by Leigh Hutton
Monster decided when it was time to jump, after just two circles at a canter, around the arena. Winnie had again set Ebony’s cross-rail course, with a single vertical on the far right hand side, set to a meter ten.
Monster cut left at the end of the arena, carting Ebony straight to this tallest fence. Before she could add any input to their effort, the little horse had taken off, at least half a stride early, soaring over the obstacle like it was a matchstick. Her beaming smile tickled at the straps of her helmet. Marcus clapped for them, then set all the fences to the taller height.
Monster, now comfortable with even Marcus’s presence, didn’t bat an eyelid at even the most colourful or space-y of the jumps. Ebony could have burst with pride.
That night, Winnie and Jasmine invited her to hit Moxie’s with a group from the barn to celebrate Monster’s return, but Ebony was spent, and had the best idea for a sketch of him that she wanted to get on paper before it was gone. So, after making sure the horses were all fed and put to bed, Ebony hit the Tim Horton’s drive through for a meal, as well as a late night coffee and a maple-glazed donut, and headed back to Annika’s.
She was nearly at Royal Lakes when her phone beeped from her passenger seat. It was Marcus.
Piking on us again?
Ebony swung into a side street, so she could reply:
I’m sure you’ll find someone to snuggle with.
It was a few minutes before the next text:
Can’t you come?
You know I need my beauty sleep, she texted.
You’re hot enough for me.
Ebony stared at the words from her trainer on the bright screen of her phone. Words she never wished to see. There was no way she was going there, especially not with one of the best trainers in the world, or any guy, she was sure. Her horses had to come first and so did her career. Surviving on a $600 per month allowance from Annika was getting very tough and she knew the situation with her was like a ticking time bomb. Ebony longed to stand on her own two feet and winning major classes was the only way she could do it. She did not have time for guys. And didn’t wish to change her relationship with Marcus, anyway.
I’m sure you’ll have fun without me, she replied, and switched off her phone.
Before she could reach her room, Annika bailed her up. Crap, she thought, trying to push past the designer-clad woman. Annika held a hand out and pushed her palm against the wall.
Ebony crossed her arms and tapped her foot.
‘Will you be attending our animal shelter fundraiser?’ Annika asked. ‘It’s this Saturday.’
‘You know I don’t do that social crap.’
‘About time you grew up a bit, don’t you think?’
‘Whatever, Annika. Let me past.’
‘I hope you’re not expecting me to pay the expenses for this new horse. I’m already strapped with the other two and not enjoying having to pay your monthly allowance as well.’
‘It’s taken care of.’
‘What have you gotten yourself into now, Ebony? Back with the criminal crew you used to hang around?’
Annika knew nothing of the people Ebony used to hang around with. She must have assumed, by her appearance, that Ebony enjoyed the company of ‘criminal types’. In reality, she’d always done her best to keep to herself, and hadn’t had a single friend until she found horses.
‘First show’s coming up,’ Annika continued, ‘it would be great if you could get in the money, don’t you think?’
‘Wouldn’t it.’ Ebony ducked under her arm, took the stairs two at a time, and locked her bedroom door behind her.
The next morning on the way to the barn, Ebony kept driving, past the turn off to Marcus’s barn. It’d been too long, and she missed it too much. She had to see her old home, if just for a second.
She pulled up beside the rock pillars of the front gate. The gates were shut and she couldn’t see any vehicles in front of the house, at the end of the long, paved driveway. She sat for a moment, sipping at her hot, black coffee, remembering what it had been like to have a real home, a real family. Someone’s really lucky, she thought to herself, as she reluctantly punched her car into first and peeled out on to the gravel road to the highway. Very lucky to be moving in there.
Marcus Frank’s was a hive of activity, with riders and grooms getting horses, gear and tack ready for the opening show of the season; the February Classic, at Spruce Meadows. Ebony and Jasmine decided to give their two best horses, Odysseus and Monster, one last hack before they would be trailered to Spruce, where they would spend the next three days for the competition.
Unfortunately, Dougie and the princess had the same idea.
‘Oh, look,’ Mantina said from her sleek bay, Downton Abbey, as Ebony and Jasmine entered the ring. ‘The dork and the freak — a match made in heaven.’
