Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  “But I’m already wearing everything but my silks.”

  “Makeup’s there too. You better move it.”

  Trish stuffed the last of her biscuit in her mouth and pushed back her chair. “Come on, Amy. Duty calls.”

  Shipson drove them down to a parking lot now full of trailers, cars, and trucks with people striding purposefully between them, all seeming to know exactly what they were doing. “That’s wardrobe and makeup. Red won’t be here till later since at this point the shoots with him are scheduled for tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, I was wondering.” Trish beat back the urge to hide under the dash and instead nudged Amy to get out.

  “Timmy will have Spitfire ready. You just do exactly as they say.”

  “What a pity! I have to ride Spitfire around the track a few times. This part is real hard to take.” Trish reached back inside to grab her script off the seat. “This is the part I’m worried about.” Worried didn’t begin to cover it. The thought of saying lines already written and getting the right inflections turned her mouth to sawdust and her stomach to mush. Or tied it up in knots—whatever.

  They crossed the gravel and stopped in front of a door on a tan trailer. The sign said Wardrobe/Makeup. Trish turned to look at Amy, who stepped forward and opened the door.

  “After you.”

  “Hi, I’m Lennie.” A young woman with skin the color of rich milk chocolate turned from the mirror where she’d been applying gloss to lips already lined with deep burgundy lipstick. “You must be Trish. Sit here and let’s have a look at you.” She gestured to the chair in front of the three-sided mirror bordered with lights that showed every pore and lash.

  Trish did as she was told. “Guess I’m in your hands.”

  “Then you don’t need to worry, honey. I’ve been doing this for ten years now.” Lennie, rump perched on the edge of the makeup counter, studied her project carefully. “Hmmm.” She tipped Trish’s chin up and from side to side. “Joseph was right. The hair is glorious. With eyes like yours, no wonder the camera loves you. Good skin…those cheekbones will leap out with blusher…we’ll narrow that nose a bit.”

  Trish now knew what dissection felt like. By the time Lennie was finished with her, she’d been pasted, powdered, and painted. Her hair had been braided loosely and her bangs fluffed to the side. But her eyes—they looked huge, and her lips—well, she grinned to see what she’d look like. Not bad. She glanced in the mirror to see Amy give her the thumbs-up sign.

  “Ready in five.” A knock sounded along with the voice.

  “Now, you just go out there and wow ’em.” Lennie handed Trish her helmet.

  Spitfire nickered as soon as she stepped out the door. But when she tried to whistle, her mouth refused. Too dry to pucker. That along with the butterflies who awoke with the sun and now cavorted around her middle, and Trish thought of the rain and cold at Portland Meadows with longing.

  “Easy, fella.” She rubbed cold fingers up behind his ears. “At least you’re warm.” But when she stepped forward to hug him, Joseph appeared at her shoulder.

  “Don’t let him get your silks dirty.” He pushed back his Detroit Tigers ball cap and checked something on his clipboard. “If you’ll mount now, we’ll get under way. All I’d like you to do is run him around the track.”

  “How fast?”

  “Well, like you’re racing. You know that butt-in-the-air, hunched-forward look. And fast enough so his mane blows. The camera crew will be shooting from different locations so you needn’t think about them. But do look like you’re having a good time.”

  “I’m always having a good time on my friend here.” Just as she turned to mount, Spitfire raised his nose with lightning speed and tipped the cap off the man’s head.

  Trish bit her lip. Hard. “Spitfire, no! Sorry. He thinks hats are a game.”

  Joseph reached down and, after dusting off his cap, put it back on his head, at the same moment taking two steps backward. “Remind me to watch out for him. Does he bite too?”

  “No, only Gatesby does that.”

  “Gatesby?” He stared at her over the tops of the half-glasses he wore far down on his nose.

  Trish stroked Spitfire’s nose and kept her face straight. “He’s a horse we train. You gotta watch him.”

  “And him.” Joseph pointed at Spitfire with the end of his pen. “Horses with a sense of humor.” He shook his head. “You learn something new every day.” He started to leave but turned back. “You didn’t command him to do that, did you?”

