Jezebel.
The announcer started the introductions for the fourth featured race in the series for this evening. I went ahead and lowered my goggles as we were being announced onto the track. Andy was on his buckskin horse, ‘Jubilee’ escorting Jezebel and me onto the turf.
“Jezebel is number eight out of the nine horses competing in the fourth leg of tonight’s Amateur Kick-off Stakes Challenge. She races for Sinclair Stables, trained by Andy Graham, and in the irons, T.J. Preston.”
We had no problem at all getting Jezebel into her postposition, next to the last on the outside. Once the last horse was in, there was about a minute pause before the buzzer sounded and the gate lifted. True to Andy’s prediction, Jezebel was not quick to break out of the gate. I decided to do what I was trained to do and let the announcer play it back to me.
“And runners away in the challenge!” I heard him yell into the microphone, echoing across the track.
“Lucky Lulu broke well on the inside, “Cosmos’ is quickly out in the middle of the pack. Here comes Jezebel well intro stride from the outside! Now, just to the inside, it’s Lucky Lulu; Jezebel is gaining on the outside! Now it’s Lucky Lulu! Cosmos drops to the back. It’s Jezebel and Lucky Lulu nose to nose! And it is . . . Jezebel across the finish! Jezebel has won the Kick-off Stakes Amateur Challenge in race number four!”
(Oh my god! We did it, we did it Jezebel!)
The best part was a chance to earn another $15,000 in the bonus race. I checked Jezebel’s clocked time, twenty-nine seconds. The best so far. Andy ran over to me and lifted me off of Jezebel, twirling me around in a circle twice.
“You did it, T.J.!”
“We all did it, Andy! Thank you so much for taking a chance on me!”
“Oh, I could tell within two minutes of seeing you on Jezebel that you are a natural for this. Jezebel knows it too.” He slapped me lightly on the back a couple of times as we led Jezebel back to the paddock to get rested for later. I felt like I was in seventh heaven, walking on clouds. I wanted Trey to be proud of me. Jezebel was the first winner’s purse taken by a Sinclair horse so far this evening. There were only four more races to go.
“I’ll see you back here in about an hour, okay, Andy? I have a few things to take care of in the meantime.”
“Sure thing,” he answered. “Take a break and get psyched for the next one, hear?”
I went to a room that was off of the main paddock. It was a lounge of sort for the trainers and jockeys between races. I pulled my gear off and placed it in my locker. I took my purse from the locker at the same time, pulling some coins out and headed over to the soda machine. I got a cold bottle of water from the dispenser.
Trey would be back tomorrow. I could hardly wait to tell him how well I raced this evening. Part of me secretly hoped that none of the other Sinclair sponsored horses took a purse tonight, but that was kind of selfish, not to mention unsportsmanlike so I chastised myself for thinking like that.
I finished off my bottle of water then headed over to the restroom for a comfort break. I was able to locate my brush inside of my purse. My hair definitely needed some sprucing up after having that jockey cap plastered down on it.
I undid the ponytail, brushing out my hair completely, and then brushed it back up into a ponytail, recapturing it with the elastic hair tie.
I dug back down in my purse feeling for my small cosmetic bag. I brushed just a hint of blush on my cheeks.
I started putting my stuff back into my purse when I saw that my cell phone was lit up. I had a text message and several missed calls apparently. It was on vibrate for most of the day. I had wanted no distractions before the race this evening.
I stared at the screen. It was Trey’s name from my contact list coming up. I had entered it into my phone contacts as ‘Trey ;-)’ Not so cutesy now seeing his name with the ‘wink’ symbol I concocted last night coming up as several missed calls this evening. There was a text from Trey ;-) as well. I was afraid to read it. I realized now that Luke had probably been in touch with him, filling in the blanks as to what I had been doing this evening. I gathered courage and pressed to read the text message:
'What in the hell do u think u r doing?? I will deal w/u as soon as I get back!'
Wow, it definitely sounded like Trey ;-) had found out about tonight’s races. No mystery there.
(Thank you, Clint.)
I was fairly pissed. I would make damn sure I changed Clint’s
name on my phone’s contacts list to ‘Clint the Nark’.