‘And don’t forget their Monster,’ Dougie said. ‘I had a ride on your old guy last week, Ebony. Had to use my biggest spurs because he was so freaking lazy.’
‘You’d better not touch him.’
‘Or what? You’ll cast a spell on me?’ The pair laughed, pleased with their assault, like they were sure that they’d had the last word.
‘No, Chubbie,’ Ebony said. She urged Monster on, riding straight at the pair, and stopped just a pole-width in front of them. She leaned out of her saddle, so her face was just centimetres from Dougie’s, ‘I’ll skin you like a fat rat and hang you to die.’
‘O-M-G!’ Mantina’s hands flew to her face. ‘That’s disgusting! I can’t believe she just said that.’
Jasmine, who must have also heard Ebony’s threat, held her hands to her mouth, to contain her grin. It was too much, however; bursts of laughter escaped her fingers.
The colour drained from Dougie’s face. He was shaking so much, his whole body jiggled. He gathered his reins, pulling on the mouth of his glorious bay, Laguna Beach, and turned to Mantina. ‘She is an aggressive freak, isn’t she?’
A squeak of air escaped the princess’s lips.
‘Guess that’s why Marcus wants her,’ Dougie didn’t bother to check Ebony out, before continuing, ‘there’d be no other reason.’
Jasmine puffed up her chest, and even Odie seemed to stand on his tiptoes to match the size of the great Hanoverians. ‘She’s way hotter than you!’ she said.
Ebony ignored her attackers, turning Monster around and riding back over to Jazz. She rested her hands on Monster’s neck, and smiled as she studied the kind girl’s face.
Have I really made friends with a show jumping princess? Jasmine hardly acted like a snobby rich girl, Ebony decided, even though she was lucky enough to have two lovely, supportive parents, all the horses and gear she needed, and got to go to all the shows. She didn’t ride like a princess; she was all ballsy, classic jumper style, a lot like Ebony — not perched up, the way Mantina pranced about on her great horses. Ebony wondered if Marcus had made Jasmine ride with the broom handle, as Jenny had, every day for a month when she was a junior jumper. Jenny would make Ebony drop her stirrups, and then she’d lay the wooden pole across her arms to keep her elbows in and her body back. There were only a few times when Ebony had rocked forward, sending the pole flipping to the ground. Ebony had hated it at the time, but was thankful now. Hard work like that always seemed to pay off.
Jasmine wasn’t lazy, like Ebony expected princesses would be. She was at the barn every day, just like Ebony was, and would be there just as many hours as any of the pro riders if she didn’t have to go to school. Technically, based on her circumstance, she fit the criteria of a princess, but, was she? Ebony concluded that no, Jasmine was not. And this stumped her. She herself hated being called ‘Agony’ or ‘freak’, so why had she been so quick to call Jasmine a princess?
Jazz was no spoilt brat, she was cool. Ebony’s first show jumper friend.
Tootsie Roll, buoyed by having Johnny boy watching her ringside with Winnie, was a star in the 1.10-meter Friends of the Meadows class on the opening day of the Spruce
Meadows February Classic tournament, held in the voluminous Equi-Plex indoor arena.
Her red ribbon was the first to be displayed on the black Poplar Ridge Farms drop sheet, which the grooms had erected on the wall of their tack room, at the beginning of their designated stalls. Nearly all of the best horses from Marcus Frank’s stable had been moved to the main facility at Spruce to be cared for and worked during the three-day competition, an honour reserved for only the closest friends of the owners of Spruce. Pretty much all of the other barns were housed in the tent stables, across the snow-laden grounds, on the northern side of the property. Marcus was very tight with all the key players in the International show jumping scene, a member of the core group of elite trainers and Olympic-experienced riders in the world.
Ebony’s three horses were stabled at the end of the aisle, so Monster could be in the corner, with a stall Ebony would use as her tack room separating him from Tootsie and the rest of the horses. Monster still hadn’t warmed to his fellow kind, and no humans, bar Ebony, Winnie and Jazz, dared go near him.
