“Fingers crossed they’re getting on board with that tonight,” I said.
We carried our cardboard trays over to the group of pub tables. The tacos were delicious. I asked Linda about what she’d done before she worked for the Pearces. She ended up telling me her whole horse show history. It seemed like horse show people were like that, not just Linda. You got them started with a question about a horse or a time in their lives and they’d happily recount nearly every horse and show they’d ever ridden in. But I didn’t mind with Linda. She was a good storyteller and regaled me with crazy times working for different trainers. She’d ridden as a junior, winning a lot in the jumpers, including a Gold Medal at Young Riders. Then, instead of college, she’d gone to work for a grand prix rider in California. She’d burned out and taken an eighteen month hiatus from horses, working in Hollywood as an assistant to an assistant to a movie producer—a job she’d gotten through a rider at the barn she’d worked for. She thought about going back to school but found she missed the horses too much and didn’t want to spend her days in an office job. So she moved back East, bounced around with a few trainers before getting the gig with the Pearces.
“Do you miss competing?” I asked her.
Linda took her sunglasses from where they were propped on her head and repositioned them. I’d never seen her without them either on her face or on her head. Often, she wore them like a headband holding back her hair.
“Sometimes but I knew I didn’t have it in me to kill myself to find sponsors. What Chris is doing—it’s hard and I think it’s only getting harder. When an eighteen year-old with family money can make it to the Olympics, why would you ever buy a horse for a professional instead of your kid?”
“You think the teams should be picked by experience instead of record?” I asked.
“I don’t know what the answer is, but I know there are fewer and fewer owners wanting to support a grand prix rider. And then you have some of the ones that do backing European riders.”
I was so glad that I’d come out with Linda. I liked her no-nonsense attitude and she really knew what she was talking about.
“What kind of parents are Dakota’s?” I asked. “The kind that only do for their child?”
“Yes, but with a weird twist since they’re never here to watch her and they spend their whole lives helping others outside of the horse world.”
“They’re never here?”
“Well, not often.”
I had finished my taco. I twisted my napkin under the table, wondering how this was ever going to work. I would need to be around 24-7 for Dakota and Chris seemed like he was always going to be busy scrambling to make his business thrive.
“Is Dakota, well, as bad as she seems?”
“Yup.” Linda smiled. “But you’ll get used to her.”
“Other people who’ve done this job…. They’ve quit?”
“They don’t last that long. But you’re only signed on for the circuit anyway, right?”
“Right,” I said.
Linda put her napkin in her empty cardboard tray. “Just don’t let her run you off before then.”
“No way,” I said, full of fake confidence.
After we tossed our trash, we hit the popsicle truck for dessert. It was hard to choose from the many different flavors—Oreo, chocolate, coffee, strawberry, mango, banana. I decided on a banana base. Then you could choose to have the popsicle dipped in milk, dark, or white chocolate and covered with sprinkles or Oreos. I went with just dipped in milk chocolate. Linda got coffee base with milk chocolate and Oreo sprinkles.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I asked her. I was pretty sure I knew the answer from her earlier comment about the course designer.
She swallowed the first bite of her popsicle. “Not right now. I was dating a vet back home but it’s hard to maintain a relationship in this business when you’re both traveling different places.”
“Is the only way it works if you can be at all the same shows?” I asked.
“That doesn’t always work for people either. Look at Miranda and Jeff. They have a fabulous business and now they’re getting divorced. This industry is just hard on love, period. But there I go again being all negative. Just shoot me, okay?”
I made a pretend gun and shot her. She threw her hands to her heart and faked a quick death. I was still laughing when I turned and saw Zoe with the saddle guy, Étienne.
Zoe waved at Linda and Linda called out, “hey,” to her. Zoe didn’t even acknowledge me. She looked her usual pretty self, but haggard too in a way I hadn’t noticed the first time I’d seen her. Maybe I’d been too surprised and taken aback at Arouet. I looked closer at her now. Her eyes were heavy and lidded, and she looked rail-thin. My first instinct was to feel worried for her and then I tried to remind myself that she wasn’t my problem. That she wasn’t my friend.
