'As he should be,' Garrison agreed. 'He's a big, powerful horse.'
A bugle sounded from the dirt track inside the wooden stands of Washington Park.
Snapper Garrison listened, and then put his foot in the stirrup.
'You still think we have a chance?' Bruce grumbled. 'Even though we're fifteen to one?'
Garrison swung his small frame on to the saddle. 'I never heard of an oddsmaker winning a silver cup.'
Minna stepped forward, closer to her nephew. Digging into her purse, she pulled out a wad of tickets. 'I think Frontier is worth a bet. Aida and I took $1,000 out of the bank. I've bet it all on Frontier to win. Here, take these tickets, Bruce. A present from your aunts.'
Reluctantly, Bruce accepted the tickets. 'I wish you hadn't, Aunt Minna. But I certainly appreciate your confidence.'
'I'm betting against Judith Armbruster,' Minna said tartly. Shading her veiled eyes from the sun, she squinted up at Garrison. 'Did I do something foolish, Snapper?'
The jockey grinned down at her. 'Maybe we both did,' he called down. 'I didn't have $1,000, but I did have five hundred. I laid it all on Frontier to win. If I lose, I won't have a roof over my head. You'll have to put me up, Minna.'
As Garrison urged Frontier forward for the parade to the post, Bruce called out, 'Good luck!'
'You three find yourself a place near the finish line,' Garrison called back. 'Just watch for the green and white colours.'
An enormous crowd, 49,500 persons, had jammed into the grandstand of Washington Park and crowded into the infield. The more affluent had come in tallyhos, carriages, buggies, and in their new-fangled automobiles. The less affluent had come too, by foot and by streetcar, and all waited expectantly in the heat for the start of the $25,000 American Derby.
Bruce, at the forefront, had pushed his way through the sea of humanity, closely followed by Karen and Minna.
At last, they'd eased their way to the finish line, pressed against the railing, and turned their gazes a quarter of a mile down to the starting line.
Bruce produced two pairs of cheap binoculars, one pair for Karen and the other for himself. Minna polished the lenses of her opera glasses.
The dozen horses in the race had paraded past the start,
turned to trot towards the webbing to be lined up by the official starter.
Bruce trained his binoculars on the starting line. As usual, the thoroughbreds were all milling about, bumping each other relentlessly, bursting in and out of the webbing as they were patiently brought back to their places. Bruce focused on Frontier, who was standing calmly at the pole position, alongside the inner rail. The competing horses, colts and fillies, continued to mill about in the blazing sun.
Gradually, the horses were lined up perfectly, and the starter could be seen about to spring the webbing, when Bruce saw that Snapper Garrison was raising both hands in protest. Bruce could see him pointing down to one of his boots. Apparently the laces of one of his boots had broken. New laces must be sent for. The assistant starter ran off.
Bruce watched a distressed – or seemingly distressed -Snapper Garrison dismount and casually walk behind the restless horses as the jockeys tried to quiet their nervous mounts. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen minutes, when at last the assistant starter returned with fresh laces for Garrison. Accepting the laces, Garrison took his time threading the new laces into his left boot.
At last Garrison was set. He put a foot on Frontier's stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. Now the other thoroughbreds were out of line again, twisting, turning, bumping into one another under the relentless mid-afternoon sun.
Through his binoculars, Bruce was able to make out a movement on Snapper Garrison's part. In his Number One post position, Garrison had slipped his left foot out of the stirrup, and was resting it on the rail of the infield fence keeping nearly his entire weight off Frontier, while the fractious other mounts perspired under the weight of their riders.
As thousands of spectators strained with expectation, awaiting the send-off of the American Derby, the starter still could not get the field off. Bruce glanced down at his watch. Over
an hour and a half had elapsed since the horses had been led to the webbing. Standing there, watching, Bruce realized that his own legs felt leaden, and he tried to imagine how the legs of the horses must feel by now.
Once more, the starter managed to bring the thoroughbreds into line, when Bruce saw Garrison rise on Frontier and desperately wave to the starter, screaming at him.
