“Then we’ll find out. Meanwhile…?”
Now it was Ben who was yawning. “Meanwhile, the soft whips should be here in the next day or so. We’ll get the jocks to try them, and go from there.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tom entered the clubhouse and looked around. Wendy waved. She’d been watching for him, waiting, at times fearful he’d forgotten, got tied up, anything, everything. She smiled. Her sons both turned from the look on her face.
“So that’s your cowboy,” her eldest said.
“Behave,” she told him. “Both of you.”
Tom was stopped twice on the way to their table, a trainer congratulating him on B-Bo’s race yesterday. The man wasn’t a close friend of Tom’s, more of an acquaintance, and obviously using the encounter to impress his owners, all sitting at the table with him. Second stop, was an old flame of sorts. Tom smiled. She still looked hot! She gave him a big kiss.
“It’s nice to see you again,” Tom said. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name.
“This is my husband Charles,” the woman said, of the sugar-daddy-looking-type man sitting next to her. “We have a filly in the sixth race today.”
Tom nodded and shook the man’s hand. “I hope she runs big. Nice to meet you.”
“He looks like a country western singer,” Wendy’s youngest said.
The other one nodded. “That one that sings about the frog in the pond.”
Wendy flashed them both a stern look.
As Tom neared the table, a trainer two tables down called to him. Tom waved and turned his attention to Wendy. “Sorry I’m late,” he said.
“That’s okay,” Wendy said, thinking, thank God at least you showed. Her sons would have never let her live it down otherwise. Mom called us home to meet her new boyfriend, only…. “And these are my sons, Matthew and Gordon. Matthew is named after his father. Gordon is named after my father.”
Both sons rolled their eyes. She was being so formal, so serious, so nervous.
“Matthew,” Tom said, shaking his hand. “Gordon.” He reached across the table and shook his hand too. “Nice to meet you both. Your mom has told me absolutely nothing about you.”
Both boys laughed. The guy was kind of funny.
Tom sat down next to Wendy and was just about to say something when another fellow trainer called to him from across the way. “There’s no riff-raff allowed in here.”
Tom laughed. “Fuckin’ A.”
Everyone at the man’s table laughed. They all knew Tom, they all loved Tom. Who didn’t? When he leaned forward, he realized…. “Sorry,” he said, cringing from the raised- eyebrow expression on Wendy’s face. “God keeps letting me down in the language department.”
Both boys laughed. Their mom looked like she wanted to crawl under the table. A waitress appeared at Tom’s side. He glanced around; they all had beverages already. “I’ll have a ginger ale, lots of ice. Did ya’ll order lunch yet?”
Wendy shook her head. She’d never noticed him using the term ya’ll before.
“Well, I’m starving so why don’t we order,” Tom said. He looked at Wendy and grinned. “This pretty lady will probably have a salad.”
Wendy smiled. “Actually, I was thinking of having a…..”
“Salad,” both her sons said.
“A cobb salad,” she said, laughing. “With Roquefort dressing.”
Both of her sons ordered the cheeseburger platter, Tom ordered a Rueben. The first race was about to run. Tom took the racing form out of his back pocket and opened it. He glanced at the tote board. “Did you guys pick a winner?”
“Um, no,” Matthew said.
Tom set the form down between them. “I like Divot Dan, he’s overdo, see here….” He gave them a quick lesson. “This column is their past performances. This one here is the race conditions….”
Wendy watched her sons, at first appearing to listen politely, then all of sudden getting interested. Matthew was into numbers, Gordon was into competition. They each picked a horse and watched the race. Tom’s pick won.
“My horse ran dead last,” Gordon said.
“Yeah, well I only beat you by one,” Matthew said.
Tom looked from one to the other, sizing them up so to speak. “If you want me to throw a race and let you win, you’re going to have to let me know.”
Both boys laughed. “No, that’s okay,” Gordon said. “I want to beat you fair and square.”
