“Wait! Hold up!” Leon rushed toward them with film crew in tow. “Are you Mark Simmons?”
“In the flesh,” Mark said, chuckling as he pulled his shirt down. “What can I do for you?”
Leon motioned for the crew to move in on each side. “On a count of four, I want you to tell me a little about yourself. Four. Three. Two. One. Action.”
Mark glanced at Randy. He wasn’t offering any help. Neither was Dusty. From the looks on their faces, he figured they’d both already had their turn and they hadn’t been prepared either. “Do I introduce myself or just start talking?”
“Cut!” Leon sighed. “All right, let’s try this again. Four, three, two, one.”
“My name is Mark….”
“Cut!”
“What?!” Mark said.
“Wait for me to say action. Four, three, two, one. Action.”
When Mark hesitated, Leon waved impatiently. “I said Action.”
“My name is Mark Simmons and I’m a racetrack veterinarian.” He paused a few seconds trying to think of what to say. “I’m relatively new to the business. I’ve only been practicing for a couple of years now. I used to be a horse trainer. I trained trotters.” He looked down at the supplies in his hand and then out at the racetrack where the horses were warming up for the first race. “I’ve been around horses all my life. This is my life. I can’t imagine being anywhere else or doing anything else.”
“Cut!”
“What?” Mark said.
“Nothing. Just cut. That’s a wrap.”
With the film crew standing at attention, waiting, Leon pointed to the track kitchen and turned to lead the way. He glanced back at Randy who was still making notations on his clipboard. “Did you all get together and decide to say how much you all love this racetrack life?”
Randy looked up. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Leon smiled. Very possibly it was the first time any of them had seen him smile genuinely since starting this documentary, his film crew included. “I was just wondering. I can’t imagine being in a place where I want to be, day in and day out.”
Randy studied the man. “So is that another breakthrough?”
“I think so,” Leon said, moving on. “I may never leave.”
Randy got out of his truck to change his shirt and walked to the rail with Dusty to watch the race. The horses were being loaded in the starting gate, the race three-quarters of a mile. They had a good vantage point. One by one, the pony boys and pony girls handed their horses over to the gate crew. The six horse didn’t want to load.
Randy checked his program. It was one of his clients’ horses, Bamm Bamm. “He’s a stubborn little shit.”
Dusty nodded. “He’s got some talent though.”
Two of the gate crew clasped hands behind the horse and coaxed him in.
“They’re at the post!” Bud Gipson announced. “And they’re off!”
The number six horse broke on top.
“Taking the early lead is Bamm Bamm.”
When Randy’s phone pinged with a text message he checked it quickly and then shoved the phone back into his pocket. Dusty looked at him. “Nothing from Dawn yet?”
“No. She should have landed by now.” The two watched the horses charge down the backstretch. The wind had shifted and they could barely hear the call of the race. One of the grooms watching the monitor in the Ginny stand by the track kitchen was rooting hard for one of the horses already.
Dusty yelled to him. “Who’s in front, Dave?”
“Bamm Bamm. Shit! Come on, Dixie!”
Randy received a voicemail message. By the time he listened to it and hung up, the two horses out front were racing down the stretch side by side, well in front of the rest of the field.
“And at the wire it is Bamm Bamm and Dixie Lee!”
Dave stared at the video screen in the Ginny stand. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” He hurried outside to watch the horses pulling up and yelled to Dixie’s jockey. “Did she get up?”
“I think so!”
The young man let out a whoop and jumped up and down, then hurried over to where Randy and Dusty were standing to try and see the tote board. When he couldn’t make out the numbers, he hurried back to the Ginny stand to check the monitor and was almost there when Bud announced Dixie Lee the winner.
“She win it!” Dusty yelled, in case he didn’t hear.
“My baby! My baby!” Dave yelled as the filly and her jockey cantered past him on their way back to the grandstand. “That’s my baby! That’s my girl! Daddy loves you!”
