Winning Odds Trilogy

by MaryAnn Myers

  Randy got up to turn the burgers. “So, are they going to put a contract out on this guy, or what?”

  Dawn glanced at him and shook her head. “A contract?”

  Randy laughed. It was funny. But then again it wasn’t. “Did anyone check this guy out? Maybe he can be bought off?”

  Dawn reached for the potato chips. “Let’s hope not.”

  Randy looked at her.

  “Apparently he’s heavily in debt.”

  Randy shook his head. This was unreal, and yet they were actually having this conversation. Something occurred to him then. They were having a conversation, and though it wasn’t exactly about her, it was about her family, and that was progress, even if the subject matter did annoy him.

  “Where do you want to eat, inside or out here on the patio?”

  “Let’s eat out here on the terrace,” Dawn said. “I’ll get the plates. What do you want to drink?”

  “Beer,” Randy said, and couldn’t resist asking, “What’s the difference between a terrace and a patio?”

  Dawn glanced over her shoulder at him. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  Dawn returned with something else on her mind. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or not, because I don’t think of it as any big deal, but Wednesday’s my birthday.”

  “And you’re just telling me now?”

  Dawn smiled. “I told you it’s no big deal. I don’t even know why I’m telling you now, except that if you found out and I didn’t tell you, you’d probably...”

  “Get mad? You’re damned right I would. We’re supposed to be a couple here.”

  “And we are,” Dawn said. “Look, we’re eating at home.”

  Randy laughed, put a burger on her plate, and fixed one for himself.

  “This is delicious,” Dawn said.

  Randy smiled. “Anyone can cook a burger, Dawn.”

  “Not like this,” Dawn said. “You’ve done something amazing with the garlic.”

  Randy shook his head, and for a moment they just looked at one another. “So how old are you?” he asked, and remembered asking her this before.

  “Twenty-seven,” she said.

  “Hmph.” They were making progress. “So what do you want?”

  “For my birthday? Nothing.”

  “Right. I’ll think of something.”

  “Randy...” She waited for him to look at her. “Do you know what I would really like.”

  “What?” he said, taken by the sudden seriousness in her eyes, the sadness.

  “I want things to stay the same. I don’t want anything to change. Can you give me that?”

  Randy nodded. “You got it.”

  For the next few days, Dawn hardly saw Randy, as he was on call. “It’s the full moon,” he kept saying, every time he started out again for yet another bizarre emergency. “Light a candle or something. I need to get some sleep.”

  Ben was in a bit of a mood himself. “Where the hell’s my condition book? Goddamn it, I had it right here!”

  Dawn searched for it. Tom searched for it. Ben searched for it again.

  “Give him yours,” Dawn whispered to Tom.

  “I tried. He wants his.”

  Dawn rolled her eyes and ducked under the webbing of the filly’s stall to make herself scarce. “Hide me,” she said to All Together, hanging on her neck and hugging her.

  Ben continued to rant and rave. “Why can’t a person put something down and have it be where he left it?”

  “Maybe you didn’t put it down, old man. Maybe you left it at home.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that I don’t know what I’m doing? That I’m senile? Don’t you start!”

  Tom threw up his hands. “Oh, give me a break.”

  “I’ll give you a break.”

  Dawn drew an exasperated breath, sighed, and stuck her head out of the stall. “Do you want me to go get you another one?”

  Ben looked at her. “No. I want the one I had.”

  Dawn turned back to All Together.

  “Besides, we still have three more horses to track.”

  “It won’t take me five minutes,” Dawn said.

  “Fine!” Ben decided. “It won’t be the one I had, but...”

  Dawn walked to the secretary’s office and picked up not one, but three condition books. As she turned to leave she saw Bud Meyers. He was standing with another man at the far end of the counter and were both staring at her, apparently watching her every move.

  Bud said something to the man and the man shook his head. “There’s no such thing as a witch. You’re crazier than a loon.”

  Dawn walked across the room, knowing they were still watching her, and at the door, stopped and just stared back at both of them.

