She hesitated. “I can confirm that and we can issue you a check for the difference.”
Ben nodded. “And meanwhile….”
Rupert shook his head. “But I mark everything up differently. It’s not going to be that easy.”
Tom turned. He’d been looking at a pair of Ariat women’s paddock boots; tan, soft. “Ahhh, the smell of leather,” he said.
Wendy chuckled, distracted for a moment.
“Wait a minute, I don’t get it,” Tom said. “What do you mean you mark things up differently?”
“Well, that’s because you don’t understand merchandising,” Rupert said.
Tom looked at him. “I sure as hell understand the buying end of it.”
“I’m sorry, Tom, I didn’t mean any….”
“It’s all right. Let’s just get back to pricing.” They’d been going round and round and Tom had had his fill. “How do you decide what percentage you mark things up, if everything’s different? Why not just mark everything up the same across the board?”
“Because like I was telling you, certain items sell better.”
“So you mark them up more or less?”
“It depends.”
Tom drew a breath and sighed.
Ben sat down.
“Actually, Tom,” Wendy said, looking at the boots herself now. “That’s a standard practice.”
“I don’t give a shit. It sucks,” Tom said. “It’s the items we need all the time, so they get marked up the most.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Well, that has to change.” Tom said, “Here, at least.”
“Oh, and you’re going to tell me how to run my business now?” Rupert said.
“Come on, this isn’t right,” Tom insisted. “We’re trying to make it better for the horsemen.”
“Yeah, and I’m one of the horsemen. I’m trying to make a living too, Tom.”
“By overpricing things? We’re making it so you can fix that? Why can’t you understand?”
“Why can’t you understand? It’s like you’re turning into some kind of communist.”
“A communist?”
“Yeah, trying to tell everyone what to do.”
“Everyone?”
Ben held up his hands. “Enough, okay. We’re all on the same side here.”
Tom looked at Wendy and shook his head. “What are you doing?” She was glancing all around the store.
“I’m looking for a place to try these boots on.”
“Over here,” Rupert said. “If I had more room….”
Tom laughed. “Now you want more room.”
Rupert laughed as well and turned his attention to fitting Wendy with a pair of boots.
“Now see, this is what I’m talking about,” Tom said, holding up a roll of Vetwrap. “I want to come in here and pay the same price I pay at Wilson’s.”
“Wilson orders in for the trotters, not just us, not to mention all the riding horse and show people. It’s all about volume, Tom,” Rupert said. “By the way, Miss, who are you?”
“I’m Wendy Wilson, Richard Spears’ administrative assistant.”
“Oh,” Rupert said.
“Nice to meet you,” Wendy said.
“You too.” He looked accusingly at Tom and Ben. Forewarned would have been nice.
“So how do we solve this?” Ben asked.
Rupert motioned for Wendy to walk up the tiny aisle way. “How do they feel?”
“Well, they feel comfortable, but my feet are kind of moving around in them.”
“That’s because you have nylons on. With socks, they should fit perfect.”
Wendy walked back and sat down.
“How much are they?”
“Well, if I give you the horsemen’s discount they’re $110 plus tax.”
Tom looked at him. “You only sell to horsemen. You don’t have anyone walking in off the street.”
“Still, it sounds good,” Rupert said. “Everyone likes a discount. You really don’t know anything about sales, do you?”
Ben sighed. Not this again. “I’ll tell you what. If you need help getting the pricing done, we’ll send somebody over. We want the best prices possible, starting today.” He held up his hand. “And we’ll look into getting you a bigger space.”
“That’s only if the prices are good,” Tom added.
Rupert motioned to the boots. “$100 plus tax.”
“I’ll take them,” Wendy said.
Tom walked with Wendy to the grandstand. Ben walked to the barn. “You’ll want to put some neatsfoot oil on those, Tom said, referring to the boots. “The outside, just the leather.”
Wendy nodded. “I’ll have to get some.”
