“Of course, Jimmy.”
Jimmy gave a humorless laugh as he released Ginger’s face, then turned and headed down to the waiting elevator, Shorty shuffling behind him. Ginger stood in the doorway, watching them until the elevator had closed, and then she went back inside, closing the door. Terry was alone in the hallway again.
Terry felt like she’d been punched in the stomach half a dozen times, or maybe it was more like Silky had up and kicked her in the head. The blinkers were off now—she was just a little side dish to keep Ginger amused when Jimmy wasn’t around, and Silky’s win had been a mistake. She and Silky were no closer to their goal than they’d been before.
Terry drew a deep breath. The time had come to be true to Silky. She might as well finish with that two-timing dame now.
When Terry opened the door, Ginger was sitting on the edge of her white leather divan, her face pale, her eyes staring at nothing. Her gloves and hat were on the white leather love seat, as if she’d just come in and thrown them there. She turned quickly at the sound of the door, her hand going automatically to her purse. When she saw Terry, she relaxed a little.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in. I didn’t send the car for you.”
“I came on my own two feet.”
“What do you know, you got your own transportation. Drink?” As Ginger got up, Terry’s eyes were drawn to the gray tailor-made and she couldn’t help noticing the way it showed off Ginger’s figure.
“Sure.” Terry slumped into a chair.
Ginger poured a Scotch—double, just the way Terry liked it—and handed it to her. “What’s in the box?”
Terry had forgotten about the roses she carried under her arm. She looked down at them. “I got roses,” she said. “To celebrate winning the race. Silky came in first, just like I knew she could.”
“Yeah, I heard,” said Ginger. “Sorry, honey, but I wouldn’t count on too many more of those.”
“Skip the song and dance, Ginger, I know the score,” said Terry, suddenly boiling mad.
Ginger looked surprised. “What do you mean, you know the score? What score do you think you know?”
“I heard you in here with your boyfriend Jimmy,” said Terry. Ginger set her drink down hard, an exclamation on her lips. “Save it, Ginger,” said Terry. “You’ve been using me, yeah, and two-timing me for a while, but the ride’s over now. I’m getting out of this racket.”
“Why, you two-bit jockey, you think you’re walking out on Ginger Delmonico? After all I’ve done for you?” Ginger was white with fury.
“Sure you’ve done a lot for me,” jeered Terry, all the bitterness inside her pouring out. “I guess I should be grateful a dame like you would even give me the time of day. What else have I got the right to expect—me, the daughter of a drunk who took off before I was fourteen, no brains, no education, no good for anything or anybody, just a sawed-off runt who’s got a way with horses. Thanks, lady, but no thanks to your dirty job, and your dirty racket!”
Ginger grabbed Terry’s arm as she turned to leave. “You think it was an accident, you winning today? You think I won’t pay for that pretty trophy you won?”
“Wh-what are you talking about?” Terry stuttered.
“You think Jimmy is my boyfriend? I got news for you, sister—he’s my ex-husband. Maybe you’ve heard of Jimmy “Snake Eyes” Galanti?”
Terry gasped. Jimmy “Snake Eyes” Galanti had his finger in every gambling racket in Cook County.
“Silk Stockings is what you might call alimony,” Ginger continued. “Or maybe it’s just Jimmy’s way of making sure he’ll always have his hooks in me. Sure, I was married,” she said in answer to Terry’s shocked look.
“Your old man left you high and dry?” Ginger went on. “You should count yourself lucky. My old man never had any use for me until I found my way into a little of the green stuff and he hasn’t stopped trying to farm my cabbage patch ever since. Yeah, that Shorty, he’s some kinda father.”
“Shorty!” gasped Terry.
“Yeah, Shorty. So don’t come crying to me about lousy fathers. You bet I married Jimmy. Growing up in my neighborhood, there was only one way out for a girl and that was to find some joe who had what it took and hitch along for the ride. Jimmy was the guy with all the angles and that made him the guy I wanted. Of course, I had my angle and it was a doozy, but I figured if Jimmy didn’t know it was the dames I went for, well, it wouldn’t hurt him any.”
“Haven’t you ever been square with anybody?” Terry couldn’t help asking.
