Pas de deux

by E. J. Noyes

  Laughing she said, “Not really, no.”

  “Please go over what I just blurted and then it’ll be clear.” I exhaled a long breath and tried to find my intellect. “Caitlyn, I’m as monogamous as…as…a beaver. Shit, no. As a swan.”

  She gave me a double thumbs-up. “Keep going, darling. You’re doing great.” She wasn’t even bothering to disguise her mirth, which made me feel slightly better about my clumsy attempt to show her I was a one-woman woman.

  “Can I have a do-over?” I begged.

  “Why? You’re explaining yourself so perfectly.”

  I blew a raspberry. “Redirect, Your Honor. How do you feel about metaphors?”

  “Depends if they’re helpful or confusing.”

  “Probably a little of both, but hopefully more helpful.”

  Caitlyn made a sweeping gesture. “Then give me your helpful metaphor.”

  I took few moments to sort my thoughts. “Remember us learning that pas de deux together back in Pony Club?” Caitlyn nodded, and I went on, “I don’t know about you, but I remember stuff like Buddy’s trot strides were longer than Antoinette’s so we had to work to keep in stride with me being slightly slower, you being slightly faster. Both of us learning the choreography, the music and how to ride as a team. We had to learn how to trust each other, like I knew that once I’d finished my circle left, you’d be done with your circle right and would be right there ready to meet me so we could ride forward together.”

  “I’m following.”

  “Good. Because I am on a roll, baby.” I kissed her quickly. “Sorry, we promised we weren’t going to do that ’til after the Freestyle.”

  “We did, didn’t we,” she mused. “But I think I’ve proven that my concentration when it comes to competing is on point, so a little kiss here and there won’t hurt?”

  “You are a terrible influence on me.”

  Her shrug was the epitome of nonchalance. “You were saying? With your wonderful metaphor?”

  “Oh, right. I think you and me now is a lot like you and me back then with that ride. When the time comes, we just have to figure out how to be a team, how to adjust things so that we’re in sync. We’re gonna mess up choreography, be late or early or in the wrong spot entirely. But it doesn’t matter because we’ll keep working at it. And we’ve got plenty of time to smooth out those bumps ’til it’s a first-place ride.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Caitlyn

  We’d had two full days to regroup and rest after the Special and medal ceremony before the top eighteen riders in the overall competition would advance to ride the Freestyle to determine the individual medals. The only other US Team member to secure a place was, surprisingly, Dakota, though realistically she’d have to perform far above her personal best or everyone else would have to seriously fumble their rides for her to medal.

  I’d practiced my choreography, then checked and rechecked my Frozen soundtrack, which was specially arranged and edited with the tempo slightly altered in places to match Dew’s paces, until it was burned into my brain. We had portions of “Let it Go” for my trot work, looped and mixed “Frozen Heart” for canter, “Love is an Open Door” for piaffe and passage and “In Summer” for walk.

  I’d drawn seventeenth out of the eighteen competitors and the indoor arena was almost empty by the time I entered to warm-up. It was the hottest day yet, with the temperature hitting ninety-four by midday, and despite the aircon, sweat slid down my spine as I rode. All the movements, all Dew’s buttons were in there. The only purpose of this was to get him listening and his muscles ready for our final test. Ian’s sporadic interjections through the earpiece helped me tighten things up and make Dew even sharper until I felt like he was bursting at the seams ready to go out and show everyone what we had.

  Wren fell behind us as I walked from the ten-minute arena to the stadium. The sun had a real bite to it that made my cheeks feel as if they were burning. I set aside my physical discomfort to focus on the next ten minutes. I had no idea of the scores of the previous riders. They didn’t matter. It was all about Dew and me. Thanks to our two previous tests, Dew barely batted an eyelid as we entered the stadium. He held the same flamboyant excitement as our previous two rides, ears flicking around until I reminded him with a gentle finger pressure that we were here to do a job and he could look around once we’d finished our test.

