Winter Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 2)

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  Chris’s face turned angry. I had only seen angry on him a few times before and it was a little frightening to see such a usually composed person losing it. “I have no idea why you and she are talking about things like that. But regardless, that was when I was 17. I was a junior. I wasn’t thinking about clients or my reputation.”

  “No, I guess you were just thinking about your dick. Which for some reason you don’t seem to care about anymore.”

  “What the hell is going on with you?” Chris said. “I tell you that the horse I thought was something special I’m now going to have to dump for 150K as an eq horse and you’re surprised that I’m not really in the mood for sex?”

  I shook my head, disgusted with myself.

  “I don’t get this,” Chris said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, turning on myself. “I just thought I could take your mind off things. I just thought, I don’t know, everything seems so much harder than when we were in Vermont. You’re always busy. You’re stressed out. I thought coming here would be so much different.”

  “Yeah, and I told you I didn’t think it was such a great idea. Vermont was like this moment of my career where I had to make myself relax a little because I had no international horses and I was at a smaller circuit and that’s not what the rest of my life is like. This is my life now and it’s kind of stressful.”

  “So what we had in Vermont wasn’t real?” I felt tears pressing at the back of my eyelids. My breath was getting shallow. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, Vermont wasn’t real. What we had was real and I’m not saying we can’t be together. Far from it. But we have to learn to be together in this reality. And it’s different.”

  I nodded. I felt like such a fool. I felt horribly rejected by him, but more than that I felt dumb for not seeing how he needed an adult relationship, not a teen romance. “I’m really sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Can we just forget this ever happened?”

  “I guess.” It didn’t seem like he could forget it ever happened, though. He looked even less happy than he had when I’d come into the room and found him. “I guess I’m going home.”

  “Okay, I should go back to the farm anyway, see what Dakota wants to do for dinner.”

  Chris nodded. He seemed like he was out of the energy to speak, or out of words to say to me.

  Chapter 20

  Things returned to semi-normal. Chris was busy, I was busy, and I think we both tried to pretend what had happened in his tack room hadn’t happened. Anytime I thought of it, I burned with hot-faced shame. I felt no better than Harris’s yoga wife who had come on to Chris in the stalls in Vermont.

  We had sex Sunday night and it was mechanical, how-to-manual sex. Kiss here, feel there, insert Part A into Part B. After him pushing me away I certainly wasn’t going to try any more wild tricks. It felt like something we had to do, not something we wanted to do or, even better, couldn’t stop ourselves from doing. It felt like we were both trying to prove to each other that things were fine between us. But we both knew they weren’t and the disappointing sex just made it even more obvious.

  There was no great reveal of my laser-project. It was kind of by the by when Chris saw me naked after we had finished.

  “Wow,” he said, his voice tentative.

  “Wow, good? Wow, bad?”

  He pulled the sheet over us. “I guess just wow, different.”

  “That doesn’t sound wow, good.” I felt more shame creeping over me.

  “You don’t have to be something you aren’t,” Chris said. “I mean if that’s what you want to do…”

  “No, it killed,” I said. “But I thought you would like it.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. I could see he was thinking how to put this delicately. “I don’t know. It’s a little dramatic. A little abnormal. I mean you’re not an eleven-year-old girl, you’re a woman.”

  My face flushed red. A woman. That wasn’t exactly something that should make me blush but it sounded so adult, so mature. I didn’t feel like I lived up to it in the bedroom or out of the bedroom with the choices I’d been making lately. “I’m sorry, it was stupid.”

  “I just don’t get what you’re doing,” he said. “It’s like you’re trying so hard.”

  “I know, I am trying hard. I thought this winter would be like us spending all this time together and you just seem far away all the time.”

  “I’m just trying to get my career on track again.” He looked sad—maybe that I didn’t get it and that he had to keep explaining it to me.

