Silk Chaser

by Peter Klein

  Maxine put a thoughtful finger to her lips. ‘You know what it is? Dad and Hall were pretty chummy at the track. He’d be feeling pretty down about it. I think he probably feels betrayed that he gave his friendship to someone who turned out to be a nutter. He did a lot for Kagan in business, put a lot of leads his way. I haven’t really spoken to him since the Christmas party. I might give him a call now, see how he’s feeling.’

  I took that as my exit cue and stood up. ‘You don’t want me around while you’re talking to your father.’

  ‘And you don’t really want to be here when I do,’ she said, reaching for the phone. She blew me a kiss. ‘I’ll see you at the stables tomorrow.’

  Next morning I drove around to Parraboo Lodge. I parked my van inside the owner’s car park right next to Maxine’s sporty little coupe. David was in the office at the back of his house; I could see him talking on the phone through the window. He waved at me to come inside.

  ‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said, finishing his call and putting the phone down. ‘You’ll need this.’

  He passed me an official stablehand registration card. I picked it up and checked it over. Something like a cross between a credit card and a driver’s licence; very official looking.

  ‘Back when I was strapping, they didn’t have these things. It was bring your own pay and a cut lunch.’

  David grinned at me. ‘Back in the day, eh? Shows how long you’ve been out of the saddle. Things have changed. These days you can’t lead a racehorse out of its box without one of these.’

  ‘This says I’m registered until the end of July? I only need a day pass to go with Maxine.’

  ‘They don’t issue these like ski lift tickets. It costs the same to register you for the year as it does for a meeting.’

  ‘Oh. I thought perhaps I was going to get press-ganged into working at the stables again. Chained up and have to do hard labour mucking out the boxes.’

  He laughed. ‘It was never that bad, was it?’

  ‘Felt like a sentence to me.’

  ‘Your problem was the chief warden.’

  ‘Dad? Yeah, maybe. He’s softened a bit since those days, but I was glad to break out, when I did.’

  ‘And now you’re back in the nick.’

  ‘Just for old times’ sake.’

  There was a sharp rap on the window and David waved at someone outside. ‘The farrier. I’d better go. The filly’s in box eighteen. Maxine’s already been here for half an hour getting her ready. I’ll see you out there.’

  I strolled under the archway opposite the tack room. Neat rows of stables lined the yard overlooking a freshly hosed-down bitumen courtyard. Box eighteen was just along the line and I could see the door ajar and hear Maxine talking to her horse as she went about getting it ready. I walked up to find her busily grooming Princess Upstart.

  ‘If you shine that horse up any more, I’m going to need sunglasses to look at her.’

  Maxine turned around in surprise. ‘Oh, hello sweetie, I didn’t hear you. What do you think, have I missed anything? I’ll put the finishing touches on her at the track, of course.’

  Maxine had pulled and plaited Princess Upstart’s mane into half a dozen little rosettes. It must have taken her a good deal of time and effort. It was the sort of thing you see in Europe; wasn’t very often strappers bothered with dressing their horses up to that degree in Australia.

  ‘She looks a proper princess. And so do you.’

  On reflection, Maxine’s outfit had me puzzled; a set of tatty, grey tradesman’s overalls. Not something I figured would catch a judge’s eye in the strapper’s contest. ‘Er, that what you’re wearing today?’

  ‘No, silly! Of course not. It’s what I’ve got on under these that I’ll be parading. I’m not going to risk getting my gear dirty before the event.’

  I might have known Maxine would plan for that. She was taking this seriously, all right. A horn like a cargo ship’s sounded out the front of the stables.

  ‘Float’s here,’ she said. ‘Can you grab the race bag outside the door?’

  We loaded Princess Upstart onto Garrett’s big nine-horse float and she walked straight on board without any fuss. Dad only had the one runner entered for today, so there was just me and Maxine sitting in the compartment behind the driver to begin with. Then the driver stopped around the corner at the community stables and picked up another seven horses from the trainers there. One other horse had joined ours in the front, handled by a cheeky-faced, gum-chewing apprentice who told us with absolute certainty that his horse ‘was a moral’ today.

  ‘Governor’s Orders, mate. Race six. Can’t be beat. It worked the place down on Thursday.’