Garrison dismounted again, and by his gesture Bruce could see that he was pointing to his saddle girth. His saddle girth had broken and he was obviously demanding a new one. Again, he was off his horse's back, on the ground, while the other jockeys remained on their exhausted horses.
Through his glasses Bruce saw the starter heading for Garrison, confronting him, angrily waving his fist at him. Bruce brought down his binoculars and observed that Minna had lowered her glasses and was smiling broadly.
'Aunt Minna, you seem to know something I don't know,' said Bruce. 'What's going on? I've never known a race to take so long to get going.'
Minna was still smiling broadly. 'Let me explain. When Aida and I bet on Frontier, we didn't really bet on your horse – we don't really know him. We bet on Snapper Garrison. Because we do know him. Do you remember when you took him on, he wished for a hot day? You didn't know why. But I did. Snapper's problem was to overcome the strength of the rival horses, to weaken them, which would make Frontier their equal or better. And this he has been doing. First his boot lace. Then resting on the rail. Now his broken saddle girth. All of that arranged in advance, I'm sure. Snapper has contrived to keep those other horses and their riders at the post for just about two hours. Yes, it's two hours and all the horses are still at the post. I'm certain that by now Snapper is ready to go. Let's see.'
Minna had brought the opera glasses to her eyes, and now Bruce lifted his binoculars once more, focusing on the starting post.
A new saddle girth had been brought for Garrison and had been speedily exchanged for the broken one.
Satisfied at last, Snapper Garrison sprung up, mounted Frontier, and was firmly astride. Bruce followed Garrison's gaze as the jockey studied his rivals. The other horses appeared wilted, even tired. Bruce focused on his own colt. He could see that Frontier remained cool, quiet, rested – and yes, ready.
Bruce's binoculars arced towards the starter, who had the field lined up in place.
And then the webbing flashed upwards – and they were off.
Bruce leaned over the rail trying to make out how they'd started. Some unknown had gone to the front. The favourite, The Picket, was second by a half-length. Bruce scanned the rushing field driving for the first turn, but he couldn't find the green and white colours. Then he did – Frontier was in twelfth place, dead last and galloping lazily. Garrison's whip was still in his boot as they drove around towards the halfway mark.
The horses were pounding into the backstretch. The unknown leader had fallen back into the pack. Two hours at the post with a jockey on his back had begun to take their toll. The Picket had gone to the front by a length, then two lengths. Frontier was no longer in last place. The green and white colours were moving up. Bruce counted. Frontier must be eighth, no, seventh, no – sixth.
The horses galloped through the backstretch, rounding into the homestretch.
Bruce groaned. The Picket was opening up a three-length lead. Frontier moved into fourth place, but time was running out. Bruce shut his eyes. His baby would never make it.
When Bruce opened his eyes, the horses were pounding into the homestretch. At first, Bruce was unable to find Frontier because he wasn't in fourth place, nor was he in third place. He was in second, and Garrison had his whip out at last and was steadily fanning Frontier with his crop.
Heading towards the wire, Frontier was full of heart, full of compact, conserved strength, hardly working up a froth. He was making his bid. Moving like a whi
rlwind, Frontier was fast closing the gap between The Picket and himself. Snapper Garrison, riding low and hard, was driving for one more Garrison finish.
The crowd noises were thunder behind Bruce. The approaching horses were clouds of swirling dust and beating hoofs as the field approached.
Bruce did not need his glasses now.
What was happening was clear to the naked eye. Frontier had closed the distance between himself and the leader. It was neck and neck, stride for stride with The Picket as they streaked for the wire.
Suddenly, other spectators jammed in front of Bruce, pushing him backwards.
Momentarily, he lost sight of the finish.
Jumping on a free chair, Bruce had a glimpse of one horse flashing across the finish line, leading by a length. The dust blurred his vision, and for an instant he couldn't tell the colours of the winner.
Then he could make out the winning colours.
Green and white!