Ginger stopped pacing and glared at her. “What’d you want me to do? The only way loving some broad was gonna get me out of that neighborhood was if it bought me a trip to the state pen. Besides, I don’t see you being any kind of saint. I think you know as well as the next gal how to do what you gotta do and maybe what you gotta do is different from what I did but that don’t make you any better.”
Terry bit her lip. Ginger was right about that!
“So Jimmy does a guy a favor and goes to Joliet for a couple years. Then the guy collects on some favors from a judge he knows and Jimmy’s out on parole. He thinks he’s going to surprise me.” Ginger gave a short, humorless laugh. “Well, we were both surprised. He finds me in bed with a girl, and to make it worse, this particular tomato is an old friend of Jimmy’s, if you know what I mean. He slaps me around pretty good, and tosses me out. A couple weeks later I get the ownership papers for Silk Stockings in the mail. He needed an owner with a clean bill of health, and everybody knows Jimmy’s got a record longer than the racing sheet. And then Shorty shows up to keep an eye on me. Try telling him blood’s thicker than water and see how hard he’ll laugh.”
Ginger paused to take a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice had a sobbing sound, like a violin at a Hungarian restaurant.
“So here I’ve been, trying to stash away enough to clear out, and then you come along with your crazy dreams and your heart in your eyes, and those strong, gentle hands—” Ginger stopped herself, biting her lip.
Terry sat there, her head in a whirl! It was all so confusing—Jimmy was Ginger’s ex-husband! Shorty was her father! Then Ginger’s mother must have been the tall one, Terry thought, trying to piece it all together. She stared at Ginger, who was tossing back another drink. Terry’s head ached, as if someone had spent the evening pounding on it with a ballpeen hammer. Ginger poured herself a third drink, and knocked it back. There was something Terry’s brain was trying to tell her, something about Silky and the spirited way she tossed her head right before a race. Silky—Ginger—Ginger—Silky—When Terry stared at Ginger, it seemed as if the horse was in the room with them, pawing the cream-colored carpet.
“What are you looking at?” Ginger demanded crossly.
Suddenly it all came together, like a starting bell going off in her brain, and Terry almost laughed out loud. She was all done with being torn in two! She didn’t have to choose between Silky and Ginger—the path to the finish line was the same for both these fillies! Both of them were being ridden into the ground by Jimmy, and it was up to Terry to knock him off their backs. And she thought that maybe she had the plan to do it.
“Listen,” she said eagerly, her words tumbling over each other. “Today at the stables everybody was talking about the Bluegrass Stakes, and how Sailor’s Delight is going to be running. All we gotta do is get Silky into that race and we’re home free!”
“What?” Ginger was confused, but she saw that Terry wasn’t walking out so she kept talking. “You’ve got a one-horse mind, kid. I’ve just finished telling you that Silky isn’t going to get any more chances to win. Jimmy’s in the saddle, capisce?”
“But this isn’t just any other race! When Silky wins the Bluegrass, she’ll be so famous, Jimmy and his gang won’t be able to touch her! Or you!”
Terry saw a faint hope growing in Ginger’s eyes, but she had to play it tough. She was that kind of dame.
“Did that nag kick you in the head or something?
How’s she going to win the Bluegrass Stakes? Now don’t get sore—I know you think this filly is fast, but she’s never run in a race that’s more than bush league and now you think she’s going to win the biggest race of ’em all?”
“She’s raced against Sailor’s Delight. He’s going to run the Bluegrass and Silky could have beat him.”
“Slow down, kid. I know all about Sailor’s Delight, and yeah, you got it right that he’s going to run, but even he isn’t in the same league. I got the inside dope and that horse won’t go off at less than thirty-five to one.”
Terry knew that Ginger was looking at this thing the smart way. Right now, at least she and Ginger were alive with all their parts in working order. If they entered that race and lost, that would all change pretty quick. Ginger was smart, but Terry knew something that Ginger didn’t. Terry knew that there wasn’t any race anywhere that Silky couldn’t win. She grasped Ginger’s arms, looking intently into her eyes.
