“That would probably be a good idea,” he said, dumfounded as he looked out at the racetrack. The horses from the first race were already back in the barn area. The horses for the second race were already in the paddock. Here came the bugler again.
“Last on the agenda,” Spears said, “The juggling of the pari-mutual employees. If we declare full time as thirty hours a week, six hours a day with full-time benefits secured, starting next year, we can cut our workforce back a third by four o’clock each weekday.”
“You mean when the crowd dies down?” Dusty asked.
“The problem with that is, years ago people didn’t mind standing in line. No one likes waiting now.”
“How much does cutting back save us?” Ben asked.
“Frankly, not enough.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“Not messing with their hours and keeping a crowd here until the last race.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Tom had a horse to pony in the fifth, saddled Red, and walked him down toward the tack room. Ben looked up and then glanced at his watch. “Why so early?”
“Well, dear,” Tom said. “I thought I’d ride on down and check out Rupert’s place, that’s if you won’t mind my being away for awhile.”
Ben laughed. “You’re such an ass.”
Tom led Red outside and mounted. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here.”
Tom rode down between the barns thinking, how many years have we been partners? Eighteen? Twenty? “Hey, Joe,” he said, to one of the grooms. The man waved. Twenty one? Yes, twenty one. Damn, that’s a long time.
Rupert was standing outside his new store. “I think you need a hitching post,” Tom said. He dismounted Red and dropped his reins, ground tying him. “Well, look at this,” he said, walking inside the store. “This looks great. Was all this stuff in the other place?”
“Yep, stacked on top of each other.”
Tom stepped back. “It looks good. Has the secret shopper been by yet?”
Rupert laughed. “You ass.”
“Wait a second,” Tom said, laughing himself. “That’s the second time someone’s called me that in less than five minutes.”
“If the foo shits, wear it,” Rupert said.
“All right, just for that I’m leaving.” Tom walked out and get back on Red.
“Thanks, Tom.”
He nodded.
“I think this’ll work out good.”
“I think so too.”
“Hey, Tom,” another pony boy said in passing.
“Who do you have?”
“Gleason’s. How about you?”
“Wilson’s.”
Tom rode Red down to the Wilson barn and sat outside waiting and thinking and yawning.
“And they’re off.”
He turned in the saddle. From this barn, he could see the horses going down the backside, but lost them as they went into the turn. He could hear the call of the race, but it too came in waves. From the sound of the crowd cheering as the horses ran down the stretch, a favorite must have been winning. The roar built to a fevered pitch, louder, louder, and louder, and then nothing.
He yawned some more. It’s all Wendy’s fault, he said to himself. She kept me up too late. Wilson’s groom led their horse out and handed him over to Tom. He’d ponied this horse before. It had a nervous little twitch, wore full blinkers, and once literally tried to climb in Tom’s lap.
“Let’s see if we can keep your feet on the ground this time.”
The horse sighed.
“Yeah, I know, that was last year. I’m just reminding you,” Tom said.
His groom laughed. She was about nineteen and thought Tom was absolutely the most gorgeous cowboy she’d ever laid eyes on.
“Here, here,” Tom said, when the horse started acting silly. He smoothed the horse’s mane, patted him gently on the neck. By the time they got up to the racetrack, the horses from the previous race were coming off and back into the barn area. “Who win?” Tom asked.
“Jasper Run.”
“Was it close?”
“Photo.”
At Nottingham Downs, horses were ponied to the grandstand and handed over to their grooms at the paddock entrance. Years ago, ponies were allowed inside the paddock, which served to help calm the Thoroughbreds. Having the same horse standing in front of the stall that just led them there added a feeling of safety; a small herd amongst a larger herd. Too many horses in the paddock added chaos at times though and about ten years ago the new rule came into effect. Ponies were to wait out on the track. Once the horses were saddled and riders up, the grooms or trainers or an occasional owner led the horse out to pony boy or girl for the post parade.
The bugle sounded!
“God, I love that,” Tom said. He nodded to the musician.
The bugler waved and as he walked back inside, played a rendition of “Here Comes the Sun.” Definitely fitting for this gorgeous day; the sun had just peeked out from behind the clouds.
For races going 5, 5 ½, or 6 furlongs, once the horses are loaded in the gate the pony boys and girls gather in the chute on the backside and out of the way. For mile races or longer, they gather to the back of the quarter pole chute.
Tom’s horse warmed up nicely and was relatively calm. The jockey was a “bug boy;” an apprentice. Tom told jokes as they cantered toward the starting gate and the jock laughed. He’d started out a little nervous, this being only his fourth mount. The race was a flat mile. When his horse loaded easy, Tom turned and cantered Red toward the quarter-pole chute.
The number nine horse being loaded reared and unseated his jockey. The gate crew handler lost his grip on the reins and the horse did a 180 degree turn and took off running. There are two outriders in every race, lead ponies for keeping the peace, catching loose horses, being there for an injured horse, the jockey….
“Loose horse!” Tom heard someone yell and turned in his saddle. The horse had gotten a jump on the outrider stationed at the back of the starting gate and was running in Tom’s direction. The outrider stationed at the front of the starting gate was already galloping his horse into the first turn in pursuit of catching him the other way if he got around that far.