  Bud looked away first, then his friend, who held on a little longer, and Dawn walked out. “I told you,” Bud said. “Did you ever see eyes like that? That woman’s a bona fide witch.”

  Dawn heard Randy’s voice in the tack room and walked into a waiting assembly of Ben, Randy, Ginney, and Tom.

  “Surprise! Happy Birthday!”

  Dawn shook her head and looked at Ben with realization. “You set me up.”

  He grinned, his condition book in hand.

  “And you,” she said to Randy, who just smiled. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Come on, come on,” Tom insisted. “What’s the difference? Open your gifts.”

  Dawn sat down on the cot, drew a deep breath, hesitated as she glanced at Randy, and began opening the first one. “You guys really didn’t have to do this.”

  “That’s from me,” Tom said, motioning for her to get on with it.

  Dawn smiled. “Did you wrap it yourself?”

  He laughed. “Just open it.” He’d gotten a little carried away with the tape.

  Dawn finally was able to lift the lid, and sat there smiling. “It’s my favorite,” she said. Chantilly cologne. “Thank you.”

  “There’s something else, under it,” Tom said. It was a small package.

  Dawn opened it carefully as Ginney, Randy, Ben and Tom looked on. “Oh, Tom...” It was a pair of tiny gold horseshoe earrings.

  “I told the lady you had little ears and that you weren’t big on jewelry.”

  Dawn gazed into his eyes. “They’re perfect.” She reached for his arm, he leaned down, and she kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged, speechless for a change, pointed to his cheek and then at Randy to emphasize the kiss. Ginney handed over her gift.

  “Really, you guys didn’t have to do this,” Dawn repeated, shaking her head. She looked at Randy. He was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, smiling.

  Ginney wrung her hands anxiously as Dawn opened the box. “Oh my,” Dawn said, and held it up. It was a hand-tooled leather belt with her name on it. “This is beautiful.”

  Ginney nodded. “Just don’t ask what I had to do to get it so fast. Just kidding.”

  Dawn smiled. “Thank you.”

  “It’s reversible,” Ginney said, showing her. It fit perfectly.

  Ben’s gift was next, and the heaviest. She shook the box and smiled, thinking about his mood earlier. “I can’t believe you set me up like that.”

  Ben laughed.

  Dawn placed the box on her lap and proceeded to open it. “Oh, Ben.” It was a brand-new bridle, one thoroughly and painstakingly treated with neatsfoot oil, which he’d taken hours to do himself last night, and it had a brass nameplate on the face strap engraved with All Together’s name. “It’s beautiful.” She passed it around, gave Ben a hug, and turned to Randy.

  “I’ll give you mine later.”

  Dawn smiled.

  “What do you mean later?” Tom teased. “You trying to say it would embarrass us?”

  Randy shrugged, smoothing his beard, and everyone laughed. Then Ginney produced the cake she’d hidden on the medicine shelf. “The first one I’ve ever baked, so I hope it’s good.” They e
ach had a piece with a cup of coffee, and then it was back to work.

  With Cajun running in the fourth race that day, as usual Gloria arrived enveloped in lilac to lavish him with hugs and kisses. Charlie had maneuvered his day off to accompany her for the event. Cajun was running in a starter allowance race, so there was no threat of him being claimed. Their wedding was this weekend, only three days away. And everyone, as Charlie said, “was on cloud nine.”

  Gloria oohed and aahed. “Is my Cajun going to win today?”

  Cajun scrunched up his nose, which Gloria declared a gesture meaning yes, and Ben shook his head and laughed. The race was two miles, and he had a good chance, but... “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Gloria said. “If he says he’s going to win, he’s going to win.”

  Charlie laughed and said he wasn’t about to disagree. And just then, as Gloria was patting Cajun’s neck and Cajun jerked slightly, Ben noticed something. A lump.

  He grabbed hold of Cajun’s halter and looked closer. It was about halfway down his jugular vein.

  “What is it?” Charlie asked.