  ‘Is that right?’ I said. I knew the horse, a perennial ‘morning glory’, a horse who’d always put in a star-studded track gallop, but never produce in a race.

  ‘Yep. You wanna have something on her, you know.’ He patted his shirt pocket; ‘I’m havin’ me wages on her, I am.’

  The kid had made an effort to dress up, as far as apprentice jockeys go; an orange shirt with sleeves that came to his knuckles. A flashy cartoon-character tie at half-mast. His shoes were badly in need of a polish and he was wearing a black suit jacket that was a size too big. When he saw me looking, he proudly straightened it up by the lapels.

  ‘Bag of fruit, today,’ he said. ‘Classy, eh? Boss said I gotta look me best for the strapper’s comp. Reckon I can win it, too. Crack the big double.’

  Maxine gave me a dig in the ribs. ‘We’re in that race, too,’ she said to him, nodding to the horse box behind her. ‘Princess Upstart.’

  He gave Maxine a cursory glance and then looked back at Princess Upstart’s head poking through the compartment. ‘Nah,’ he said, resuming his gum-chewing, ‘you may as well have stayed at home. I’m a certainty.’

  When we arrived at the track I carried in the raceday bag and the light rug and Maxine led her horse into the stalls. We passed through security; they still had the guards in place at the horse stalls, although with the news about Hall jumping off the Westgate, the tension and the wariness seemed to have eased. Unlike last week, they just waved me through without bothering to inspect my pass. I must have looked official carrying the rug and bag. I helped Maxine hose and scrape the filly down, and when we came back to the stalls, she tied the tartan ribbons into the filly’s mane.

  ‘How does she look?’

  Very showy, I had to admit. She was a flashy liver chestnut and that colour stood out anyway. But her two white socks, the star on her forehead and the tartan ribbons would almost guarantee she’d draw attention. There was something else that wouldn’t go unnoticed either.

  ‘That’s not Dad’s usual race bridle is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ said Maxine nonchalantly. ‘I bought a white plastic one from the saddlers yesterday. DJ’s plain old leather bridles are so boring. I’ve got to make her stand out from the crowd. I bought some matching reins too.’

  God knew what my father was going to think of this latest intrusion into his training procedures. I supposed he’d handle it in his usual diplomatic way.

  ‘Now, can you do me a favour,’ she said, ‘just mind her a moment while I go and get changed?’

  I’d forgotten about that. Maxine would want to slip out of her overalls and into whatever it was she was wearing.

  ‘That’s fine, go. I’ll look after her.’

  ‘Don’t go letting her rub against the stalls and dirty herself, will you?’

  ‘No, I’ll watch her. I have done this before,’ I said.

  Maxine took off with her tote bag to the ladies’ room and I played at being strapper. Been a while since I’d done that; ten years or so. You never forget; it’s like riding a bike. Princess Upstart started pawing at the straw on the stall floor and I pulled up her head collar gently and gave her a friendly rebuke. ‘Hey, don’t go doing that. You’ll spring a shoe.’

  ‘Yeah, you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?’ said
Tiny. He was with Louise, and Ric and Matt were also in tow. They’d spotted me from the other side of the fence and I hadn’t noticed them walk up.

  ‘You must be travelling bad, mate,’ said Tiny with a grin, ‘havin’ to take horses to the races for your old man.’

  ‘G’day guys,’ I said. ‘I’m actually helping out Maxine. She’s strapping her father’s horse today.’

  ‘Looks like she’s gone off for a bet and left you doing all the work,’ joked Matt.

  ‘She’s actually getting changed for the strapper’s competition.’

  ‘She’s going in that?’ said Ric.

  ‘Yep, been her plan since the prize was announced.’

  Louise immediately offered her support. ‘Oh, we’ll have to barrack for her. I’ll bet she does well, she always dresses like a million dollars.’

  ‘’Bout what she’s spent on this damn thing.’

  Louise scolded me, ‘Go on, you’ll be proud of her if she wins. We’ll all look out for her in the parade ring. Are you going to be lending a hand to help her lead it around?’

  ‘God, no. I’ll be relinquishing my duties as soon as she comes back. I’ll see you all out by the mounting yard before her race.’

