“Is she all right?” Dawn asked.
Tom nodded. “They’re coming now. I thought she was going to tie up there for a while.” Tying up is a condition most common in fillies, Dawn had learned early on, where they develop back spasms over their kidneys and refuse to move. “She’s fine, though.”
Ben was so anxious he could hardly sit still, and kept glancing at the clock Gloria had brought him, on the table next to the bed. He could always call the secretary’s office to find out how the filly ran. They’d probably tell him, under the circumstances. But he didn’t like owing anybody a favor.
Finally, Dawn and Tom and Randy came in, and all he needed to do was look at their faces. “Hot damn!” he said, and slapped the arm of his wheelchair. “She win, huh?”
Tom nodded. “How about a new track record?”
“You’re kidding.”
When Tom shook his head, Ben looked at Dawn and Randy. Both were nodding. “How fast?”
“One-thirty-five and one.”
“Jesus!” Ben sat back, listening as Tom related the race from start to finish, the wide, going-to-the-kitchen turn and all, and Ben laughed. “What’d Johnny say?”
“He said the going was better out there. The track was hard as a rock after that rain. Down inside was where it was cuppy.”
A nurse entered the room. Ben shared the news with her, even though this was not one of his favorite nurses, and the nurse sighed. “Yes, I know. There’s a reporter here to see you, though you have one visitor too many already.”
“A reporter?”
“Yes, apparently this record breaking is a big deal. So if you’re feeling up to it, and two of you wouldn’t mind leaving...”
Dawn smiled. “Ben?”
He nodded. “I’m up to it. “Go on, all of you. Go on.”
Dawn gave him a hug and kissed him good-bye. “Don’t mention my name,” she whispered. Randy and Tom each shook his hand. They left then and the reporter was shown in, a nervous young man in his late twenties.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Miller. My name is Frankie Farrow, and we’re uh, going to be doing a feature on your horse All Together. I just have a few questions, if you don’t mind?”
Mind? Ben shook his head. “Have a seat. What would you like to know?”
“Well, for one...” The young man scanned his list. “Did you know the track record was set over fourteen years ago?”
Ben nodded. “That was before they resurfaced the track and slowed it down. I believe it was Queen’s Court in a minute, thirty-six and one.”
The young man smiled. Obviously he’d had some reservations about interviewing a man hospitalized due to a stroke, and now realized he could relax.
The Rib was abuzz with talk of All Together’s new track record, and a filly yet. Bud Meyers stopped by the table, offering congratulations and saying how she was by far the nicest thing he’d ever seen. He looked at Tom saying this, only daring to glance at Dawn, nodded to his daughter Ginney, who laughed at how formal he was being, and the celebration continued.
Rounds of drinks for the table kept coming from all directions. Twice the waitress put one down in front of Fred, and twice Tom picked it up and handed it back. Fred flipped him off, whining and complaining, and Tom laughed. “Look at Randy,” he said. “Do you want to end up like him?”
Randy was well on his way. His and Raffin’s offer to buy Jake’s practice was all but a done deal as of early this afternoon, and things couldn’t be better with Dawn, so he had more than one reason to celebrate.
“Cheers!”
Dawn, for that matter, kept her drinking to a minimum, mainly in support of Tom, but also because she was still reeling from those iced teas of last week. “Never again!” But she too was having a good time. Tom appeared to have gotten through whatever was bothering him earlier. And if not, at least for the moment he seemed in control.
Everyone had Caesar salad, strip steak and lasagna, served family style, hot Italian bread, and for dessert, Cassada cake. Tom led them all in his own rendition of “The Run For The Roses.” Even people at the far end of the bar joined in. And Mama Leone made her way to their table, where her son, who towered over her tiny frame, poured her a shot glass full of her private stock. Their table fell quiet instantly, and after that, the one next to them, then the next, and soon all were looking on as she raised her glass.
“I am proxy for Ben,” she said in broken English. “He phone me now and I make toast for him.”
Everyone hoisted their glasses.