How dare Trey presume that I needed a keeper! I dropped my phone back into my purse and returned it to my locker. I grabbed my gear. I took a moment to wipe off the goggles with a cleaning towel then headed back out to the paddock.
Andy was pacing when I saw him in the paddock. For a moment I considered that he had received word from ‘mission control” that this mission was aborted. He saw me and relief flooded his face.
“Where have you been?” he questioned in a panic. “I was scared shitless you had slipped out on me!”
I felt relieved. He simply was succumbing to pre-race jitters, nothing at all specific to Trey’s displeasure with the jockey.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I replied. “So, what’s going on?”
“Well, two of the eight horses in the bonus race represent Sinclair Stables,” he said proudly.
A pang of disappointment shot through me and I reminded myself once again to stop thinking like that and to be happy for the Sinclair team so to speak.
“Really, that’s great!” I lied, “Who else?”
“Ariel,” he replied, distracted.
That was good news really. Luke was Ariel’s trainer and right now, Luke was higher on my “like” list than ‘Clint the Nark’ for sure.
“I’m really glad, but I still want Jezebel to beat them all,” I admitted.
“No argument from me on that T.J.!”
Andy helped me up into the racing saddle, which in no way was made for comfort. He got astride Jubilee and we rode on out to the infield. Andy explained that the post selections were determined by best times clocked. Jezebel had the second best time in the earlier series, so we would get second choice on post positions.
“Who has first pick?” I asked.
"The winner of the sixth race, Paradox," Andy replied.
Paradox's trainer made first selection and wanted the third spot from the end. Andy selected the same spot that Jezebel held during the first race which was what I had hoped he would do. As it turned out, Ariel was in the position just outside of Jezebel. I didn’t know the jockey, but this was certainly making it interesting to be neck and neck with Ariel on one side and Paradox on the other. I felt almost giddy.
The announcer started the introductions again, going through the line-up, horse, owner, trainer and jockey.
Andy escorted Jezebel and me back out onto the track, taking position behind the gate. I wanted to giggle as we were announced this time as “Rookie Jockey, T.J. Preston.”
Within a few minutes, all of the horses were at the gate; the escorts had cleared the track. I pulled my goggles down and took position fully ready for the sound of the buzzer and the lifting of the gate. There seemed to be some sort of a delay in getting the gates raised. The announcer had stopped his banter as well. What was going on now?
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please. There has been an adjustment made to the bonus race line-up this evening. The number seven horse, Jezebel, has been scratched from the competition by the owner. According to racing rules, the horse finishing with the next best time as the horse currently in the gates having the least best time of all the feature race winners this evening is eligible to take the number seven slot. That horse is Socrates. At this time, will trainer Graham and jockey T.J. Preston, please remove Jezebel from the track.”
I was flabbergasted. No, I was infuriated, not to mention, humiliated. What the hell was going on?
Andy was over at my side within thirty seconds, getting Jezebel backed out of the gate, leading us both off the track back to the paddock. I ripped my cap and goggles off, just as we passed Clint escorting Socrates and his jockey up onto the infield area beside the track. I threw him the most hateful look I could muster, too angry to say anything.
Andy was eerily quiet as he took the reins from me and walked Jezebel into the stables off of the paddock. And then my questions were answered, all of them. Andy handed off Jezebel’s reins to one furiously angry, blazing blue-eyed Trey. (Holy Shit).
“I’ve got this,” Trey said, dismissing Andy.
“I’ll take it from here.”
Trey tied Jezebel’s reins to the post outside her stall, then turned and firmly lifted me off of her back. He lowered me down removing his arms from me. I was mere inches from his beautiful, but very angry face.
“What do you have to say for yourself, ‘T.J’?” he demanded, putting emphasis on my jockey name.
He was seething. I was distraught. I was humiliated that it had come to this. I was a stupid, stupid person. I actually thought he might have been proud of me. I desired to please him but he had crushed my spirit this evening.
“Why’d you do it, Trey? How could you do that to me?” I choked.
I could tell that my demeanor had entirely thrown him off. He had expected a fight, an angry hissy fit perhaps. He had not expected this from me.