  It hit me that I didn’t need sexy underwear or new moves in bed. I needed to understand what he was dealing with. I needed to be patient and forgiving. I scooted close to him and put my hand on his shoulders. I massaged his back. His muscles felt tight. “I’m sorry, I’ve been selfish. I get now more than ever what you’re going through and I’m going to be there for you from now on. It’s like I can finally see straight and I can see what’s important.”

  He shrugged, moving his shoulders as I squeezed his muscles. Like maybe he didn’t quite believe that things would change, or that I could understand what it was like to be him. But I knew they would change. Starting right now I had a new plan. I would stop listening to Mary Beth for Godsakes and start making everything about supporting Chris. I would listen to him tell me about clients and horses. I wouldn’t ask him when he was free for dinner or put any other demands on him. I’d cheer him on at the ring. I’d bring him bottles of water and energy bars. Maybe I could help him by running part of his social media campaigns. Or there had to be other things I could do to lighten his load. Take his laundry to the cleaner, pick up Jasper’s food. There had to be things I could do and I would do them. By God, I would do them and I would do them well.

  I was in charge of scheduling and supervising all the people who worked on Dakota’s horses. As with most A circuit hunter/jumper barns that meant a lot of service providers. If only people got treated as well medically as these horses did. There were the bread-and-butter services like the monthly visit from the farrier and the as-needed vet appointments. Then there was acupuncture, massage, and laser. Some of the treatments we did ourselves. I learned how to use the ultra sound machine to stimulate blood flow and each day every horse went on the vibration platform.

  There were different kinds of personalities of the people who worked at this level with the horses and I enjoyed getting to know them and their stories. I found if you hung out with them while they worked on the horses, which I did, they were happy to tell you where they’d come from and how they got into what they were doing. Even the more buttoned-up people also let slip bits of gossip about the other clients they worked for.

  Our farrier was the son of a farrier. He had gone into the family business right after high school, never really considering any other profession. He was the quiet serious type, focusing on his craft. At first I’d thought maybe he was mean, or didn’t like me or Linda, but I came to learn he was just sort of socially awkward, maybe even on the autism spectrum. He didn’t meet your eye when he spoke to you, and when he did say something it often came out of nowhere and it would take me a moment to figure out what he was talking about. He seemed more comfortable with horses than people.

  The vet was more of a blowhard, who liked to name-drop. How he’d just been over at this or that Olympian’s farm. He bustled in and bustled out with an entourage of assistants, suggesting injections and treatments, and always leaving an inconceivable bill in his wake. His name was Dr. Robb and I’d heard people call him Dr. Rob You Blind behind his back. I wondered if he knew people called him that.

  The acupuncturist had been a lawyer in her first life but she had always had a love for animals. After the break-up of her marriage, she became disenchanted with the legal system and had gone back to school for acupuncture. She’d first practiced on people but had then become disenchanted with people too and, since she always had a love of animals, offered her services at a bar
n near where she lived. Word spread about her talents and all it took was working for one high profile stable to set her on a course of working on the show circuit. Now she spent her winters in Wellington. She had never ridden a horse and before showing up at that first barn she’d never spent any time around horses but she did fine with them, knowing how to move around them and where they needed help. She would talk to them in a whispery voice as she inserted the needles. “I bet that feels good. I know you hurt there, don’t you, sweetie?” The first few times I found it kind of annoying but I became used to her and sometimes I almost felt myself relax at the same time that Midway or Dudley let his head drop and his lip quiver.

  Then there was Dede, the masseuse. She was my favorite because she was a born teacher. She liked to work on the horses and talk about what she was doing. She didn’t just have me sit there—by my second visit she was showing me how to find a pressure point and hold it. She taught me how to do stretches with the horses and not just the lame old carrot-stretch trick. She taught me about their muscular system and which muscles were used most in which disciplines. She worked on dressage horses and event horses too. She had grown up riding, but locally, mostly Pony Club stuff. She was in her early forties and had a daughter in middle school. Her husband owned a construction company. She was one of those attractive granola types—the kind that looked good without make-up or fancy clothes. She wore athletic tank-tops, loose-fitting cargo shorts, and L.L. Bean boots.