“From bottom of my heart! From Ben’s heart. Salud!”
“Salud!” everyone echoed, and here came another round, on the house.
Ben could imagine the festivities, and in fact his heart was there. He remembered years ago, that it was Meg who insisted they celebrate a win. Every win. Even when the years weren’t so good, when money was tight, and the wins were few and far between. “We deserve it,” she’d say. “You deserve it.”
It was late, but he’d convinced the nurse to let him keep his television on for the eleven o’clock news. He promised to turn it off right after the sports, and sat in bed, with the volume down until it aired. Baseball first, pre-season football, tennis, and finally the races. He turned it up.
“At Nottingham today, All Together, a three-year-old filly, set a new track record of 135 and 1/5 for the mile. Some are calling this filly the finest distaffer since the likes of Ruffian. Undefeated in her three lifetime starts, this rising star is trained by Ben Miller, who is presently in the hospital recovering from a stroke, but still managing her career. Some of you racing enthusiasts may remember that it was Ben Miller who trained the impressive Beau Born, retired earlier this year to stud, and also the 1974 Ohio Derby hopeful, Dandy Ladd.”
Ben stared at the small screen.
“That wraps up the sports for tonight,” the announcer said. “Join us again tomorrow at six and noon. Ben Miller...this is for you. Godspeed.”
Tears filled Ben’s eyes as they played the tape of All Together’s stretch run, every stride, and through the tears he smiled at the finish. This was more than he’d hoped for. More than he could imagine. Meg would have been so proud. “You bet I would,” he could hear her saying. “You bet I would.”
“Good night, Meg.” He turned off the television and then turned out the light.
“Good night, Mr. Miller. Sleep tight.”
Randy’s early morning hangover was mild compared to Dawn’s the other day. “I know when to stop,” he said, and Dawn had to laugh. “Get up or I’m leaving you.” She picked up a pillow and threw it at him from the bedroom doorway. “And your truck’s at the track, so...”
Randy covered his head with the sheet.
“And I won’t be back till noon.”
Randy sighed, moaned, uncovered his head and looked at her. “You people have to stop winning races.”
“Why? And miss out on your repeat-repeat performances.”
“What?”
When Dawn turned and started down the hall, Randy sat up, wrapped the sheet around him, tripped and almost fell getting out of bed, to follow her. “What do you mean, repeat performance?”
Dawn smiled. “Five minutes, and I’m out of here, Randy. I mean it.”
Tom was in a good mood when she arrived at the track, which was reassuring, but then Dave showed up with donuts, and all of a sudden his attitude changed. “I’ve got to go enter,” he said, leaving in a hurry.
“Ooh, custard,” Fred said, and Dawn swung around and looked at him.
“Don’t you dare.”
Dave laughed, said he’d brought plenty, and motioned to Tom’s back as he turned the far corner of the barn. “What’s the matter with him?”
“Nothing,” Dawn said. “He’s just a little tired and has a lot to do this morning.”
This morning was also exceptionally busy for a certain nurse. Nothing was going right. She was exhausted as she fluffed the patients’ pillows, brought them their breakfast trays,
and sighed when she had to go back to the desk and retrieve the morning paper that should have been on one particular tray.
The patient turned to the sports section, read the headline, and put down his coffee. He turned the page and read the article slowly, closed his eyes, then read it again when he had the strength, and rang for the nurse.
“Yes?” she said, sticking her head in the door.
“I need to make a phone call.”
Again the nurse sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s not allowed.”
“Make an exception.”
The nurse studied the old man’s distinguished face, nodded, said she’d see what she could do, and disappeared. When the phone rang and Ben picked it up, a feeble-sounding voice responded. “Mr. Miller? Is this Mr. Miller?”
“Yes,” Ben said hesitantly. “Who’s this?”
“Winston Vandervoort.”
Ben frowned. Who? The name was vaguely familiar, he couldn’t place it, then it came to him.
“I’ve been meaning to contact you for some time, but getting a phone here is almost impossible. They suspect I’m senile, and don’t want me bothering anyone.”
