Winning Odds Trilogy

by MaryAnn Myers

  “No, well, maybe a little. But this is different. We’re going to make it happen. We just don’t know how we’re going to go about doing it yet.”

  “Our plan,” Tom said, with a laugh. “Is to come up with a plan. By the way, Joe, do you know the Lord?”

  “Excuse me. The Lord?”

  There was a knock on the door. “Sorry to interrupt,” said Dave Horneck; the assistant racing secretary. “But we have a problem. The gate crew’s threatening to walk off the job.”

  “Why?” Ben asked.

  “Because a change of ownership negates their contract.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Joe said. “That’s bullshit.”

  Tom rose to his feet. “I’ll take care of this. Am I done here?”

  Ben smiled. “Yes.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing,”

  When Tom walked out, Ben motioned for Dave to close the door after them and waited until he and Joe were alone. “What’s your feelings on Dave?”

  Joe hesitated, reconsidering what would have been his initial yes-man response. He answered honestly. “I think he’s shady. I don’t like him.”

  “Me neither,” Ben said. “He’s outta here.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Not at the moment, but I’ll let you know.” Ben paused. “How do you feel about our General Manager?”

  Joe shrugged. Ben’s sentiments exactly. Randy was waiting for Ben at the barn for an update, and looked concerned when Ben sat down in the tack room and heaved a heavy sigh. “You okay?”

  Ben nodded. “What have I done?”

  Randy laughed. “I remember feeling pretty much the same way when I bought Doc Jake’s Vet Hospital. It all got so complicated.”

  Ben smiled. Doc Jake had been his best friend. “He’d be proud of you.”

  “Thanks,” Randy said. “I miss him.”

  “Me too.”

  “So what do you have to do now?”

  “Well….” Ben told him about his morning thus far. “And now I’ve got a meeting with the accountant in about an hour. I don’t want to shake things up too much, although there’s certain people that have to go. What do you think about Spears?” Spears was the General Manager.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had any personal dealings with him. I’ve run into him a couple of times at the club, that’s about it.”

  “There’s something about him that doesn’t sit right with me. It’s like he doesn’t belong here.”

  “What did Uncle Matt have to say about him?”

  “Well, he doesn’t seem real high on him. The problem is who do you replace him with? And then, do we really want to rock the boat at this point?” They heard voices down the shedrow and turned to see Joe, the racing secretary, talking to Gibbons; the trainer on the other end of the barn.

  “What’s he doing?” Randy asked.

  “Making nice - nice,” Ben said.

  Joe stopped to talk to a groom hanging leg wraps out to dry, and worked his way down to the tack room.

  “How’s it going?” Ben asked.

  “Good,” Joe said, and smiled as he nodded to Randy. “Everybody’s relatively upbeat.”

  “Did you get any good suggestions from anybody?” Ben asked, motioning to the notepad he carried. The man was always carrying a notepad.

  “A few,” Joe said, grinning as he glanced at it. “You’ll get a kick out of them.” He tipped his hat. “I’ll see you later.”

  Randy watched him walk away. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that man smile so much before. He seems pretty happy with things.”

  “Yeah, but does he know the Lord?”

  Randy laughed. Tom. “Tell me he didn’t?”

  Ben nodded. “He did. He’s probably asking everyone on the gate crew right about now.”

  “Nah, I think he’s asked them all before.”

  Ben shook his head. “You know, that’s what I don’t understand about people and religion. Why can’t they just keep it to themselves?”

  Randy shrugged and stood up to leave. “I gotta go. Do you need me for anything?”

  Ben shook his head, but then called after him. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

  “I don’t know.” Randy smiled. “Time’ll tell.”

  “Thanks.” Ben said, laughing. “What the hell good are you?”

  Randy chuckled. “You’re doing the right thing, Ben. It’s the only way you know how.”

  Ben’s expression grew serious. He needed to hear that. Randy was like a son to him. He needed to hear that from a son. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  The accountant could have talked in riddles and it would have made more sense to Ben. “Wait a minute. There’s either enough money to clear the purses today or there’s not.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Ben sighed.

