by Joan Wolf
Everyone laughed.
“Hey Dr. Foster,” somebody called. “How are you keeping your job? You've been spending an awful lot of time with Someday Soon.”
Liam said, “As soon as Dr. Foster's practice can find a replacement for her, we will be getting married.”
He sounded so proud saying that; I had to blink.
The newsmen sent up a chorus of congratulations.
Liam reached out to take my hand.
Cameras clicked.
I curled my hand around Liam's and smiled.
All of this is because of Buster, I thought with some wonder. All because of one horse, Liam and I are suddenly newsworthy.
Finally the reporters ran out of questions and drifted away. Liam and John Ford got into a deep conversation and I went to watch Buster eat his hay.
His bright chestnut coat gleamed with grooming and with health as he reached his elegant neck down and grazed on the pile of hay in the corner of his stall. So much was riding on those four slender legs, I thought. The hopes of the thoroughbred world for another Triple Crown champion and Liam's hopes for the championship and the money that came with it.
I wondered about this Irish colt. We had beat just about all the other horses that would be running in the race, but this Irish colt was the unknown. The reporters had said he was big, too. Big and strong and he had won at a mile and a half.
You can do it, Buster, I thought fiercely. I know you can do it.
Liam said, “Ready to go, Annie?”
I turned to him with a smile. “Sure,” I said, and we went off to the car.
There was a party that night in the Garden City Hotel for the owners and their guests. Most of the other owners brought an entourage; we brought John Ford and his wife. Liam hadn't talked to his father since our trip to the police station.
I wore the dress I had bought for the concert with Kevin and Liam had brought his tuxedo. The room we were in was elegant, with waitresses passing hors d'oeuvres and a bar dispensing drinks. I was very anxious to meet the Coolmore people to see if we could find anything out about their horse, but they weren't there.
“They keep to themselves,” John told us when I commented on their absence. “I wouldn't exactly say they're secretive, but they're close to it.”
All anyone wanted to know was did we think that Someday Soon was going to capture the Triple Crown.
“We like his chances,” Liam kept replying.
“He's as ready as he'll ever be,” John Ford said.
The owner of a lightly regarded runner shook Liam's hand. “Well, I hope he does it. It would be great for the country to have a Triple Crown winner just now.”
“Wow,” I said when the man walked away. “That's a lot to lay on Buster's shoulders. Now he's running for the good of the country.”
Liam grinned. “It would be a boost for the country. Everyone—even non-horse people—gets excited over a Triple Crown winner.”
A number of the same people who had been present throughout the other two triple crown races were present at the Belmont party: Bob Baffert with Sheikh Mohammed and D Wayne Lukas with Prince Salman to name two. New to the gathering was trainer Nick Zito with Star Beta, a New York-bred horse who was said to be good at a distance. We had a chance to talk to Zito at dinner, as we were seated with him.
As a trainer, Zito was based at Belmont, so he had a bit of an advantage over everyone else in that he trained on the track all the time. Star Beta had done very well in his last outing, coming off the pace to win convincingly and thus earn himself a ticket to the Belmont.
“He's one of those late bloomers,” Zito said. “He wasn't ready for the Derby, but he's ready now. And he's rested, while the rest of these colts have two tough races behind them. I think he has a really good shot at pulling off an upset.”
This kind of talk made me very nervous. How many times in the last twenty years had a horse made it through the Derby and the Preakness only to fall in the Belmont? Too many times to count. And it always seemed to be some horse that came out of nowhere to take it away.
I smiled at Zito, a trim-looking man in his fifties. “Your colt has never run in this kind of competition though.”
“He ran fast enough,” he replied, quoting me some impressive numbers. “I think he deserves to be in this company.”
Liam said, “What do you know about the Irish horse?”
“He's big,” Zito replied. “Have you seen him?”
“Not yet.”
“He's seventeen hands, at least, and powerful. He reminds me a little bit of Secretariat.”
“Great,” I said sourly.
“They're keeping him under wraps, but a few of the boys got a peek at his workout the other day and it was very impressive.”
“Someday Soon has been working well too,” I said defensively.
Nick flicked John Ford an amused look. “Yeah, at four in the morning, when Johnny runs him.”
“I can't stand all those reporters hanging around,” John said.
“You should be more like Baffert. He loves‘em.”
“He can have them.”
Liam said with mock seriousness, “A lot is riding on this race, John. Some fellow told Annie and me that the good of the country depended upon Someday Soon winning the Triple Crown.”
John snorted.
Nick laughed. “Well, I will tell you this. If I don't win, then I hope that you do. It would be nice to have a Triple Crown winner again. But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to do my damndest to beat you.”
“Fair enough,” Liam said.
With all this talk of viable rivals, my stomach was in a knot and I couldn't eat. What were the chances of Buster being able to pull off three wins in a row? No horse had done it in over two decades. And these two powerful new rivals had not had to run two exhausting races within a few weeks of the Belmont. Star Beta had had one “tune-up” race and God knew when Solomon's Riddle had last run.
