Winning Odds Trilogy

by MaryAnn Myers

  “I want to thank you all for coming. This is a great turnout! Junior, Lucy, congratulations and thank you for doing your part to get everyone here tonight.”

  Everyone clapped. Junior bowed. Lucy smiled.

  “I have just a few budgetary items to go over.” Bill put on his glasses and read from a report. “Expenditures this year, $3,045. I’m rounding this off,” he said. “Income, donations, $3,982. I already did the math,” he said, chuckling. “We have….”

  “$937,” Big John Myers said from one of the tables halfway back.

  Everyone laughed. Myers was notorious for instant numbers tabulation in his head.

  “So, I’m happy to report we are in the black for the second year in a row.”

  Everyone clapped.

  “Irene, would you like to say something?”

  “Yes.” She stood up and walked to the microphone. “I want to thank you all for coming. I want to thank Junior and Lucy too. God Bless you both. I want to thank Ben Miller.”

  Everyone clapped again. Irene waved to everyone and sat back down.

  “Now I think Dusty, you have a report on the finances of the ReHab and ReHoming Thoroughbred Project.”

  Dusty nodded and stepped forward. He too, had a list of figures. “We’re happy to report that as of today and for this past year, we have found homes for twenty-two Thoroughbreds and they all are doing well.”

  More applause.

  “Total donation figure of $5,734.37. Total expenses….” He paused. “I’m leaving the change in to put you to the test, Big John.”

  John Myers laughed. “Bring it on.”

  “Expenses. $4,932.66.”

  “Balance….?”

  “Eight hundred and twenty-one dollars and seventy-one cents,” Big John said, reaching into his pocket.

  Dusty looked at him, a hush falling over the room. “No, actually that’s $801.71.”

  Big John held up a twenty dollar bill. “Not with this donation added.”

  Everyone laughed and clapped, passed the twenty dollar bill up front, and clapped again when Dusty held it up. “Thank you!” Dusty sat down and Bill Squire stepped back up to the microphone.

  “Now we’re going to hear from Nottingham Downs General Manager Richard Spears.”

  Everyone clapped as Richard stepped up. “I have a lot of news to share with you this evening,” he said, looking around the room. Some of the faces he knew; many were relative strangers to him. “Good news. Nottingham Downs is alive and well!”

  Everyone clapped.

  “And things are about to get even better.” When Richard paused, looking around the room, Wendy smiled. He was playing the crowd, doing what he did best. “I have wonderful news to share with you. As we all know, our illustrious owner Ben Miller can be a little stubborn.”

  “Hey, hey, watch it now.” Ben shook his head, pointing at him as everyone laughed.

  “He can be a little set in his ways,” Richard added.

  Ben laughed along at that.

  Richard paused. “But you’re not going to find a more thoughtful, more knowledgeable racetrack owner anywhere.”

  Everyone clapped boisterously.

  Richard waited for the applause to quiet down. “We’re all aware, every one of us, how tough this business can be. How competitive it can be. How at times, how utterly impossible it can be.”

  You could have heard a pin drop.

  “I want you all to know we are not oblivious to the competition. I want you all to know how much we appreciate each and every one of you. We want to thank you for backing us in our efforts to clean up racing. We are setting an example for every other racetrack in this country. We have a lot here that they don’t have. Number one, we have a professional horseman at the helm.”

  More applause for Ben. “Jesus,” he said to Tom in a low voice. “I’m dying to hear what’s next, and I already know what he’s going to say.”

  “So getting to the news, and I don’t mean the Morning Banter.”

  Everyone laughed. Lots of them booed.

  “Is this. The only thing that a lot of other racetracks have that we don’t have is slots.”

  Once again, you could have heard a pin drop.

  “But that’s about to change.”

  It took about two seconds for the implication of that to settle in, everyone looking at one another, looking at Ben, and then looking up front at Richard again.

  “Nottingham Downs has entered into an agreement with RJR Enterprises to bring slots to Nottingham Downs!”

  Cheers and applause and whoops and hollers rocked the room, many of the horsemen on the feet!