  “What I’m trying to explain is that it all depends on today’s handle.”

  Ben stared. Today’s handle? The fact that there was racing going on at the moment seemed like another lifetime, one quickly slipping away. “But these purses are from three days ago? What happened to the money from the handle three days ago?”

  “Operating expenses.”

  “This is an operating expense,” Ben said, getting red in the face. “This is the horsemen’s money. It’s their bread and butter.”

  “And that’s all fine and dandy, Mr. Miller. But if we don’t have electricity in the grandstand or toilet tissue in the ladies rooms, the horsemen will be putting on a show for themselves. We play the odds. The handle today, pays the horsemen from three days ago.”

  Ben shook his head in utter disbelief.

  “On a good day, the interest alone would pay the purse monies.”

  “When’s the last time we had a good day?”

  The man hesitated. “It’s been a while.”

  Ben sat, thinking, agonizing. “If Swingline had filed bankruptcy on Monday as planned, that would mean the horsemen running their horses Thursday, Friday, and Saturday would have essentially been running for nothing. Talk about odds. And if a horse broke down, it’d be double nothing, triple, because it was for nothing to begin with.”

  “I don’t think you can think like a horseman in this situation, Mr. Miller. The sad reality is this isn’t really about the horses or the horsemen anymore. You could simulcast and still get the same crowd.”

  Ben held up his hand. He’d heard enough. “How old are you?”

  The man hesitated, wondering what his age had to do with anything. “Thirty-three.”

  “There was a time, and not all that long ago, when the horses were all that it was about.”

  “I’m sure it was. But like I said, those days are over.”

  “I don’t think so. I just think we need to figure out how to get them back.”

  The man shrugged. “Good luck.”

  Ben sat back. “You don’t think we have a prayer, do you?”

  The man’s answer was written all over his face.

  Ben had heard and seen enough. “I’m getting the impression you’re thinking you’d like to bail out of here.”

  “I do have another job offer.”

  “Then I suggest you take it. As much as I’d like to have you around when we get back on our feet so I can say I told you so, I need people on the job that do the same kind of math I do.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller.”

  “So am I.”

  Tom was waiting outside the office for Ben. The young man walked out ahead of him. Tom read between the lines. “What’d you do, old man, fire another one?”

  Ben shook his head. “I had no idea.”

  Tom smiled and put his arm around Ben’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, Ben. If there’s one thing I know, it’s this. You’ve got to go with what’s in your heart, because in the end your heart is all that matters.”

  Chapter Four

  Dawn and Ben’s stable consisted of five horses; a two-year old colt appropriately named “Beau Toget
her” that was out of All Together and sired by Beau Born, a three-year old filly named “Born All Together” also of the All Together and Beau Born parentage. Two other three-year old fillies named “Wee Born” and “Winning Beau” from other broodmares on the farm, sired by Beau Born, and a three-year old Beau Born colt named “Native Born Beau” that they bought at a sale along with the dam. All were Ohio breds.

  Between Dawn’s pregnancies and Ben’s slowing down a little with age and the aftermath of the stroke, they’d decided to keep the number of horses in training at a manageable five or under and concentrate on furthering Beau’s tenure at stud. Dawn loved the racetrack, but loved being at home on the farm during the winters almost as much. This was a good compromise, the fewer horses the better and they only trained for themselves now. No more public stable. This way, for the most part, if they weren’t running a horse that day, Dawn was only at the racetrack four hours or so each morning.

  Wee Born was in the 7th race on Saturday; what would have been the last day of racing had Ben and Dawn not bought the racetrack. “I want everything in your name,” Dawn insisted. “For all practical purposes, I don’t want any ownership involvement.” This was much like the day they’d bought All Together at the Vandervoort sale. Randy preferred it this way as well. The money and notoriety Dawn’s family had afforded many things, but it also brought vulnerability.