  I played with some micro transitions within the gaits to get him collected and really listening until the bell sounded to indicate it was time. I halted at the P marker on the long side close to the entry point at A and held up my hand to start the music for my Freestyle. The few butterflies in my stomach flitted away.

  The instrumental of “Let it Go” filled the space and I moved Dewey into a collected trot, turned and entered the arena. Dew halted perfectly square at X in the center of the arena and I waited a beat before dropping my hand behind my thigh and nodding in salute. I regathered my reins as the music picked up, the underlying lyrical rhythm winding through the song. Straight up the centerline, turn left at C and then a huge extended trot across the diagonal. Dew’s hoofbeats landed perfectly on each beat of the song and as we hit the long side I brought him back into a soft and elevated passage, continuing around the short side.

  Then the music just…stopped.

  Nothing.

  No sound.

  Dew’s ears pivoted back and forth and I gave him a small rein reminder about attention. Probably just couldn’t hear the music over—no there was no other sound drowning out the music. There was no music. The crowd was silent. An uncomfortable sensation fluttered in my chest. I rounded the corner and set up for the half-pass that would take us across the arena then back again. Still no music. The only sound was a collective murmuring from the stands around us.

  For the first time in a very very long time, I got anxious while on a horse, and I felt Dew’s reaction immediately. My anxiety was making him anxious. When I was on him, he trusted me to guide him, trusted me to keep him safe and now my body was telling him a sheep was about to eat him. His ears were swiveling in all directions and I could practically feel his eyes doing the same. Dew’s jaw tensed, blocking the rein and his back tightened underneath me, which made sitting his huge trot very difficult as I rode the first part of our half-pass.

  But I had to keep going until the head judge told me to stop.

  As a kid I’d been taught the invaluable lesson of how to fake not being anxious on a horse. Because they always knew if you were afraid. I shut everything out, blocked the anxiety, made myself relax, and felt Dewey respond immediately.

  Was it my CD?

  The sound system?

  Sabotage?

  I almost laughed aloud at that last thought, which would have been disastrous. After an eternity, which thanks to my familiarity with my choreography I knew was really only ten seconds, the C judge Maribel Medina, stood and made her way down the stairs of her judging hut. She held up a hand, which gave me official permission to stop, and I deflated to a walk and made my way over to the top end of the arena where the judge was speaking into a walkie-talkie. A neck stroke seemed to settle Dew enough that he stopped looking for horse-eating sheep.

  Halting Dewey far enough away that he couldn’t reach the head judge and technical delegates who had joined her, I arranged my face into a polite smile though all I wanted to do was cry.

  Maribel smiled up at me. “Hello, Ms. Lloyd. There appears to be a technical issue with your music.”

  Oh, I hadn’t noticed. “Yes, ma’am, it would appear so.”

  “I assume the CDs you presented are in good order.”

  “Yes, ma’am, absolutely. We tested both discs this morning and there were no issues. At all.”

  Another smile, this one knowing. No rider would ever hand in a damaged CD for a Freestyle, especially not at an Olympics. “The sound engineer is just testing the music now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “As you know, if the issue is with your m
usic CD then you will be disqualified.” It looked like it hurt her to say it. I’d been judged by Maribel a number of times at national and international events and had always found her squarely on the side of fair competition and good sportsmanship.

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand, thank you.” I was well aware of the rules. It was my responsibility to provide a working copy of my music, as well as a backup copy. If something was wrong, then—I couldn’t think about that.

  I sat still, my pinkies scratching either side of Dew’s neck. Though I wanted to look around, I forced myself to keep my eyes on the small group in front of me trying to figure out the issue. And I tried very hard not to think about the fact that if I was disqualified, then my Olympic individual medal chances just blew away in the wind. Deep down I knew medals didn’t matter, but…they mattered. To come so close, after everything, and to not even get the chance to actually ride a full test was heartbreaking.

  The walkie-talkie crackled and Maribel held the device to her ear. She smiled, nodding. My anxiety let go. Maribel clipped the radio to her belt. “A technical issue with the equipment, not your music. The staff have tested it and confirmed it won’t happen again. You may continue.”