“Come by the farm, I’ll do them. Don’t spray any of that waterproofing on them either.”
Wendy smiled. Now seemed as good a time as any to ask, “Tom, have you ever been in love?”
He grinned at her and tipped his hat. “That depends on your definition of love, pretty lady? If real feelings don’t count, I’ve been in love probably a hundred times.”
Bill Burton approached them in passing on the way to his barn. “Hey, Tom.”
“Bill.”
“Did you hear?”
“What?”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Wendy said, walking on.
“The farm, tonight? Seven, dinner?” Tom called after her.
“Sure.”
“Bring your notebook. We have lots to talk about.”
For whatever reason, Ben decided to visit the announcer’s booth. Bud Gipson looked at him and smiled. He was just about to call the eighth race. Ben sat down out of the way. He knew Bud fairly well, had been to the announcer’s booth several times over the years, and loved the view. The booth sat on the top of the grandstand on a floor all by itself. There wasn’t a better vantage point of the racetrack anywhere.
It never ceased to amaze Ben how the announcers memorized the names of the horses in each race. Bud had his own system which he shared once with Ben, names to numbers, then the jockey colors.
“Not the color of the horses?”
“No.”
“And they’re off!”
Ben watched the race; it was 6 furlongs. Down the backside Bud used binoculars and then switched to his glasses on a band, like goggles, for the stretch run. The horses’ names blended into one another’s….
“Ben?”
He looked up.
“Are you okay?”
“Am I smiling?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m okay.”
Bud laughed and sat down next to him.
“Apparently I dozed off,” Ben said.
“That’s a first,” Bud said, “me putting someone to sleep with the call of a race.”
“It was like a lullaby.” Ben smiled. “Music to my ears.”
Bud looked at him. “How are things going?”
“Well.” Ben yawned. “I think everything’ll be all right, once we get through all the rough spots.”
Bud laughed.
“Someday,” Ben added.
“So what can I do for you?” Bud asked.
“I was wondering when you stopped announcing minutes before the race and saying ‘don’t get shut out?’ I miss that.”
“About two years ago. Simulcasting. They didn’t want to chance me talking over a race running.”
Ben nodded. “They?”
Bud held his hands out. “They, the powers that be, Spears….”
Ben stood up to leave. “I think we need to figure out a way to do both.”
“You’re saying…?”
“I’ll let you know.” Ben started out the door and hesitated. “You do a good job, Bud. It’s good having you here.”
“Thank you.”
When Ben boarded the elevator, he figured he might as well stop on the way down and check in with “management.” Wendy was nowhere to be seen but Spears was at his desk, door open, on the phone. Ben walked past that office
and into Swingline’s old office. Everything was nice and neat and quiet. The room had a far-far-away feel to it. No wonder Swingline lost touch, Ben thought. No windows, no view of the racetrack. No nothing.
He walked into the private bathroom, used it, and walked back out into the hall. Spears was still on the phone and still no Wendy, so he walked down the hall in the opposite direction, checking things out. Spears met up with him as he was exiting what appeared to be a conference room, a large table in the center with a dozen or so chairs around it.
“Hi, Ben,” Spears said.
Ben nodded. “How is everything?”
“Well, I got the ball rolling for one night a week racing next year. Time will tell on that one.”
“That’s good.” Ben studied the man’s eyes. “Do you have any idea who might be behind the surveillance video?”
“Probably Rudolph. He was paranoid as hell.”
“Do you mean about his safety?”
“No, about someone trying to steal the racetrack from him.”
Ben stared down the hall.
“He was always checking up on people.”
Ben continued to stare down the hall.
“I don’t know how he thought someone was going to steal the track from him, but….”
Ben nodded. He’d heard enough. “What’s on this floor, just these offices?”
“That, and storage.”
“What are we storing?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve actually never been in the storage room.”
Ben smiled. “Well then, that makes two of us. Come on. Where’s Wendy?” he asked, passing her desk.