The more I thought about it, the more depressed I became. Were we asking too much of our gallant boy? Since Affirmed had last won the Triple Crown in 1978, eight horses had made it two thirds of the way, but couldn't quite finish. Was Buster going to be number ten?
The difference to Liam's future would be enormous. Not only would the Triple Crown bring him millions, it would make Buster worth millions at stud. Without it, Buster was just another very good racehorse. “What are you looking so worried about?” Liam asked me in a low voice.
I forced a smile. “I get nervous hearing about all of these rivals.”
“Just remember, Buster is the horse to beat. He's the one with the credentials. The others are chasing him.”
I nodded and sat up straight. “You're right.”
He gave me a crooked grin. “I get nervous too.”
We were both glad when the party was over. There was so much stress attached to the race on Saturday that the festivities just weren't much fun. All I wanted was for the race to be over—and for us to have won, of course.
We were quiet in the car on the drive back to our hotel.
“I wish the damn race was tomorrow,” Liam finally said.
“I know,” I replied.
“We should be lapping up all this attention. It's great for business.”
“It'll be good for you when you go out on your own. You'll have had a lot of exposure. Very few owners are also the breeders.”
He nodded. “What if Buster doesn't win, Annie? What do I do then?”
“You can always stay on the farm for a while, can't you? Your father isn't talking about selling Wellington.”
“No.”
“You'll still have Buster, and your mares, and you have enough money to buy some more. We'll do okay, Liam. It just won't be as big a start as you'd like.”
“It will be tight. Very tight.”
“That's okay. I can always get a job as a vet and help out.”
He drove for a while in silence. “It could be worse. At least I'm not being charg
ed with murder.”
“It could be a lot worse,” I said fervently.
We got back to the hotel and went upstairs. I asked him to unzip my dress and he did and then his hands held me and his mouth came down to kiss my bare back. “Do you know what?” he asked.
“What?”
“My future looks bright just because I have you.”
I turned my head and looked at him over my shoulder. “I feel the same way about you.”
He turned me around and took me into his arms. “I am such a lucky, lucky man.”
“Everything is going to be fine, love,” I said. “Even if Buster doesn't win, we'll work things out.”
He bent his head and kissed my throat. “I don't want to stay on the farm, Annie. I don't want to be beholden to Dad anymore.”
“Okay,” I said. “Then we'll rent someplace.”
“Ummm,” he said. His lips moved lower.
I closed my eyes.
“Did I tell you today that I love you?”
“I don't believe that you have.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Why don't you take this very pretty dress off? If I take it off I'm afraid I'll rip it.”
I smiled up at him. “Okay.”
I stepped out of my dress and went to hang it in the closet, then I peeled off my panty hose. While I was doing this, Liam was shedding his tuxedo.
“Don't just throw it on a chair,” I scolded. “You may have to wear it again.” In my underwear I went and picked up his tux from the chair and hung it on a hanger and put it in the closet with my dress.
Liam turned down the bed. “Come here,” he said, holding out his arms.
I went to him.
We melted together with the familiarity of old lovers but with the passion of new. Holding each other, we came to rest on the bed, our arms and bodies entwined, our mouths exploring each other. Never would I get enough of the feel of him, the smell of him, the touch of him. Here was my world, here in the arms of this man. His possession of me was the most thrilling, ecstatic moment of my life, when all my vulnerable innermost being opened for him, shuddering in ecstasy, giving and trusting and holding nothing back.
“Annie,” he groaned. “Oh Annie. I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
His body was burning with heat and his face was driven into the hollow between my neck and my shoulder. I rested my lips on the top of his damp black hair.
“I love to make love with you,” I said.
“Words cannot describe how much I love to make love with you,” he said. “I've thought of taking Viagra so I could do it all day long.”
I chuckled. “You definitely don't need Viagra, love.”
“If I was going to do it all day long, I might.”
“Well, you're not going to do it all day long. You have other things to do, and so do I.”
He sighed. “Damn.”
We stayed like that for quite a while. Then I said, “My leg is going to sleep.”
He shifted his weight off it. “I suppose the rest of you wants to go to sleep as well.”
“You got it.”
He yawned. “Okay. You can get up.
“Thank you.” I got out of bed, collected my pajamas from the drawer and went into the bathroom. When I came out Liam was lying in bed, his arms crossed behind his head.’
“The bathroom is all yours,” I said.
“Do you know what, Annie?” he asked.
“What?”
“It would really be wonderful if Buster won the Triple Crown.”
I went to kiss him.
“It would.”
CHAPTER 31
I woke up at four-thirty on the morning of the Belmont and looked at the clock. It was pitch dark outside.
Four-thirty, I thought. John will be taking Buster for a walk around the track.
I couldn't go back to sleep. I pictured the scene in my mind, the horse with an exercise rider aboard and John Ford up on a stable pony, the chill dark air, the moon, Buster stamping the ground, eager to run, the struggle to hold him to a walk, to let him stretch his legs without losing any of the precious energy he would need that afternoon. Then, afterward, the walk back to the stakes barn, where Buster would be safely tucked behind a police barricade as he ate his breakfast and snoozed over his hay.