  I almost cried with relief. “Thank you very much.”

  She gestured to the arena. “You may start from the beginning of your test, or you may pick up from where the error occurred.”

  “I’ll start from the beginning, thank you.”

  “Very well. As you know, the marks given for the movements the first time up to the technical issue will stand.”

  “Yes of course, thank you so much.” Better to ride my first few movements again than set Dew up for a half-pass without the movements before. She indicated that I should reposition myself outside the arena, and as I walked down the centerline toward A, the ground staff opened the gap in the low fence. The announcer told everyone that due to a technical error I would restart my test and a slow round of applause echoed through the stadium.

  “I’m sorry, pal. I’m sorry,” I murmured to Dew. “I know it’s so hot and I know you’ve already done this bit and you did it so well, but we’re going to do it once more. Just for luck.”

  His snort told me what he thought of my pep talk.

  I set him up again outside the arena next to the P marker and once the bell had sounded, paused for a few seconds, then raised my hand to indicate I was ready. The music started. Again. I entered the arena and began my test. Again.

  His extended trot felt even better than the first time, dammit. Coming up to the spot where the music had stopped, I made sure I was relaxed and not anticipating that it might happen again. Passage around the short side and we still have music. Thank you, dressage gods.

  The rest of the test, I could say without any ego, was absolutely fucking fabulous. We hit every music mark, the work was rhythmic, balanced, cadenced, and enthusiastic. The sound of the crowd clapping along with the music elevated Dew beyond his usual crowd-loving excitement and the moment we’d done our final salute I threw myself onto his neck and looped my arms around his neck to hug him. The crowd roared its approval, and I sat up again. If there was ever a time to throw both hands in the air for a celebration, this was it.

  I threw both up, trusting Dew to just keep doing what he was doing, and waved enthusiastically in all directions at the cheering, clapping crowd. Dew started jogging and I picked up my reins again to bring him back to walk before he decided now was the time to get scared of noise and enthusiasm and dumped me in the arena. Leaning forward, I patted him on both sides of his neck. “You’re magnificent. I love you.”

  So many emotions swirled, but the biggest one alongside relief was an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment. And those weird tears. I carefully dabbed my eyes on my sleeve. As I passed the next rider entering as I exited, I saw Addie behind the fence. Her smile was broad, and she offered me a thumbs-up and a wave before melting away. Standing in the stirrups I tried to find her from my position above the crowd, but she was gone.

  The management team, minus Addie, met me at the entrance and they could have powered a small country with the brilliance of their smiles. “What happened?” was the first thing out of Mary’s mouth. The second thing was, “Absolutely fantastic ride!”

  “Equipment malfunction apparently. And thank you, it felt it.” The adrenaline I’d been holding on to suddenly let itself go and my limbs went shaky. Dew, bless his heart, stopped dead at my wobble and I gently asked him to walk forward again.

  Ian’s pats on Dew’s shoulder were rapid fire. “That could have gone very differently. Well done.”

  I barely had time to nod in agreement before Mary and Ian were swallowed by the crowd while I rode with Wren by my side to the gloriously shaded spot for my gear check. It felt like the number of television cameras had doubled and once I’d dismounted, I kept hold of Dew to make sure he didn’t damage someone’s expensive equipment. Wren, lover of social media and filterer of mean comments, had told me that Dew’s camera snuffle had been the talk of the equestrian scene.

  The announcer’s words were muffled by the thudding of my heart in my ears.

  I squinted over at the scoreboard. Squinted again to be sure I wasn’t seeing things. 90.357%. Holy shit. I couldn’t even make words in my head. Freestyles always had higher percentage scores because of the added artistic element, but that score was insane. It’d put me in second place, and was a personal best by a long margin. I didn’t even bother trying to hold back my tears.