“I don’t know. I think she’s been slacking off lately. That’s not like her.”
“Well, we’ve been keeping her busy,” Ben said.
Spears nodded.
No sooner said, Wendy stepped off the elevator. “Ben, I have a great idea.”
The two men turned.
“Now hear me out,” she said, rather breathlessly. “Did you know that after the seventh race, betting slows down to the point that at least half of the mutual clerks are just sitting there. That’s it, that’s all they’re doing.”
Spears held up a hand. “You don’t want to go there, Wendy.”
“Why not?” Ben asked.
“The union.”
Ben nodded. “When do we renegotiate their contract?”
Spears looked at Wendy. Evidently he didn’t know. “January,” she said.
“Okay.” Ben paused. “We’ll do some thinking on it and throw it on top of the fix it for next year pile.”
Wendy smiled. “The thing is, if you cut their hours, they lose their benefits.”
Ben looked at her.
“But, if you cut their hours and let them keep their benefits, or find them something else to do instead of just sitting there, they can’t cry foul.”
Ben smiled. “Where did you find her?” he asked Spears.
Spears shrugged. “She came from another planet.”
“Venus,” she said, chuckling. She grabbed her purse from her desk drawer and looked at Ben. “I’ll see you at the farm around seven. Good-night, Mr. Spears.”
“Good night.” He walked with Ben down the hall. “What’s at the farm at seven?”
“A gathering of the minds,” Ben said. “Anytime you’d like to join us, come on over.”
Spears glanced over his shoulder at the elevator doors, closing. “I think I will.”
Chapter Nineteen
Dinner at Ben’s turned out to be lasagna from Luciano’s. Dawn had picked up two family-sized orders and a huge Italian salad smothered in shredded mozzarella cheese, black olives, pepperoncinis, and onion.
Randy passed the bread and then the butter. “I have two more calls to do, so if there’s anything I need to know, you’d better tell me now.”
“Well,” Ben said, looking around the table at those assembled; Dawn, Randy, Tom, Wendy, Glenda and George. The children, all tuckered out from their afternoon visit with their Aunt Linda and new baby, were at home with their nanny, having already eaten and getting ready for bed. “I made an interesting observation today.”
“Oh?” Dawn said.
“The third floor of the grandstand is totally unnecessary.”
Wendy looked at him. The third floor was where her office space, Spears’, and “Ben’s” offices were located.
“It’s not even a full floor.”
“It’s not?” Tom asked.
“No. It’s only goes about halfway.”
Randy added jelly to his buttered bread, a habit he got into when D.R. was learning to eat on his own. “You know, now that you mention it, how would the clubhouse be two stories high otherwise?” The clubhouse occupied half of the second floor. The other side was indoor stadium seats. Once upon a time, the stadium seats were open-air. That changed about twenty years ago.
“So,” Ben said, hesitating as he looked at Tom, who was looking at Wendy, who was looking warily at the portion sizes of lasagna in the pan. Tom cut one in half, served it to her and shook his head.
“You eat like a bird.”
“Yeah, like a swan,” she said, and everyone observed the way Tom smiled and looked at her. He passed her the salad. This was a table of good doers; even Dawn after having two children had no weight issues. Glenda was the only one that might be considered a little overweight by some, but she was all muscle. They all loved to eat. Eating was their passion.
“So?” Randy said.
“Well, so I’m thinking….”
The dogs started barking and in the midst of all their racket, there was a knock on the door. Tom got up to answer it. It was Spears. Tom just looked at him for a second.
“Who is it?” Ben called from the table.
“It’s the boss man,” Tom said, showing Spears in.
Wendy looked up, rather surprised to see him there.
Ben smiled. “Have a seat. You hungry?”
Glenda moved over to make room for him next to George. Wendy motioned to the kitchen, if he wanted to wash up. He washed his hands and joined them. Ben introduced him to Glenda and George. “I think you know everyone else.”