  I met them all there on the lawn by the mounting yard about forty minutes later as the first of the horses was due to appear. Tiny was leaning over the rail, his timber-tall frame towering over Louise, who was checking her race book. Ric, as usual, was lecturing Matt on some flaw in his betting strategies. When I joined them, Louise was genuinely excited about Maxine’s chances in the strapper’s prize.

  ‘What’s she wearing, tell us?’

  I had to admit I honestly didn’t know.

  ‘How could you not notice what she’s wearing?’

  I explained, ‘She wore overalls on the way over to stop herself getting dirty. Then, she went and changed when I saw you guys. David came by shortly after and offered to mind the horse until Maxine returned, so I haven’t seen what she’s got on. Knowing her, she won’t do things by half.’

  The two judges for the competition had walked out and were standing in the middle of the yard next to a podium with the name ‘Laskers Insurance’ on it. They were joined by a roly-poly committeeman, who waddled up and stood alongside them. In a moment, the horses started to file in and the committeeman made an announcement.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, in the following race a prize and trophy will be awarded by our sponsors, Laskers Insurance, for the best turned out horse and strapper. The winner will be announced as the horses are parading before they go out on to the track.’

  ‘What do they get if they win?’ asked Matt.

  ‘A grand plus the silverware,’ I said, pointing to a trophy sitting on a small table to the side of the podium.

  ‘For that prizemoney, I should have entered myself,’ said Matt. ‘Only I’m afraid of horses if I get too close. Like to keep this between me and them,’ he said, patting the fence.

  The first of the horses had wound their way around the yard and were now walking past us. The cheeky apprentice with the cartoon-character tie was leading the top weight, Governor’s Orders, around.

  ‘He’ll get noticed,’ said Tiny.

  ‘I rode with him on the float over,’ I said. ‘Told me he was a certainty to win the strapper’s prize and the race.’

  ‘I dunno about him. What about the horse, can it win?’

  ‘I like the old man’s horse better. He’s set it for this race and she loves the Flemington mile.’

  A few more horses and strappers went by. A couple of guys wore suits and ties. But overall, the girls seemed to have their measure. They were obviously prettier, seemed to be having more fun and they also appeared to have taken that little bit of extra time in doing something special for their horses. A smiling redhead led a horse past us. Louise said, ‘She’s easily the best so far.’

  It was hard to disagree. She wore crisp white jodhpurs, highly polished riding boots and a bright red skivvy that showed off her figure. She’d put some serious time into her horse, too: diamond brush marks on the horse’s flanks, and she’d put a single red ribbon which matched her top in her horse’s mane. Some other horses passed us. Tiny dug me in the ribs when the apprentice walked by again.

  ‘Have a go at that kid, the cheeky little bastard,’ he said, pointing. I hadn’t noticed before, but he was wearing a notice pinned onto his back which said Vote for me. It got a laugh from the crowd, but I don’t know if it would endear him to the judges. Other strappers and their horses were better presented, and far easier on the eye. Especially Maxine.

  She walked into the mounting yard like a model strutting a catwalk, sporting a smile that every male thought was for them and them alone. She could do that, turn on the shine button. Clothes? I don’t know how much she’d spent, but the knee-high leather show-jumping boots alone would have cost a strapper a month’s wages. You just don’t see stablehands wear boots that high, except if they’re competing in the Garyowen. But Maxine wore them and carried it off magnificently. She wore the obligatory jodhpurs, white, tight and figure-hugging, showing off those long shapely legs of hers before they dis appeared into the calves of her boots. Her top, like everyone else’s, was hard to see, because they made them all wear a pinafore with their horse number on it. It was something short-sleeved and simple. But when you’re stacked like she is, you’re going to be noticed. The thing that got everyone talking, though, was the hat. I don’t know how she did it; she’d certainly kept it a secret from me. It was a men’s style fedora with an exaggerated crown and a turned-up back brim, and she had it covered with the same tartan-coloured silks that her rider would wear. Just for effect, she had a huge peacock feather sticking out the side. I could see the judges busily nodding amongst themselves and taking notes. When the jockeys came out and mounted their horses, you could see how well Maxine’s hat combined with the jockey’s silks. And she’d been right about the snow-white bridle, too. It drew your eye to the horse’s head and neck where its carefully plaited mane with the tartan ribbons sewn into the rosettes stood out like a show horse. Tiny let out a long, low wolf whistle.