  We passed our equipment checks and I leaned into my dual Olympic medal-winning horse, my cheek against his neck. With still one rider to go, I knew I was at least assured another bronze, but at that moment I didn’t really care if I got bronze or silver. I’d taken the horse I’d bred and trained myself all the way to the Olympics and ridden well enough to get two medals. I fought down a full-on sobbing meltdown as I hugged him around the neck. Dew turned around and nuzzled my back. Frantic camera shutters sounded.

  Wren lowered her voice so it couldn’t be picked up by the video cameras. “Fuck me. I nearly had a heart attack. For real.”

  I took a moment to compose myself before moving away from Dew. “Me too.”

  The camera guy, the one I recognized from this spot after my first ride, gestured for us to come closer. I relaxed my grip on the reins and pushed Dewey toward the camera. He took the cue immediately and stuck his face in the lens as he had before. I laughed, waved to the camera—which always felt so weird—then got to work making Dew comfortable for the walk back to his stall to be cooled down.

  Dew snuffled in Wren’s equipment bucket for either a treat or his toy. I bit a peppermint in half, yuck, and offered him one half at a time to crunch around the two bits in his mouth. Despite his sweet treat, Dew kept snuffling in the bucket, eventually coming up with the cat chew toy Addie had bought for him in the Netherlands. When Wren went to take it from him, I intervened. “Oh, let him have his toy, he deserves it.”

  Midfields Adieu and I, Olympic medalists, walked back to the stalls with him holding a rubber toy cat in his mouth. The camera shutters going off all around added to the already deafening noise. So many people, so many congratulations and questions and chatter that I didn’t know who to focus on, and the overwhelming emotion made my words catch in my throat.

  I was called in to pee in a cup before my press conference, and when I came out of the bathroom was mobbed from all sides by people shouting that I’d won silver. My media commitments were a blur of noise and flashes until I was dragged out just in time for our final medal ceremony. Dew had stayed tacked up, but resting in the cool indoor arena and when I managed to get back to him he raised his head and let out a body-shaking whinny. Someone was pleased with himself.

  “No more carrots,” I told him. “I don’t want orange chunks around your mouth in these photos.”

  I read a few text messages while shrugging back into my tails. Mom and Dad with autocorrect-laden congratulations. A major sponsor
congratulating me. My other major sponsor with effusive praise and congratulations. Lotte with a simple You did well. Laughing, I turned the phone so Wren could see the message. “That’s practically her throwing me a tickertape parade.”

  Another message pinged through as I was about to hand Wren my phone for safekeeping. This one was not for Wren’s eyes. Addie. I’m crying. I don’t even know what to say. I don’t think I will ever see anything as beautiful as that ride in my life. Except for you.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Addie

  Caitlyn being a dual Olympic medalist meant everyone wanted a piece of her. And as much as I wanted to barge into the crush, sweep her up into a hug and tell her how proud I was, how amazing she was and a million silly little things that basically amounted to I love you, I knew this wasn’t my time. My time would be after. This moment was hers where she could bask in the fact everyone thought she was brilliant. Because she was brilliant.

  After my final rounds for the afternoon and making sure all the horses were comfortable and healthy—and in Dewey’s case, had been stuffed with carrots and licorice and smothered in nose kisses—I shut myself in my office to double-check my drug inventory ready to go home. Everything I’d brought in had to be accounted for and explained in what capacity I’d used it.

  Thankfully everything was in order, because I did not feel like being dragged in front of the IOC and some official Brazilian narcotics unit to explain that in the fracas of one horse with a bee sting and another with a pelvic fracture that I’d just forgotten to pick up a used needle or empty vial and no, I hadn’t sold a bottle of ketamine on the street. I’d finished locking everything back into its secure trunk when someone knocked. Mary had already been in twice, and I was hoping she had nothing else inane to tell me that I already knew.

  On the narrow step was Caitlyn, now dressed in her casual team uniform shirt, wearing a huge smile and holding a small duffel. I leaned against the doorframe. “Well look who it is. All hail the Olympic conqueror.”