They ate their lunch while pouring over the horses’ past performances in the next race. “How important is their time percentage?”
“You mean their speed rating?”
“Yes.”
“Very,” Tom said, and looked at Wendy. She was picking at her salad. “What’s wrong with it?”
She hesitated. “It’s….”
Tom took his fork, speared some of it and tasted. He made a face, spit it discreetly into a napkin. “Shit, we can’t even complain, can we?” he said, laughing.
“But it’s sour,” she said. “We don’t want anyone sick.”
“It’s a sign,” Tom said.
“Of what?” she asked.
“That you have eaten one too many salads.”
They both laughed. Tom waved the waitress over. “Be very quiet about this, okay?”
The young woman nodded.
“Take the salad to the chef. Wait, do we have a chef?”
Wendy nodded. “Two of them.”
“Good, tell them to taste the dressing.”
“Oh no,” the waitress said. “Why?”
“Shhh…” Tom insisted, with that smile of his that melted female hearts. “It’s no big deal. Just have them taste it. All right.”
“All right.”
Matthew and Gordon glanced up and went back to studying the form, handicapping. “I want the number five horse,” Gordon said. He looked at the odds. 12-1. “Maybe not.”
Tom looked at the form. “Don’t let the odds fool you.”
“What are you saying?” Gordon asked.
Tom shrugged. “Nothing.”
“I like the two horse.” Matthew looked at Tom. “Which one do you want?”
Tom looked at the form again. “The two horse has a good shot and so does the five. But I personally like the four horse.”
Both boys looked at him.
“So if I was betting, I’d bet the four to win, five to place, and two to show.”
As the horses were loading into the gate, here came the waitress with another salad. “The chef said there was nothing wrong with the dressing, but he gave you a new salad anyway.”
“I see. If you’ll excuse me,” she said to Tom and her sons. “I’ll be right back.”
Tom looked at the boys and shook his head. “I think the shit’s going to hit the fan.”
Both boys laughed.
“And they’re off!”
Wendy’s two sons and Tom watched every step of the race. It was 5 ½ furlongs and in the stretch run, here came the number four horse. “Oh my God,” Matthew said. “He’s going to win!”
Tom shook his head. Were they talking about him or the horse? “He’s going to come up short.”
“My horse is winning!” Gordon said. “Look! Come on Satan!”
Tom smiled. The horse’s name was Sattan. He was the grandson of the famous Shim Sham.
“Look! Look!” Matthew said. “Come on number two.”
The three of them laughed. All three horses vied for the lead…and at the wire, Gordon’s horse won, Matthew’s finished second, and Tom’s came in third. It wasn’t even a photo finish.
Tom smiled when they looked at him for an explanation. “You win some and you lose some,” he said.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” Matthew said.
“What? Do you think this is the first horse race I’ve ever lost?”
The boys laughed. If asked, they’d have to admit they’d had reservations about meeting Tom, but liked him almost right from the beginning and liked
him even more with every passing minute. Wendy returned to the table, all red in the face.
Tom looked at her as she sat down and dug into her salad.
“Talk about arrogance.”
“It didn’t go well, eh?”
“No,” she said. “Not at all. Now see, this salad is good. And yes, I do know the difference.”
Tom didn’t dare laugh, though he wanted to. Her sons either. “Did you tell him who you were? I mean, are?”
She looked at him. “In the end.”
“The end…? What? Did you fire him?”
“No.” She jabbed her salad again. “I can’t fire him. I don’t have the authority.”
Tom looked at her.
“Besides, he quit.”
Tom nodded. “I see.” He looked at her sons. “Walk softly and carry a big stick,” he said.
Matthew and Gordon laughed. Then here came the chef, all dressed in white, chef hat in hand, and having a meltdown.
The boys stared.
“Oh way to go, Mom,” Gordon said. “You made the man cry.”
“Please,” Wendy said to the chef. “Sit down.” She made room for him next to her.