As we ate our popsicles, Linda said, “Now there’s a girl in a heap of trouble.”
“Why?” I asked.
“That guy is bad news. Drugs.”
“Really?”
“Big time. He’s making some nice cash on the side of saddle commissions.”
“People here do drugs? Like the riders?” I knew I sounded naïve. I’d seen plenty of riders getting sloshed in Vermont but I’d never seen or heard about any of them doing drugs.
“Some of them, yeah. Don’t forget there are also polo players here. Lots of wealthy polo players.” Linda made a show of wiping her nose and inhaling to indicate cocaine.
“And Zoe? She’s not selling drugs, is she?”
“No, but she’s clearly using them.”
Linda’s words hit me hard. As much as I hated Zoe for what she’d done to me in Vermont, she’d also been the first person to help me when my dad dropped me off alone and helpless. And I knew what kind of life she had—a rider orphan, Chris had called her. Maybe there was even a part of me that could see myself in her. What I could have become if instead of shutting myself in and never going to a party, I’d gone the other way to escape my mom’s anxiety and hooked up with everyone and anyone, drank and done drugs.
“Zoe’s doing cocaine?”
“Probably. Maybe pharmaceuticals.”
“But not heroin or anything like that?” I’d read a memoir in high school about a girl addicted to heroin. The novel was by her sister, actually. The girl died. The book made it sound like heroin was something hardly any people ever recovered from.
“Who knows?” Linda said. “It’s a sad situation.”
“Is anyone going to help her?” I asked.
Linda made a pained face. “Not much anyone can do really.”
Chapter 17
A week later I was at the coffee cart with Linda. “We should probably get Dakota a drink,” she said.
I pulled a few bills out of my pocket. “You’re nicer than me.”
For the entirety of week 2, Dakota’s main purpose in life seemed to be to figure out a way to make me quit, or incite me to do something that she could get me fired for. She constantly came up with things she needed from the tack store and sent me on wild goose chases to every tack store on the show grounds—and sometimes off the show to the Tackeria too—in search of said item. Sometimes it could be something as simple as a hairnet but when I’d return with the hairnet she’d requested from Beval’s, it was the wrong shade of blond and I had to go back but then Beval’s would curiously be out of ‘ash blonde’ and I’d have to go to Jods but then Dakota would say that she had changed her mind about the brand and then I’d have to go to Hadfield’s and so on. There were as many as six or seven tack stores set up at the show and I became an expert on what each one carried so that when Dakota asked me to go get something from Kocher I knew she was sending me there just to make me jump through hoops and to head to Running Fox instead.
She also liked to send me back to Morada Bay from the show grounds for her favorite crop or favorite spurs that she had curiously forgotten to bring with her. In the first week or two, I
must have made that trip on the golf cart back and forth from Morada Bay four or five times a day. On my many trips to and fro on horseback, via golf cart and even once or twice on foot, I had seen it all. Dogs of all kinds, donkeys, goats, even a Zebra turned out in a field. People riding Western, riding bareback, even a pony pulling a cart.
I finally smartened up—I searched Dakota’s trunk for what she would likely send me back for and brought it myself. She also tried very hard to leave one of her saddles, or her show coat, at different rings so I’d be forced to go back and get them. She probably hoped that a saddle or show coat would be stolen and then I’d be to blame.
At night, in the house, Dakota avoided me at all costs. She had me get her take-out food but ate at the kitchen counter, her iPhone inches from her face, or with her ear buds in. She spent the rest of the night in her room. The first few nights I’d invited her to watch TV with me in the family room. I’d suggested we watch a series on Netflix or HBO together. She’d just coolly said, “No, thanks.” She did her homework alone—so much for me being able to help her.