Frontier, Snapper Garrison up, had won the American Derby of 1903. It was Frontier at fifteen to one. It was the $25,000 first-place purse.
Bruce found a breathless Karen Grant coming towards him, hugging him, kissing him.
Then she stared up at him. Bruce was unable to read her mind, but Bruce guessed what was on it.
Karen was telling herself that maybe she had not actually won – but she was damned certain that Judith Armbruster had lost.
The telephone on Minna Everleigh's desk was ringing. She hurried across the room to answer it. 'Hello.'
She recognized the man's voice immediately. 'This is Harold T. Armbruster,' he said. 'Is this Miss Minna Lester?'
Minna, from long habit, almost corrected him by saying she was Minna Everleigh. She caught herself in time. 'Yes, this is Minna Lester.'
'How are you? Actually, I'm calling to speak to your nephew. Is Bruce around? I want to congratulate him on his horse's magnificent winning of the American Derby.'
Minna was enjoying this. 'He's out at Washington Park, turning away all the bidders for Frontier.'
'I can understand that,' said Armbruster. 'I was hoping he'd treat me as a special bidder. I'd certainly like to buy that horse, run him a little longer, put him to stud. Will you tell Bruce I'm interested?'
'Gladly,' said Minna. 'But I'm afraid it won't make any difference to Bruce, Mr Armbruster.'
'You're sure of that?'
'I'm positive,' asserted Minna.
'A $25,000 purse may seem a fortune to him now as a young man, but later he'll need all the money he can get.'
'He made $15,000 on his win tickets.'
'Even that can run out,' continued Armbruster. 'I want to tell him that for his future he will still require a steady, well-paying executive job. The offer I made him is still open.'
'You mean provided he marries your daughter Judith.'
'Why, yes, of course. He'd be in the family then, he'd be one of us. Then I'd know I could trust him wholly even in the most sensitive financial matters.'
'I think I can answer for Bruce,' said Minna. 'Nice lady that your daughter is, I don't think Bruce has his mind on marriage today. Or, in fact, on any pursuit other than breeding horses in Kentucky.'
'Too bad. Becoming vice-president of one of the country's largest meat-packing firms is nothing to sneeze at.'
'Mr Armbruster, in that regard, I remind you that Bruce is still a vegetarian. You can speak to him yourself at the
wedding next week. But I must tell you it will be one wedding – not two.'
With that call out of the way for Armbruster, and having concentrated at the work in his plant in the afternoon, his mind returned to a more immediate concern that evening after dinner.
The memory of his own marriage in Milwaukee was still vivid. Or rather, more exactly, the event that preceded his marriage so many years ago. Armbruster's father had taken him aside and told him that any young man unschooled in sex should gain some experience before his wedding night. One sexual encounter with a professional would relieve his tension about what was ahead with Pearl. Therefore, as a pre-wedding gift, his father had taken him to a well-known Milwaukee brothel for his first knowledge of sex with a woman.
Armbruster recalled that he had been terrified, yet he could not deny his father, and besides, he wanted to satisfy his curiosity and get it over with.
At the brothel, the young woman had been advised in advance that her customer was a virgin, and she had been instructed to treat him with consideration.
It had worked out well, better than he had hoped, and when he and Pearl had undressed for their wedding night, he had been ready. He had felt experienced, unafraid of sex with his bride.
Now, with Alan about to be married, Armbruster felt that his own son should enjoy the advantage of the same initiation into the mysteries of sex that he himself had undergone as a youth.
His mind made up to provide Alan with a sexual encounter the following evening, he had gone to the plant to make inquiries about the best brothel to which he might treat his son. For himself, Armbruster knew very little about brothels, except what he had overheard from his friends' bantering gossip. He had never been to one himself in his life with Pearl; in fact, had never been unfaithful to her even once.
Sometimes he saw stories in the press about the city's notorious brothels, but he had always ignored them as wasteful pornographic trash. In truth, he did not know the name of a single brothel in Chicago, but he was not above making inquiries to find out which was the best.
During the following day he met separately with two of his plant directors and his senior foreman.
