Book Four of the Winning Odds Series: Soon to be a Movie

by MaryAnn Myers

  Book Four of the Winning Odds Series

  “Soon To Be a Movie”

  Sunrise Horse Farm

  11872 Chillicothe Road

  Chesterland, Ohio 44026

  440-729-0930

  www.sunrisehorsefarm.com

  Copyright © 2014 by MaryAnn Myers

  Cover design by Flair Graphic Arts & More

  All rights reserved. Printed and bound in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  First Edition

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Nottingham Downs does not exist in real life, nor is there an actual village of Mangeni in Uganda.

  1. Fiction 2.Horses 3. Thoroughbreds 4. Sports

  ~ * ~

  When an ambitious young Hollywood director sets out to document an insider view of what takes place on the backside of a Thoroughbred racetrack, the story he uncovers at Nottingham Downs is not quite what he expected to find. On the contrary….

  Ben Miller says it all comes down to the integrity of the people involved. “If they don’t have a genuine love for horses, they need to get out of the business. They don’t belong here. It’s as simple as that.”

  “The continuing story into the lives of the memorable behind-the-scenes characters horseracing fans have come to know and love: Book Four of the Winning Odds Series ~ Soon to be a Movie is a hit!”

  Chapter One

  Ben glared at the young woman trying to powder his face. He didn’t particularly care if he was “perspiring.” That’s what happens during a hot summer day on the backside of a racetrack. You sweat.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, but you won’t film well. Please.”

  Ben looked up at her again. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He tilted his chin one way and then the other. “I have obviously lived way too long.”

  Tom laughed. “Now that’s a whole different story, old man.”

  “Really? That’s another thing.” Ben pointed an arthritic finger at him. “I’m tired of you calling me old man. You’re no young buck anymore either. Why don’t you come over here and pretend to be me.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? I’ve been pretending to be you for years.”

  Richard laughed. “Oh yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

  “Not very well. It’s like he got a head start on me or something.”

  “Quiet on the set!” When everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and paid heed to the director, Leon leaned back and crossed his arms. “I love saying that.” This was his first documentary, his first big break.

  Tom glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, look. It’s our Thoroughbred racehorse veterinarian Dr. Randy Iredell coming to examine the racehorses.”

  Randy shook his head. “They ought to leave you home.”

  “What? I’m going to be a star.”

  “Can we all get quiet now?” Leon meant it this time. A horse whinnied. “Did you get that?” he asked his sound man. “Come on, everyone. Pay attention.”

  The documentary revolved around Ben Miller, horse trainer and owner of Nottingham Downs, and had been in the planning for months. It was now in Day Two of production and off to a rocky start. Ben refused to use a script, refused to wear a flat hat.

  “I’m not Mickey Rooney.”

  He also refused to use a cane. He hadn’t had to rely on his cane for years and even then only because he was recovering from a stroke at the time.

  “But you’d look so distinguished,” Leon insisted.

  “You’re assuming I care about that,” Ben said.

  The current scene was taking place in the tack room. Ben was supposed to sit at his desk and pretend to be going through the condition book to pick out races where he could enter his horses. “Why do I have to pretend?”

  Leon sighed. Just about every lead-in for this documentary thus far had pretty much started out the same way. Though, much to Leon’s surprise, Ben, despite his crankiness, was a natural at acting.

  “That’s because I’m not acting,” Ben said. “This is what I do.”

  “Whatever. Just keep it up. It’s working.”

  As a rule, Dawn made herself scarce during the filming. She let it be known early on that even though she totally supported the project, she wanted no part of being in front of the camera. Leon asked once if she might change her mind. “No,” she said. And that was that.

  Today she was “on the set” in the shedrow. Randy looked at her and smiled. She was the love of his life: wife, mother of his children, his best friend.

  “Scene Twelve.”

  When Junior showed up late as usual, his untimely presence resulting in an interruption, Leon shook his head in disgust. “I’m going to write you out of this story totally if you keep this up.”

  Junior waved off the man’s comment. “Who cares?”

  Tom looked at him. “What’s the matter with you? What’s going on?”

  “The deal fell through.”

  Though tempted to ask, “What deal is that?” Tom held his tongue. Junior had been trying for months to acquire one or two horses to either train or purchase “on the cuff,” buy now pay later. But when it came time to seal the deal, the last one being two horses from an owner-trainer at Presque Isle, the other parties involved always backed out for some reason or another.

  A large part of these failed business dealings had to do with Junior’s past reputation. Even though he was a self-proclaimed “changed man” since his marriage and the birth of his and Lucy’s baby, most horsemen on the backside of Nottingham Downs still thought of him as a good-for-nothing unreliable pain-in-the-ass, too big for his own britches. Admittedly, even so, most would also have to agree that he was one of the best hands on a horse the racetrack had ever seen.

  “Just because you can gallop the hair off a horse in the morning doesn’t mean you know a damned thing about training one to run in the afternoon,” was typical of the comments Junior heard. But, that was the one that hurt the most because it was Ben who’d said it, and to his face no less.