  Richard waited for the cheers to run themselves out and for everyone to sit back down. “We’re excited too. This is positive for the future of Nottingham Downs in many ways. Increased revenue means higher purses. It’ll mean more in terms of profit for everyone. It’ll mean more in the HBPA coffers. It’ll give us the revenue we need to finalize hospitalization for backside employees. It’ll mean more outreach for the community.” Richard held his hand up. “What it won’t mean, is a change in the way we do business here at Nottingham Downs.” Ben nodded when he looked at him. “We won’t allow horses to be put at risk for the extra dollars. The racing industry has learned a hard lesson there. We won’t make those same mistakes. Just as our Nottingham Downs creed states, ‘Where no Thoroughbred is ever Forgotten,’ we won’t forget you. You have stuck by us. You have stepped up to the plate. We won’t let you down.” He paused. “Ben,” he said.

  Ben rose and walked to the microphone to thunderous applause. He looked around the room. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “As one of the oldest people in this room, I can say I’ve known many of you all of your lives.”

  The people laughed.

  “I want to talk about several things tonight. Most important on my mind is integrity. We’ve tried to do what’s right. Like Mim said, it’s about change. And hopefully change for the good. We’re going to do our best to stand by you horsemen here tonight and we’re going to continue to do what’s right for the horse. Make no mistake about that. I can see in some of your faces some of the same concerns I had. What about the little guy? What about the trainer with one or two horses? Three or four? Is there room for him or her when the line starts forming and Joe Feigler has a stack of stall applications from every stable far and wide looking to bring in a string of horses?”

  Joe smiled.

  “Yes,” Ben said. “That won’t change. It’s part of the agreement.” He hesitated, glancing at Dawn and Tom, the successors to complete ownership someday. They both nodded and smiled. “Equally important to me in reference to the fear of big trainer little trainer, small stable big stable, I want to address the issue of claiming a trainer’s only horse.”

  Silence permeated the room.

  “Dusty and I have been deeply troubled by this issue.” Ben held up his hand. “Now, I know, maybe some of you might be thinking we’re just getting a little sentimental in our old age, but quoting Mim again, with age for some of us, yes, she said some, comes wisdom.”

  Mim smiled.

  “We have it in the works to introduce a bylaw that will prevent a horseman from having his one and only horse claimed. We think everyone here at Nottingham Downs has a right to make a living, whether it’s the owners, the trainers, the grooms, the riders, hot walkers, everyone. Claiming has been a Thoroughbred racing practice for almost a hundred years. We’ve all claimed horses. We’ve all lost horses. Here, at Nottingham Downs, we think it’s time for change. Just because something’s old, doesn’t make it right. We’re going to work on it. We’re going to make it right.”

  “Ben,” a man said, from the back of the room.

  Ben looked toward the sound of the voice, as did everyone else.

  “I want to thank you,” Jackson said, standing and walking up front. “I want to thank you and Dusty for sticking up for us small owners.” He looked around the room and let his eyes fall on a man at a table
midway through the room. He took a wad of money out of his pocket and held it up. “I want my horse back, Hannity. This here is what you paid for him plus a week’s care. I want him back.”

  All eyes went from him and the wad of money to Hannity. The man was seated with his wife and six of his owners.

  “I want him back,” Jackson repeated. “Not only did you take my only horse, you took away my livelihood, my reason for getting up in the morning. I want him back. I want my life back.”

  Hannity stared straight ahead, feeling the weight of a room full of eyes weighing on his shoulders, not to mention his wife’s glare. “Uh, what about the vet bill,” he said, trying to save face.

  Randy held up his hand. “I’ll waive it,” he said.

  Everyone looked at Randy, then back at Hannity. When the man finally nodded, Jackson walked to his table, gave the man the money and shook his hand. “I’ll be coming to get him in the morning. I mean you no disrespect and harbor no hard feelings. I just want my horse back.”