Randy checked his phone when it pinged again. “All right! Finally.” He read the message out loud. “Arrived okay. Met interesting woman on plane. She works with BeadforLife. Going to check it out first thing.”
Dawn wasn’t a shopper, not by any stretch.
“Them must be some beads,” Dusty said.
Randy laughed. It was such a relief knowing she’d made it there safely. “Great!” he texted back. “Keep me posted.”
“What? No X’s and O’s?”
Randy smiled and turned to watch the horses coming off the track. As customary, Dixie Lee and Bamm Bamm were tagged to go to the test barn. Additionally, a large gray had been tagged. It wasn’t a horse Randy recognized.
“Dream Carter,” Dusty said.
The horse was favoring his right front leg. Dusty let them pass and then hobbled along behind them to the test barn. As the Nottingham Downs Liaison Official, monitoring the horses wasn’t being nosy, it was his job, one he took very seriously. The track veterinarian documented the horse’s condition - Dusty took stock of the horse’s situation. He would oversee what took place in the test barn today and he would be at the horse’s barn in the morning to follow up on the horse’s condition, and the day after that, and the day after that if need be. The welfare of each and every horse at Nottingham Downs was his business.
Randy called after him. “Do you want a ride?”
“No, I’m okay.”
The first year that Nottingham Downs implemented a Liaison Official a lot of the trainers objected. They felt it was an invasion of their privacy, their rights. Some felt it was crossing a line of sorts, trainers being independent contractors. Remington, one of the trainers, even went so far as to draw up a petition to have the Liaison Official position eliminated. In the end, he was only able to garner four signatures.
“Talk’s cheap,” Remington had insisted. “We need to band together.”
“Yes,” Murdock, another trainer, said to him. “But this is a privately-owned track. It’s Ben’s. And when it’s all said and done, I don’t know who else I would want on our side more than Ben and Dusty. It’s as simple as that.”
Dusty hobbled along and glanced ahead. Someone was leading a large bay horse into the Miller barn. He squinted. It was Junior. The young man waved. “I got him. He’s mine. He’s all mine! Lock, stock, and barrel. He’s mine!”
~ * ~
The film crew arrived just before 6:30 to video Alley Beau’s morning work. “Hopefully it’ll make for some great footage,” Leon said, hardly awake. “It better be, getting us here at this ungodly hour.”
“Greetings!” Ben motioned for them to step out of the way as Junior led Missy down the shedrow and into her stall. She was all wound up this morning, bucking and kicking on every little whim. Junior had already been on three horses and was still “flying high” over finally getting a horse of his own to train. Each time he passed the new horse’s stall, he found it practically impossible to not just stop and marvel at the four-year old gelding. Overdue Max. It seemed a fitting name.
Tom called to him. “Junior, you ready?”
“Yep!”
When Tom led Alley out of his stall the film crew stepped back even further. Standing at 17.2 hands and weighing close to 1300 pounds, the colt had a commanding presence. He also had a rather menacing look about him thanks in part to so much of the whites of his eyes showing. Tom gave Junior a leg up and walke
d down to get on Gizmo while Junior walked the colt around the shedrow.
At this time of the morning, the backside of a racetrack resembles a disturbed anthill. There are horses, grooms, trainers, jockeys and exercise riders and ponies crisscrossing everywhere: horses going to and from the racetrack, horses playing on the walking machines, horses getting baths, horses getting cooled out.
Today, the film crew did their best to avoid collisions and keep up with Ben as he followed along behind Tom and Gizmo, Alley and Junior. “We’re only going to go a half and he’s not going in company.”
Leon looked at him.
“Company is if we were going to work him with another horse. No need, this horse is fit. He’s on top of his game. But there’s not a race for him for till next week. I’m working him today just to keep him sharp. Morning, Joe,” he said to a fellow trainer as they passed one another.
“Morning, Ben.”
“We’re going to work him slow,” Ben said, talking to the camera. “The track’s fast. It’s ideal for a little speed work. You don’t make money in the morning. At the same time, you won’t make money in the afternoon if what you’re doing here and now isn’t right for the horse.”