  “Countdown, five, four, three, two, one…. And action.”

  When Randy walked into the tack room, Ben turned in his chair to face him. “Hey, Randy.”

  “Cut! Ben, can you say, ‘Hello, Doc?’”

  “No. I don’t call him Doc. I call him Randy.”

  Leon sighed. “Does it matter?”

  “It matters to me. Why does it matter to you?”

  “Because I want the viewer to be reminded that Randy is a veterinarian.” Leon fully expected the usual grief over this explanation and was surprised at Ben’s response.

  “Maybe there’s a better way. How about you just introduce everyone by themselves at the beginning? That way there’s no wondering who everyone is. They’ll already know. I’ve seen movies like that before. You know, like Big Valley. That way you can just film us doing what we do and you can be just like that fly there on the wall and not get in the way.”

  Leon hesitated. The fly was buzzing all around. “Well, that wasn’t a movie or a documentary, but I see what you mean.”

  “So, uh, what?” Tom said. “Are you two agreeing for once? Is that what’s happening here?”

  Leon spread his arms. “All right
, everyone, it appears we are having a breakthrough.”

  Cast and crew laughed. Even Junior laughed in spite of his sour mood.

  “Stage set.”

  Ben frowned.

  “All right then,” Leon said. “Carry on as usual.”

  Ben looked up as Randy entered the tack room. “Hey.”

  Randy nodded. Originally he was supposed to look over Ben’s shoulder at the condition book and appear to be interested. Instead, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down on the cot. Condition books didn’t interest him at all. Tom walked into the tack room next and Junior followed.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Ben asked, from the look on Junior’s face.

  The young man hesitated. “The deal fell through on those Haskin fillies.”

  “You don’t know shit about fillies anyway,” Tom said.

  Junior laughed. “And you don’t know shit about anything.”

  It was business as usual.

  Early on when Tom talked to Ben on Junior’s behalf about getting him a few horses, Ben told him flat out that he didn’t think it was a good idea. The kid had grown up a lot in the last couple of years in his opinion, but still had a long way to go.

  Leon motioned for the videographer to zoom in on Junior. The exercise-boy-wannabe-trainer rose to the occasion. “I’m Junior Rupert and I’ve been on the racetrack most of my life. I don’t know why people won’t give me a chance. I know everything there is to know about horses.”

  Ben, Tom, and Randy looked at him.

  “I know what you’re all thinking. But I can do this. I can train a racehorse. Someone just needs to give me a chance. I need somebody to give me a break.”

  Ben went back to looking at his condition book. “Maybe you ought to think about getting your trainer’s license first.”

  “I can’t. The Stewards have it in for me.”

  “Yeah, well, mooning them the day they took Whinny down and placed her second didn’t help,” Tom said, laughing. “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget the looks on their faces.”

  “Go ahead. Make fun of me. But I bet a bundle on her that day. I could have bought my own damn horse to train.”

  Richard stood just outside the tack room door, remembering that incident and trying not to laugh as well. He liked Junior. They all did.

  “You don’t even have a stall. Where’re you going to put this horse?” Tom asked.

  “We have an empty one.” Junior pointed down the shedrow.

  Ben peered over the top of his glasses at him. “We?”

  “Cut!” Leon nodded. “That was good! That was great!”

  “You kidding me?” Junior said. “I wasn’t done.”

  “You are for the moment. We’ll pick this up again later.”

  “Why not finish it now? I think Ben was just about to tell me I could have that stall.”

  “That’s too bad,” Leon said. “Randy?”

  Randy yawned. Apparently he was up next. The camera zoomed in on him. He’d been on an emergency farm call all night. Fatigue showed in his blood-shot eyes. “My name is Randy Iredell. I’m a doctor of veterinary medicine specializing in equine studies.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee and then just stared into the cup for the longest time. It was an almost unbearable pause for Leon, but he allowed it. The expression on Randy’s face was so genuine, so agonizing. “I’ve been awake now for about twenty-seven hours and I really don’t know if I’m coming or going. We had an emergency last night. A mare. We lost her.”

  Leon signaled for the videographer to zoom in even closer as Randy raised his eyes. “In this business, you win some and you lose some.” He looked right at the camera. “I don’t like losing any.”

  “Cut! Perfect!”

  It was Tom’s turn next but before Leon could set the scene, Dusty came down the shedrow calling Tom’s name. “I could use you both,” he said to Randy.

  Without hesitating, Tom followed him out the door.

  “Which barn?” Randy headed for his truck parked just outside the shedrow. The videographer and sound man stepped out of the way.

  “Twenty-one. Ferguson.”

  Leon hurried the film crew after them. “Richard, we’ll get you later.”

  “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.”

  Ben chuckled. Richard was the General Manager of Nottingham Downs & Casino. “You hardly need introduction. Your face is everywhere.”

