by F J messina
Jet sidled up to Burnett. “Now, how about those refreshments you promised? I’m sure there’s something with bourbon available, don’t you think?”
Sonia chimed in. “Mint juleps? I’ve never had one of those.”
Jet smiled at her. “I’m sorry, honey. No mint juleps today, those are only for Derby Day, unless you want one of those frozen ones. And that’s not the real deal for those things. But I’m sure there are other ways to get you some bourbon, aren’t there, Burnett?”
Burnett was looking around, Sonia assumed, for a place to get a beverage. “Most certainly ladies. Although, you do have a choice. He pointed. There’s the Moët and Chandon Champagne booth to our left, the Gray Goose Bloody Mary and Martini booth right over there, and to our right, of course, we could get you Maker’s Mark bourbon. What’s your pleasure?” He gave them a sly smile, “Trust me, we’ll not be going upstairs to the Brats and Brew area.”
Sonia smiled and took a moment to run the choices through her mind. Jet had no problem what-so-ever. “It sure feels like a champagne day to me, doesn’t it Sonia?”
Sonia gave a silent nod of approval.
Burnett led the way. “Let us go procure some of France’s finest libations.”
As they followed Burnett, Sonia leaned in toward Jet and whispered. “You’ve got him eating out of the palm of your hand, don’t you?”
“Oh, missy. You know ol’ Jet. When she sets her mind to hookin’ a fish, it don’t take long for her to reel it in.” Her accent was controlled, but definitely present.
“Yes.” Sonia smiled. “But now that you’ve got him, what are you going to do with him?”
Jet’s accent became stronger. “Honestly, I’m not sure I have the slightest idea where this fishin’ excursion is going to wind up. But I can tell you one thing. Mercy, I am certainly enjoying the trip.”
26
By late in the afternoon, Sonia, Jet, and Burnett had enjoyed a wonderful day. The weather was beautiful. The horses were beautiful. Even the libations were beautiful─if you purchased them in one of the finer dining rooms like the Equestrian Room.
Sonia could feel the excitement rising as the day wore on and the two big races approached. She turned to Burnett. “So, the Ashland Stakes is for fillies, and it’s an important race because of the Kentucky Oaks. Is that right?”
Burnett gave her a fatherly smile. “Yes. It’s a stakes race for three-year-old fillies, and it’s a prep race for the Kentucky Oaks. There have been some attempts to create a sort of triple crown for fillies, but that whole effort never really caught on.”
Jet took out her racing program. “So, what are we looking for this time Burnie?”
Sonia watched Burnett’s head whip around. Apparently, he’d never been called anything but Burnett, or for that matter, Mr. Saunders.
Eventually, Burnett answered. “You remember don’t you, that I told you about three different horses that were doing better than their breeding might imply? Well, one of those three is Frailing. You know about him. Another is a filly named Summer Wheat.” He pointed to the horse’s name in his program. “She’s a lovely chestnut color and is having a heck of a year. She’s running today in the Ashland Stakes.” Burnett half-smiled. “If she has a good outing it will portend well for her appearance in the Oaks.”
Sonia eyes widened. “Right here? The next race?” She turned to Jet. “Oh, let’s put some money on her to win.”
Burnett gave her another fatherly smile. “I’m not sure that’s a wise bet. Even with her somewhat weaker bloodlines, her recent past performance has her going off at only two to one. If she wins, you won’t make much money. Still, if you’re excited about her, goodness me, it would be fun to watch her run and actually root for her.”
Sonia started pulling Jet toward the betting windows, a place she’d never seen until a few hours ago, and with which she was now quite familiar. “C’mon. We’re putting money on Summer Wheat. Big money. Five bucks.”
“Oh, you’re a big hitter, aren’t you Ms. Sonia.” Jet chuckled. “Five whole bucks on a horse going off at two to one. If you win you’ll be able to buy a cup of coffee in a place like this─maybe.” Sonia couldn’t seem to wipe the smile from her face.