  We became friends and I talked to her about how I left school to be with Chris. I didn’t tell her everything that was going on with Chris but she knew a little bit about how I was trying to support him as he rebuilt his business. I catalogued to her what I’d done to be helpful of late—brought him lunch at the show, stocked his fridge, picked up his laundry.

  I felt like maybe the things I was doing for Chris were helping. He was appreciative but so far it didn’t seem like he was much less stressed. And things between us were still slightly off. Chris had finally gone over to help Mary Beth with her horse, to be there in case he needed to call the ambulance. The hack-a-bit had worked wonders and MB had gone clean in the next class she’d shown in. She’d thrown her arms around Chris when she’d seen him next. The fact that I was with him didn’t seem to deter her in the slightest.

  “Be careful you don’t just do things for him,” Dede warned. “You have to take care of you, too.” She pressed on Midway’s neck. “Ooh, come here,” she said to me.

  She took my hand and positioned it on Midway’s neck. “Now, with measured force,” she said.

  I hesitated. I swear Midway glanced at me like, you’re doing massage now?

  “You can do it,” Dede said.

  I pressed and Midway did a funny little sigh-groan. He lowered his head, looking dreamy. I kissed him on the little perfect white spot on his lower lip. I loved to kiss him there. It was like that spot was designed for being kissed. Right then horses felt easier than men.

  “You just made his day,” Dede said.

  “If only I could make Chris so happy,” I said.

  Chapter 21

  The winter circuit was filled with charitable social events. Nearly every weekend there was one themed gala or another. The socialite riders and their wealthy parents donned their glittery frocks and turned out in droves for a night of cocktails, dancing, mingling, performances, and live auctions. All the causes were worthy—JustWorld International, Horses Healing Hearts, Polo for a Purpose, The Salvation Tree School etc. But to me it all seemed so tiresome.

  Chris wasn’t big on the social events either but he said he did need to be conscious of the fact that being seen at charity events raised your public profile, especially if your sexy smile got snapped and blasted out in a post-party press release. Also, it was at events like these that you met and chatted with potential sponsors. You networked and made connections that might just land you your next grand prix horse. Too many charity events and you became a social-slut—you had to pick and choose the right ones and make sure to present yourself well and never get sloppy drunk, which apparently was a problem for plenty of people at these events.

  Chris had chosen two events to attend this season. The first was the Great Charity Challenge, which was a participatory event for him because riders competed on teams to raise money for a chosen charity. It was also fun because the riders dressed up in costume. Some riders took it really seriously and outfitted their horse too. I was fine with the idea of Chris doing the Charity Challenge. In fact, I thought it would be fun. Until I found out he was on the same team with Mary Beth.

  “She put together the team, I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he told me preemptively because I’m sure he knew I wasn’t going to be happy.

  “That sounds great,” I said, keeping my jealousy from bubbling up. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel jealous. I did. Super jealous. But the new me was supporting Chris. I was all about his career. I wasn’t going to let him see how petty I really felt inside.

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes, this is good for your image. There’ll be pictures in The Chronicle and all over. It’s important.”

  And there were pictures in The Chronicle and all over. And it probably was great for Chris’s image. But the night nearly killed me. To begin with, he hadn’t told me that he and Mary Beth were dressing up in coordinated costumes. The theme of the night was superheroes. Mary Beth prepared this whole Batman costume for Chris and a Catwoman costume for her. I had to Google it to be sure, but yes, Batman and Catwoman were hot for each other. Chris asked me if he could ride Logan and, of course, I said yes. Logan looked great. He had a black saddle pad with a Batman logo on it, and a specially designed black hood that had the logo on it too. Mary Beth’s Catwoman suit was skin tight and sexy, even on horseback. Lily was the third person on their team. She was dressed in a cute Batgirl costume. Now, couldn’t Mary Beth have been the asexual Batgirl and Lily have been Catwoman instead?