He frankly told each of them the plan he had in mind for Alan. After doing this, he asked each one to give him advice on which brothel in Chicago they would recommend for the bridegroom's first serious experience.
To a man, each of his advisers had suggested the same brothel. To a man, each had told him, 'Take your boy to the Everleigh Club on Dearborn.'
Armbruster thought that the Everleigh Club rang a bell. It sounded familiar. Yet, he did not know about it. He assumed that this oversight was due to the fact that, like an ostrich that buried its head in the sand, he had always buried his eyes and his ears in his business. He'd paid no attention to anything on the outside.
He remembered having been told how to go about this initiation in the Everleigh Club. He must reserve a table for Alan and himself in the Club's expensive restaurant. He and Alan must spend lavishly on a good meal with fine champagne. After that, he must request entertainment upstairs for his son.
After supper at home, Armbruster told his son that he would like to speak privately with him in the library.
Once settled and at ease behind closed doors, Armbruster made his proposal to Alan. It was not really a proposal, but rather an order.
'Alan,' he began, 'in a few days you are going to be wedded to a lovely virgin from the South. That part is fine. But what is awkward, Alan, is that you too are a virgin. It is not becoming for you to be so totally inexperienced on your wedding night.'
'Why not?' Alan answered. 'After our wedding night I'll be experienced, and Cathleen will be too.'
'My son, listen to me, as I listened to my father before I was married. The wedding night can be a horrendous encounter, unless you know what you are doing. You can fumble about, do things wrong. A bad start can give you a bad marriage.'
'What are you trying to tell me?'
'That you need one sexual experience before you have the more meaningful one with Cathleen. You need another woman – a professional woman – beforehand.'
Alan protested. 'I don't need anyone and I don't want anyone before my wife. Dad, I'll have no problems with her, I promise you. I know about the female anatomy from my college courses in biology. I know something more important. Every time I set eyes on Cathleen, my penis grows stiff. I think that's all I need to know.'
'You need another woman first,' Armbruster persisted. 'We'll do it my way. I've learned the most luxurious brothel in Chicago is the
Everleigh Club on Dearborn Street. Industrialists and celebrities go there regularly to enjoy its amenities. I've already made a reservation for supper there tomorrow evening. That's how it is done. We will have supper in the Everleigh Club, and a few drinks to loosen you up, and then I'll arrange for you to go upstairs and have your experience with one of their pretty young girls. I'll wait for you downstairs. By the time you come down, you'll be a man, my boy, a real man and grateful to me for your knowledge. Expect to accompany me to the Everleigh Club at eight o'clock tomorrow evening.'
At the Everleigh Club that night there was consternation.
Edmund had caught up with Minna and Aida and reported to them that Harold T. Armbruster had made a reservation for supper for the very next evening for his son and himself.
'I took the reservation,' said Edmund, 'but I know that Mr Armbruster is the last person you want to see here.'
Aida immediately fell into a panic. 'You've got to cancel him. Make up any reason you can. If he should see us here, and realize what we do, he'd call off the wedding. You've got to see that he's not admitted, because…'
'No,' Minna interrupted. 'That would be too suspicious.' She addressed Edmund. 'Are they coming here simply to dine?'
Edmund cleared his throat. 'Not exactly, Miss Minna. To dine, of course, but after that he said he would like some entertainment for his son upstairs. He explained that his son was getting married in a few days, and that the boy was a virgin, and he wanted him' to have at least one experience.'
'We can't allow that,' Aida said fearfully to Minna. 'The truth might get out.'
'It won't get out,' said Minna forcefully. 'It will remain between father and son, I assure you. I have no objection to letting Alan go upstairs and get some pleasure with one of the girls. If that's what his father wants, he should be allowed to do it. Cathleen and Bruce will never find out. Be sensible, Aida, several of the girls here have been taking trustworthy regulars upstairs to entertain them. There's no reason one of them can't have a roll with Alan Armbruster too.'
She weighed what was next on her mind.
The Golden Room Page 16