After placing their bets, the trio worked their way back to the reserved seats Burnett had gotten them. Sitting on the edge of her seat, Sonia watched as the horses were loaded into the gate. She was happy to see that Summer Wheat was, “in the two hole,” as she had learned to call it that day, and she knew that was a good thing. Earlier in the day, Sonia had believed that all horse races were the same distance. She now knew that wasn’t the case. She tugged on Burnett’s sleeve. “How long is the race?”
Burnett was watching the loading gate through his binoculars. “A mile and a sixteenth.”
“Wow.” Sonia wasn’t really sure if that was short or long for a race.
Jet rolled her eyes at Sonia’s attempt to appear knowledgeable, then she smiled. “You’re right, babe. Let’s hope she can rock and roll right on down that track.”
It took another few minutes to load all the horses into the gate. Sonia heard the track announcer’s, “They’re at the post,” and the moment the last one was secured, the bell rang and those classic words rang out over the PA. “And they’re off!”
Summer Wheat got an excellent jump out of the starting gate and was quickly running third behind two other horses, a bay filly named Strictly Speed, and a gray named Kathy Q. As they passed the first pole, it was Strictly Speed in the lead, Kathy Q second, and Summer Wheat third.
Although she’d seen the same thing happen several times that day, Sonia was still surprised to see how far away the horses seemed as they ran on the far side of the infield. By then, the three horses had maintained their relative positions but had run away from the rest of the pack.
The trio hit the quarter pole and turned into the home stretch. Having run as close to the rail as possible to save inches all the way around the track, the three fanned out and started to run abreast as they headed for home. The crowd around Sonia was screaming, some of them banging their fists or programs against anything they could as they urged their favorite steed toward the finish line.
With less than an eighth of a mile to go, Summer Wheat found another gear. Though she was driving hard, she seemed to glide effortlessly past Kathy Q. Then Sonia watched as the stunning animal stretched and pushed every ounce of her magnificent body toward the finish line, her jockey tucked low on her back, urging her on.
With the finish line just a few strides away, Summer Wheat had closed the gap between her and Strictly Speed to less than a length. Stride for stride they ran, Summer Wheat’s nose inching closer and closer to that of her rival. In a flash, they ran past the finish line, the crowd noise deafening. But as they slowly pulled up, the jockeys standing in their stirrups, it was obvious that Summer Wheat had fallen just short of completing her comeback.
Sonia, like many folks there, had been standing on her tippy-toes. She rocked back onto her heels. “Oh no. So close. So close.”
Jet tore her mutuel betting ticket in half and stuffed it in her purse, making a big display. “Ain’t that how it always goes. Just when you think you’ve got it made you miss it by a couple of nose hairs. Isn’t that so Burnett?”
Burnett turned and looked calmly at the two frustrated novice handicappers. He unconsciously ran a bent finger past his own nose. “Actually, I thought the race was quite a success.”
They both looked at him curiously. It was Jet who spoke first. “And in what way is us losing a success?”
“Oh my, given her bloodlines, the chances of Summer Wheat running such a close second in a race of this caliber were quite slim.” He looked up at the large screen that sat in the infield and faced the grandstand. “That’s especially true, given the time in which they ran the race, 1:41.62. I think the fastest ever was 1:41.60, just two-tenths of a second faster. Come on, let’s go down to the stable area. I’m curious as to the react
ion of the owners.”
Sonia used her program as a fan to cool herself, the day having become quite warm even in the shade. “Okay. But remember, we want to be back in time to see Frailing run. That’s why we came here today.”
Jet took her by the arm and they started to follow Burnett, who had simply walked off. “We’ll be back in time, and with some winning tickets in our hands this time. Count on it.”
Sonia smiled. “Oh, it really doesn’t matter. I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun.” After a moment, she went on. “I just wish Brad was here with us to enjoy it. You know, he used to work on a horse farm up near Paris when he was a kid.”
“Yeah. You told me.” Jet was pulling Sonia along. “Now let’s hurry up. I don’t want to lose Burnett in the crowd. I have no idea where we’re going.”
Within a few minutes, Burnett had led them back to the edges of the stable area. Sonia tugged on Burnett’s sleeve. “Is it okay if we go back there?”
