Making Her Mark

by Renée Dahlia

  ‘Understood. However, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we should proceed with caution.’

  ‘Caution? You spring a fucking pyramid scheme on me, and you want to take it slow?’

  Rachel’s palms went clammy. Yes, she wanted to take it slow, and not just this conversation. His growly voice rattled her insides, reminding her of the joys of angry sex. Hell, so much for dampening her lust and staying single.

  ‘Probably wise until we know more.’ Her voice cracked, and she licked her lips.

  ‘Did your sister say what we could do next?’ His question was barked out, punching the air with a low tone.

  ‘Yes.’ A question she could answer. She released a quick breath. ‘Toshiko gave me a few tips for what to look for. Things that point to it being a scam rather than just a bunch of mates having fun together.’

  ‘And they would be?’

  ‘Getting the results after the races, without seeing the bets before they were placed. And something about asking other people to join.’

  ‘Recruiting.’ Jacob’s voice lifted in timbre, from deep and rich to a snide baritone. Rachel’s lips kicked up, Dad would have loved the way she used music to describe the changes in Jacob’s voice.

  ‘Yes, that’s the word. Basically, if it’s a pyramid scheme, each layer of people needs to get more people to join so they can keep making money. Because the people who started it keep the new investors’ money, and those new investors only get paid when they recruit more people, hence the pyramid. I’m not that crash hot at maths, not like Toshiko, but I think that’s the general gist of it. She said the new investors are paid some of their own money back, and that’s used to con them into thinking they are getting profits.’

  ‘Right. Isn’t that doomed to fail?’

  Rachel tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Yeah. I didn’t really understand the mechanism, but something about the number of layers in the scheme and people at higher levels wanting to pull out their initial cash, as well as their profit.’

  ‘Makes sense. The profits don’t actually exist, except on paper, so once people start wanting their money, there isn’t enough to give back to people, especially if the person who started it all has taken the initial money and run away.’

  ‘Yes, that’d be it.’ Rachel kept her eyes on the road, watching the dim paint carefully. Soon, she’d turn onto the main road, where the maintenance was better and the paint shinier.

  ‘How do we prove it?’

  Rachel pursed her lips. ‘I know you want to help your mates, but I don’t think I should get involved.’ Rachel didn’t want to bring a case like this in front of the stewards, not without concrete evidence, as they’d immediately suspend her licence on suspicion of betting. Racing’s police didn’t look highly on any jockeys who broke the no-gambling rules, and the stewards tended to live in a guilty until proven innocent world. The whiff would hang over her career forever, no matter what reality was.

  ‘I have a duty to my team.’ Jacob’s voice infiltrated her thoughts.

  ‘Would they do the same for you?’ Rachel couldn’t help being cynical. The tiny pause before Jacob answered told her more than his emphatic response.

  ‘Of course, they would. We are a team before we are individuals.’

  Rachel shook her head and slowed the car as she approached the main highway into Melbourne. Only two and three-quarter hours until she could fall into bed. She yawned.

  ‘It must be nice to have a team to support you.’ All those thoughts about having a twin, and the magical connection she didn’t have with Serena came flashing back. Normally, she laughed it off with a shrug—hashtag not all twins. What was it about today that made it feel like it mattered more than she let on? She knew it was mostly her fault, the distance between her and Serena. Serena wanted the connection and Rachel deliberately kept her at bay, unwilling to be judged and hurt again.

  ‘A champion team will always beat a team of champions.’ Jacob recited, as if by rote, and Rachel laughed.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a lovely sentiment, but—’

  ‘But you don’t agree with it?’

  Rachel turned onto the highway, and pushed her foot to the floor, enjoying the smooth rush as she accelerated. The white paint reflected in her headlights, flashing past rhythmically as she drove.

  ‘Honestly, I’m not sure.’ She blinked and focused her gaze on the dark road. Damn, she was more tired than she’d thought, going to the farm for dinner had been a poor decision. She opened the window, letting cold air blow inside.

  ‘What is that noise?’

