by Ann Hunter
Alex had to admit, as dorky as these girls could get, they still had their quota of cool. Four more months, she’d be able to drive and have her own racing license. Would it come fast enough?
INFAMY
Alex stared out the hotel window, already dressed for the Belmont. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue. The only thing wrong with the day was the dress she had to wear. She and dresses had a history of resentment. Really, was there anything more awkward?
What made her smile was when Carol joined her side, knowing exactly the sort of day this was.
“It’s a beautiful day to crash a party.”
Yes, it was.
She’d focused on that while she hit the hotel gym treadmill, keeping a steady beat over the course of a mile and a half. She pushed herself to it, pumping weights the way you would drive a racehorse. Then it was several laps in the pool. Because she was determined to be the best jockey she could for Promenade as soon as she was able. And damn it if she wasn’t going to find her own mount for the Belmont next year.
When she returned to the room, she had a chance to shower before Hillary, Laura, and Carol returned from the spa. If only they had any idea how much they were killing her by taking their sweet time getting ready.
Alex was sitting on the bed watching Belmont day coverage on the TV when Laura stalked up behind her with a comb and barrettes.
“Let me just…” she started to say, gathering back some of Alex’s hair.
Alex swatted her away. “Get out of here.”
“If you would only— ”
Alex smoothed her hair over. “My hair is fine.”
“But you’d look so cute.” Laura pouted.
Alex glared at her. “I don’t do cute.”
Carol giggled.
Alex rose, backing away from them. “Seriously, Promenade doesn’t care how I look.”
“Someone else might,” Hillary suggested.
Alex glared at her. Laura and Carol both laughed.
Hillary grabbed her purse, heading out. “Let’s go. We’re supposed to meet North soon.”
Alex still couldn’t get over how many cars were in this city. If there could be anything more foreign than North Oak, it was Queens, New York. With towers that made you dizzy to look up at, and the fact that this antiquated city gave way to the old, country feel of Belmont Park; Alex reeled.
She was sure this was the first she’d seen of the actual guest entrance out front. They met Mr. North once inside, who guided them to his private suite overlooking the racetrack.
Belmont was a vast, magnificent beast. Alex was sure there was nothing else like it in the world. She longed to be down by the rail, but she was glad she was up here with the North Oak crew, away from the swarms of people. Not even time for the Belmont Stakes, and the guest count was already soaring well over ninety thousand people. She wasn’t sure she could even fathom such a number.
“Quite the sight, isn’t it?” North asked, as if he had summoned them there himself.
Supposed she gave him a yessir, or something, then what? She sloughed it off. “I suppose so.” Alex looked over her shoulder as she followed him upstairs. This many people should be giving her anxiety.
The viewing suite they entered drowned out the noise from outside. Classical music piped in, with the occasional update from the track announcer. A layout of crackers and fancy, moussey cheese, along with glasses of champagne, made Alex feel like it was all a bit much. She liked the parties they had at home at North’s manor house, with just a bunch of potluck food laid out. And looking at everyone all dressed up in this room, just completed her feelings of out-of-placeness.
She moved to the window to focus her attention outside. Laura joined her, seething.
“Can you believe the nerve of him? He didn’t even bother to say hello. He just went straight to her.”
Alex looked over her shoulder to see North’s son, Johnathan, talking to Carol. Her blush to his smile, made an ugly feeling in Alex twist in her chest. She shrugged it off, returning her gaze to the track. “Laura, chill. Boys are dumb, and totally not worth it.”
“He’s going after your best friend, Alex. Doesn’t that say anything to you?” Laura hissed.
“Like she’d go for a douche like Johnathan North.”
Laura crossed her arms, and cocked an eyebrow at her.
Alex rolled her eyes. “What?”
“You’re naive.”
“Don’t you have someone’s hair to play with or something?” Alex snapped.
Laura’s lip trembled, but she stepped away. “Fine.”