  In all of Ben’s years at Nottingham Downs, he’d never once been to the upper offices. The racing secretary’s office was as far as he ever needed to go. He drew a deep breath as he stepped off the elevator and for a second felt a little lightheaded. He glanced at his reflection in the glass panel outside the General Manager’s office and without realizing it at first, had tucked in his stomach and puffed up his chest. He laughed to himself. “You old fool,” he thought. “Boy, wouldn’t Meg get a kick out of this.”

  His wife Meg had been dead for years. His first love, his only love. He recalled the times he’d tuck his stomach in wanting to show off and look muscular for her, and how she’d laugh. Ben was strong as an ox, but a muscle man? No. “Mr. Miller,” she’d say. She always called him Mr. Miller. “Who do you think you’re kidding?”

  Oh how he loved that woman. He wondered if she’d be proud of him taking on the racetrack. Or would she think…?

  Spears’ secretary greeted him with an air of disdain. “Can I help you?”

  “I have an appointment to see Spears.”

  The woman’s rather sour expression turned instantly into a forced smile. “I’m sorry. Are you Mr. Miller?”

  Ben nodded.

  “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  Ben simply nodded again. She wasn’t fooling anybody. A second ago he was just a racetracker who’d possibly lost his way; not somebody she’d want to meet at all. As he followed her into Spears’ office, he wondered if it would be considered power mongering if he up and just fired her on the spot.

  “Ben,” Richard Spears said, walking around from behind his desk to shake Ben’s hand. “It’s nice to see you.”

  Spears had been Nottingham Downs’ General Manager for three years now and yet the two men had never laid eyes on one another until this very moment. Under the circumstances, Ben thought saying something like “Nice to meet you,” would have been more appropriate. Meg, he thought, why am I picking apart everything everybody says? “Go with your heart,” he could hear Tom saying. “Go with your heart.”

  “Well,” Ben said, sitting down across from Spears when the man offered him a chair. “Where do we begin?”

  “Can I get you something? Coffee? Water? A glass of wine?”

  “No, thank you,” Ben said, noticing the cocktail on the man’s desk. “I’ll be wanting to go over just a few things with you today. My main concern is the handle.”

  “Rightfully so,” Spears said.

  “I suppose if we had time we could hire a consultant to come in and do a study as to what went wrong, how we got to be where we are today or what could go wrong from here, or even what it is we might try and do. But we need to turn the situation around fast. The way I see it, this is a business that revolves around a racehorse and yet no one upstairs here seems to give a damn about racehorses.”

  “This isn’t the county fair, Ben. The horse is just the means to the end.”

  Ben nodded. “I wonder if that attitude’s trickled down through the floor to the public.”

  The man shrugged. “Listen, Ben, you have some fine horses and we have a dozen or so other horses here that are a draw. But for the most part, the average horse led over here to race….”

  Ben shifted his weight. “Before we go any further and you piss me off, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to find yourself a pair of jeans and get out on the backside.”

  “Excuse me…?” Spears chuckled, amused by such a juvenile suggestion. “Mr. Miller, I think I understand where you’re coming from, but….”

  “No.” Ben said, stopping him right there. “Not another word. You’ve already pissed me off.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ben glanced at his watch. In just a few more minutes racing would be over for the day, too late for now. “Show up at my barn in the morning. We start at five. Come dressed like you belong there. I’ll have the coffee on.” Ben stood, no handshake, and walked out.

  “Ma’am,” he said, nodding to the man’s secretary as he passed her desk.

  Spears appeared at her side, shaking his head in disbelief. She looked up at him when Ben boarded the elevator and the doors closed.

  “I need a pair of jeans,” he said. “And some boots.”

  The woman hesitated. “Uh…what size?”

  “I don’t know. Call my wife.”