Ben didn’t know what to say, how to respond. Part of him thought this had to be a joke.
“I want to congratulate you,” Mr. Vandervoort said, pausing to replenish his oxygen with a mask. “On your horse, All Together.”
“Thank you,” Ben said.
“You see, I bred and raised her.”
Ben nodded to himself, as again, Mr. Vandervoort drew on his oxygen.
“It has delighted me so, her career. She was such a strong, robust filly. So beautiful, much like my daughter.”
Ben recalled the story the groom told them, and again didn’t know what to say. “Um...there’s a young woman, All Together’s groom. She’s curious about her name.” Ben hesitated, realizing the man probably wouldn’t know what he meant.
But he did, laughed, and then coughed. “I’m sorry. Excuse me, it’s my lungs.” He relied on his oxygen mask again. “It was a game my daughter made up. She had so few friends. There was a kidnap attempt when she was young.”
Ben waited as obviously a nurse assisted the man, told him to relax, breathe deeply. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he could hear Mr. Vandervoort say before getting back on the line. “We sheltered her after that, but she had imaginary friends, that she would lead in games and songs.” He pulled the phone away to cough. “I can see her now, playing with them, always starting their games by saying ‘All Together.’”
Ben smiled.
“I have to go now. The nurse tells me I am done,” he said, breathing hard. “I can’t put into words what I want to say, why I called. Take care of her sums it up. Good day, Mr. Miller. And again, thank you.”
Ben said, “You’re welcome,” slowly hung up the phone, and told Tom and Dawn about the conversation later. “It really threw me. I’ve been laying here thinking about everything I could have said since, but...”
Dawn smiled and squeezed his hand. Tears welled up in Ben’s eyes then, and Tom said he had to leave. “You coming?” he asked Dawn.
“No, go ahead. I’ll see you in a little while.”
Ben wiped his eyes when Tom left and apologized to Dawn for being so emotional. Dawn sat there, feeling rather emotional herself, but managed a smile for Ben’s sake as she thought about Vandervoort’s daughter, to have led such a lonely life, and to die so young.
“Ben...?”
He looked at her.
“I need to talk to you about Tom.”
“What about him?”
Dawn hesitated. “I’m not sure if I should be bothering you with this, but...”
“Dawn...?” Ben motioned for her to just say it.
“All right.” Again she hesitated. “He’s fighting drinking.”
Ben looked at her. “What? Are you sure?”
“Yes. He told me himself and he’d die if he knew I was talking to you about it.”
Ben sat back.
“He’s edgy. He shakes. And he’s become so paranoid. You know how he used to be happy when Dave came by. Well, he dreads it now.”
“I was afraid of this,” Ben said.
“You were?”
He nodded. “There’s something in him that snaps. He has so much talent, why, he can train better than anyone I know. But he doesn’t like dealing with the owners, making the decisions. They seem to pressure him without saying a word.”
Dawn had to agree, having watched him lately. “I suggested he talk to someone, a counselor...” she said, careful not to use the words psychiatrist or psychologist, first with Tom and now Ben, knowing...
“A shrink? Not on your life. And I don’t blame him,” Ben said, frowning at her for even mentioning such a thing as he sat thinking. “I’ll tell you what, do you have Gloria’s number?”
Dawn shook her head. What could Gloria do?
“Get her number and call her for me. Tell her I need to see her.”
“All right. But...”
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle it,” he said. “Does anyone else know about this?”
“No.” She hadn’t even told Randy.
“Good. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of it.”
Dawn left the hospital feeling hopeful, stopped for a burger at Wendy’s, and ate it on the way to meet Randy at Saks, at one as planned.
“I’ve only got about a half hour,” Randy said, “so let’s get to it.”
Dawn shook her head. A half hour to pick out a dress and a dinner jacket. Oh sure. “Dream on,” she told him, and never had such fun shopping.
“No.”
“No.”