Alex grit her teeth, fighting against the guilt that assailed her. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so short with her. Maybe Laura needed her to be on her side. She glanced back to her, but Laura had picked a spot to huddle behind her parents.
When the time for the Belmont Stakes came, Alex slipped away to the saddling area. The back side of the grandstands were covered in vines, a striking contrast to the tan bricks behind them. She scanned the open-air stalls for Promenade, and found him facing away from the crowd.
Joe stood guard like a Buckingham soldier, his fedora shading his expression from others. The only thing that took Alex’s attention away from him was the bronze statue of Secretariat in full stride, accentuated by a blanket of white carnations atop the base. The gravity of it struck her. He’d been where Promenade was standing.
Black Scotch walked by, strapping as ever. He looked like he’d grown since she saw him at the Breeders Cup Juvenile. She blew out a breath. This was Pro’s day to claim. He was bigger than Black Scotch. Here’s hoping that twitch thing, combined with Promenade’s already massive stride, added up to something.
Dejado emerged from the jockey’s room, shining in North Oak’s red and silver silks. He crossed to Joe, taking instructions from him. For whatever reason, he glanced toward the crowd. Alex caught his gaze, and he smiled, then turned back his attention back.
Joe led Promenade into the walking ring, and gave Dejado a boost into the saddle. Dejado adjusted his reins and stirrups, before saluting the old man with his whip.
Alex pushed through the crowd to follow them under the tunnel, on the spectator’s side of the barriers, onto the track. The crowd bustled with a deafening noise, to the point Alex almost couldn’t hear the guest singer croon New York, New York. The song faded on her ears as she honed in on her boys.
They cantered down the track, drawing her eye to Carol by the rail. She felt like she could pick her out of a crowd anywhere. Despite everything that had happened over the last few months, their relationship was still strong. Carol met her eyes through the crowd and waved her over. Alex pushed on harder. She swore she was fighting through water, with one giant undertow. Except this sea was people.
Carol smiled at her, washing Alex with some level of calmness. Without a word, they linked pinkies right over the rail; their age old whatever happens, I’m right here. It was the only thing grounding Alex right now. She reminded herself to breathe. Her heart drummed faster than a morning workout. Alex swallowed, fighting the anxiety rising in her. This was it.
“We’re ready for the start of the grade one Belmont Stakes,” the announcer crackled over the loudspeaker.
Alex squeezed her eyes shut, begging the racing gods for a clean start. The bell shrilled.
“They’re off!”
Alex opened her eyes, searching for Promenade as they streaked by.
“Not a great start for Promenade, but Black Scotch is off to an early lead.”
Carol squeezed Alex’s hand.
“Right to the front for Black Scotch, and Thunder Rush, followed closely behind by Rock Star. In the race to the first turn, these three battling out since the Derby. Promenade taking a ground-saving run behind them, with Bolt Cutter and Warheart two lengths behind. The opening quarter mile is twenty-five and change.”
Alex trained her eyes on Promenade as they arced through the vast, sweeping turn. His ears were pricked, only occasionally flickin
g back to listen to Dejado. Watching them made Alex’s heart feel like it was fighting its way out of her body, desperately wanting to ride along with them. She studied his stride, noting how Dejado kept it in check. It seemed shorter than what she knew he was capable of at home.
“They’ve clipped off the half mile in fifty. Black Scotch still holding his lead while Thunder Rush and Rock Star bide their time behind him. Then it’s two lengths back to Bolt Cutter and Promenade, with Warheart trailing the field. Black Scotch keeping a moderate tempo, conserving it all for the test of the champion.”
Alex’s hand tightened around the rail momentarily, egged on by the noise of the crowd, so loud it was more like the dull roar of an ocean. A sea of souls. Her throat tightened until she felt like she was breathing through a straw. She loosened her grip with another hard breath.
“It’s Black Scotch leading the way by a length, but Thunder Rush is keeping the pressure on. Rock Star holds third to the outside. Warheart at the back, being ridden to keep up with the field. Promenade inching up on Bolt Cutter. Black Scotch is now half way home in the Belmont.”