  I watched the class from the spectator tent, smiling at people around me and concurring with them how great Chris’s and Mary Beth’s costumes were and how yes, Mary Beth was a doll for getting the whole thing organized in support of the Helping Hands Assistance Program. Their team didn’t win the grand prize but they did raise a fair chunk of change for Helping Hands. What a feel good night! Only, I didn’t feel good at all.

  Mary Beth and Chris came up to the tent after the class and posed for more pictures. They had drinks and chatted with sponsors of the class. My face muscles hurt so much from fake-smiling. But I couldn’t let on how I really felt, least of all to Chris.

  If the Charity Challenge wasn’t enough, a week later there was the EQUUS event that Chris and Mary Beth were co-chairs of. EQUUS was a great umbrella organization that awarded grants to horse charities ranging from therapeutic riding programs to thoroughbred rescues to riding camps for impoverished inner city kids. I couldn’t blame Chris for accepting to be a co-chair because it was such a great organization but I wanted things that kept him and MB apart, not brought them together.

  “She asked me last year and I said yes and honestly I had forgotten all about it until a few months ago and I couldn’t back out.”

  “I totally understand,” I said. “This is something you need to do.”

  This event felt a little better because at least I would be going as Chris’s date. On a Monday, Linda went with me to the mall and I bought a very pretty dress and shoes at Nordstrom. Together they cost a week’s salary but I didn’t care. I had to look amazing at this event. More than anything, I had to look better than Mary Beth.

  The day of the gala started out like any other. Put in the orders, get the horses to the ring, deal with Dakota’s moods. Linda had said I could go home early to get dressed—she knew how important this night was to me. I left around 4:00 and started my preparations. Shower, blow-out my hair, actually apply make-up. Then put on my dress and the heels I bought. Linda had loaned me a clutch she bought at Skiffington’s Boutique at the
show.

  I twirled in front of the mirror, waiting for Chris to come pick me up. I had to admit I looked good. I loved the dress I’d bought. It was a mesh, beaded fabric in a metallic gray color. The beads were frosty and sparkled a little and then the fitted waist tapered to a wispy, flared floor-length skirt. It was tasteful and a little sexy with a small opening in the back and a see-through part above my chest. I was ready.

  I’d never seen Chris in a suit, let alone a tuxedo. Wow. He looked amazing. I hadn’t gone to my senior prom and this felt like my chance to go back in time. If I had gone to the prom, I’d never have gone with someone so stunning. He didn’t hand me a corsage, of course, but that was fine. He did tell me I looked beautiful.

  “You look amazing too. Did you rent the tux?”

  “I own it. Comes out a few times a year.”

  Of course. This was the life Chris led. I wondered how many times he’d put on this very same tuxedo and picked up Mary Beth instead of me. I tried to stop my mind from doing the whole jealous thing. What did it matter what parties he went to before we were dating? Only when it came to Mary Beth, it all mattered.

  “Who’s Mary Beth going with?” I asked.

  “Andres.”

  “But he’s gay, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s not a date, clearly.”

  Damn. Couldn’t Mary Beth move on and find herself another man? No, apparently she had to do the bring-your-gay-BFF-to-the-party thing. Keeping her options open, surely.

  The tent was beautifully decorated in the theme of farm-to-table dining. Each table was numbered with a rustic chalkboard and had votives in large ball jars. The centerpieces were a mixture of whimsical wildflowers. There were a lot of faces I didn’t recognize. I guess they were mostly the older people who could afford the two hundred dollar ticket. I did recognize the wealthy, socialite mother of a former junior rider who had won everything a few years earlier, including the Maclay Finals. The mother must have had plastic surgery—I knew it was her, but her face looked distorted and off-kilter.