“No.” He didn’t like one dress Miss Diane brought out, even the ones Dawn insisted she should try on, because you can never tell with them on a hanger. And time was running out.
“One more,” Miss Diane said, and vanished. She liked Dawn’s young man, and by now was getting a feel for the kind of dress he might be looking for.
“Yes!” Randy said, as soon as he saw it.
It was pale blue, mid-knee in length, relatively low-cut in front, had a bare back, and was silky. “Try it on,” he told Dawn when she shook her head. “You can’t ever tell when it’s on a hanger.”
Dawn laughed and followed Miss Diane back into the dressing room. “Randy, this isn’t me. It’s too...”
“Try it on.”
It took about a minute.
“Wow!” he whispered, when she emerged.
Dawn rolled her eyes, barefoot, and pulled at the front to bring it up higher. “Maybe if...”
“It’s perfect the way it is, Dawn,” Randy said. “Right?” He looked at Miss Diane, who nodded. “See?” And that was that. He kissed her and said he had to go.
“But what about your jacket?”
“We’ll do it tomorrow.”
“When?” Son of Royalty was running tomorrow and so was Lady. “When tomorrow?”
Too late. He was gone.
Dr. Martin had a fit. What Ben was proposing was ludicrous, not to mention dangerous. “I can’t let you do this.”
“Why not?” Ben said. “I’ll have a nurse with me at all times.”
Gloria nodded, standing efficiently at his side.
“I can get in and out of the wheelchair on my own,” Ben insisted. “So I know I can get in and out of a car. And it’ll only be an hour or so a day.”
Dr. Martin shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”
Ben sighed. “What’s dangerous is staring at these walls. The racetrack is where I belong. It’s my life.”
Dr. Martin looked at him.
“It’s my occ-u-pation.”
James smiled in spite of himself, thinking they really should change the title of that form of therapy. He and Ben had been having this stand-off for well over ten minutes.
“What if I just sign myself out? Discharge myself?”
James shook his head. “I don’t want you doing that, Ben. Please. Your rehab is go
ing so well.”
“I agree. And that’s why I think it’s time to move on.”
James sighed. If this were him, admittedly, he’d probably feel the same way. “All right, listen. Maybe. Depending on how much red tape this is going to involve...”
“Well?” It was the first thing Randy wanted to know when he got to Dawn’s apartment that evening. “Did you get the dress?”
“Yes.”
And second, “What’s the special downstairs? I’m starved.”
Dawn picked up the phone, asked, and relayed the information. “Butterfly shrimp, egg role and fried rice.”
Randy nodded. It sounded good enough for him. “Get me a couple of extra hot mustards.” He gave Dawn the money, said he was going to take a quick shower, and was drying off when the phone rang. He picked it up in the bedroom when he realized after at least six rings, that Dawn was probably still downstairs.
“Hello?”
“Hello?” It was a terrible connection. “Dawnetta?”
“No, this is Randy,” he said, and had to shout it again.
“Oh, Randy! How nice!” the woman shouted back. “This is Dawnetta’s Aunt Maeve, dear.”
“Well, hi!” The infamous Aunt Maeve. “Dawn’ll be right back.”
“Where is she?” Aunt Maeve shouted, the connection even worse now.
“She went for food!”
“Not that dreadful Chinese?”
Randy laughed. “Yes!”
“What?”
“I said yes!”
Dawn came in then and Randy handed her the phone. “It’s your Aunt Maeve.”
“Aunt Maeve! How are you?”
“What, dear? I can’t hear you?”
“I said how are you?”
“Oh, wonderful! Fine, fine! And you?”
Randy went back into the bathroom, closed the door, finished drying off, and laughed at Dawn’s end of the conversation.
“When?!”
“Of course!”
“Yes! Yes! I’ll tell him!”
“Love you too!”
She hung up and had to clear her throat from shouting, tapped on the door, and when Randy answered, entered.
“That was Aunt Maeve.”
Randy smiled, glancing at her as he finished shaving around his beard. “Where was she calling from?”
Winning Odds Trilogy Page 41