I couldn’t accommodate his expectations right now. I could not bring myself to argue with him at this moment in time. I was so deflated from the elation that had built up within me for the first time ever that I had nothing left in me to work with. I felt defeated and empty right now.
I had wanted him to be proud; perhaps even to recognize my worth for something. I had failed I could see now. The part that hurt the most was that for Trey it was nothing more than his need to control me, someone that he barely knew.
It was apparent to me that his need for control surpassed anything that anyone else might have felt, valued or held dear. That was where we were fundamentally different.
I had wanted to succeed for him, not for me. I had wanted to show him that in some way perhaps I was worthy of his respect and possibly his affection somewhere down the road.
Trey wanted something different and it was simply about control. That was for him and no one else.
I looked up at him, searching his eyes for something, anything that would give me a clue as to why he would embarrass and humiliate me like that, in front of friends, co-workers and strangers.
He didn’t care. He gazed down at me, the anger completely gone from his face, replaced by something else that was unreadable. It wasn’t pity, regret or compassion even; it was something that I didn’t recognize. It was something unfamiliar to me.
He put his arms around me and pulled me close. This was not an answer. I pushed away from him, pulling off the jockey silks that belonged to Sinclair Stables, holding them out to him. He was confused. He didn’t move.
“Here, take them,” I said, tossing them at him. “Those belong to you, but I sure as hell don’t.”
He caught the silks his eyes not moving from mine.
I turned on my heel and ran to the jockey’s lounge. It was empty. Once inside, tears flooded down my cheeks. In a blur, I got out of my gear, shoving it all into my backpack, grabbing my purse, slamming the locker shut.
I exited hastily through the back door of the paddock area, wanting to avoid running into anyone around the track. The race was over. I didn’t give a shit who won. This was over for me.
It was dark out and I stumbled several times on the path through the wooded area, tears still blinding my vision. The racetrack was lit up and fireworks were going off signaling the end of the racing events for this evening.
In the distance, I could finally see porch lights on the bank of cottages. They were all lit, except for mine. There was an interior light on inside my cottage. I didn’t recall having left a light on inside.
Everyone else would be out at the track, or partying, or on dates; everyone except me.
I stumbled up the steps of my porch. The bulb in my porch light had been removed. The front door was unlocked. I knew that I had locked it when I left earlier. I was afraid to go inside. I peered inside the front window; nothing was amiss and no one seemed to be lurking inside.
I decided to go around to the side and check the bedroom window. As I turned around to leave the porch, I brushed up against a hard chest; stro
ng arms reached for me as I started to scream. It was Trey.
“What in the hell are you doing to me now?” I demanded, no longer afraid to speak for fear of crying.
He had just scared the be-Jesus out of me.
“I just wanted to make sure you got back to your cottage alright,” he answered softly.
“So, what, you come over and put lights on inside and leave my front door unlocked?”
“I did not go inside, Tylar,” he stated, flatly. “I was just watching to see that you got in okay. I saw you stop and start peering through your own window. I thought perhaps you were locked out.”
(Stalking me is more like it Counselor!)
“No, as a matter of fact, the door is unlocked now and lights are on that weren’t on when I left,” I stated matter-of-factly.”
His brows furrowed with concern.
“Let me make sure you get settled inside safely,” he offered. “I promise, I will then leave you alone.”
As much as I hated his constant oversight into my safety and protection, I was a bit creeped out by the current situation. I nodded my head in agreement.
He opened the door and went in first. I followed closely behind him. I stayed in the living area while he went on into the bedroom then the bathroom. I heard him open the closet doors, then swing the bathroom door shut making sure no one was lurking. He came back out, giving me a sheepish smile.
“Everything’s clear," he said. "No one’s hiding in the closet or behind the shower curtain. Only thing under your bed were a couple of dust bunnies."
“Ha ha,” I replied sarcastically.
His charming manner was not going to melt me so easily this time. For all I knew, he might have staged the whole thing to create a 'damsel in distress' fantasy to feed his bottomless ego.
He came over to where I was standing. He looked so good in his business attire. He had his dress pants on, white shirt with french cuffs and a gorgeous tie that very closely matched his eyes, but not quite. His sleeves were rolled back a bit and he smelled great.