When Tom saw the racehorse charging toward him, reins over his head and almost getting hung up in the rein loop with each stride, he didn’t think twice. Judging which path the horse might take to get around him - from his being on his right lead, Tom took to the outside. Red danced and cantered in place, all pumped up in anticipation. When the loose horse was about a furlong away, Tom nudged Red and Red took off, eyes wide and determined. The horse galloped up next to him, Tom and Red closed the gap between them, and again, gauging the Thoroughbred’s stride, when the horse reached out with his inside lead, his inside front leg, on the next stride, Tom leaned way over as far as he could, as low as he could, and grabbed hold of the horse’s reins.
“There now, there now,” he said, again and again, to calm the horse. “There now.”
The horse pulled up easily, was much obliged to turn around and canter alongside them back to the starting gate, and the crowd started cheering. Tom nodded, his way of saying thank you with his hands full, and the crowd clapped and cheered some more.
Wendy watched from the office window above, shaking her head, her heart still in her mouth. What if he’d gotten hurt, what if….?
Tom handed the horse over to two of the gate crew and since the other horses were all still loaded, waited behind the gate until this horse was loaded and latch sprung.
When horses break out of the gate for a mile race, the gate crew goes into quick action. They all climb onto the gate, the tractor driver turns the gate instantly, and they all barrel down the track to the chute and out of the way.
Tom chose to take Red the nearest path, the gap between the winner’s circle and paddock, and stood there with Red still slightly wound up, his sides heaving. “Good boy,” Tom said, patting him on the neck. “Good
job.”
The track photographer turned his camera on him, snapped several pictures and called to him. “Showoff!”
Tom laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t try that at home.”
Everyone within hearing distance clapped and yelled!
The horses were running a tight race down the backside. When Tom leaned forward, resting his arm on Red’s neck as he watched, the photographer took another photo of him. The Wilson horse that Tom had ponied for the race ended up running fourth. The loose horse ran second.
Wendy posted a notice on both the inside and outside of the jockeys’ room door stating that the requested meeting would be held up in the dining area of the clubhouse after the last race and that food would be served.
“Are you kidding me,” Tom said. “Do you have any idea how much jocks eat?”
Wendy chuckled. “I confess. I had two ulterior motives. One, I didn’t want anyone in a hurry to leave. Meetings don’t go well under those circumstances, particularly if someone is hungry. Two, I wanted to let Chef Diamond Lou showcase his talents.”
“Chef Diamond Lou? You’re kidding. That’s really his name?”
“Yes, that’s really his name.” She looked up at him. “By the way, did you know that horseback riding is the third most dangerous sport in the world?”
Tom looked at her. “You mean it’s not number one? Damn!”
“I’m serious,” Wendy said. “I read an article about it this afternoon after you practically stood on your head to catch that horse. See?” She pointed to her computer.
Tom glanced at the screen. Having someone worry about him was new. He wasn’t so sure he liked it. “Yes, it’s dangerous, Wendy. Horses are unpredictable and all that, but it’s what I do. Are you coming upstairs?”
Wendy hesitated. “I’m sorry, it’s just that….”
“It’s all right, come on, let’s go. We don’t want to worry Chef Diamond Lou, do we?” He took her by the hand.
“This is my tenth trip upstairs today,” she said. When Tom just nodded, Wendy sighed. “It’s just that my husband didn’t think he’d ever get hurt either.”
“I’m not your husband, yet. I’m not dead, yet. And I can’t live that way, Wendy. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Tom stopped and looked at her. “Sorry for what?”
“For loving you,” she said, somewhat angrily, and pounded the stairs as she walked on up.
Tom shook his head, smiling as he followed her. “Now that I can understand.”
Wendy kept walking and never looked back.
Most of the jockeys had already arrived and were helping themselves to the grand buffet Chef Diamond Lou had laid out before them. Ben, Dusty, and Spears milled about. Tom went straight for the roast beef and mashed potatoes. The jockeys that had ridden in the last race straggled in after showering, filled their plates, and everyone sat down. Conspicuously absent was the presence of alcoholic beverages. Two waitresses went from table to table, pouring water and hot coffee.
“Decaf?” Ben asked.
“Yes,” the woman said.
Ben laughed. “No democracy here.”
Wendy smiled. “Dawn said not to let you be tempted.”
When Chef Diamond Lou came to check on their meal and Wendy introduced him, he took a bow and everyone cheered.
“We’re having entirely too much fun,” Tom said.
Everyone laughed again.
“Speaking of fun, weren’t you supposed to call me?” Jockey Nancy Davis teased from across the room. “I’ve been waiting by the phone for weeks.”
Tom smiled, pretended to be “busted” with Wendy standing there, and they all laughed again. “Seriously,” he said, “I’d like to introduce you to my future wife. She’s a little pissed at me at the moment….” He smiled when she sighed and shook her head. “See, she’s giving in already.”
Wendy laughed. Tom was just plain irresistible.