Tom looked around to see if there was someone with a camera. This scenario almost looked staged; another sad Nottingham Downs headline. “Chef quits over rancid….”
“I am so sorry,” the man said. “You were right. I tasted it. It was spoiled. It was sour.”
“Which is all I asked initially.” Wendy could feel eyes on her from all over the clubhouse. Damage control, she kept thinking, damage control. “Chef Diamond Lou,” she said, as if introducing him. “Can we have a round of applause?”
Most everyone in the clubhouse clapped, singing his praises.
“Thank you, thank you,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Now,” Wendy said, when things got quiet again. “Would you perhaps just like to go back to work now?”
“Yes, please,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, and so am I,” Wendy said.
The chef sniffled and looked around the table. Tom nodded, touching the rim of his hat. “Afternoon.”
The boys smiled. “Great burger,” Matthew said. Gordon agreed.
“Thank you. Burger,” the chef said. “So young.” He looked at Tom’s empty plate.
“Rueben,” Tom said. “Particularly good.”
“I leave you now,” Chef Diamond Lou said. “Have a nice day.”
“You too,” they all said.
He put on his hat and walked back to the kitchen, tall and proud. “Thank you, thank you,” he kept saying, to everyone he passed. “Thank you.” He kissed the back of one woman’s hand. “Salmon, yes, yes, thank you. Tarragon.”
Matthew leaned forward. “Was that for real?”
Their mom smiled. “Watch the race. I need to catch my breath and eat.”
Tom looked at her. “Is there any tarragon in that salad?”
She smacked him, chuckling. “Quit. Enough.”
He turned to Matthew and Gordon. “Okay, I’m going to redeem myself here. Big Lucky….” He motioned. The horses were loading in the gate. “He’s going to win drawing away.”
“Drawing away?” Gordon said.
Tom nodded. “All on his own.”
Big Lucky won by five lengths, drawing away.
When Tom excused himself to go to the men’s room, Wendy looked at her sons. “Well?”
“He’s nothing like Dad,” Matthew said.
Wendy smiled. “There’s no one like your dad. I’m not trying to replace him.”
Matthew nodded. “I think he’s cool.”
“Me too,” Gordon said.
Tom had promised them a tour of the barn area, so when he returned, he paid the bill, and off they went. “Look at you in them trousers,” he said to Wendy.
She laughed. “Actually they are trousers.”
“And you didn’t think I’d know that?” Tom smiled.
The boys were walking ahead of them. “Don’t get too close to the stalls,” Tom said, as they started down the shedrow. “A couple of those horses get a little aggressive with their greetings this close to dinner time.”
Ben was sitting in the tack room, having just walked back from the track kitchen. He looked up and smiled when Wendy introduced her sons. “Your mom does a good job,” he said.
Both boys smiled shyly, thinking the same thing. This man owns the racetrack, this really nice old man; this is mom’s boss. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller.”
Ben asked the boys about school, what they were studying and what they hoped to be some day. “Computer Science,” Matthew said.
“Geek,” Gordon said, teasing. “Me, marketing.”
They both attended Kent State University, which was about an hour away. One was a freshman, the other a sophomore. Ben smiled at the way Wendy looked at her sons. She was proud, and rightfully so, he thought. They seemed like nice kids. She’d done well.
The boys got to meet all the “Miller” horses once they’d been fed their dinner. They liked the fillies; all three were inquisitive and kind. Bo-T; Beau Together, the two-year old colt, showed off a little, kicking and turning around and around in his stall. He was the biggest of the five horses, owing his size to both Beau Born and All Together.
“So he’ll be used for breeding?” Gordon asked.
“Well, that depends,” Tom said. “He’s unproven as a racehorse. He hasn’t run yet.”
“Yeah, but even so, with his breeding as good as you say, wouldn’t it make sense to use him for breeding when he’s done racing?” Matthew asked.
Tom nodded. “If he proves himself, otherwise, no one’s going to breed to him, particularly if Beau Born is still standing at stud.”
