Oh boy, she thought to herself. This is going to be a tad more difficult than she hoped.
“Babe, I can’t go with you. As I was trying to explain before those kids interrupted us last night, I have to head overseas again.”
“You’re not coming. You just got back.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I have to leave soon.”
“Where are you headed?”
She so wished she hadn’t put those two kids down last night. It was sure to raise more suspicions with her husband, especially combined with revealing her destination.
“Saudi Arabia,” she said sharply, offering no other explanation.
He looked at her a bit startled.
“I know you have access to more money than most third world countries do. But correct me if I’m wrong, from what I understand doesn’t Saudi Arabia have more than say, everyone.”
“David this isn’t a fund-raising jaunt, or a spread the wealth expedition. I had a call yesterday from King Abdullah. Fyad’s is being married this weekend. The wedding date has been moved up. He called personally to confirm my attendance.”
“I thought he was getting married in a couple of months.”
“That was the original plan. He didn’t offer me the reasoning behind the change. You know I need to attend this wedding David. Why don’t you join me? You were originally planning on coming. Serge and Renée can deal with the California race. I could even ask my father to go with them and oversee the weekend.”
“You know I can’t. I’d love nothing more than to be with you, but I need to be at the track. To be honest, because of the fire, I may have to miss the race myself. I do have meetings set up mind you, but they can be rescheduled. There are some breeding contracts which need to be finalized,” he explained. “I have way too much on my plate right now babe. Besides, I’m really not that comfortable socializing with Kings and Queens.”
“Are you sure? They’re actually really nice people. Believe it or not, they can be a lot of fun once the front door is locked.”
“Sorry, I can’t go. It’s okay, you go. Just make sure you don’t stay too long.”
She got up and headed for the shower. He followed. A half hour later they reappeared, smiling.
Shortly thereafter, they were packed and called for a car to take them to the airport. It was a short flight. Nothing further was said about her trip. They talked about the fire and the upcoming race weekend at Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California. This was the race track that saw the legendary horse Seabiscuit rise to fame during the great depression with a Canadian Jockey on him. A little tidbit of the sports history that David took pride in. He lived a great deal of his life in the USA, but was still quite proud of the achievements of his fellow Canadians.
It was a gorgeous day. The sun was shining brightly through the jet’s windows. As they touched down, David wished they could just take off again in the direction of a secluded Caribbean island. He was longing for a week or two of R&R with his wife. But that was not going to happen anytime soon. He was supposed to be in California for the weekend, but may even have to put that aside because of the fire. And she was off to the Middle East.
The plane taxied to a private hanger. Once the engines were shut down, the door opened and the ladder appeared. David and Sandy made their way down and then walked to the structure.
“I’ll get the car,” David said as he followed his wife closely.
She turned to him, “David I’m not going back to the ranch. I have to leave now. The guys are filing a flight plan and we take off within the hour.”
“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. When you say soon, you mean it.”
“When I shortened my last trip, I canceled a speaking engagement. If I leave right away, I can fulfill my prior commitment. It’s a choice audience, the corps d’elite. I should make an effort to attend if I can make it happen. The Save the Children foundation stands to raise serious cash at the event. The more I can accomplish on this trip, the longer we can spend on that extended vacation in the middle of nowhere that you’ve been day dreaming about.”
He looked surprised, “how did you know that’s what I was thinking about.”
“Another one of my amazing talents,” she answered with a seductive smile. “I’ve been relishing the thought of self-imposed exile with you, on some deserted island.”
“Come here,” he said reaching out his arms.
He gave her a kiss, while hugging her tighter and longer than normal not wanting to go in separate directions. They knew it was inevitable this was going to be a part of their lives. But savoring the here and now was special. These partings were becoming more frequent. Nevertheless, it didn’t get any easier.
Eventually they found a way to say their goodbyes, and went their separate ways. David out the front doors of the hanger to retrieve his vehicle from the parking facility reserved for those who were privileged in ownership of a private jet. He was heading directly to the stables.
Sandy exited the way she entered, by the hanger door facing the tarmac. She walked to and climbed the stairs of the aircraft. Her next few days were going to be a trying exercise—believing in the magnitude of the task at hand justified the frequent separations from the man she loved.
Chapter 4
Around the same time David and Sandy were entangled in the shower, Renée was opening her eyes to a new day. The sun was penetrating through the window, brighter than normal. Most days at this time she would be beginning her routine at the stables, but not this morning. There were two reasons for this. First, it was going to be a late night because she had to prepare one of their finest horses for transportation to the West Coast. He had to be ready to be driven to the airport by seven that evening.