  “No. No way. I try to keep him honest.”

  “Just make sure you do.”

  Once on the track, thoughts of commercials and cameras left her mind completely. She drew in a breath of crisp fall air through her nose and let it out. “Well, Spitfire, old fella, this is your chance. Let’s show ’em how beautiful you really are.” She brought up her knees and found her stirrups. At the signal from Joseph she broke her mount into a canter and then a gallop. Butt in the air, my foot. She thought back to the producer’s instructions. “Come on, fella, let’s go.”

  Twice around the track and the signal came to stop. She pulled the colt down to a trot and then a walk. “Timmy was right. You’re in good shape, old man.” She stroked down the glistening hide. Barely warm.

  “Okay, Trish, take a breather.” Joseph gathered his camera people about him. Lennie came over to see if Trish needed any touch-ups but kept her distance from Spitfire.

  “I never did trust anything bigger than me, honey. So don’t you go taking offense. You look fine, anyway.”

  “Thanks. You seen Amy?”

  “She’s over talking to a good-looking redheaded young man.”

  “Red’s here?”

  “Guess that might be his name.” She winked at Trish and marched back to her trailer.

  “You want me to hold him?” Timmy asked, walking along at her right knee.

  “No thanks, we’re fine.” She scanned the groups of people milling around. No blond Amy with a redheaded fellow. Then she saw an arm raised and waving.

  “Trish!” Red broke away from the group and trotted across the gravel. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were on break.” He walked the last few yards and, taking Spitfire’s reins with one hand, reached the other up for Trish’s hand. “You two look mighty fine out there.” He squeezed her hand. “I am so glad to see you.” His sky blue eyes said the rest.

  “Can you believe we’re doing this?” Her hand in his sent electric jolts clear to her toes. She leaned forward. “Can you believe they’re paying me to ride my favorite horse in all the world?”

  “I know. Rough life. Wish I could be out there with you.”

  “Okay, Trish, let’s do the same again.” This time Joseph stopped a few paces back. “We’ve clouds coming up from the west, so our sun might not last much longer.”

  Trish touched her gloved hand to her forehead. “Yes, sir,” and nudged Spitfire forward. Red walked beside her knee. “I hear you’ve been having some trouble again.”

  “Amy blabbed.” His comment snatched her thoughts of The Jerk from their hiding place and displayed them front and center. “Thanks for nothing.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was so bad.” He shook his head. “No wonder David was so worried.”

  “David? How’d you know?”

  “You ever heard of the U.S. mail? Or maybe it doesn’t go to Washington yet. Couldn’t prove it by the amount I’ve received, that’s for sure.”

  Trish patted him on the head. “Sorry. Been a lot on my mind.”

  “If I could get my hands on him…”

  “You and about a million others. Amy said they’d get him. He has to make a mistake one of these days. And maybe with me gone, he’ll forget all about it.”

  “What are you waiting for, Trish?” The voice came over a bull horn.

  “Sorry, gotta go.” She glanced to the west. Black thunderheads rose behind the trees, darkening the sky and sending a cold wind to bite Trish’s nose and
cheeks. “Looks like we may get wet. That’ll send ’em into a tizzy for sure.” She nudged Spitfire to a trot and then a gallop. The sun had melted the ground mist and now sparkled through the flaming leaves on the elm trees along the track.

  Trish sniffed the air. Perfume of horse and burning leaves somewhere. What a combination. But after two more laps, they signaled her in.

  “We’ll move into the barn for the interior shots next. You can put your horse away for a while. It’ll take us some time to get set up.” Joseph signaled someone else toward the stallion barn. “Oh, and, Trish. You’ll do these next shots with your hair down, so get back to makeup.”

  “Guess his mother never taught him to say please or thank you,” Trish muttered while she leaped to the ground and looked around for Timmy. Now she had to review her lines again. Her butterflies all fluttered at once—but not in rhythm.

  An hour and a half later, the interior was finally set. Directly in front of Spitfire’s stall sat a red LeBaron convertible, just like the one Trish drove at home. When it wasn’t in the shop, that is.