  When Ben touched the surrounding area, Cajun jerked and tried to pull away. He looked at Cajun’s eyes, and stepped back. “Dawn?”

  She came around the corner from the feed room. “What?”

  “Did you eat here or go out?”

  Gloria turned anxiously to Charlie. “What’s the matter?”

  “I went to Wendy’s,” Dawn said.

  “Shit!” Ben muttered, and then, as if he needed to double check himself, he looked at the lump again.

  “What is it?” Gloria asked frantically.

  “I’m not sure,” Ben said. “But I think someone’s gotten to him.”

  “What?!” Gloria gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.

  “Charlie,” Ben said, walking past them and implying Charlie explain it to her. “Dawn!”

  Dawn came back around the corner.

  “Go find Tom,” Ben said. “Check the kitchen.”

  Dawn stared.

  “Go on,” he said, and explained why. “And tell him to go to the secretary’s office and get the track vet over here.”

  Gloria started to cry, and even harder when Ben tried to reassure her Cajun would more than likely be all right.

  “More than likely?” she sobbed.

  Ben held up his hands, looked at Charlie, and walked out onto the road between the barns. Dawn returned a few minutes later, said she’d found Tom, and it wasn’t long before he returned as well. “Fuck!” was all he said. The track vet was right behind him.

  Procedure was followed to the letter. Cajun was examined and found less than responsive, blood was drawn, questions were asked, and upon the track veterinarian’s order, Cajun would be scratched from the race.

  “What happens now?” Gloria asked Charlie, wiping her eyes and clinging to him.

  “Well.” He lowered his voice. “First of all, Ben and Tom’ll have to go before the stewards.”

  “Why? They didn’t do anything?”

  “You know that, and I know that. But until an investigation proves otherwise...” He hesitated. Gloria was looking back at Cajun. “A horse is in the trainer’s care.”

  Gloria heaved a heavy sigh. “My poor little baby.”

  Johnny showed up at the barn right after Gloria and Charlie left. “What happened? They just announced Too Cajun as a late scratch.”

  “Someone fucking got to him,” Tom said, and raised his hands when Ben looked at him. “Hey, it’s probably all over the goddamned track by now anyway. What difference does it make?”

  “Is he all right?” Johnny asked, looking in at Cajun.

  “Yeah, fine, fine,” Tom said. Cajun had probably been given Acepromazine or a similar tranquilizer just to take the edge off. The blood test would tell. “He’ll just be twitching in fucking la-la land for a while.” He reached up and patted Cajun on the forehead. “I’ve been there, old buddy. I know where you’re at.”

  Cajun stared at him in a stupor.

  “Yep, I’ve been there,” Tom said, and walked away.

  Johnny followed Ben down the shedrow. He hadn’t been the jock named to ride Cajun today, because he was still recuperating from the spill he had on Sunday, but was campaigning ahead. “I start riding again tomorrow. The doctor says I’ll be as good as new.”

  Ben nodded.

  When Ben walked into the tack room, Johnny lingered outside, fidgeting. Ben looked at him.

  He cleared his throat. “Miguel’s agent says you’re riding him on All Together Sunday.”

  Ben shook his head. “I haven’t even talked to Miguel’s agent.” He sat down at his desk. “All right?”

  Johnny nodded, lowered his head, and just stood there.

  “Look,” Ben said, when finally acknowledging that Johnny wasn’t going away. “If you’re up to snuff by this weekend, you’ll ride her. There’s no question. But if you’re not, you won’t. It’s as simple as that.”

  Randy was late again, a pattern Dawn should have gotten used to by now, but hadn’t. She hugged her sides as she stared down at the street, wondering where he was. She wanted to talk to him about Cajun, get his opinion, have him say in that pragmatic way of his, “It’s nothing, it happens, he’ll be all right.” She glanced at her watch. Seven forty-five.