The second reason was lying beside her, still fast asleep. Meeting in the parking lot while leaving the stables late last night, they decided to grab a night cap at The Dead Heat, a bar and grill not far from work. It is a favorite gathering spot for the people who frequent the race track. Owned and operated by two retired jockeys, Sebastian and Leven, both world class riders and highly respected by the inner circle of the racing world. Most thought they had retired much too early. However, Leven had a couple of nagging injuries that he was dealing with on a daily basis. Not severe enough to hamper his riding ability, but annoying enough to remind him that he wasn’t getting any younger. Sebastian was a few years younger and had some good years left in him. He easily could have extended his successful career. The two men had become close friends throughout the years of competing against one another. When the opportunity to purchase the establishment came around, a partnership was formed. They saw it as a way to stay in touch with the people in the business far into the future, albeit in a different capacity. It allowed them to experience the camaraderie they had become accustomed to.
Renée and her sleepover weren’t regulars. The majority of their time was spent working and sleeping, with the odd timeout for a bite to eat. On occasion they ran into each other, and it typically led to a drink or two. There was a lot of common ground, as Renée was a trainer and her guest was a jockey, actually North America’s current leading jockey.
Renée’s home was a spacious two-bedroom condominium, located close to the track. If asked, she would describe her décor as comfy. There were lots of pillows, comfortable couches, large lazy boys that you could fall into, each with its own reading lamp hovering over it. She loved to read, and wanted to feel relaxed no matter what piece of furniture she found herself occupying.
Plopped in one of those chairs located at the side of her bed, she sat reading, which was unusual for this time of day. But it had been an enjoyable night, she felt content, a morning without a worry in the world. She would read for a while, until her guest awoke. Then a quick breakfast would be in order before finding their way to work. This was a noncommittal relationship. They had been together only a few times within the past year. The encounters were enjoyed by both, fulfilling each other’s sexual appetite,
minus any emotional ties. Intense, exhausting, uninhibited, open-minded. Neither took it too seriously. There was a lot of laughter and kidding around during the hours they spent jumping each other’s bones. A quiet morning of relaxation and recuperation was the right choice.
“Good morning.”
Renée turned with a smile on her face and was greeted by the same.
“Good morning. You were sleeping like a baby.”
“I was wasn’t I? You have that effect on me,” her guest replied. “Why don’t you come join me?”
“Seriously,” Renée questioned in a jokingly manner, then giving her guest a quick wink with a sexy little smirk on her face.
“We both have to get to work. I’m already going to be late. I have a busy day ahead of me.”
With that she leaned onto the bed with one knee and gave Gabriela a kiss on the forehead.
“Time to get that tight little jockey butt up and ready,” Renée said.
She did get up and they went into the kitchen area, each sporting only a t-shirt that barely covered their bottoms.
Gabriela was smaller than Renée by a whopping five pounds. She was on a regimented diet. She was required to meet a weight restriction each and every race. Her goal was to maintain a weight of 105 lbs or less. Most races required weighing in at 115 to 126 lbs. The Kentucky Derby, one of the world’s most prestige’s races, carried a weight restriction of 126 lbs. This included the weight of both the jockey, and his or her equipment of approximately ten pounds. These rigid standards were always on her mind. She refused to adapt the lifestyle of some other jockeys. There were widespread methods of shedding that crucial pound prior to stepping on the race day scale by self-induced vomiting and the use of laxatives.
Both were naturally petite young women. Renée’s weight was similar, topping 110 on a bad day. Gabriela was five foot one inch, and Renée five foot two. If someday her decision was to pursue a career as a jockey, she would have to match her friend’s weight. For now she was satisfied riding exercising laps each day.
When they made love it looked like two teenage girls hidden underneath the covers. However this visualization was the only similarity. These were two accomplished, self-assured, educated, open-minded women who possessed an unquestionable knowledge in the art of lovemaking. Two women small in stature, significant in attainment.
Renée wouldn’t label her sexual preferences. There had been men. Gabriela was only her second female partner. Not much thought was put into the gender of who she slipped under the sheets with. She didn’t entertain often, but when she did meet someone who intrigued her, she let her guard down and engaged in fulfilling her needs. It wasn’t uncommon to go months without companionship. When she first moved to the USA to pursue her career, she remembers not having sex for two years. This didn’t concern her. She had perfected self-gratification and although it wasn’t as memorable as some of her encounters, it did provide some intense orgasms. Her mother had quashed the myths about this method of stimulation at an early age. It wouldn’t make her go blind. It wasn’t something to be embarrassed about. The satisfaction it produced was an acceptable form of pleasure. Having an open relationship with her parents provided the foundation of her extraordinary state of self-confidence.
Renée and Gabriela sat at the breakfast counter nibbling on fruit, drinking smoothies.
“That was an awesome night, Renée. We should find the time to do this more often.”
“We’ll see,” she paused, “but you know that’s not what I’m looking for right now. Look on the bright side. This way it feels like it’s our first time, every time.”
“You have a point,” Gabriela smiled. “Where did you learn some of that stuff,” referring to her being well versed in the bedroom. “That thing with the ice cubes, how did you come up with that? I almost passed out. I didn’t realize an orgasm could be so powerful.”
“Well you know what they say about us little French girls,” they both laughed.
“Merci pour les Français,” Gabriela said, thanking the French.
