I met Chris at the gate this time. Dale could deal with it. Logan was my horse after all.
I gave Logan a mint and told him how good he was.
“What a difference,” I said to Chris.
“I know, he’s going well.”
Mary Beth rode over, still on her difficult horse. “What a nice horse,” she said to both of us. Her horse was looking agitated, frothing at the mouth, and jigging. She couldn’t get that close to us and called, “Chris, I’ll text you later.”
“Okay,” he said.
“What are you up to now?” I asked Chris. I didn’t need to be back right away. “Stay a little while if you want,” Linda had said. “Tomorrow it gets busy and by the end of the day you’re not going to know what hit you.” I could go get a cup of coffee with Chris, hang out a little. I hadn’t seen him much since lunch on Monday and I desperately wanted to reconnect with him. After seeing MB in person, I was pretty shaken.
“I gotta go teach Susan and Jon,” Chris said.
Susan and Jon were a married couple who rode with Chris now. They showed against each other in the low amateur-owner jumpers. They were in their fifties, their kids had gone off to college, and they had decided to make their hobby horse showing. They lived close to Chris’s farm in Pennsylvania.
“I’ll catch up with you later?”
“Sure,” I said. “Of course.” I tried to act like I wasn’t disappointed. Like the whole thing was just peachy—him helping Mary Beth, her being so annoyingly attractive, and now him having to go teach. But it felt anything but fine.
Chapter 16
The first week of WEF, I got used to the routine of showing there. A tremendous amount of time was spent coordinating bringing horses back and forth between Morada Bay and the stalls at the show grounds. Dakota had six stalls on the grounds—more than she needed really. While it was a temporary tent like those in Vermont, most people put more time into decorating their stalls since they’d be there all circuit. Some of the bigger barns that had twenty-plus stalls and took up the whole front or back of the tents nearest to the rings went all out. I’m talking beautiful landscaping complete with waterfalls and full-grown palm trees. Another nice touch was wood paneling installed onto tent canvas so the stalls took on an air of a real barn or maybe even a book-stacked library in someone’s fancy house.
Linda said she refused to go crazy like that for just six stalls, but she did make an effort. She had hired someone to install paneling on the stall doors and she made a cute little sitting area outside the tent with wicker furniture. It had a carpet of fake turf and an adorable bathtub size pond with a tiny bubbling fountain and a few rubber duckies floating around.
If Dakota was showing a horse, it stayed at the show. The horse show schedule was available on your iPhone through ShowNet but part of my job was still to make copies of each day’s schedule with Dakota’s classes marked and have them available at Morada Bay and at the stalls at the show so the grooms, Dakota, Linda, or Dakota’s parents, if they ever made an appearance, could easily grab one. When we weren’t trekking back and forth between the barns, we were trekking back and forth between the different rings that Dakota showed in.
Dakota competed Thursday through Sunday, and fit in school with a tutoring service that came to the house. There was a less expensive option where you went to a place off the grounds for tutoring but, of course, it was too much to ask to make Dakota go to the tutor—the tutor had to come to her.
I was typically supposed to be at the ring with Linda when Dakota was showing, unless there was some pressing need for me to be back at the farm, like if the vet or farrier was coming. At the ring, I tended to Dakota, making sure she stayed hydrated, or getting her an energy bar if she was suddenly overcome by hunger. I also helped the grooms when I could, throwing on a scrim sheet, switching a saddle, or walking a horse. I was Linda’s liaison with the in-gate guy, making sure everything was set with our slot in the order of go or repositioning if we needed to. I tried hard to make friends with the in-gate guys, knowing that if they liked me they’d go out of their way to move us up or down if we needed it, but I stopped short of plying them with money like some trainers did. I was grateful that Nick, the in-gate/budding announcer I’d kissed and then essentially dropped for Chris in Vermont, was working in Ocala.
The in-gate guys held a certain status at WEF. Some became good friends with the trainers, dated some of the riders, and generally were more important in how smoothly the days ran than their pay-checks indicated. Some of the guys had been doing the same gate for going on a decade. Some chose to dress nicely, in a polo and chino shorts, others looked like they’d just rolled out of bed in wrinkled T-shirts and long-hair. The good ones knew everyone’s names, seamlessly managed the day’s entries, so the ring rarely stood empty, and consistently and accurately fed the judges the numbers on the riders’ backs, and somehow managed to small-talk about the Super Bowl with the trainers at the same time.
Often, I stood with Linda in the schooling ring and helped set the jumps. I liked that part especially, listening to Linda and the other trainers. It was like Vermont, only many more different faces. But there were still the Big Name Trainers who walked around with an air of superiority and self-importance like they owned not just the schooling ring but the entire show. There were the tough-as-nails trainers who screamed at their riders and made them cry. There were the sarcastic trainers who cracked jokes and traded disparaging looks with other trainers when their riders chipped. There were the psychologically attuned trainers who spoke just barely above a whisper and talked about things like “riding the whole horse” and “finding your happy rhythm.”