I lay quietly until seven o'clock, when Liam said, “Are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“Me too. I kept waking up all night.”
“I've been awake since four-thirty.”
“The day is finally here.”
“I know.”
I leaned up on my elbow and looked down at him. His hair was hanging in his eyes and he had a stubble of beard on his face. I said “We have to have our picture taken with Buster at nine o'clock. You have some work to do before then, chum.”
He raised his hand and ran it over his jaw. “Are you going to wear your lucky suit?”
“Of course.”
He gave me a comical look. “Once I get out of bed, this day has officially started.”
I pulled the covers off him. “Don't be such a wimp. Get up.”
“Okay, okay.” He climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
We got dressed and stopped in the coffee shop for some breakfast.
I had coffee and some toast. Liam, who was so professedly nervous, had eggs, bacon, potatoes and toast. If the man ever stopped eating, then I would know there was something seriously wrong with him.
We arrived at the barn at a quarter to nine and showed our credentials to get past the police barricade. John was waiting for us, dressed nicely in a gray suit with a dark red tie. Liam also wore a suit and I wore my suit but not my hat. At nine o'clock the photographer showed up.
We posed in front of the barn and at the last minute, Buster obliged by poking his head out of his stall door.
“That horse is such a ham,” John said. “I can't believe it. I swear, he knows there's a picture being taken.”
We all laughed and the photographer got a merry threesome with a beautiful thoroughbred looking on, ears pricked, eyes curious. You would never in a million years think that we were on the brink of the biggest race of his young life.
The photographer put down his camera and Buster disappeared back inside his stall.
Liam shook his head. “He really is a ham.”
“No question about it,” John said.
Liam had picked up the newspapers at the coffee shop and now we sat down on chairs in front of Buster's stall and read what the pundits had to say about the race.
I read Newsday first, a column by Andrew House.
“The American Triple Crown is not just difficult to win, at times it seems almost impossible. Since 1978 nine horses have reached the threshold, with wins in the Derby and the Preakness: Spectacular Bid, Pleasant Colony, Alysheba, Sunday Silence, Silver Charm, Real Quiet, Charismatic, and War Emblem, and Funny Cide, only to be defeated by the interminable Belmont. Will Someday Soon be able to break this curse and come home a winner today? I'd like to think he will, but I have my doubts.
In both the Derby and the Preakness he was the benefactor of a blistering front pace that burned out his competitors and left the field open for a come-from-behind specialist like himself. But the Belmont has added two other specialists like this: Solomon's Riddle and Star Beta. And both of these horses are more rested than Someday Soon, who is coming off the punishing double of the Derby and the Preakness in five weeks. And Solomon's Riddle has proven he can go a mile and a half; something no American three-year-old has yet done.
The Belmont looks to be a very different race from the Derby or the Preakness. When Someday Soon makes his move this time, he'll have company. My money is on the Irish horse to win. I think we're going to have to wait for another year to have a Triple Crown winner.
Part of me was furiously indignant at what House had to say about Buster and part of me was scared that he was
right. I said to Liam, “This guy from Newsday is picking the Irish horse.”
“The Times is going with Buster,” he replied.
I was very glad to hear that. It made me feel better to know that such a bastion of respectability was behind us.
“The hell with the newspapers,” Liam said. “Let's go for a walk.”
We wandered around as the crowds streamed in. By the time the first race started, people packed the grandstands, the lawn by the rail at the final turn, the clubhouse and the paddock.
We had lunch in the restaurant—Liam never misses a meal— and went back down to the stakes barn to be with Buster. TV cameras were everywhere, as reporters tried to get interviews with trainers and jockeys and owners.
The day had started out sunny but it became progressively more overcast as the afternoon went on.
“I hope it doesn't rain,” Liam said for perhaps the tenth time.
“Rain wasn't in the forecast.” I made the same reply I had been making all afternoon.
Finally it was time to move to the paddock. Buster's groom, Henry, and John took hold of his bridle and led him out of his stall, past the police barricades. Liam and I followed, the security guards trailing us, and we started the walk toward the paddock, where we would saddle up. The reporters came behind and cameramen raced ahead, maneuvering their equipment to get a shot of Buster as he was led forward.
When we reached the paddock area we led Buster into stall six. There was a fence in front of the stall and the area behind the fence was packed with people who had come to watch the potential Triple Crown champion be saddled.
The clerk of scales called the riders for weigh-in, and they went one at a time. When Miles Santos, Buster's jockey, stepped on the scale, his valet handed him his saddle and cloth. The clerk noted the weight. “He needs a pound,” he said, and a lead pad was tucked into Miles’ saddle to bring the weight up to level.
Then Miles brought the saddle over to Buster's stall and John saddled him up.
“He looks wonderful,” I said to Liam.
He did. He knew what was coming and he was tossing his head, eager to be out of the stall, eager to be out on the track and running.
John was talking to Miles Santos. “Just don't let him get buried too far behind. He's had stamina built into him. Put him in a place to run and he'll do the rest.”