“C’est mon plaisir,” Renée replied.
They ate, dressed and found their way to work. Gabriela traveling in her Cadillac SUV while Renée rode her bicycle. One requirement of her housing search was to find a location that would allow her to bike. Besides the obvious benefits, this form of transportation provided her with alone time. So much of nature’s offerings were passed over when traveling in a vehicle. By the time she arrived at the track, she felt like she could take on the world. On those days it didn’t seem to be a practical mode of transportation, she rode her BMW HP4 street motorcycle. A thoroughbred race horse was painted on the gas tank.
The track was buzzing with activity when she arrived. Everything was nearly back to normal. The only indication of the destruction was a small crew beginning to reconstruct the building back to its pre-fire form. The authorities released the scene within a day. Today’s task was preparing for the return of the horses.
She was met at the stable’s office by Serge the head trainer. As usual, he seemed to have everything in order. Putting aside his flamboyant style on race days he was one of, if not the best trainers in the world. Renée couldn’t have kept better company. She never judged his over-the-top outfits worn on the race day and she was able to overlook his arrogant mannerisms. He was the best, she knew it. Success breeds success. Surround yourself with the elite. She was doing just that. Listen, learn, question and absorb. You will achieve your quest much sooner.
“A late night, Renée,” Serge greeted her. “You’re normally a much earlier arriver.”
“I apologize. I did have a late evening and should have been here sooner.”
She made no excuses. Messing up sometimes in life was a given. Always admitting her errors and being prepared to face whatever consequence they bore, was a quality characteristic. Although coming in a bit late on a day that probably wouldn’t end until close to midnight wasn’t a big deal. Just tell it like it is.
“Never mind that,” he said. “Actually, I think you should indulge in late evenings more often. You need to introduce more personal time into your schedule. Spending as much time here as you do is not healthy,” he hesitated. “Then again your presence reduces my workload so perhaps a little more personal time and a little less work.”
“Merci,” she thanked him in French. “I’ll work on that.”
Serge pointed at one of the chairs in front of the desk, “Please, sit.”
She did and he sat opposite her on another old broken down chair. This wasn’t your typical office it was more of a break room for the crew. The floor was stained, walls and furniture beat up. It had a couple of saddles sitting in the corner, no books, an old wooden desk, a coffee pot and a small microwave. Not much else.
“We need to discuss a couple of things young lady,” Serge said.
Renée had a sudden rush of guilt but wasn’t sure why. Had she done something wrong? To the best of her knowledge her duties were being fulfilled in the highest of standards. Serge gave her instructions on a daily basis, which she followed to the tee. These meetings were far and few between. On occasion she wondered if Serge had misunderstood her frequent interactions with David.
“You look a bit uncomfortable,” he continued. “I told you I wasn’t concerned with you being late.”
“No, I’m good Serge. What’s on your mind?”
“I want you to take the lead in California this weekend. I’m going to take care of the race card here,” he told her.
Her face did little to hide the shock she was feeling. This wasn’t what she was expecting. The lead trainers of a stake race were in the public eye. Quite often they were interviewed on national sport networks. Even after hearing it she couldn’t quite grasp what he was saying.
“Serge this is one of our most important and prestigious races of the year. I can’t recall you ever missing a card like this.”
“Listen up,” he paused. “You can handle this. I have complete confid
ence in your ability to oversee this properly. I’m not sure you actually realize how talented a trainer you have become. However, you may have to brush up on your hobnobbing.”
“My what?” she asked.
Renée wasn’t familiar with that term. As a matter of fact she was amazed at the endless list of phrases Serge threw at her. Hobnobbing was a new one. Being from England, Serge had a complete repertoire of sayings that seemed peculiar to her. This one was an old English phase from the 1700’s, originally meaning to drink together and later taking on a general expressing of chumminess.
“Hobnobbing,” Serge repeated himself. “It will be expected of you to socialize in the owner’s booth at this race. You need to parade our horse in the winner’s circle when we win. We will win. You can’t wear jeans.”
“Are you sure about this,, Serge,” Renée once again questioned what he was proposing. “This is what you live for. It’s your arena, your day in the spotlight.”
“Renée, you’re going and everything will work out fine. Would you like to borrow one of my suits?”
Both burst into laughter. Serge was known for his flamboyant outfits and top hats which he flaunted at these stake races. He played the part of the world’s most respected horsemen. The press would be disappointed at his absence. Interviewing Serge was good for their ratings.
After the giggling subsided she replied, “I’m pretty sure I can find something to wear, although it may be more subdued than your attire.”
“Good then, it’s settled. You will give our entry a short run today and then begin preparations for transport to the airport tonight. Steven will accompany him to Los Angeles. I’ve booked your flight. You fly out tomorrow at noon. David will take care of the business end of the trip so you can put a hundred percent of your energies into Charlotte’s Choice and bring home the winning saddle cloth.”
Uneasiness came over her at the mention of David. She wasn’t sure how he would take to the change in plans.
Love Lonely Page 4