Sometimes Dakota had me drive her to meet friends for dinner, or she’d have friends over. It was crazy but on those nights I felt so left out. Dakota and her other horse show friends would roam around the food trucks and I’d eat a fish taco by myself. Or I’d drop them off at Sushi Moto and come back and get them later. On those days, I’d usually go to Chris’s condo while they had dinner. I’d bring take-out or sometimes Chris would cook. Even then, our dinners were often interrupted by Chris having to take calls from clients to tell them how their horse had done that day, or send quick email reports. The Tellers had agreed to buy two shares of a horse—half a million dollars. To people outside of the international show jumping world that would have seemed like a ridiculous amount of money but sadly it wasn’t anywhere near what Chris needed to get a top horse. When he’d told me about their offer I’d been insanely happy for him, nearly squealing over the phone. Not only did I think it was a lot of money, I naively thought it would mean he’d be less stressed out. In fact, it was even worse. Now he had some money, but not nearly enough. If he didn’t come up with more funds soon, perhaps the Tellers would change their mind. He also still had to find a horse to buy.
Other times Dakota slept over at a friend’s and I got to spend the night at Chris’s. I was always so happy to be with him but it ended up feeling like he wasn’t ever totally present. We’d have sex and it was always good enough, but it wasn’t with the same kind of passion we’d had in Vermont. He would roll away from me nearly right after we’d finished and tell me he just remembered he needed to send an email.
I had generated this whole idea of what Florida would be like. Chris would be riding and winning but he’d have so much time to spend with me. Our relationship would strengthen and grow, with us becoming closer than ever. But instead, during the days I ran around after Dakota and he ran around teaching and riding and trying to subtly promote himself to potential sponsors. I didn’t feel closer to him; I felt farther away.
Linda waved away my money and said she was getting this round of coffees. “Is Dakota getting to you?”
“Not too bad,” I lied.
“The trick is to let it all roll off you,” she advised.
The nice lady, Cindy, who always worked the coffee cart smiled at Linda. “What do you need? A Linda?”
“Yeah,” Linda said. “And a Dakota too.” Linda looked at me. “What do you want?”
I was too speechless to answer right away. Then I managed, “What’s a Dakota?”
“Let’s see,” Linda said. “Light unsweetened almond milk, flaxseed, something else and something else.”
Cindy picked up where she left off. “Unsweetened cocoa powder, protein powder, banana, cinnamon, and honey.”
That little bitch. She could have just told me to order a Dakota. So I wasn’t paranoid—she was working every moment to try to get me gone.
“Are you okay?” Linda asked, seeing my face lose its color. “Do you know what you want?”
I laughed a little, thinking about what Dakota had done. Did she think she could make me quit that easily? She didn’t know the first thing about me, then.
“Yeah, one skim cappuccino, please.”
By the beginning of week 3, I spoke fluent WEF. I tossed off words and phrases like DeNemethy ring, Magavero ring, $20 ring, Oasis, Tiki Hut, Riders’ Lounge, Dever, and Global—things that had been completely foreign to me only a few short weeks before. I’d also started on a very nice farmer’s tan. The first week I’d forgotten to wear sunscreen and had scorched the bridge of my nose and cheeks. I knew to wear sunscreen every day now, even if the sun wasn’t super strong. Some female riders went so far as to wear sunshield brims around their helmets to keep the sun off their face. Even though they looked a bit like Darth Vader, it seemed like a good idea if you spent your career baking in the sun. At fifty to sixty, too many horse show trainers sported Yoda wrinkles.
I kept tabs on Chris like I had in Vermont. Of course, now I could be more open about it and ask him what he was riding in that day. Between asking him and checking orders on ShowNet, I tried to rush over to the DeNemethy or International Ring to watch him whenever I could. I always tried especially hard to watch Logan. He was doing great in the 1.35 meter classes.
During a lull in Dakota’s show day, I headed onto the bridge to watch. The International Ring was so large it was almost hard to see all of the ring. Some trainers preferred to watch on the wide screen by the in-gate. The bridge was a pretty good place to watch if you were tall enough because you were looking down on the ring and could see more of the ring.