Alley, feeling good, bucked as he was being led onto the racetrack.
Ben leaned on the rail and lowered his hat to shield his eyes from the morning sun. Leon motioned for the crew to move in for a close-up. When he glanced back and forth from Ben to the horses several times, Ben got the hint and described the process.
“They’ll back him up, which means they’re going to jog him almost to the grandstand. Tom’ll be watching for traffic; the other horses galloping or getting ready to work. He’ll pick his spot and turn Alley around. Alley’ll jump and carry on for a second.” He laughed and pointed. “See?”
Leon watched as Tom, riding the pony Gizmo, led Alley Beau and the rider down the middle of the racetrack, watched as Alley fought with the bit in his mouth, tossing his head.
“He wants to run off.” Ben picked up a phone by the rail. “Alley Beau, half mile.”
Leon signaled for an explanation.
“If you’re going to work a horse,” Ben said, responding. “You have to chart that work. That’s the clocker’s job. The time of the work will be listed on the horse’s form to let the fans know how he’s training.” When Leon glanced at his watch, Ben added, “The time of how fast they work.”
Leon nodded, grateful for that clarification. Several horses passed in front of them near the rail going the opposite direction, some being ponied, some with just their jockeys.
“You got your Velcro on?” Ben asked one of them.
The jockey grinned. “That was too close a call.”
Ben agreed, explaining, “He almost fell off yesterday.”
“But for the grace of God,” Pastor Mitchell said, joining them.
“That - and the boy can ride,” Ben said.
Pastor Mitchell smiled. “I’m not denying that.”
As Tom, Gizmo, Alley Beau and Johnny approached, Ben yelled to them. “Forty eight and change’ll do nicely.”
Junior nodded. He had his hands full trying to hold the horse, even with Tom’s help. No time for putting on a show or spouting off. Ben watched them gallop through the turn and start down the backstretch.
Leon motioned out and around to the photographer on Ben’s right, wanting him to capture the look of intensity in Ben’s eyes. Closer. Closer. Closer…. As much as he wanted to signal for Ben to keep talking, he thought better, and turned and watched the horses. There were so many of them. He finally caught sight of Alley Beau just as Tom turned him and his rider loose.
“He’ll work from that red and white pole,” Ben said. “Watch. There they go.”
Leon had the videographer get down on his knee so he could better film Pastor Mitchell and Ben together. Then careful to stay out of the shot, he gave Ben a beseeching tap on his shoulder. Talk, talk, talk.
“He looks good,” Ben said. “I think he’s really handling the track nicely. Easy, Junior, easy.” With that, he grew quiet, reverting back to just being a trainer for a moment, watching intently as Alley worked through the turn and started down the stretch. “Damn it,” he said. “Two just broke out of the gate right behind him. Hold him, Junior. Hold him. Easy! Easy!” Ben and Pastor Mitchell leaned further over the rail, Leon too.
The horses were making a run at Alley. “Times like this, I wish he ran in full blinkers. He sees them. They’d have very little chance at catching him if he was working flat out. But this was supposed to be a slow work, and…. Damn!” Ben said suddenly.
“What?” Leon leaned farther out over the rail to try to see for himself.
“He’s pulling away.”
“That’s good, right? You want him to win, right?”
“No. Wrong.”
“Oh no,” Leon said.
“Junior can’t pull him up down the stretch. Alley’ll fight him. And I don’t need the horse jumping up and down.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Tom and Gizmo, heading this way from the far turn. Normally they’d be positioned down the backstretch to help pull the horse up. Tom’s eagle eyes had assessed the situation. His help just might be needed a little sooner.
The other two horses were working head to head, about three lengths behind Alley Beau, close enough now for them to see Junior glance over his shoulder at the two horses closing ground on him. Ben marveled. Precisely just at the right moment when the horses were about to catch up to him, Junior sat a little lower, letting Alley make a burst of speed - just enough to stay in front, and then again, and again, and by then, they were going under the wire and Junior stood up in his irons and started pulling him up. Tom was positioned not far away to assist.