  She decided to try writing for a while, got through two terribly contrived paragraphs about racetrack grievances, read them out loud, made a face, crumpled the page, and threw it in the trash. The information was good, factual, but her heart wasn’t in it. She wished she could write ahead, write about what happened to Cajun, and how it made her feel. But that wasn’t how she wrote, and being relatively new at novel writing, she didn’t want to fall out of line. She put another piece of paper in her typewriter and whimsically started writing about the ice machines that were always empty by seven every morning, and the mad scramble to get enough if you had a horse in that day.

  She got in the groove. Security is one thing, as were run-down barns and insufficient lighting, but ice, that was another. She laughed to herself. And hot water. Ice and hot water. Where would a horseman be without them? She crumpled and tossed this page as well.

  About an hour passed. She glanced at her watch and thirsty, decided to have a beer. When she opened the refrigerator, she found a note from Randy. “Hang in there,” it read. “I’ll be home soon.”

  When the phone rang a little while later, she thought it would be him, but it was Linda. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I forgot your birthday.”

  Dawn walked over to the window and looked out. “Well, it’s not like it’s a big deal.”

  “But it is! Maybe I’ll come over. Are you busy? What are you doing?”

  “I’m waiting for Randy. He’s planned something really special he said, but he’s a little bit late. You can join us if you want.”

  “No, I don’t want to spoil anything. What about tomorrow? Can you meet me for lunch?”

  Dawn paused, trying to remember if they had a horse in tomorrow. “You want to meet at the club?”

  “Where else?”

  Dawn laughed. “I’ll see you then.”

  She stretched out on the couch, stared up at the ceiling and sighed. “Where is he?” It was almost nine. She rolled onto her side eventually, let her one arm dangle to the floor, and within a moment or two of just lying there, started tapping out “Hang On Sloopy” into the carpet. “Sloopy, hang on.”

  Randy arrived a few minutes later, with his right arm in a cast.

  “What happened?”

  He sat down, rested it on his lap, and pointed to where it was broken. “I got kicked.”

  Dawn sat down next to him. “Why didn’t you call?”

  “I tried, just before they took X-rays, but the phone was busy.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Then it was back to the examining room, to wait for them to put the cast on. I was ready to walk out and do it myself at that poin
t. Finally the doctor showed up. And here I am.”

  Dawn touched the cast. “Does it hurt?”

  “A little. At least it was a clean break.”

  “Who kicked you?”

  “That little black shit of Durans’. I never saw it coming.”

  Dawn gazed thoughtfully at him. “Are you hungry? Did you eat?”

  “No. You?”

  She shook her head. “Do you want to just eat Chinese? We don’t have to go out; they’re probably still open.”

  He nodded. “Here, there’s some money in my pocket,” he said, and laughed when Dawn pretended to be leery of reaching in and getting it herself.

  “Do you want a beer or something till I get back.”

  Randy smiled. “I can get it. Go on, hurry before they close.”

  Dawn got the last two sweet-and-sour pork dinners they had, and was turning to head back upstairs when Lin Chu, the man behind the counter, handed her a tiny wrapped box.

  “Your friend, Randy, drop this off. He say to give to you when you come down.”

  Dawn thanked him, smiling tentatively, and walked away in a fog.

  “Missy Fioritto?”

  Dawn turned. “Yes.”

  “Happy Birthday!”

  “Thank you.” Dawn made her way to the elevator, boarded, put the dinners down, and fumbled with the wrapping paper on the gift. “Oh no...oh no,” she muttered, when it became obvious that it was a ring box. “Randy, no...”

  She swallowed hard, opened the card first, and read it.

  Dawn,

  Nothing has to change.

  Love, Randy

  She opened the box, tears welling up in her eyes, and pressed it to her heart. It wasn’t an engagement ring as she’d feared, but an anniversary ring. Sixteen diamonds set in white gold. She removed it carefully, her hands trembling, and smiled.

  Randy was standing by the terrace, looking out into the night when she returned. “Well,” he said. “Do you like it?”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Does it fit?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He walked over and took it from her, put it on the ring finger on her left hand, and looked into her eyes. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say with this?”