Burnett answered without looking back at her. “Not normally, but if we look like we really belong we might get a little closer than usual.” He turned and gave her a big smile.
Stretching to see as much as she could, Sonia watched the stable hands and other attendants deal with the horses that had just run a demanding race. In her mind, they were all winners. The looks on some of the faces she saw, however, didn’t seem to agree. Those looks ranged from acceptance to downright frustration. A few uncomplimentary words drifted in the air.
A man dressed in expensive-looking pants and a nice jacket emerged from what appeared to be Summer Wheat’s stall area. Jet nudged Burnett. “Who’s that?”
Burnett leaned close to her and covered his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not certain, but I believe that’s Robert Edwards, he’s one of Summer Wheat’s owners.”
Jet whispered back, “He doesn’t look too disappointed, does he?”
“Why should he?” He spoke without looking at her. “His horse just won the second-place share of a $500,000 purse. And, it seems pretty clear that she’ll be able to run in the Oaks next month.”
Sonia swatted at a fly. “Wow, not bad.” A few moments later she took hold of Jet’s elbow and pulled her a step away. “Look.”
“Look at what?” Jet arched her body, looking around.
“Look who that is. Don’t you remember him?”
Jet strained to see better. “Oh yeah, that’s Ron Harris. What’s he doing here?”
Sonia shook her head. “I don’t know. Any idea who he’s talking to?”
Jet frowned. “Not a clue.” She turned, walked over to Burnett and spun him around surreptitiously. “Look over my shoulder.”
Burnett stretched his neck and opened his eyes wide, his head on a swivel.
“Subtly, subtly,” Jet whispered intently as she tugged on the arm of his linen suit. “See those two guys? Any idea who they are?”
Burnett continued to stare, unaffected by Jet’s urging. Clueless. “No idea, I’m afraid. They do seem fully engaged in conversation, now don’t they.”
Jet nodded. “I would say they do. But you don’t recognize either one of them?” She looked up at Burnett. “Because we do. The smaller guy, that’s Ron Harris. He’s a broker.”
Burnett looked at her, “A bloodstock agent? Is that what you mean?”
Jet sighed. “Yes, Professor. A bloodstock agent. But the other guy. You don’t know him?”
Burnett pursed his lips. “Wait. Let me check something.” He looked through his program for a moment. “You know, that could be Stefan Ashkenasi. He’s the owner of Willowbay Farm down in Florida. That’s where Summer Wheat was bred.”
Sonia moved closer to Jet and Burnett. “Hmm. That’s interesting. So Ashkenasi bred Summer Wheat, and then sold him to Edwards?”
“Could be. Farm owners don’t usually act as breeders. Sometimes, however, they function in that capacity. Ashkenasi might well be Summer Wheat’s breeder.”
There was a moment of silence between them all. Finally, Sonia spoke. “C’mon. Let’s get back. It’s almost time for the Bluegrass Stakes and we haven’t even bought our tickets yet.”
27
It wasn’t long before Sonia, Jet, and Burnett were back in their seats, waiting for the day’s biggest race, The Bluegrass Stakes. By the time the horses were being loaded into the gate, Sonia was literally bouncing in her seat.
Jet looked at her and shook her head. “Now don’t go getting crazy, at least not until they’re heading for the finish line.”
Sonia’s smile was radiant. “Oh, but isn’t this great? The sun, the grass, the new bright, green leaves on the trees over there in the distance. And now we’re going to watch Frailing run. How could it be any better?”
Jet snorted, “It could be better if we’d already turned these ten-dollar tickets into a whole lot more money. Given his bloodline, lots of folks don’t think Frailing can really keep up with these other nags. The odds are in our favor. Hell, he’s going off at five to one.”
Sonia’s smile didn’t fade. “Well, I’m sticking with Burnett. If he says that Frailing is outrunning his bloodlines, then I’m all in. Right, Burnett?” Her foot was tapping a mile a minute.
“Oh, please, Sonia.” Burnett was dispassionate. “Just remember that true accountants never watch the horses in order to make money. We get our thrills from watching the outcome of certain mathematical propositions being either proven or disproven.”