When was Dejado going to make his move? They were coming up on the turn for home, and he was still sitting tight. Alex bit her lip, willing him to do something. Black Scotch couldn’t run away with this race like that.
“Around the far turn, Black Scotch continues to lead the way. Thunder Rush now reaching for him. Rock Star going forward now to vie for that second spot.”
“DJ!” Alex yelled involuntarily.
And, as if he heard her, he freed his whip and flashed it by Promenade’s eye. Promenade charged through on the inside, forcing his way out around Thunder Rush, right under Rock Star’s nose.
“Black Scotch has opened up a lead, but Promenade is coming for him. The Breeders Cup Juvenile champion will have his say. And they’re into the stretch!”
Even though she was grounded, Alex felt herself being carried with Promenade. “Come on, guys!”
Carol was hollering beside her. Adrenaline filled Alex’s veins. The din of the crowd rose, sending chills racing down her spine from the sheer volume.
“A battle for the ages,” the announcer shouted. “Promenade is making his run for stardom. Black Scotch giving it all he has. As they come into the final furlong, Promenade is second with only an eighth of a mile to go!”
“You got this!” Carol screamed.
“Black Scotch is all out. Promenade slipping away from him by one length… two lengths… two and a half!”
Alex had this sudden moment of tunnel vision, where only Promenade existed on the track. A light-headed, sickly, starry feeling all at once. Her knees buckled. His hooves barely seemed to touch the ground as his stride devoured the earth.
“Black Scotch’s Triple Crown bid shattered,” the announcer cried as Promenade romped home by five to a mixed roar of jeers and cheers.
Dejado rose in the stirrups, pumping his fist in triumph. Underdogs for the win.
Carol crashed into Alex. “He did it!”
Alex stared at Promenade and Dejado, overwhelmed by a well of emotion. He hadn’t just crashed Black Scotch’s party, he had utterly destroyed it. Looking at the wreckage Promenade left in his wake, Alex saw Black Scotch fighting his jockey as if he wanted to go on, as though he knew he’d been denied.
Other jockeys in the field cantered up to Dejado on their mounts and high fived him. A few of them fisted his helmet playfully.
North made his way toward the winner’s circle wreathed in smiles. Carol tugged Alex forward to join him.
Promenade entered the area breathing hard, but still had his ears pricked forward, taking in all the camera flashes going off. A blanket of carnations was slid over his shoulders, and the North Oak team paused for the official win picture.
North took the microphone from the guy awarding the trophy, and spoke.
“Our farm was hit pretty hard recently by tragedy. One that kept many of our horses from pursuing their due course. Promenade in particular was destined to win this race. Black Scotch’s owners may try to talk us down, but there’s no denying it. Promenade is still every inch a champion.”
Alex looked over her shoulder, noticing Enrique’s agent trying to talk to Joe.
North pointed toward the owners’ boxes above the crowd, grinning. “Even your jockey knows it.”
A clash of chuckles and heckles waved over the crowd, but Promenade’s new infamy didn’t seem to rattle North. “You can keep swinging at us, but you’ll only be hitting daylight. We’ll see you at Saratoga.”
He passed the microphone back to the guy he took it from with no less decorum than a mic-drop, boom.
Alex followed Joe and Promenade back to the barn to help out, if Joe would allow it. With the way Promenade owned the Belmont Stakes, Alex wondered if he would have won the other races if not for the virus.
As they walked along the track, a few passerby made irksome remarks regarding the heist. Joe ignored them with a quiet dignity Alex hadn’t noticed in him before.
The first thing Joe did was let Promenade have a good celebratory roll in the sand pit. And he actually let Alex hold the lead line for once.
“Bring him in for a bath when he’s done,” Joe said, sauntering off.
Alex saluted him, smiling at Promenade’s wild equine sundae belly. Except now they were dirty socks, and a sandy belly and chest. When Promenade got to his feet, he was just one big sand monster. He shook off, then ambled to Alex, nudging her aside. She shoved him back and lead him toward his stall where grooms were waiting to wash him down.