  All she had to do was hold Spitfire by the reins and stand with her hand on the car door. Besides saying her lines, of course.

  After three dry runs, her mouth felt like the Sahara Desert. She hadn’t said the words right any time.

  Spitfire nudged her in the back as if to say, “Get with the program. I’m bored.”

  “Knock it off,” she ordered under her breath.

  “Okay, Lennie, get her some more mouth. And her forehead’s getting shiny.”

  Timmy took Spitfire and walked him down the aisle while Trish stood still for more painting.

  “You can do it, honey,” Lennie murmured while dusting Trish’s forehead. “Just relax.”

  Trish nodded. “Thanks.”

  Timmy brought Spitfire back and they started again. Please, God, this is so new. She took a deep breath. Spitfire snuffled her cheek. “Racing Spitfire is like riding the wind.” She stepped forward. “So’s driving my LeBaron.”

  Thunder crashed so hard the roof rattled.

  Spitfire reared back, jerking the reins from her hands.

  Chapter

  13

  Cut!”

  “Easy, fella.” Trish focused all her attention on her quivering horse. “It was just thunder. You’ve heard it plenty of times living back here.” Spitfire leaned his forehead against her chest, letting her rub his ears and down his cheeks. “You’re okay, you really are.”

  “easy, son.” Red joined Trish, with one hand smoothing Spitfire’s shoulder, the other locked on a rein. “You’re doin’ fine.”

  “Trish, are you all right?” Joseph stopped just beyond Spitfire’s reach. “Looked like he jerked your arm right out of the socket.”

  “No, I’m fine. You kinda learn to go with a horse when he freaks like that. Besides, Spitfire wouldn’t hurt me, would you, fella?” She kept up her stroking. “He’s really just a big baby, you know.”

  “Not intentionally anyway,” Red muttered, all the while keeping his hands busy calming the colt.

  “Right.” Joseph didn’t look as if he believed her for one minute.

  “Hang on to him, Trish. Here comes another one.” Timmy appeared beside her and snapped a lead line onto the D ring of the bit. “That last one hit right above the barn.”

  Trish commanded her own body not to flinch with one side of her brain while comforting Spitfire with the other. She didn’t like loud noises any better than he did.

  Blue-white light flashed in the windows at the same moment as they heard a skull-vibrating crack. When the thunder kaboomed at the same instant, Trish kept a loose hold on the rein in case Spitfire reared again. She couldn’t help the flinch. It sounded like something monstrous crashing into the barn roof.

  Spitfire half reared again, one of his flailing front feet nicking the convertible door on his way back down. Feet back flat on the floor, he trembled from nose to tail.

  But unlike thunder, the horrible sound kept on crashing. With metal screeching and booming, it sounded as if the entire world were falling and crumbling.

  Spitfire stood with his head against Trish, his shiny black hide breaking out into darker patches of sweat. Timmy stood on the colt’s offside, offering the same comfort as Trish.

  “A tree fell on the wardrobe trailer!” one of the grips yelled from the doorway. “And two of the trucks. You won’t believe the mess out here.”

  In spite of the pouring rain, everyone but the three with Spitfire dashed outside to see the damage. Trish looked down at her silks, now sprinkled with black hairs. “All the rest of my gear was in that trailer. This is the only set I have left.”

  “That’s the least of our worries.” Amy came to stand beside her after looking out the door. “Wait till you see the destruction out there.” She joined Trish in stroking Spitfire. “I’ve never in my life seen rain like that. You can barely see the crashed tree and it’s not a hundred feet away.”

  “Probably should just put him back.” Lightning flashed again and Trish counted the seconds before the thunder boomed. “Two, three, four. It’s passed us and going away.”

  “What were you doing?” Amy asked.

  “Light travels faster than sound, so when you count between the light and the sound, you can tell how far away the lightning flashed.”

  “Remind me how grateful I am we hardly ever have thunder and lightning storms in Washington. I didn’t want to know all this.”