  ~ * ~

  As soon as Jackson returned to his seat, the mood changed back to a festive one. The band started playing and it was time to party. Junior and Lucy visited each table, chatting with each person. Some offered name suggestions if the baby was a girl, a boy. People came up to see the old-timers, visit and reminisce. Children were everywhere. They took to running around, squealing, and dancing.

  Rupert shook his son’s hand and darted his eyes at a man standing at the back door all evening, arms crossed. He could very well be a banquet employee, but he couldn’t help thinking that the guy looked like a bodyguard.

  “Congratulations,” Rupert said to Lucy.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s time to cut the cake,” Irene announced. Perfect timing, Junior thought.

  Cutting the wedding cake turned into a photo shoot. The cake-makers first stood at the newlyweds’ sides. Lucy’s mother and father stood at their side. Lucy and Junior smiled for everyone snapping their cameras.

  “I hate to cut it. It’s so pretty,” Lucy said.

  George and Señor motioned for her to move the process along. Both had plates and waiting. Junior and Lucy fed one another a piece of cake, no mess, and Liz and Glenda took over cutting the rest. The bride danced with her father. Junior danced with Lucy’s mother. His mother lived several states away. The old-timers sang along when the band played, “My Old Kentucky Home.”

  Juan Garcia stepped up to the band mike and sang a stellar rendition of “The Run for the Roses.” The floor was swarmed with Texas-style line-dancers when “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” began. Gordon and Matthew had hooked up with several young women at the table next to theirs. The girls pulled them out onto the floor, thinking they were going to teach them the dance and were surprised they both knew how. They were all laughing, everyone having a great time.

  “Too loud,” Ben said, at one point.

  “What?” Mim said.

  They both laughed. The chicken dance had just about everyone dancing, on the floor, in their seats, around the perimeters of the tables. When the song “YMCA” was played, there was even louder singing and flailing of arms. The children all giggled and laughed, mixing up their letters and falling down deliberately.

  The Electric Slide song came next, clearing the floor, those that knew how from those that didn’t. Some in between bravely gave it a go. More singing at the mike, more dancing, more cake, more trips to the bar.

  When the banquet hall closed at midnight, they had to shoo people out. “Here.” Tom tucked the wedding donation box under Junior’s arm and handed him a key. “You’re booked next door for the night. Leave your truck here.”

  Junior nodded. “Which way?”

  Tom laughed. “Wait a minute. Maybe you ought to leave that with me.” He had no idea how much money there was inside the box and Junior obviously was just a little drunk.

  Randy had gone for Dawn’s car and she was standing inside the door with the children. “I’ll follow them,” a distinguished-looking muscular gentleman said.

  Tom looked at him.

  “Thank you, Vito,” Dawn said. “Junior, Vito’s going to follow you to the hotel to make sure you and Lucy get there all right. Okay?”

  Junior turned and had to look way up to see the man eye to eye. “Thank you, Vito. That’s so nice of you. Do I know you?”

  Vito laughed. “I’m family.”

  “Should we go now?” Lucy asked, supporting Junior.

  “Just a moment,” Vito said. He waited until Dawn and the children were in the car with Randy.

  “Who else came with us?” Randy asked.

  “Me,” Miguel said.

  “No, you didn’t, I did,” Bill said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Tom said. “Just get in.”

  When Dawn and Randy were loaded up and pulled out, Vito escorted Junior and Lucy to the hotel next door, rode up the elevator with them, and as they closed their door, bid them goodnight.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Jason stepped out of the guard shack and greeted Dawn cheerfully. “Morning! Great banquet! Here’s your paper.”

  Dawn smiled. “Thank you.” Noticing it wasn’t opened to the Sports section she was just about to tuck it under her arm when she saw the headline: “Nottingham Downs Says Yes to Slots.” The subtitle: “Ain’t no Mountain High, Ain’t no Valley Low.”

  When she walked into the tack room, Ben, Tom, and Dusty looked up at her. “All right,” she said. “So I didn’t get enough sleep, but what’s this supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Tom yawned. “Is it directed at Mountaineer?”

  “That’s a possibility,” Dusty said.