“She brought up a good point today though,” Tom said. “It’s about the danger of horseback riding. I’m sure you all know that it’s the third most dangerous sport in the world. I confess I didn’t know. I’d actually never given it much thought.”
He’d silenced the room. He had a way of doing that. “I hope we all keep that in mind when we decide what’s best for each of us here today. Our safety and our well-being.”
Every jockey stood and clapped. Ben stood and clapped, Dusty stood and clapped, Spears stood and clapped. Wendy stood and clapped. Chef Diamond Lou wiped his eyes and clapped as well.
“All right, let’s eat,” Tom said.
Chef Diamond Lou walked from table to table answering questions about the different entrées, and was “so happy.” He thanked Wendy every time he passed her and would give her a big hug and say, “Hugs, hugs, hugs,” and would hug her again. “I will do your wedding, yes?”
“Sure,” Wendy said, being hugged to death.
“Yes, yes, I go now.” He bowed out of the room waving like royalty amidst hoots and hollers and cheers.
“This really is delicious,” Spears said.
“The coffee’s even good,” Ben said, pouring another cup. “Are you sure it’s decaf?”
Wendy nodded. “They promised.”
When they’d all eaten the main course, their dishes removed, and were being served dessert; a four-berry torte drizzled with dark chocolate and topped with whipped cream, Tom tapped his water glass with a spoon.
Everyone looked up and laughed.
“Well, now that I have your attention,” he said. He’d sensed a change in the mood the last couple of minutes and hoped to lighten things up again. It was time to get down to business. Ben looked across the tables at Juan, the leading jockey. From the way all of the other jockeys were looking at him, he was the apparent spokesperson.
Juan cleared his throat and took a drink of water. “We’ve given this thought. We have actually thought about it more than you all know. We want what’s best too. We appreciate that you bought the soft sticks for us to see.”
The jocks all nodded.
“I told you, I would try it. I will. But we are not sure one rider trying it out will tell us anything.”
Ben listened. They all listened.
“We want to help you, Ben. We want to help you all. We want to help ourselves.”
Ben nodded, thanking him.
“You say you want to change all of us to a soft whip by next year. We only have a few months left for this meet, so that’s not that far away.” Juan looked around the room. “We know what you are trying to do. You want to help racing. We do too. We want to win races.”
Tom looked at Ben. He looked at Dusty and Spears. He looked at Wendy. “We see no reason,” Juan said, “to not change to soft whips. If everybody uses them, we are all the same. There is no disadvantage. But none of us know how it will turn out.”
Tom smiled. This seemed to be headed in the right direction.
“Not unless we try it now.”
Ben sat back. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’re ready to try it. With everything you have done and all that you are all doing to try and save this racetrack, we think it’s the least we can do.”
“Thank you,” Ben said.
Juan smiled. “There is one more thing, actually two things. Our biggest fear is being accused of not trying hard. If the horse does not respond to the soft stick, we do not want blamed.”
Ben nodded. That was understandable. “There might be some kinks there to work out. What’s the second thing?”
“Uh….” Juan looked around the room at the other jockeys. “We want to know who’s paying for these new sticks.”
Ben smiled, the others laughed. “We’ll take care of that.”
“Thank you, Ben.”
“No,” Ben said. “Thank you. All of you.”
Chapter Forty
Dusty, Tom, and Wendy pulled into the driveway of the Shifting Gears Thoroughbred Rescue Farm, par
ked their vehicles and walked into the barn. “Oh no,” Veronica said. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” Tom smiled.
“Why do you always do that?” Karen said to her. “You give me a heart attack.”
Dusty laughed. He’d known these two women for years. They never changed.
“I’d like you to meet Wendy,” Tom said. “She and I are planning on getting married.”
“Oh dear,” Veronica said.
Karen laughed. “Don’t mind her. Congratulations!”
“Thank you.” Wendy shook her hand, and then shook Veronica’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you both. I’ve heard great things about you.”
“Which is what we want to talk to you about,” Tom said. “We want you to help us set up an “in between kind of Thoroughbred layover rescue in the meantime try and find them a home” program.”
Karen smiled. “Come on. Let’s go in the tack room and sit down.”
Veronica tagged along behind them. “Is this for horses in the future? Do you have some already?”
“At the moment, we have one,” Dusty said.
“What shape is it in?”
“He looks pretty good. He just needs some rest. We hope.”
“Who does he belong to? Who’s was he?”
“Well, he belonged to Rickety.”
“Ah, Jesus,” Veronica said, plopping down in a chair.
“The horse is at the track,” Tom said. “He’s getting good care.”
“Who’s taking care of him?” Veronica asked.
“Me,” Dusty said.
“Oh thank God.”
Karen agreed. “When does he have to be outta there?”
“Well, see, that’s just it,” Tom said, motioning for Dusty to explain.
“We’re trying to come up with a way to keep horses in situations like this at the track for at least a week or so,” Dusty said. “Maybe a little longer if need be.”
“Horses on the track need a little time to come down off training,” Tom said to Wendy. “Their grain needs to be cut back gradually, things like that. And if they’ve suffered an injury, they need stall rest, hand walking, that type of thing.”
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