Ben let out a sigh and picked up the phone.
“Forty seven and four,” the clocker said.
“Thank you. I guess it could have been worse.”
Leon waited to see if Ben would add commentary, but he didn’t. He just hung up the phone and watched his horse pull up. The other two horses were now well past them and galloping out down the backstretch. Drama over.
“Cut!” Leon said. “That’s a wrap! Jesus, that was great! My heart’s pounding. Did you get all that?”
Both videographers nodded. “Even with you obscuring the view,” the one added.
Leon’s mouth dropped. “You’re kidding me! Can it be edited?”
“I think so. I hope so. I don’t know.”
“Here! Give me that!” Leon scanned the footage and looked at Ben and Pastor Mitchell. “How can I ever recapture that moment?”
Pastor Mitchell patted him on the shoulder. “Stick around. Just stick around.”
Leon handed the camera back. Ben had started walking toward the gap where the horses came off the racetrack. He called after him. “When do you think another horse will work? Soon?” He could maybe try splicing it in. “Ben, wait up!”
“I can’t.”
Leon hurried the camera crew after him to film Alley Beau coming off the racetrack.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Junior said, grinning. “Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you earn your keep! That was worth the price of admission!”
Ben laughed. Junior was not known for his humbleness.
“I heard those horses coming and said oh shit!”
Alley Beau was all pumped up, every vein is his neck and shoulders tight and visible as he pranced and snorted.
Ben walked along behind them back to the barn with Leon and the crew on his heels. “Damn,” Leon kept muttering to himself. “Damn, damn, damn. Damn! I can’t believe I got so wrapped up in that scene I forgot why I was here. DAMN!”
Ben just smiled.
Chapter Seven
Dawn gathered her luggage, one bag and a small carry-on, and walked with Virginia through the main terminal, then outside. Her Aunt Maeve visited here often and had shared many stories with her over the years about the various customs and taboos, “The
people are friendly. They are lovely. But you do not travel at night. You are clearly American and they don’t know what you are here for. They are suspicious of you.”
Dawn has a reservation at one of the hotels on Lake Victoria. “Very luxurious,” the cab driver said. Virginia was going to try to reach her destination of a village outside of Kampala by dusk.
“Can we give you a ride?” Dawn asked.
Virginia hesitated, glancing around and lowering her voice. “I’ll be fine. I confess though, it is you that I’m worried about.”
Dawn thought it odd she hadn’t said anything about this on the plane. Equally puzzling, as the two of them stood outside the cab during this brief exchange, three people pushed past them and piled into the vehicle. “You’d better go,” Virginia said.
Dawn assessed the concerned expression on her face. “Did you want to stay with me tonight?”
“Um….” Virginia shook her head, but a second later, nodded. “Go on, get in,” she said, and climbed in beside her. Another person followed.
“There is room for one more,” the driver said, standing outside the cab. “One more.”
The new person squeezed into the front seat next to two others. Dawn and Virginia sat wedged in the back seat with four other passengers. “This is lovely,” Dawn whispered to Virginia.
“The rest will be a piece of cake.” Virginia nodded to the young man sitting on her side. “Right?”
He shrugged.
“The National Language in Uganda is British English, so you should have no problem communicating,” Virginia had told Dawn on the plane. “But it is important to use simple direct language without American slang. And speak slowly. There are many different tribes and as many as forty dialects in Uganda. Five or six major ones. In Kampala many speak Luganda, but just stick to English and you’ll be okay. No one expects you to know their dialect and you want to appear as if you know the ropes. Otherwise, everyone will be trying to sell you something all the time. Meat on a stick. Roasted maize. Sunglasses. They will try to sell you anything and everything. You will be held up everywhere.”
They rode for some time, no one talking, no one moving. The driver hummed and every so often sang out, “Day O – Day O!” Then he’d go back to humming.
Book Four of the Winning Odds Series: Soon to be a Movie Page 5