From what I’d observed, Linda was a good trainer. She cared about the horses and did things the right way, so far not going for quick fixes or gadgets for instant results. Every horse got its Perfect Prep when they showed but I hadn’t seen any horse getting something illegal. It probably helped that Dakota had really nice horses, some of the best horses that money could buy, so training them involved keeping them sound, fit, and in a solid program—not desperately trying to make them go well. She didn’t yell at Dakota but she could be firm and raise her voice when she felt Dakota wasn’t listening. For the most part, Dakota wasn’t a bad student either. She was spoiled, that much was clear, and out of the saddle she wasn’t exactly a joy, but she did seem to care about how she did in the ring and most of the time she even seemed to appreciate her horses, patting them when she came out of the ring.
At the rings, I often got to see Mike and I sometimes saw Zoe, although she was usually doing the professional hunter divisions. She was riding for Donnie Rysman, a well-known and generally detested trainer. He was from the Southeast and produced lots of winners in the hunter ring but he was also known for his shady deals, illegal training techniques, unsound horses, and for accosting judges when his horses didn’t win. According to rumors, she was sleeping with him too, even though he was twice her age.
When Dakota did her hunters, it was the most relaxing because no one expected her to win. An amazing junior-pro, Cassidy Rancher, rode a bunch of spectacular horses for a widowed older lady who had inherited all her husband’s wealth. Cassidy owned the top ribbons. All the other riders competed for the whites, pinks, and greens.
On Saturday, I stood at the in-gate with Linda, watching Dakota on Midway. Midway had quickly become my favorite of Dakota’s horses. He was a blast to ride and was so sweet around the barn, goofy, like the class clown of the barn. You couldn’t have him anywhere without him getting into trouble, chewing on a leadrope, trying to nuzzle Fernando’s dog, Rudi. Now, he loped around the course like an overgrown pony. He didn’t jump incredibly round but his knees were always up and neat. Dakota put in good rounds on him and when the jog was called, he trotted in third in the second round, even beating out one of Cassidy’s horses.
I gave him a few extra mints. Dakota handed me her ribbon as Fernando took Midway.
“He’s done for the week,”
Linda said. “He can go back to the barn and turnout.”
We still had the two low junior jumpers left for the day. I walked the course with Linda and Dakota. A few tiny birds were taking a bath in the liverpool. The course designer roamed around, repositioning a rail in the cups and switching the flags on a pair of standards. Linda said hello to him and then told me in a quiet aside how she wished he were single.
As we walked out of the ring, Dakota asked me to get her a drink from the coffee cart.
“I want a smoothie with light unsweetened almond milk, flaxseed, unsweetened cocoa powder, protein powder, banana, cinnamon, and honey and get it right. I hate it when it’s wrong.”
Yes, I wished she would treat me as well as her horses—it was only my first week and I could have used the occasional pat on the shoulder instead of being ordered around.
I pulled out my phone. “Wait, say it again so I can write it down.”
She repeated her order super fast, before I had even been able to type in my passcode. Then she stalked off to the stands.
I should have followed her but I didn’t want to be that type of person—the Hollywood handler following their movie star around like a servant. I decided to forget putting it in my phone. Somehow I’d remember. I said it once more in my head.
At the coffee cart, however, I began to question whether it was unsweetened almond milk or unsweetened coconut milk. And had she asked for honey or cinnamon or both? There was a big line and while I waited I texted Dakota to double-check. No response, which seemed odd for someone who was always checking her phone.
I felt my body getting hot—she was going to freak out if I got it wrong. Then I got mad at myself for getting worried. This was a smoothie for a kid for Godsakes. She was no Hollywood star or big-time CEO. I decided to stop stressing. When it was my turn, I ordered her completely overpriced drink and went back to the ring.
“I texted you,” I said, when I found her with a bunch of her friends. “I was trying to double check your drink order.”
“Does it have the bee pollen?”
“Of course,” I said, automatically, although I definitely had not ordered bee pollen. Had she said bee pollen? Who could taste bee pollen anyway, though? She’d never know it wasn’t in there. I held the drink out to her.
She made a disgusted face. “I’m allergic to bee pollen. It could kill me.”
I pulled back the drink. I couldn’t tell her I’d lied and there was no bee pollen. “Okay, well, I guess if you tell me your order again I’ll go back.”
“No,” she said, like I was too dumb to take proper direction. “You know what, just forget it.”
She turned back to her friends and I walked away, nearly bumping into a woman filming the rider on course with her iPad. I told myself to breathe and calm down. I sat on the fence at the end of the in-gate area and tried to temper my hostility. I took a sip of the drink Dakota wouldn’t touch. Not bad.
“Thinking about quitting?” Mike said, surprising me.
He must have seen what happened. He had a lead rope tied around his chest like people in the real world wear one-shoulder sling backpacks and a hoof pick sticking out of his back pocket.
“The thought has occurred to me,” I admitted.
“Maybe she needs you,” Mike said. “Maybe you’re just the one to help screw her head on straight.”
“We need you, Obie-Wan-Kanobi,” I goofed. “You are our only hope.” Ryan had been the one who was into STAR WARS when we were young and I’d picked up a lot of it from watching with him. “I think I’d need a very big wrench to screw her head on right and I might just hit her over the head with the wrench instead.”