  True. Richard’s photo was on the billboard out front, on the website kiosk, the discount ticket coupons, the monitors. The PR firm of the Casino end of Nottingham Downs “liked the looks of him.” They liked the looks of his wife Heather too. According to the ad executive, the two of them were the ideal role models even though Richard’s wife had never actually set foot in the Casino. “That doesn’t matter. She’s here now,” the exec said. “Now give us a jackpot winning smile!”

  Ben studied a race in the condition book and then glanced at the training chart. The Miller barn only had five horses in training at the moment, hence that empty stall Junior had mentioned. Born All Together, nicknamed Batgirl, had two wins and a second this year. She came up a little back sore after her last start and Ben sent her home to the farm for a little R&R. Native Born Beau, better known as B-Bo just ran two days ago and finished a lackluster third, beaten four lengths in a race he’d been heavily favored to win.

  “He’s depressed,” Dawn said that morning. “He misses Batgirl.”

  Ben sighed. Horses were such complex animals and each one so very different. The race for Alley Beau wasn’t for another eight days and he was kicking the barn down. Once a horse was fit, Ben hated to breeze them. He preferred to just train them light and run them every ten days or so. It would be fourteen days between races for Alley. Ben laid his glasses on the desk and rubbed his eyes.

  Junior pointed over his shoulder at the condition book. “What about this race?”

  Ben looked up at him. “You’re still here?”

  Junior grinned. “Ben, you’re my only hope.”

  “Now wait a minute.”

  “I’m serious. Maybe if they know I’m going to be in your barn….”

  “And what happens when I want to bring Batgirl back in?”

  “Well.” Junior paused. “We can always cross that bridge when we get to it.”

  Ben shook his head. “It’s that kind of thinking that’ll get you in trouble every time.”

  “Come on, Ben. Didn’t you ever take a chance?”

  Ben just looked at the young man for a moment. “Yeah, I did. I had twelve dollars in my pocket when I took on my first horse.”

  Junior’s eyes lit up. “Really? Did you have a stall?”

  Ben laughed. “Times were different then.”

  “Times are different now,” Junior said. “I can do this, Ben. I know I can.”

  Ben just looked at him again.

  “And if I get two, we can ship Alley home and run him off the farm.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Or, I’ll just get one. Forget about two.”

  Ben picked up his glasses and turned the page on his condition book. “Go see what’s going on in barn twenty-one.”

  Junior nodded and started out the tack room door.

  “By the way,” Ben said. “This race is not a good choice for Alley because he’ll hook that Freeman colt and he hasn’t outrun him all year. He can win the other condition.”

  “I knew that,” Junior said, glancing back. “I was just making sure.”

  Ben shook his head. This kid had an answer for everything.

  Dawn finished brushing Missimee Me, the three year-old filly sired by Beau Born out of All Together and smacked Junior on the arm as she passed him on her way to the tack room.

  Junior pretended to be wounded. “What was that for?”

  “For messing with Missy’s mane.”

  Junior laughed. “That wasn’t me. That was Tom.”

  “It took me over an hour to straighten it out.” />
  “Tell him that,” Junior said, over his shoulder. “I had nothing to do with it. I just held the lead shank.”

  Gray like her dam All Together, Missimee Me, called Missy, had a long silky silvery mane. Or at least it used to be long. It was now about three inches in length with parts of it sticking out all over like a porcupine. Dawn evened it out, but the sticking-out part would likely take weeks to remedy itself.

  ~ * ~

  Ferguson lay sprawled out inside one of his horses’ stalls, apparently not injured, just a tad drunk. “I’m fine,” he kept insisting. “I couldn’t be better.”

  Tom knelt down next to him as Eddie, the man’s groom, stood by helplessly in the shedrow. “I tried to get him up. He won’t budge. Ain’t no way I can move him.”

  Randy glanced at the horse. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered by Ferguson taking up space in his stall. “Okay. And I’m here because…?”

  “Because we’ll need you to help us lift him,” Dusty said.

  Randy stared. Ferguson was no small man, not by any stretch. On a bet, one other time when he’d had one too many drinks, he weighed one of his legs on the jockey scale between races and tipped in at 135 pounds. Large didn’t do him justice. He was huge.

  “Don’t look at me,” Eddie said. “He don’t pay me enough.”

  The film crew closed in on them with Leon at the helm. “Was he injured?”

  “Possibly. Let’s give him some room,” Randy gestured for them to step aside. “Come on. Back up.” When the videographer continued filming, Randy covered the lens with his hand. “Enough I said. All right?”

  The videographer was busy inspecting his tainted lens when Junior walked up behind them. “What’s going on?”

  Eddie tilted his head toward the stall. Junior took a look.

  “Why don’t you continue interviewing Junior?” Tom suggested, as Ferguson stirred and let out a loud Mount Vesuvius-like belch. “Take them up to the track kitchen.”

  Leon balked. This would be such good footage. He stared longingly.

  “Surely you are aware of HIPAA?” Randy said. “I don’t think you want to go there. Give the man some privacy.”