Jet looked at Sonia but tossed her head toward Burnett. “And it doesn’t hurt if they wind up making a bunch of money along the way.” Then she turned to Burnett. “Now does it, Burnie?”
Once again, Sonia watched Burnett’s head whip around as the name “Burnie” sunk into his consciousness. She could hardly keep from laughing right in his face.
A few moments later, the bell rang and, once again, the crowd noise rose as the public address announcer gave them what they wanted to hear, “And they’re off!”
Sonia watched Frailing, the beautiful bay Thoroughbred, with its gleaming, dark brown coat and black mane and tail explode out of the starting gate. She feared his starting position, fifth from the rail, might stand in the way of his getting a jump on the other horses, but that wasn’t the case. The massive animal quickly maneuvered past four other horses and was hugging the fence by the time the pack had reached the first turn.
Sonia was literally jumping up and down. “He’s in the lead. He’s in the lead. Go, Frailing! Go! Go!”
By the time the horses reached the half-mile pole, Jet was holding onto to Sonia’s arm and jumping with her. “Go on you nag! Show ‘em what you’ve got!” She turned to Sonia and shouted over the crowd noise. “He’s gonna do it! Look at him! He’s gonna do it!”
Sonia’s experience was dreamlike, watching that beautiful creature coming out of the backstretch in front of the pack. It was almost as if he was floating across the hard ground while the others were lost in a cloud of dust. “He’s got it! He’s got it!” she shouted.
As they turned toward the quarter pole, it became obvious that a black colt and another bay were closing on Frailing, though Sonia was certain it didn’t matter. He was so far ahead he couldn’t possibly lose. But as they turned into the stretch, Sonia couldn’t believe her eyes. It was like her spatial orientation had gotten all messed up. There was Frailing, running just barely ahead of the other two. In fact, from her angle, she couldn’t be sure he was ahead at all.
Jet started smacking her program on Sonia’s arm. “C’mon damn it! Get goin’! Get goin’!” She was shouting. Sonia was shouting. Everyone was shouting. It was like the grandstand itself was roaring. And shout as they might, Sonia watched as first the black colt and then the bay passed Frailing. In fact, in the time it took for the horses to turn into the home stretch and then cross the finish line, Frailing had fallen from first place to sixth. He finished totally defeated and out of the money.
Jet leaned back, raised her arms, and looked to the sky as if appealing to t
he gods of racing. “Why, why?”
Sonia looked at Jet with dismay on her face. “How could he do that? How could he have been so far ahead and then just totally collapsed like that? How could he?”
Burnett turned to them with no particular emotion on his face. “Interesting. Fascinating really. Not at all what I would have expected based on his earlier performances.”
The crowd noise had subsided so instantly it was almost surreal. Sonia turned to Burnett. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Burnett sounded a bit professorial, “in all his prior races, Frailing has been able to run in front almost wire to wire. Of course, usually by the end of the race, the horses that come from behind, the closers, are gaining on him. But in almost every case he’s had enough speed to hold them off at the end and come in first─in most cases.”
Jet squinted her eyes. “So, why not this time? Was it the jockey’s fault? Did he take Frailing out so fast that he had nothing left?”
Burnett maintained his equanimity. “One could proposition that was the case. Of course, we’ll never know. The trainer might have instructed him to do so. All kinds of different things come into play.”
Jet was shaking her head. “I know one thing that’s not going to play. It’s these ten-dollar win tickets.” She dipped gently into her southern accent. “They’re not gonna play no how.”
Sonia put her hand on Jet’s arm. “Hey. Don’t worry. We got our ten bucks worth of entertainment, didn’t we?”
Jet smiled at her, then turned directly to Burnett, her eyes looking deeply into his. “I guess you’re right. We’re out here in the beautiful weather, with great people. Couldn’t be any better, could it, Burnie?”
Burnett seemed unable to come up with an appropriate response to such a direct question. He gave his lapels and bowtie a quick non-adjustment. “Well, then. If you don’t mind. I really would like to go back to the stable area one last time. Given Frailing’s disappointing performance, it seems like we might be able to hear some fascinating discussions going on back there, but only if we remain very discreet.”