Mike laughed. “Hang in there, kiddo.”
I held Dakota’s drink up like we were toasting and took another big sip. At the very least I was going to enjoy her drink.
Dakota informed me after she was done showing that she was going out to dinner with her friends and I leapt at the chance for Chris and me to go out. He had been pretty busy with Lily showing in the 25K 1.50 meter speed class, and Susan and Jon showing in the low ami classic, and riding his own horses. I really wanted to sit down together and I could hear about his day and tell him about the Dakota Drink Drama, as I was referring to it in my head. But when I suggested we go to Oli’s, he said he couldn’t.
“I have to go out with the Tellers.”
“Oh,” I said.
I guess Chris could hear the disappointment in my voice when I said that one little word because he continued, “This is part of the drill. I wish things were like when I was working for Harris and I didn’t have to do this stuff but I have to try to make all these different people happy. It was easier when I just had to keep Harris happy.”
I could tell Chris wished he hadn’t said that last part because I was one of the main reasons why Harris had pulled his horses from Chris. He quickly continued, “I mean it wasn’t easy keeping Harris happy either and that partnership had its definite downsides. I’m not saying I wish I had Harris back…”
“I understand,” I said. I did understand, but I still wished Chris had more time for us. And I wished he’d asked me to go with him to dinner with the Tellers. Mom said Dad always wanted her to go out to business dinners with him but she couldn’t because of her anxiety and she felt terrible about it. A few times she’d gone and drank too much to try to calm down and he’d practically had to carry her out of the restaurant. I had hazy memories of a few of those nights, his coming home and putting her to bed, while the babysitter sat uncomfortably with us in front of the TV, waiting to be paid so she could go home. Eventually it was clear that it was better if she stayed home.
“Are you going to ask the Tellers about a horse for you?” I said.
“That’s the plan,” Chris said.
Linda saw me in the barn after I’d hung up with Chris. I was in Midway’s stall, just hanging out with him. We played this game where I stood next to him and he searched every pocket I had until he found a mint.
“What’re you up to?” she asked.
“Nothing. I thought maybe Chris and I’d go out but he has dinner plans with a client.”
“Wanna go to the food trucks?”
“Sure,” I said, even though I had no idea what the food trucks were.
Linda drove us to a parking lot on Forest Hill Boulevard over by the Wellington Amphitheater. The lot was filled with at least ten, maybe more, food trucks parked around the perimeter of the lot. Once we got out of the car, we did a loop, checking out what each truck had to offer. There was everything you could want—Mexican, burgers, grilled cheese, Chinese, plus several ice cream and gelato trucks.
A few girls I recognized from the show passed us still in their breeches.
“I guess a lot of people come here,” I said.
“Yeah,” Linda said. “Where was Chris going?”
“International Polo Club.”
“Fancy,” she said. “Who’s the client?”
“Lily Teller.”
“Right. The Tellers. Big money.”
“Chris is hoping they might invest in a horse for him.”
Linda clucked. “Not sure about that.”
“Why not?”
“In my experience there are two types of wealthy parents. Those who only want to spend their money if it benefits their kid and those who are willing to spend their money not just to help their kid.”
“And the Tellers are the first kind?”
“So far. Maybe Chris will make the difference.”
“I hope so,” I said. “He’s so talented and he works so hard. It just kills me that he doesn’t have the right horses.”
“That’s the sport,” Linda said. “The best riders usually don’t have the best horses. They have to do whatever they can, prostitute themselves out, to get mediocre horses and ride the shit out of them. Or then, every once in while, they get lucky and find a nice rich girl to marry and buy them horses.”
I let out a deep breath.
&n
bsp; “Sorry,” Linda said. “Am I being too blunt? I have a reputation for doing that. I don’t mean to depress you.”
“No, it’s nothing new. It just kind of sucks.” I liked that Linda was candid. She seemed wiser than her years. I guess if you didn’t have endless means this sport could age you quickly.
Linda stopped at the Mexican food truck. “I think I’m going to get the fish taco.”
“That sounds good. I think I’ll get that too.”
We waited for our turn to order. The lines weren’t insane but each truck had a nice little crowd around it. Some were regular non-horse show people who lived in Wellington. I thought about how it’d be odd to live here if you weren’t into horses since so much of the town was all about horses. I saw grooms and riders too. I spotted a few DQs—discernible because of their full-seat breeches. Wellington wasn’t just a hunter/jumper scene—there was dressage and polo too.
After we had ordered, I said, “Well, I’m unfortunately not the rich girl Chris needs. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“No, that would have been Mary Beth.” Linda grimaced at me. “Now that was too blunt.”
I made a dramatic show of putting my head in my hands. “It’s kind of refreshing actually not to dance around it. I feel like she’s this nemesis of mine.” I didn’t say that every time I thought of her I wanted to chew my nails and a few times I’d come close.
“Is Chris over her?”
“Yes, definitely.” I said it so confidently and then wished I hadn’t. Maybe I sounded like I was trying to cover up that he actually wasn’t. But he was over her. He had said so.
“Well, that’s good. So all he needs is for the Tellers to buy him a number one horse.”
Winter Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 2) Page 10
