Charlotte and the Starlet

by Dave Warner

  She showed them her horseshoes and grinned her biggest, friendliest smile. Confident she'd turned them round, she waited for their response.

  They lunged at her.

  Leila let out a squeal and started running as fast as she could towards the other side of the paddock. Why had she been bewitched by pizza? Why hadn't she stayed in her trailer? Where was Mr Gold?

  She hadn't gone a hundred metres when she started wheezing. Her legs buckled. That no-neck Feathers had been right – too much pizza, too little exercise. Her legs were very wobbly now. Where was a stunt mare when you needed one?

  Suddenly lights struck her full in the face and she was flooded with relief. Ah ha! It was a trick after all. Tommy must be back there shooting some night scene. She hadn't noticed this scene in the script. Come to think of it, she'd never actually got around to reading the script this time. Anyway, what did it matter? She was a star. Now she could tell these uncouth equines what she really thought of them. She turned on the grey mare.

  'Hey grandma, the feedbag? Forget it. Prada, nada. As for the shoes, you'll be wearing them all right, right across your plain, grey muzzle.'

  She expected to see Tommy, the cameraman and the lighting crew but, as the lights grew brighter, she realised they were just the headlights of a truck. A very big truck with the words INTERNATIONAL LIVESTOCK written down one side.

  Leila still wasn't worried. It looked like they'd sent a stretch limousine to pick her up.

  Speeding down the road, Ralph couldn't contain his anger. He shouted at Bobby, who was hunched beside him.

  'You changed the plan?'

  The old truck with RALPHS REMOOVALS AND PLUMMING painted down the side veered to the wrong side of the road for a moment as Ralph slapped Bobby with his greasy, duckbill cap.

  'Look out!' yelled Bobby.

  There was a massive truck heading right at them. Ralph jerked the wheel just in time to avoid colliding with the big rig, whose driver angrily honked his horn at the much smaller truck.

  'You're getting upset for nothing,' wailed Bobby. 'Come on, somebody finds a nag in a factory, they know it's suspicious, but in a paddock? No-one's going to notice one more horse. You'll thank me for it.'

  But ten minutes later as Bobby and Ralph stood in a deserted paddock, Ralph was not thanking Bobby. He was on his knees crying and beating the ground with his fat fist.

  'Why? Why in God's name did I ever have to meet this imbecile?' he moaned.

  Bobby was slowly backing towards the truck. Any second now Ralph would blow.

  'Aaaaaarrrggggh!' There it was. Ralph's mighty bellow like a wounded bull. Bobby started running, knowing Ralph would be right behind him ready to whack him with that duckbill cap.

  Meanwhile, the big INTERNATIONAL LIVESTOCK rig powered along the road and in the back, a certain glamorous horse was trying some fast-talking.

  'Come on, guys, I was joking!'

  Leila tried her most winning smile but she might as well have fired a peashooter at a tank. The grey mare looked especially unimpressed. The horses moved in still closer, threatening.

  Leila held up a hoof. 'Okay, okay ... I'll give each of you a Mary-Kate and Ashley CD, personally signed.'

  For a moment she thought it had done the trick. And then the black stallion powered in at her and somebody trod on her hoof.

  'Careful!' she yelped. 'That hoof is worth its weight in ... Yow!' Some horse had trodden on her other hoof. She hoped that, wherever they were going, this trip would be short.

  Chapter 4

  That night, after the Golden Buckle race, Charlotte and her father were doing the washing up in the small kitchen of their weatherboard farmhouse. It was actually Mr Thomas' house but as head stockman, Charlotte's dad got accommodation as part of his pay. They'd lived there her whole life. Tonight her dad had cooked shepherd's pie, her favourite dinner. That made her feel even more guilty about not having listened to him before the race. Tonight he seemed more quiet than usual. She presumed he was annoyed with her, though he had said nothing more about her riding tactics and had even given her a double scoop of rainbow ice-cream.

  'A letter arrived for you yesterday.' He said it in an offhand manner as he methodically rinsed off soap bubbles. Charlotte felt her stomach contract. There was only one letter it might be.

  'From the JOES?' Being part of the Junior Olympic Equestrian Squad had been her dream ever since she'd first learned about it at the Banebago gymkhana a year ago.

  'Uh huh.' He plucked an envelope from the top of the chugging, noisy old fridge and handed it to her. It was just a rectangular bit of paper but, to her, it felt as heavy as a boulder. The contents could make her leap to the sky with joy or want to crawl into a hole in the ground and lie there for a month.