  It never occurred to Ben to check out the owner’s office while he’d been upstairs. It was the furthest thing from his mind then and the furthest thing from his mind now as he walked through the grandstand. The horses in the last race were just about to break from the starting gate. He saw televised images of the action everywhere he looked. All eyes were on the monitors. He supposed that was a good thing, but it saddened him. It was a gorgeous sunshiny day and yet as he walked outside there weren’t but a dozen or so spectators in addition to the trainers and the grooms watching the race live. To make matters worse, the race was a flat mile and starting right in front of the grandstand. There was a time not so very long ago when the excitement of the horses breaking from the starting gate that close would have drawn a crowd.

  Ben stood and watched the race by himself. No one approached him, not even people he considered friends. He couldn’t remember feeling so alone. The day Meg died? The day he buried her? The day he and Dawn argued years ago…?

  The seven horse won the race. “Congratulations,” he told its trainer, Bill Branagan.

  “Thank you,” the man said. No smile, no nothing.

  Ben found Bill’s lack of emotion both puzzling and irritating. What was happening to the Sport of Kings? He walked back to his barn with a heavy heart. What made him think he could do this? His moment of anguish was about to get worse. As he started down the shedrow he saw a note nailed to the tack-room door.

  It read. “Ben Miller! You are a fool!”

  Ben crumpled it and threw it into the trashcan. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  He heard a voice in his head, a familiar voice, a soft voice. “Mr. Miller, since when do you let other people get you down?”

  Ben drew a breath and sighed. “Am I doing the right thing, Meg?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Ben chuckled. “I thought maybe you could tell me.”

  “No.” He could almost feel the soft touch of her hand. “But I can tell you this. No one will try harder to make it work than you. I’m proud of you. Do your best.”

  Ben nodded. “I’ve got to admit I’m little scared.”

  “So am I,” she said. “Don’t let me down. As your wife, I have a reputation to uphold.”

  Ben laughed to himself. Wa
s he really talking to Meg? He could never really know for sure, not as long as he was alive at least. But that comment right there sounded so much like something she would say. It had to be Meg. He was smiling as Tom came around the corner of the shedrow.

  Ben looked up at him. “What are people saying about me?”

  Tom shrugged. “You mean the ones I beat up or the ones I let walk away?”

  Ben’s smiled widened. “Never mind.”

  Tom nodded. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Ben said, and half believed it.

  Ben’s farm always gave him that welcome-home feeling when he turned into the driveway. He appreciated that feeling even more today. He pulled past the main barn and parked by the house. A sense of warmth and well-being washed over him, but then just as quickly it vanished. He wondered if he shouldn’t be doing something? But what? It’s not as if he’d ever owned a racetrack before and knew what needed to be done. He sat in his truck, thinking. It seemed ludicrous to him to have driven home, as if it were any other ordinary day and he had nothing better or more important to do.

  He looked around. This had been his home for close to thirty years now. He built the house; he built the barns, the pastures and the paddocks, the training track. He had everything he needed right here to train and run off the farm. What did he want with a whole damned racetrack? He’d never been one to make snap decisions. Why did he have to go and pick something this big to start now? He shook his head and sat scratching the back of his neck. The lawyer said they had three days to change their minds? It wasn’t too late to back out. Though if he did, he had to admit he’d really look like a fool then. If people aren’t talking to me now, they certainly wouldn’t want to talk to me then.

  Meg had asked a good question. Since when did he start caring so much about what other people thought? But that was just it. He wasn’t doing this just for himself or strictly for Dawn or Tom or Randy either for that matter. He’d put everything he owned on the line for each and every person at Nottingham Downs. How could he not care? He was going to need the help of each and every person there if they were going to succeed.

  A smile crossed his face as he watched Beau Born grazing lazily in the north pasture, one of the finest Thoroughbreds he’d ever laid eyes on. He started humming one of Meg’s favorite tunes. “To Dream the Impossible Dream.” Beau had been an impossible dream. All Together was too. He waved to George and Glenda, the couple that took care of the horses at the farm. They too were counting on him. And the horses. And the dogs; all six of them came running. He got out of the truck, singing in his deep baritone, “And I know if I’ll only be true, to this glorious quest.” The dogs barked and howled and vied for his attention. “That my heart will lie peaceful and calm, when I’m laid to rest.”