  Ben leaned back. “The article’s not bad. At least it makes the distinction between the two operations.”

  Dawn poured a cup of coffee and turned when Jackson walked into the tack room. “A thought occurred to me in the middle of the night last night,” the man said. “I don’t have a stall.”

  The four of them laughed.

  “This late in the year, your old stall and tack room are still available,” Dusty said. “I’ll let Joe know.”

  “Thank you.” Jackson hesitated at the door. “I want you all to know how much I appreciate what you did for me.”

  Ben nodded. “We’re going to fix the claiming system. Next year will be a brand new year all around. Claiming is never going to go way. We’re just going to try and make it right.”

  No sooner had Jackson left than Junior made his way in. “Whoa.” He sat down ever so slowly with his head spinning. “Did anyone get the license plate number of the bus that hit me?”

  They all laughed. “Lucy drop you off?” Tom asked. It would be hard to imagine Junior driving in this condition.

  “No, she’s still in that big bed…with all the pillows. There were so many pillows.”

  They all laughed again.

  “I walked here. I pointed myself toward the smell of horse shit and here I am.”

  Dawn handed him a cup of coffee, all of them laughing again.

  “Well, it’s not every day you get married,” Tom said.

  Junior nodded, and then held his head still. “I ain’t never getting married again.” He looked at Ben. “Tell me there’s no one to gallop.”

  Ben glanced at the training chart. “Three.”

  Junior stared - first at Ben, then at the wall, the floor, and then into his coffee cup.

  “Go get something to eat,” Tom suggested.

  “You’re kidding,” Junior said.

  “Nope, it’ll help you ‘man up.’ Get some bacon and eggs and eat some grits.”

  Junior rose to his feet, coffee cup still in hand. To watch him as he hesitated at the door, one would think he was contemplating climbing a mountain. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I hope.” He returned about a half hour later, laid down on a stack of hay in the hay room for about an hour, and woke ready to go. Batgirl was first to be galloped, then Whinny. Wee Born walked. Morning Dew was g
alloped. Jenny Grimm worked Alley Beau a half mile. Tom and Red ponied her up and back.

  From the moment Wendy arrived at her office, she got little done for fielding questions on the phone from numerous newspaper sports reporters, radio sports talk-show hosts, sports television figures, and racing fans in general, wanting to air their pros and cons about slots. By noon, she decided to make a recording, programmed in the option for more information by pressing five, listed the information to date, and stepped away.

  As she walked out into the Secretary’s office and glanced ahead she smiled. Gloria and Charlie had just come inside. She gave them both a hug. “Does Ben know you’re here?” Whenever Charlie and Gloria paid a visit up from Florida where they’d retired, it was a surprise because Gloria insisted surprises kept people young.

  “No,” Charlie said. “We were just at the barn and no one was there.”

  Wendy glanced at her watch. “Did you try the kitchen?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s this I hear about slots?” Charlie asked. The man had been a stable guard at Nottingham Downs for over forty years and was Ben’s best friend. He’d heard it all and had seen in all when it came to the backside. “I never thought Ben would go for it.”

  “Well, like he says, ‘He went kicking and screaming.’”

  The elevator door opened and out stepped Ben. “Well I’ll be. Look who’s here!” He shook Charlie’s hand and gave Gloria a hug; the woman who saved his life years ago. An image of that day flashed in his mind, as always whenever he first saw her again. He smiled. She still smelled like lilacs.

  “How long are you staying?”

  “Oh, just a few days,” Charlie said. “Gloria’s grand-niece is getting ordained.”

  “Have you been out to the farm?”

  “Not yet. We thought we’d stop by here first.”

  They always stayed at Ben’s or Dawn’s when they were in town.

  “So what else is new?” Gloria asked.

  “Well, we named the farm,” Ben said. “We’re calling it Meg’s Meadows. How about we go upstairs and get some lunch and talk?”

  “Sounds good,” Charlie said.

  Gloria agreed. “Though I’m not that hungry. I don’t eat that much anymore.”