“Your job is to get Silky into the race. My job is to win it. I know I can do my job. Can you do yours?”
A challenge was never wasted on Ginger Delmonico. She knew a few people who would do a favor for her and keep it quiet, and she went about securing a spot in the biggest event in horse racing for a filly who’d won only a few small-time races at a small-time track. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t cheap. Terry realized that one day when she went up to Ginger’s suite. Something was missing. “Your gold and crystal bar!” she exclaimed.
“I hocked it,” said Ginger. “I was drinking too much anyway.” Terry went to Ginger’s closet and opened it. “And your silver fox furs!” she lamented.
“Don’t worry, baby,” Ginger hastened to console her. “Look what I got in exchange.” She pulled out a cardboard dress box. “Go ahead, open it,” she urged.
Terry opened the box, revealing brand new racing silks in white and gold. “They’re perfect!” she exclaimed with pleasure.
“Think of us here, when you ride Silky,” Ginger murmured suggestively.
Terry looked with pride at Ginger. That once hardnosed filly was gentled, and Terry rewarded her the way she rewarded all her horses—with a little sugar. Later, as the evening shadows crept their way up the cream satin sheets, Terry said, “You never stop surprising me, Ginger.”
“I have one more surprise for you,” said Ginger. She led Terry over to the window, and there, where the Phantom Arrow was usually parked, was a gold horse van. “I figured you’d want Silky to travel in style.”
Terry was on cloud nine as she prepared Silky for the Stakes, but she had to keep reminding herself that they weren’t out of the woods yet. All of Silky’s extra training had to be done in the dead of night, after Shorty had left the track. He was the worm in the apple. Silky grew fitter than ever, and Terry prayed that the race would come before Shorty wised up. It was getting harder and harder to convince the filly to lose when each night she was being asked to run like a champion. But luck was on their side, and at last only one hurdle remained—getting Silky to the Stakes.
Every horse running in the Bluegrass Stakes was being brought in at least a week before the race, but a week would be more than enough time for Shorty to notice that Silky was missing and tip off Jimmy. The evening before the Bluegrass Stakes, Terry was grooming Silky, waiting for Ginger to arrive with the van. Her mind was wrapped up in dreams of her and Ginger and a little house with a white and gold picket fence and acres of open pasture for Silky. She started slightly when she heard Shorty’s whine.
“Dat horse is sure lookin’ good,” he said. Shorty was leaning over the stall door, chewing on an old stogie. Terry bit her lip in vexation. Damn that old man!
“Yup,” continued Shorty conversationally, “she sure has got a glow.” He leered at Terry. “Miz Delmonico, she got a kind of a glow too, don’t she?”
Terry had to get rid of Shorty fast, before Ginger arrived with the van!
She pushed back her disgust and turned to Shorty.
“Silky is looking good, isn’t she? You must be putting something special in her oats.” Terry forced a smile. “Here, old-timer”—she dug in her pocket for a silver dollar—“ reward for a job well done.”
The old man’s rheumy eyes lit up as he caught the coin Terry tossed to him, and he shuffled out of the barn in the direction of Gillespie’s.
Terry sighed with relief as she caught sight of the gold van pulling up outside the barn. She decided not to tell Ginger about her conversation with Shorty. There was no point in worrying her now—especially since she had to drive the whole 500 miles to the Bluegrass herself. Terry was riding in the back with Silky. She knew Ginger needed her, but Silky needed her more. With a hasty kiss to Ginger, she loaded Silky into the van and settled down next to her. Silky whinnied excitedly as the truck’s engine roared to life. “Don’t worry, girl,” Terry soothed her, “you’re finally gonna get your chance!”
They pulled in at the track at ten in the morning, Ginger’s face white with fatigue and Terry stiff and cramped from the close quarters. But Silky was calm and fresh, and that was what mattered. The start time was 2 P.M. sharp. Terry groomed Silky and warmed her up, while Ginger stood nearby, smoking cigarette after cigarette. Terry wondered what she was thinking as they both watched the competition—sleek, tautly muscled horses being pampered by teams of well-trained professionals. These were horses that were used to winning, horses that had been bred to win. But Terry knew that all those fancy sires weren’t worth a damn—Silky had the speed and that was what counted. But did she have the will to win after being made to lose for so long? They’d find out soon enough.