Johnny was just as delighted as Tootsie to be stabled together and the pair spent their morning kissing noses, Tootsie letting out the occasional squeal, as she was coming into heat. Next to Johnny was Jasmine’s Odysseus and the mounts Marcus had brought to show: Saudi Sahara and Le Magnifique, a stunning chestnut Selle Francais mare. On the opposite side of Marcus’s horses were the three of Abia Takahashi; Samurai, Cochise and Fairyland Eleven. Further along were the eight combined horses of Mantina and Dougie, which completed the stalls set aside for the team from Poplar Ridge Farms.
Ebony’s first class aboard Monster was that evening, the first of the 1.20-meter classes.
Her hands shook with nerves as she took Monster’s reins from Winnie in the holding area beside the warm-up ring for the Equi-Plex. Winnie had prepared Monster to perfection; his coat, now dark from a film of sweat — as he was prancing on the spot and tossing his head — was sleek and glossy. His black mane combed and smoothed into a perfect line, forelock nicely shaped, his full tail docked at just the right height, in an arrow-straight line. His brown bridle, martingale, saddle and girth were scrubbed cleaned and sparkling. A crisp white saddle pad with ‘ESH’ scribed in the bottom corner in red embroidery, with a fluffy, half sheepskin between it and the saddle, ensuring the Amerigo’s perfect fit. The polish on Monster’s black hooves was still visible, shining despite the thin layer of sand and dust now clinging to it, courtesy of his carrying on.
Winnie rushed up, cursing him in Spanish as she wiped foam off his mouth and sides of his bit from his grinding teeth, with a rag from her back pocket.
Ebony cringed at the twanging country music filling the room, Monster flinched at the sound of a door slamming. A dog barked and he nearly jumped on her foot.
‘Settle, big guy.’ She took a step back and shortened her hold of his reins, resting a hand on his muzzle. Thankfully, Winnie had parked him away from the other horses who were waiting, their heads long and low, with their riders or grooms, behind the white, wooden partitions separating them from the warm-up ring.
The warm-up arena of the Spruce Meadows Equi-Plex was rectangular in shape, with colourful banners with pink running horses hanging from the centre and highest point of the roof. More bright sponsor signs lined the outside boards, and ‘CHAMPION’ rugs in yellow, black and red, hung displayed on the wall. A viewing area and lounge with black glass windows occupied the left hand wall.
Ebony spotted Natasha Giebler standing at the far end of the ring, in front of the bleachers. Her ancient Corgi, Winifred, no doubt sleeping at her feet. ‘Nana’, as everyone called her, was the widower of an oil tycoon, so had seemingly never ending capital to purchase some of the world’s best horses. Ebony had learned from the rider’s list that Nana would only be competing her green, up-and-coming horses at this show, no doubt leaving her ‘masters’ at home to rest up for Florida. Horses that good didn’t need the extra schooling.
Nana’s small, brown eyes roved the warm-up ring. There was a curvaceous blonde on a gangly chestnut thoroughbred that had a long, thin neck and sparkly brow band who was bouncing around, getting a lot of attention. She had huge, round breasts and a booty that spilled out of the back of her saddle. She was wearing a thick, sparkly belt to match her horse’s brow band and had left her long, curly blonde hair in a ponytail out the back of her helmet. Her ponytail sprang as enthusiastically as her breasts as she bounced up to the practice fence, her horse breaking into a trot, then taking off long, and nearly flipping over the top rail when he rapped it hard with his lazy front legs.
It was chaos, as usual, in the warm-up ring, with riders and horses walking, trotting, cantering, in all directions. Some darted down the centre of the ring, to take one of the three practice fences, their trainers standing adjacent, with their arms folded or hands shoved in pockets, even chatting into mobile phones. Occasionally, they would wave a hand to ask a rider to take a fence or to tell them that they were done, and ready for the ring.
Nana was dressed as usual with her greying hair swept back over her ears and tucked up neatly into her helmet. The collar of her black show jacket and crisp white shirt was visible over the thick fur of her fox-hair coat, drowning the woman’s tiny frame. She could hardly see over the boards, so small was her stature; no larger than a child. Ebony had always marvelled at this woman’s ability to perfectly control even the largest of hot-blooded Warmbloods, and win. She hated getting beat by Nana.