Chris was a few riders away. I watched some of the other riders go before him. There were so many riders at WEF and I didn’t know them all like I had in Vermont. It was kind of like going from a small high school where you pretty much knew everyone to college where, besides your friends, you could only pick out a few familiar faces in the crowd. There were people I’d never heard of mixed with those I knew from watching them in Vermont or from reading about them. Since I’d been dating Chris I kept tabs on the world of show jumping, monitoring blogs, reports, and the World and Computer Rankings. I knew the top ten on the Computer List and the top Americans in the World Rankings.
Jimmy Sharpe, a friend of Chris’s went, and also McNair Sutter, a young, wealthy, former amateur with super nice horses who had recently turned pro.
While McNair was finishing up, Chris came into the ring. The ring was so large that the course designers made the courses such that the rider on deck could canter in while the rider just finishing up was on his way out.
Chris was riding one of Lily’s horses, Monteverdi II. Lily was flying in Thursday night since she had a big test Thursday morning. Chris was tasked with preparing Monty. Monty was an incredible horse. A horse that if Chris had him to ride all year he could probably win at the highest level. Lily still won a fair bit with Monty, but sometimes her inexperience led to rails down.
The tone sounded and Chris started toward the first jump. I didn’t notice that Mary Beth had come to stand next to me until she said, “I bet Chris would love to have him as his number one horse.”
I glanced over at her as Chris made his way down the first line. Monty jumped so high, making it all seem effortless.
“Yeah, definitely,” I said.
Standing side-by-side, we watched Chris. I wondered how it looked to people around us—Chris’s current girlfriend and his ex-girlfriend. Would this make it onto HorseShowDrama?
“How’s it going?” she asked me.
I wasn’t sure what she meant. How was my job? The circuit? “Like just in general?” I said.
“No, you know, you and Chris… here together during circuit. Circuit can be a really stressful time.”
I glanced at her. She was so authentically beautiful. No makeup that I could tell yet her skin was even and smooth. Nicely worn Parlantis, Animo breeches, polo shirt, her ringlet hair pulled ba
ck, Maui Jim sunglasses. “It can?”
“Totally. All the pressure to do something big, get noticed, get a sponsor, a new client, sell horses. It’s bad enough for any rider but this year for Chris, you know, since he’s kind of back to not exactly square one, but close…”
Chris had finished clean. He patted Monty. I could only imagine how much of a tease it must be to ride Monty. To know what he could do with a horse like that.
“It hasn’t been the easiest at times, I guess,” I admitted.
“How’s Dale treating you? He can be a tough one.”
“I think he hates me,” I said.
“Dale hates everyone… except Chris, that is.”
“He’s not like, into him?” I hadn’t thought Dale might be gay. Nothing about him seemed to indicate that but now that it had occurred to me, you never knew.
“No, Dale’s straight. But his whole world is Chris. I guess it’s a good thing, for Chris, but I think Dale would prefer if Chris became a monk. Like a show jumping monk.”
I laughed. MB was pretty and outgoing and socially adept, and now I was finding out she was funny too. I certainly wanted to hate her but she was good at making that hard to do.
“Did Dale like you, I mean when you and Chris were dating?” After I’d spoken, I sort of wished I hadn’t brought up when they had been a couple.
“Like might not be the right term. Tolerate, maybe.”
I felt my shoulders relax. Thank goodness she hadn’t said they were besties. I don’t think I could have handled that. “I thought it was just me. That’s good to know.”
“Chris isn’t always the easiest either. I know how he can be, believe me.” She made a face. “Like he’s there but he’s not really present, right?”
“Totally,” I said. “That’s exactly what it’s like.”
“I used to be mid-conversation with him and he’d have to go send some text or email. It’s like when it occurs to him, he has to do it right then.”
I probably should have been upset that Mary Beth knew Chris so well. Probably better than me, actually. But it was such a relief to have someone understand what was going on between us and to know it wasn’t me. It was him.
Winter Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 2) Page 11