Spears nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
Tom passed him the lasagna. He helped himself to a portion and glanced to see what everyone was drinking. “Water,” Tom said, as if reading his mind. “Coffee with dessert.”
“Dessert?” Wendy said.
“Cassada cake,” Dawn replied.
Wendy sighed.
“It’s tradition. We can’t eat lasagna without it,” Dawn added.
Wendy smiled, thinking, maybe if I do an extra half hour on the treadmill tonight….
“So,” Ben said. “To bring you up to date, I was saying how I don’t think the third floor is necessary.”
Spears looked at him, mouth full, and literally stopped chewing.
“I don’t know how much it costs to heat and air condition that floor, and the lights, the cleaning, the maintenance.”
Spears swallowed his food whole. “Where will we go? What are you planning, Ben?”
“I’m thinking about the second floor, or that big empty area down by the secretary’s office. What’s that used for anyway?”
“Um….” Tom said.
No one knew.
“So, I’m thinking we might make a tradeoff here to help us pay for the bugler and cover the lack of Rupert’s rent.”
Wendy poured Spears a glass of water and handed it to him. He took a long drink. “Are we talking about this year, next year?” he asked.
“This year, this week,” Ben said. “Tomorrow.”
Wendy came to Spears’ rescue. “The computers would have to be moved. They’re all networked.”
“I say we check it out tomorrow and see what works best.” Ben looked at Wendy. “Will you handle that?”
She hesitated, deferring to Spears with a glance. “Yes, but I do think….”
“Good,” Ben said. “Next order of bu
siness?”
“Tomorrow’s video,” Dawn said. “I’m thinking about taping a two-year old getting okayed out of the gate.”
Tom shook his head. “You’d better wait till we take Bo-T back up. God forbid something happen unrelated and….”
“Good point,” Dawn said.
“How about a video of the secretary’s office in the morning?”
“Would we have to get everyone’s permission?”
“Probably.”
“What else then?”
Dawn looked at Randy. “How about if you come and examine one of the horses?”
Both he and Tom said, “Jinx” at the same time. Not a good idea.
“Why are horsemen so superstitious?” Dawn asked.
“Because it’s a game of luck,” Ben said.
Dawn nodded. “Pass the salad, please.”
Glenda handed it to her. “What about a video of Beau?”
Ben shrugged.
Spears looked at him. “You mean Native Beau Born?”
“No, the Beau. Beau Born,” Glenda said. “The sire.”
“Where is he?”
“Here,” Wendy said.
Spears sat back. “Okay, and is there any superstition to that?”
Ben laughed. “No, breeding season is months away and he’s already booked full.”
“It would have to be in the barn, since it’s getting dark outside,” Dawn said. “Where’s Dusty? He did such a great job narrating Some Sam’s video this morning.”
“He’ll be here soon. He had a little situation to take care of first.”
“At the track?” Ben asked.
Tom nodded. “Which reminds me.” He looked at Randy. “How do the vets decide what to charge?”
Randy looked at him and smiled. “Rupert said you’d be knocking on my door too.”
Tom shook his head. “That son of a bitch. I have never met anyone so hard-headed in my life.”
Randy laughed. “Actually I can only speak for myself, for my hospital. But we have a standard mark-up process.”
“Do you charge the same for an injection on the farm as you do the racetrack?” Tom asked.
“No, but we don’t charge farm calls on the racetrack either. We charge by procedure.”
“So what you’re saying is you only charge more on the racetrack to make up for that?”
“That, and what traffic will bear,” Randy said. “Tom, it’s a business. It’s about making a profit, paying your own bills. If you had a vet going around charging less than the others, that might get him a few customers initially but the majority are going to wonder why. Why is he discounting or undercutting? Plus, I have to stay on top of things in racehorse treatment. The racetrack business is different than being a farm vet. Things change every week, every day. It’s a business from all aspects. No one races for free.”
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