“Standing?”
Tom smiled. “Come to think of it, it is an odd expression. Stand at stud….hmmm.”
The boys laughed. Their mom blushed.
“And now this here is B-Bo. He’s by Beau Born but out of a What a Pleasure mare. Technically, the match has probabilities of producing a good sire.”
“Because…?”
“It’s a Nick system. It’s all computerized. It tells you which stallion to breed to that’s likely to be the best match, who passes on this, who corrects that. They have it all down to a science,” Tom said.
“But if Beau Born is still ‘standing at stud’ why would anyone want to breed to him and not Beau Born?”
“Well, for one, B-Bo has Seattle Slew in his bloodline on his dam’s side. He’s got a different momma than Bo-T. They’re both bred equally as well, but it goes back to that Nick system.”
Gordon and Matthew nodded. They’d grown up with computers, so the explanation made sense to both of them.
“Plus,” Tom added, patting B-Bo on the neck. “He’s a racehorse. In the eight times he’s run, he’s only been beaten once.”
“What happened that time?” Matthew asked.
Tom glanced down the shedrow at Ben, who sat shaking his head.
“He bucked coming out of the gate and dumped Juan. It wasn’t pretty.”
“Will they hold that against him?” Gordon asked. “Would that be a personality Nick?”
Tom smiled. “You two are quick.”
“Yes, it could be. No one’s allowed to forget something like that, though I for one would like to,” Ben said.
“But what if it wasn’t his fault?”
“Now you’re talking. It’s a gamble,” Tom said. “It’s a game.”
Ben smiled. “The best game in town.”
Wendy had to agree. For the first time in her five years at Nottingham Downs, she was starting to appreciate the other side of this racetrack business, the reason behind it all; the horses. “Well,” she said. “We’d better get going.”
Tom walked with them to the end of the shedrow, shook the boys’ hands, and stepped back. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said to Wendy.
“It’s going to be a big day,” she said
. “There’s a lot going on.” When her sons walked away, she gave Tom a hug. “Thank you.”
Tom smiled as they gazed into one another’s eyes. “Good night, pretty lady,” he said, and kissed her gently.
Matthew and Gordon turned and watched from a distance. Their mother had been lonely for a very long time. She wasn’t lonely anymore.
Chapter Thirty
Mondays and Tuesdays were dark days at Nottingham Downs, no racing. But it was training as usual. In fact, since there was no racing, it was typically heavier traffic on the racetrack during training hours. Cracker Jack Henderson walked down to the Miller barn to say good-bye. The backside always reminded him of an ant hill; activity everywhere.
“God, I love this place!”
“Me too,” Ben said, shaking his hand. “When will you be back this way?”
“In about two weeks. Let me know if there’s anything I can do in the meantime. You have my number, right?”
Ben nodded.
Tom and Dawn returned from the wash rack with Bo-T and waved to Cracker Jack in passing. “I’ll be back the end of the month,” he said, that crazy hair of his blowing in all different directions in the wind.
“Have a safe trip,” Dawn said.
“Don’t take any wooden nickels,” Tom told him.
Cracker Jack laughed. “Don’t break any hearts.”
“I don’t plan to,” Tom said. “See you when you get back.”
At the barn, Dawn picked up right where she left off. “And then, when I went to bring them in….”
Tom shook his head. “Oh no, not another pony story.”
Dawn chuckled. “I know, but they’re just so cute. You should see them when they’re out in the pasture playing.”
Tom nodded. “Uh huh.”
Ben walked out from under the shedrow. “Well, he got okayed.”
“I knew he would,” Tom said. “He broke really good.”
Ben stood looking at Bo-T, only two years old and standing well over 16 hands; a big, strapping colt with an attitude - and now okay to run. After Dawn and Tom scraped him off, Tom put a cooler on him, hung him on the walking machine, and Dawn went to the ladies room to wash up and leave. Randy’s parents were due to arrive at the farm any time now.
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