Alex helped, not caring if she got her dress wet. The soggy sand monster could mess it up all he wanted. She didn’t realize how much time passed between getting him cleaned up, fed, and bedded down, until Carol showed up with an older lady by her side.
The exchange between Alex and Carol was mostly wordless. To be able to say everything without saying anything was special. Carol hugged her.
“I have to go. Thank you for this wonderful weekend.”
Alex clung to her, realizing they’d be missing the summer together. That this time was the last time she’d see her until August.
“It’s killing me to know I’ll be missing your birthday.”
Carol smiled, shrugging. “It’s just a number.”
Alex reached into her own dress, just behind her bra strap— a makeshift pocket Laura had taught her— and produced a silver locket. “Sorry it’s sweaty. But, y’know, you can put whatever you want in it.”
Carol laughed, accepting the gift into cupped hands. “I love it.”
Alex smiled awkwardly, feeling satisfied. Something next to her heart now belonged to Carol.
They parted just as Dejado appeared around the corner. Alex and Carol exchanged looks.
“Be nice,” Carol urged. “He’s a great guy. I think you know that.”
Alex couldn’t argue. All the hours Dejado had spent with her and Promenade, pent up in that quarantine barn, was reason enough to give him a chance.
Alex hugged Carol one last time. “Happy sweet sixteen.”
Dejado joined Alex and watched Carol leave with her grandmother. They stood silently side by side for a while after.
“So…” Dejado said.
Alex raised an eyebrow. “So?”
Dejado rubbed his neck, like he wasn’t sure what to say after the So part. “Would you like to get a burger?” he blurted.
Alex smiled. “Yes.”
They headed off to Dejado’s truck, only to be intercepted by North on his phone.
“The only reason Black Scotch won the Derby and Preakness, was because my colt wasn’t there to take him down,” he said to whoever was on the other end of the line. “He proved that today, and he’ll do it again and again.”
North ended the call and shoved his phone into his jacket pocket, then reached for an envelope behind it. He handed it to Dejado.
“For a job well done.”
Dejado shook his head. “Give it to
Alex. I don’t want it.”
North turned a particular shade of burgundy Alex wasn’t sure he could control. “As you wish.”
He held it toward her, and it took some time before Alex reached for it. “Just take it,” he snapped.
Alex grabbed the envelope before the veins in North’s neck got any more grotesque. He skulked off with a readjustment of his jacket.
Alex looked at the envelope, betting that it probably had Dejado’s share of the purse winnings. “What was that all about?”
He leaned into her gently. “Buy yourself an equicizer.”
Alex squinted at him. No more practicing on Speedy?
Dejado smirked, a dimple playing at the corner of his cheek. “I can’t be the only one having all the fun, Ishmael. It’s time you got serious about this jockey thing.”
MISS AUDACIOUS
“What do you mean you’re not coming back to North Oak?” Alex asked Brooke incredulously.
Brooke rubbed her filly’s neck. “My place is here, with Mags. I think I’ll try the New York circuit until school starts. Then we’ll come home.”
“But I need you. What about Venus Nights? What about the other yearlings?”
“I think we should let her grow over the summer. As for the other yearlings, Pop can help you back them.”
Alex shook her head, confused. “Isn’t he going with Promenade to Saratoga?”
“Actually, he said he’s turning the string over to one of his assistants, at least until a few weeks before the race.”
Alex clenched her fists, feeling betrayed. Her opinion of Brooke’s awesomeness level tanked.
“Alex, this is my chance to make a fast break. With the yearling sales coming up, I can maybe pick up some new horses to train. I can leverage the fact that I helped train a Belmont winner. That’s kind of a big deal.”
Alex huffed, then wordlessly turned on her heel to walk away. Don’t expect a big welcome home in the fall there, Stick.
As though sensing her disappointment, Brooke called after her, “I’ll find one just for you, Al.”