“You’d better get ready,” Ginger said, dropping her cigarette and grinding it under her heel. As Terry and Silky followed Ginger, Terry spotted a man leaning against the side of the gold van. She’d seen him only once, but she’d never forget those snakelike eyes. He straightened up as Ginger approached, and she stopped in her tracks. “Jimmy!” she exclaimed.
“Hi, doll,” said Jimmy, peering at Ginger. “Well, Shorty told me something was up, but I doubt he would have pictured this—Silk Stockings at the Bluegrass Stakes!” A rumbling laugh shook him.
“What do you want, Jimmy?” The voice was expressionless, but Terry could tell from Ginger’s rigid back there was a cocktail of fear and anger mixing inside her.
“What do I want?” Jimmy looked at the sky as if it held the answer to the question. “Me, all I wanted was to share some good news with you. Now that this filly of yours is running in the big time, I figured you should have some protection. So I had her insured for a million bucks.” He paused for a moment, but no one said anything.
“Don’t get me wrong—it’d be a real shame if something happened to her, but a horse like this, trying to run a race that’s out of her league, could end up with a broken leg.” Jimmy shrugged his shoulders and smiled as he continued, “Happens all the time.”
A cold sweat began to drip down Terry’s back. Silky, her leg broken—probably Shorty would be the one to take her out and put a bullet in her brain.
“And I’m not going to be selfish about the money—share and share alike, that’s me,” Jimmy continued, his eyes never leaving Ginger. “There’ll be enough to pension the old man off—I know you never liked him, and truth to tell, I’m getting a little sick of him myself. It’ll be just like old times, huh, Ginger? There’s worse things than a million bucks, right, doll?”
Terry’s hand tightened on Silky’s halter. What would Ginger say? A million bucks was the kind of dough that could turn someone’s feelings on their head. And Jimmy was playing her like a piano with his smooth talk. Terry could do nothing but wait, helplessly.
Ginger was answering Jimmy, her voice dull, “S-sure Jimmy, I guess there’s worse things. Maybe, though, there could be some other way for you to—” Suddenly she threw her head up as if she’d heard the starting bell. “Put those down!”
Jimmy had picked up the new white and gold racing silks and was casually runni
ng his hand over them. He looked startled at Ginger’s sudden change of temperament. “Listen,” he began menacingly, but Ginger didn’t let him finish.
“I don’t want your dirty hands touching anything of mine ever again,” she said in a low, thrilling tone. “You can do what you like to me, but Silky’s going to run this race and she’s going to win it!”
Terry felt a rush of pride flow through her at Ginger’s defiance. Jimmy stared at her for a second, and then let out a huge belly laugh.
“Win! You actually think this nag is going to win! I never thought I’d see the day Ginger Delmonico would turn sucker. Don’t you know what the odds are? Two hundred to one!”
“I know the odds,” said Ginger.
Jimmy whooped some more. “Ginger Delmonico, betting a hopeless long shot, with a sure thing staring her in the face!” His smile twisted contemptuously. “You sure must be soft on this little jockey.”
“Leave her out of this!” The words tore out of Ginger as if someone had put a hot branding iron on her thigh.
Jimmy continued to smile, but in a way that sent chills down Terry’s spine. “Tell you what, Ginger. I’ll let this one race go. Let’s make a bet on it. If Silk Stockings wins, she’s yours, no more strings attached. But if by some strange chance, she loses . . .” Now even the smile was gone.
“If she loses?” prompted Ginger in a voice Terry could barely recognize.
“The jockey’s out, I’m in, and the horse is dead,” said Jimmy. And now his voice was like ice. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, doll?”
“It’s a bet,” said Ginger. Jimmy put out his hand and Ginger took it as if it were a coiled snake.
“I’ll see you after the race.” Jimmy’s parting words hit Terry like a fist in the gut.
Ginger staggered, almost collapsing against the van after he’d left. Terry dropped Silky’s halter and ran to her side. “Ginger!” she cried, tears springing to her eyes.
Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories Page 11