Ebony was jolted from her thoughts when Monster’s head shot into the air and his body went rigid. The solid horse then started to shake, and took a slow, cautious step towards her. Ebony stood on her tip toes, to peek over his wither.
Luther Hammerstein’s flat brown eyes glared at her. He had a hold of a clump of Monster’s mane. ‘Brave, taking this one on,’ he said, giving Monster’s mane a tug.
Ebony grabbed his thin hand and squeezed. Luther held Monster’s mane for a moment, sneered at her, then snatched his hand away. He wiped it on his jacket, as if he’d been holding manure. ‘Watch your back, girl. People won’t be happy to see this piece of garbage back in the ring.’
Ebony glared and let her head cock to the side. She put a hand on Monster’s neck, to reassure him. His eyes had gone wild and his skin was shivering. She stepped around in front of him, speaking softly, and faced Luther. ‘I’ve warned you never to threaten me, you sick old man.’
‘Never threats, my dear. Never threats.’ Luther turned his sunken, narrow face towards the warm-up fences and took a step away from her. ‘Only concerned for your safety, as always.’
‘Leave us alone.’ She stepped forward, into Luther’s space, forcing him further backwards.
Luther raised his hands in surrender, laughing — a sinister sound — and sauntered off towards his horse and groom. ‘See you out there,’ he said, waving casually over his shoulder.
Ebony bit her tongue, to keep from screaming out exactly what she thought of this horrible man. But it wouldn’t be anything she hadn’t said to him already, and she was all too aware of Monster’s shaken state.
She moved to his head, taking his nose in her hands. ‘It’s okay, buddy,’ she said. ‘Nobody will ever hurt you again.’ Monster was still shaking and he was now drenched in sweat, his eyes rolling in panic. Ebony was sick with nerves herself as Winnie helped her up, to have a quick flat — hopefully to get Monster’s mind on the job and settle him down. It wasn’t long before she’d have to walk the course, then warm him up over some practice fences, before being called to the ring to compete.
Monster did settle a fraction and was at least responding to her commands on the flat, so she left him in Winnie’s safe hands and jogged for the ring to study the course board and walk the course. This arena was three times the size of the warm-up ring, with bright, round lights dotting the ceiling and two large, electronic scoreboards scrolling lit up text on the far end wall. Rows of red plastic chairs in ascending levels lined the wall opposite,
with parents, fans, children, dogs sitting up by themselves and panting with the excitement of show day. There were twelve, brightly coloured fences in total, with flower arrangements and greenery at the base of each, set big for this division, with wide, solid spreads. She hoped like hell Monster was up to it; another blow to his confidence could finish him for good.
Someone grabbed Ebony by the shoulder as she took one final look at the course board, fastened to the side of the huge jumping ring in the main body of the Equi-Plex. ‘Got it, girlie?’ Marcus said, his lips coming dangerously close to the side of her face.
She swatted his hand off of her shoulder, still reeling from her contact with Luther. ‘Don’t you dare call me that.’
‘Ooh, touchy today,’ Marcus moved in beside her, ‘let’s settle down, please. Don’t want to spook the Monster.’
Ebony gritted her teeth, and forced a breath. She was well aware of her poor horse’s fragility, she didn’t need her trainer rubbing it in.
‘He’ll be fine, Eb.’ Marcus rubbed her shoulders, back and forth, a few times. ‘Have a little faith.’
Ebony sighed. ‘Someone said that to me once.’ Cecile.
‘Then they were certainly wise.’ He let her go and waved a hand towards the gate to the ring. ‘Shall we? I’d like to walk it with you and Abia before the princess decides to grace us with her presence.’
‘And here I thought you’d never have a good idea.’ Ebony followed Marcus into the ring. The pair paused in front of the first fence, a yellow vertical set to the full metre twenty on a ninety-degree angle to the far side of the ring. Ebony swept the course with her eyes, remembering where they would need to walk, and spotted Abia talking to a marshal in an orange reflective vest near the entrance to the ring. Abia was beautiful, Ebony had always thought, with her smooth, perfect skin, soft, pink lips and wide, sparkling black eyes. Nearly in her forties, and Abia still had such a girlish figure and not a wrinkle on her face.