  ‘Wind. Sorry, I’m driving back to Melbourne from the farm and the cold air keeps me awake.’

  Jacob made a clicking noise, ‘Maybe you should pull over and have a quick sleep.’

  ‘Nah, it’s cool. I’m only a couple of hours away from home. I do this all the time.’

  ‘That doesn’t make me feel any better. I’d hate for you to end up on Allira’s bed in ER.’

  Rachel scoffed, ‘The only bed I’ll be in tonight is my own.’ Her cheeks flamed—talking to Jacob about bed shouldn’t fill her brain with images of him in his sleeveless footy jumper, and shorty-short pants, muscles bulging as he moved. His fit strong body gave her all the good tingles. The AFL uniform must have been designed by a woman, or a queer bloke, as it showed off the full length of the player’s arms, with every one of those delicious biceps and forearms on display. It really was the male equivalent of the bikini, without the midriff exposure. Throw in the short pants, and the uniform was almost obscenely erotic. Female players wore the same uniform, and it emphasised their athletic physique too, all those long limbs on display. She fanned her face.

  ‘Are you there?’ Jacob asked.

  ‘Yes. Still here.’ Just too busy thinking about hot footy players to talk, although her croaky voice gave her away.

  ‘You sound crook. Are you sure you don’t need to pull over?’

  Rachel grinned. Normally she’d be tense and argumentative when someone spoke to her with such concern. With Jacob, it was different, and she didn’t want to think too hard about why.

  ‘Nah, I’m cool. Really. I do this drive all the time.’

  ‘From Tranquil Waters?’

  ‘I went to the farm for dinner with my family. That’s why I called, because I chatted to Toshiko about your punting scam.’

  ‘It’s not mine.’ Jacob laughed, and the noise rumbled through the car’s speakers directly into her chest. How could a laugh sound warm and comforting like that? It made her want to rest her cheek on his chest and let the vibrations reverberate into her.

  ‘Sure, sure. Not your scam. Not mine either, and since jockeys aren’t allowed to bet, it’s not a good look for me to be getting involved.’

  ‘Ahh, I understand, it’s not caution because you think we shouldn’t get involved. It’s more that you are protecting yourself.’

  ‘My career is on the line, it’s not a game.’ Rachel’s feet felt cold suddenly and she wriggled her toes in her boots.

  ‘A lot of people have a lot to lose if this is a scam. More than just you.’ Jacob’s curt response made her sit up straighter. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

  ‘I understand that. What I don’t understand is why I should risk my career for a bunch of footy players I’ve never met.’

  ‘Would it really risk your career?’ Jacob sounded cynical, or perhaps that was just the way she interpreted his voice. The whole question made her want to glare at him. She glared at the road instead, a black ribbon reaching into the dark night, with the steady hypnotic paint strips marking the centre.

  ‘Yes.’ She didn’t want to explain the system to him, or how it was prejudiced against her. Women had only been allowed to be jockeys since the seventies, not that long ago on the scale of racing’s four-hundred-year-old history.

  ‘Why? Just for asking the questions?’

  ‘Yes. Just for asking. The stewards would want
to know how I knew about it, and I’d be under suspicion until I could clear my name.’ And they would jump at the chance to demonstrate their power over a loud-mouthed woman.

  ‘The stewards?’ Jacob asked.

  She sighed. The stewards were a necessary evil. ‘I mentioned them the other night when you dropped by with dumplings.’ Mouth-watering pork and garlic chive dumplings, her favourite sort, and it had taken considerable effort not to eat more than two. ‘The stewards are basically racing police, expect they have their own rules. They do a lot of good work, keeping out the cheats.’

  ‘Oh, like the AFL Tribunal who oversee the game and review all the decisions.’

  ‘Yes. Just like that, the stewards watch every race and enforce the rules of racing. Most of what they do is good, they help keep jockeys safe by ensuring that riders stay on their racing lines, which obviously matters to me. This is the only job where an ambulance follows you around, and I’ve been in that bloody ambulance too many times because someone else made a poor decision.’ Rachel tapped her heart and automatically went to touch the block of wood she kept in the cup holder. She pulled her hand back to the steering wheel, not wanting to be distracted by superstition.