  ‘Mate,’ he said, turning to me, ‘just give her the trophy now.’

  ‘She deserves to win, Punter,’ said Louise. ‘The work she must have put in.’

  Not everyone was as complimentary. I overheard a couple of women standing to the side of me jealously bitching about her.

  ‘That’s Russell Henshaw’s daughter. She must have spent a fortune on that outfit and she’s not even a real strapper. Just leads her father’s horses in when she thinks they can win.’

  ‘I know, the spoilt bitch. Look at the photographers grovelling around her. I hear she’s on with one of DJ’s sons.’

  ‘Yeah, which one?’

  ‘Does it matter? She’ll drop him as soon as the next big thing comes around.’

  Is that how others thought of Maxine? Did she provoke those sorts of feelings in total strangers? Was it just petty jealousy, gossip columnist tripe? I hate hearing people canning someone behind their back. It’s not something I care to listen to and I moved closer towards Ric and Matt where I couldn’t hear the two women slagging off about her. There was a scrum of photographers clicking away at Maxine as she led her horse by. That hat sure was causing some commotion. The attendants walked around for another few laps, letting everyone get a good look at them. Then when the roly-poly committeeman called for everyone’s attention, a hush came over the mounting yard.

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, the judges have selected the winner of the strapper’s prize: Maxine Henshaw and her horse Princess Upstart. Can you please show your appreciation for Maxine and all of the contestants with a big round of applause.’

  There was some polite clapping from the crowd. A few cheers and some wolf whistles greeted Maxine as she accepted her trophy and the prize money cheque. Her father appeared out of nowhere and gave her a hug. More photos by the press of the Henshaw family. I could just about see t
he headlines in tomorrow morning’s papers now.

  It got even better. Princess Upstart hung on to beat the favourite in a tight finish. I watched the race in the stand and walked back down as the runners returned to the mounting yard. It looked like round two had commenced for the photographers, as they jostled amongst themselves for still more shots of Maxine in that hat. They snapped her as she waited for her horse to come back to scale. Then they encircled her after the jockey had unsaddled, a battery of lenses and flashing lights. It was one of the few times I’d seen a horse’s jockey or trainer go unnoticed. Finally my old man had had enough.

  ‘For God’s sake, David,’ he said to my brother, ‘get that damn horse out of here and take her back to her stalls. Bloody place has turned into a fashion show.’

  15

  Late on Tuesday afternoon, I dropped by Maxine’s place with a surprise seafood package. Tasmanian oysters and a King Island crayfish, fresh from the Prahran market where I’d stopped on the way back from the races. Totally spontaneous, of course. I didn’t feel like cooking and I knew Maxine never did; she usually ate out or ordered in so I thought I’d treat us both to an easy-fix meal. I rang her from the markets and told her not to worry about dinner, it was all taken care of. She told me she’d be another hour by the time she finished up her work with Freedales in the city and said not to worry about buying wine, there was plenty in the fridge. That was true. I couldn’t see much food inside – par for the course – but there were a dozen bottles to choose from, none of them cheap labels. I placed the oysters and the cray inside the fridge, then selected a bottle with a skite list of medals as long as your arm. I poured myself a glass and then sat down on the couch with my feet up on the cushion to wait for her.

  On her lounge-room table was the silver strapper’s trophy she’d won on Saturday with the now-famous hat casually hanging over it. What a wild night that had been. Celebrations on a grand scale, of course, and that had meant sharing the night with both Maxine and her father. At least Henshaw had invited an entourage along to the restaurant to share in the festivities. Joining us were my father and mother, David and his fiancée and the winning jockey, which meant I didn’t have to spar with Henshaw all night. Maxine had plonked her trophy in the middle of the table and, despite changing into another outfit for dinner, was still wearing her hat. I think one of the waiters must have tipped off the papers. With a celebrity like Henshaw and his daughter dining in, a bit of publicity never hurt. Within half an hour of us being there, a couple of photographers appeared and started snapping away. They took shots of Maxine and her father and I even consented to put up with her sitting in my lap with her arm around me while she modelled the damn hat. Flash, flash, flash. Caught on camera, buddy, whether you like it or not. Yeah; a big night out and some more photos from the gossip columns to add to my collection.