  Trish led Spitfire away from the convertible and down the aisle between stallion boxes, Timmy and Red keeping pace. Other stallions hung their heads over the web gates and either nickered or laid their ears back. Spitfire ignored them all, whuffing in Trish’s ear and nosing her pockets. Now that the rain no longer sounded like artillery fire on the roof, he barely twitched when more thunder rolled.

  “He’s been pretty good about the noises like that up to now,” Timmy said, bringing the colt a handful of carrot pieces. “Just those two struck right here. I doubt they’ll do any more shooting today.”

  “Great. And I never did get my lines right. This could take forever.” Trish rubbed the side of her face against Spitfire’s cheek. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a model, do you?”

  By evening the crew had cut away the tree, brought in new trailers, and salvaged what they could from the damage. Trish’s silks had only needed laundering, which she did up at the house. Lennie made a trip to Lexington to pick up new makeup to replace what was smashed, while one of the crew jury-rigged a makeup mirror and counter for her to work at. Fortunately the tree had fallen toward the end of the trailer, rather than in the middle.

  “We’ll start again right after supper,” Joseph announced about five o’clock. “Trish, think you could have your lines down by then?”

  “I have them now.” She flashed a look of gratitude at Red. They’d been rehearsing for hours. “I never dreamed this could be such work. Three stupid lines and I keep flubbing ’em,” she muttered for his ears alone.

  “I’d rather take a fall on the track than this.” Red spoke in the same low tone. The smile he sent her warmed her middle. How come when she was with him she felt all warm and fuzzy, but when she got home again, everything else took over and she only thought of him at night when she included him in her prayers or…She tried to think back. Nope, she didn’t think of him every day during the day.

  Someone else said something to him, so when he turned away, Trish studied his face. Intense blue eyes, a smile that warmed everyone in reach, square jaw, and wavy hair nearly the same carrot color as Rhonda’s. In fact, the two of them could pass for brother and sister. He laughed and answered another question about racing.

  His laugh brought a smile to her face. One couldn’t be down when Red was around. Could they be more than friends? Did she really want a boyfriend? Maybe this long-distance, half-off, half-on sorta romance was the best kind. She fingered the filigreed gold cross she always wore on a slim gold chain around her neck.
Red had given her the gift after she won the Kentucky Derby.

  His attention shifted back to her, his gaze telling her she was special. Trish couldn’t break away; it was like a steel cable bound them together.

  “That’s the look I want on film.” Joseph stopped beside them. “When the two of you are arguing over red or black. That look—pure sex appeal.”

  Trish blinked and felt the red flare up her neck and over her face, painting her in sheets of heat. “Why did I ever agree to do this?” she muttered to herself. “Why in the world do athletes want to do endorsements anyway?”

  “For the money, silly,” Amy answered from Trish’s other side. Her comment made Trish realize she’d spoken her question aloud.

  “Think about it,” Red joined in. “With what you make from this you could bid on a yearling or buy a new broodmare.”

  Trish nodded. “That’s right. Help me keep this in perspective. Other-wise I’m afraid when I get in front of those cameras again, I’m going to melt right into a puddle and drain through the floor.”

  “Come on, you were having a good time up there.” Amy poked Trish in the side.

  “Right. And you like getting shot at.”

  “Well, the adrenaline does give one a high.”

  Trish chewed on her bottom lip. “Speaking of adrenaline, you talk to Parks lately?”

  “Last night, and he said to tell you no news is good news.”

  “But no leads yet?”

  Amy put on her official look. “Ma’am, as to that, I’m not at liberty to say.” She grinned and shattered the image. “But at least The Jerk’s not bugging you.”

  “How would he know where she is?” Red leaned forward so he could see Amy better.

  “The press.” Amy gave a sigh that spoke volumes. “You can bet Curt Donovan and his cohorts have let the entire world know Trish has this contract. Chrysler would have sent out press releases too. Trish, you just don’t seem to understand. You are big news.”

  “I don’t watch it or read it unless someone reminds me. Press doesn’t really matter—it’s doing your best that counts.”