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Yeah, and that’s with the stewards enforcing the rules. Plus, it’s good for punters to know the form is fair. They drug-test the horses and us jockeys too.’

  ‘And betting?’

  ‘We aren’t allowed to bet. Trainers and owners are, just not jockeys. It’s one of the most serious crimes a jockey can be accused of, and I’d hate to talk to the stewards about this scam without being able to prove I was innocent from the start.’

  ‘I see why you are adamant you can’t help yet. How would you go about proving your innocence?’

  Rachel clucked her tongue, taking her time to formulate an answer. ‘I guess I’d need to be able to say how I found out about it, and how I learned about the details. At this stage we don’t have any details, only a vague worry that it might be a scam.’

  ‘You think we should gather more information before we do anything?’ Jacob sounded committed to stopping his team mates from being idiots. It must be nice to have a team to support you, a different approach to her life as a jockey where everything was competitive on an individual level. There was a level of mateship and shared lifestyle in the jockey’s room, but once she legged up on a horse, it was every jockey for themselves. All aimed at winning. Her family provided some level of team support, or at least, they would if she let them. The old guilt made her stomach tighten. She’d always felt slightly different to them, maybe it was being bi, or maybe it was just that they didn’t understand her reckless drive for success, she didn’t really know why she created a barrier between her and them. They’d never done anything overt to reinforce these feelings.

  ‘I don’t know if I should get involved. It’s a big risk for me, especially if it becomes a he said, she said case.’ She fought back the longing to participate in the adventure of solving this crime, even though it probably wasn’t a crime, just a bunch of clowns with too much money and not enough street sense.

  ‘I can’t sit by and do nothing. Some of these blokes have stood by me when times have been tough. I don’t want to see them lose all their money in a scam. Most of them don’t have anything once they aren’t athletes, they need this money.’

  ‘Everyone needs money. I get it, I could get injured tomorrow and there goes my career.’ Rachel’s family might bang on about her not understanding the risks she took every day, but she knew the dangers better than her family realised. She’d deliberately set her reputation as a good rider of difficult horses, she’d made that decision to fit a niche, so she wouldn’t be overlooked on race day. This strategy came with two big problems—a greater chance of getting injured, and a greater chance of facing the stewards. The second came because difficult horses tended to do unpredictable things, and this meant the stewards noticed them, and her, more. If she presented the stewards with a potential betting scam, they’d take her less-than-stellar record into account when presiding over her apparent guilt. Her savings weren’t big enough yet to tide her over if they gave her a lengthy ban.

  ‘Same.’

  ‘The plight of an athlete.’ Rachel smiled. It was nice to chat to someone who understood. For all her differences with Serena, she was the only other person in her life who got it. She really ought to stop running from the connection Serena so obviously wanted.

  ‘What are you going to do when you retire?’ Jacob asked.

  ‘Honestly, I haven’t thought about it. My weight is stable, and if I don’t get injured, I have at least ten more years to go.’ Rachel didn’t want to retire, not even think about it. She didn’t want to contemplate the next stage. If she lost focus, she might get injured, and those future plans would be forced on her too early. Perhaps it was superstitious not wanting to tempt fate, but she wasn’t alone. Many jockeys had lucky charms or routines which they used to hold injury at bay.

  ‘What about kids?’

  Rachel spluttered out a cough, and her foot twitched on the accelerator.

  ‘Do people ask you the same question? Or is it saved for female athletes only?’ she asked, putting as much sarcasm into her question as possible.

  ‘Woah. Now that seems like a loaded question.’ She could imagine Jacob throwing his hands up in the air, and her smile grew.

  ‘Yeah, and your one wasn’t? Of course, it’s a loaded question.’ She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, ready to bite at his next answer, except he did the one thing that slowed her twitchy irritation. He waited. The silence seemed to hum, and she started to wonder if the call had dropped out.

  ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Yes. I’m just taking my time to frame an answer that won’t cause you to have a car crash.’

  She laughed, the tightness on her skin releasing. ‘Truthfully, I’ve never given any thought to having kids, but if it’s good enough for that tennis player to have a baby, then return to playing, it’ll be fine for me too.’

  ‘Williams.’ Jacob said.

  ‘That’s her. Isn’t she the most fabulous athlete?’

  ‘Yeah. Hot too.’

  Rachel laughed, surprised at his admission. Had he forgotten who he was talking to?

  ‘I know, right. So hot!’ She licked her lips, chatting to Jacob made her feel alive, her tiredness dissipated as they talked.

  ‘Oh my god. What is it about you, Rachel? I’m sorry I said that out loud. Allira told me about your ex-girlfriend and I didn’t even think.’

  ‘Mate, don’t be awkward now. You asked me about having kids, right before you remember my ex-girlfriend. That’s about as awkward as you can get. Does it bother you that I’m bi?’

  ‘Bi?’ Funny how Jacob could infuse so much confusion into one tiny syllable.

  ‘Yeah, you know sexually attracted to people all across the gender range.’ Rachel deliberately emphasised sex to see how he responded. She heard his swallow, loud through her speakers, and wanted to see the expression on his face, hoping he wasn’t repulsed, or worse. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she waited for a throwaway comment about him having a chance with her now. Argh, she wiped the sudden clamminess of her palms down her jeans, one hand at a time.

  ‘Allira didn’t mention that.’ He spoke quietly, with a caution that made her eyes narrow.

  ‘Why would she? It’s not your business, or hers, how I identify.’

  ‘True. I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what? I’m not offended.’ Except the tightness in her voice probably gave away the tension she felt, even as she said the bland, socially accepted words. Jacob’s sigh of relief rattled through her car and she bit her bottom lip to stop a cynical laugh.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met someone bi before. It’s just a bit of a surprise.’

  Rachel’s lip curled up, ‘Just because you didn’t know doesn’t mean you haven’t met someone.’

  ‘I gues
s I’d never really thought about it.’ Jacob’s careful answer was unsatisfactory and Rachel went on the attack.

  ‘You and most of the world, Jacob.’

  ‘Since I’ve already asked the most awkward questions, do you mind another one?’

  A sudden wave of tiredness hit her, the wind whipping through the window dried out her eyes and she blinked rapidly to create some moisture. ‘Why the fuck not? It’ll keep me awake.’

  ‘All part of the service.’ Jacob chuckled, and Rachel could almost hear the previous awkwardness in his voice turn into a smirk. Was he laughing at her? Maybe she should hang up, except she was a glutton for punishment and she really did need to stay awake as she continued to race headlong into the dark night.

  ‘Let me guess, your question is—’

  He interrupted. ‘No guessing. I don’t want you to put bigoted thoughts in my head. Curiosity doesn’t always come from a place of ugliness.’

  ‘Sure, how does anyone expand their world view if they don’t ask questions?’ Rachel’s fingers relaxed a little bit. She knew Jacob would understand the fraught tension that came from people’s curiosity, given his background as an Aboriginal man. The death by a thousand cuts of the same ignorant questions asked over and over again. Perhaps that’s why she let this frustrating conversation continue, because she hoped she’d find someone who understood the mean biases of society. That’s what she loved about living with Allira, the lack of judgement, and the way Allira saw her as a person not as a symbol to aim religious hatred at. Between them both, they’d had enough crap at high school, and Rachel knew she’d been lucky to be able hide from the worst of it, at least until the one day it all came crashing down around her. Allira hadn’t had the same luxury. Allira had needed to be strong, and Rachel felt a twinge of guilt that her teenage-self had been so caught up in figuring out herself that she hadn’t stood up for Allira as much as she could have. Allira’s success showed all the haters how ridiculous and wrong they were.

  ‘If only people would listen to the answers, rather than use them to reinforce their opinions.’