  'I didn't want to distract you from the race,' her father was explaining, but she barely heard him. In truth, she had not ever expected it to come to this. A man attending the gymkhana had identified himself as a talent spotter for the JOES, and he'd recommended Charlotte apply for the introductory course, a one-month camp held more than a thousand kilometres to the south of Snake Hills, where promising young riders were evaluated. At the end of the camp there were trials, with the best riders offered a permanent place in the JOES elite development squad. Over the next two years they would hone their skills, competing both nationally and internationally. The very best of these were likely to become Olympians.

  Charlotte's father had helped her fill out the form and, a few months later, Mr Graham, the head of the JOES, had flown up to see her ride. He watched her closely but gave nothing away, informing her she would hear something within the next six weeks.

  And now she held the answer in her hand. Charlotte stared at the envelope. Nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. So she wouldn't get chosen, big deal, this was a good place to live and her father could teach her everything about being a stockwoman. She ripped open the envelope.

  Her eyes found the line straight away.

  Immediately all the strength went from her legs and she plopped down on a chair. She looked up wanly at her dad.

  'Hey, it's okay. There's always next year.' He stroked her hair, consoling her.

  Her voice was weak and seemed to come from a long way away. 'I'm in.'

  The next week was a blur. The cost of the camp, which ran during school holidays, was much more than her dad's savings. Mrs Thomas wouldn't hear of Charlotte missing out, though. She organised quiz nights and raffles, and made the whole town chip in. And now it was almost time to leave. Charlotte stared at the dry, dusty plain that seemed to stretch on forever. She felt very empty. She'd miss her dad terribly, even if it were just for four weeks.

  'I'll miss you too, Stormy.' She patted the big chestnut horse on which she sat. She would even miss this scorching, hot piece of land. It was more than home; it was part of her. She knew every dip in the plain, every rock on the hill and just about every lizard hiding under those rocks. She would miss her friends but she supposed she would make new friends at the riding academy. After all, they were all girls who loved horses, so they would have that in common.

  Charlotte dug her heels into Stormy and felt exhilaration as the big beautiful beast tore across the red earth, turning the dead air into a breeze that danced around her face. This was heaven, this moment, her body shuddering with each powerful stride. Here, nothing could touch her. Here she was complete.

  At the cattle yard, Tony Richards saw his daughter galloping towards him. She was a natural horse-person. This invitation to try out for a place in the JOES was a chance in a lifetime and no matter how much it hurt to be without her, he would not do anything that might give her cause not to go. Julie would have been so proud to know their little girl had been selected for a trial.

  This was their last day together before Charlotte left him for the first time. If she made the elite development squad then she would spend most of the year away with the JOES. Even if she didn't, he knew that when she came back she could be changed forever.<
br />
  Charlotte came to a halt beside him.

  'So what would you like for dinner tonight?' he asked, already knowing the answer.

  Charlotte forked down the last morsel of mince and potato, realising that she hadn't even thought about what food they might have at this Thornton Academy, where she'd be boarding. She hoped they'd have top food like her dad's shepherd's pie.

  'You packed?' her father asked.

  'You know I am,' she said.

  She saw him smile and realised he'd been teasing her. She'd packed days ago!

  'What I meant was, have you got more things to pack?'

  Charlie didn't normally correct her father. 'No, it's all done except for my wash-bag.'

  He smiled some sort of secret smile and walked out of the kitchen. When she didn't move he poked his head back in. 'Come on.'

  She joined him in the lounge room. At first she thought he was holding a shiny tent. Then she realised it was a satin dress. The awful significance of it revealed itself before her father even spoke.

  'Mrs Henderson made it for you. She said the satin is very good quality and came from a bridesmaid's dress. How about that?'

  Charlotte swallowed hard. It was horrible. Not that she knew much about fashion. She'd had some party dresses when she was little but since then she had worn only jeans or shorts. As they didn't have television up here it was difficult to tell what sort of dresses thirteen-year-old city girls wore but she was certain they did not resemble this ... thing! In Rockhampton the nurses had kept bringing in big glossy magazines for her to read to her mum. Charlotte had loved the new smell of the shiny paper. But she'd been disappointed by how pathetic and soft the girls in the photos had been. They always had hair like velvet and skin like milk. No way would they be able to endure a two-week muster. They did wear pretty dresses, though.

  She stared at the shiny sail again and the anxiety she felt about leaving started to blow up like a willy-willy.

  'It's lovely.' She knew this untruth fell into the category of lies you were allowed to tell. 'But I won't need it, Dad.'

  'Actually, you will.' Her father handed over the dress. It had a lot of lace tacked around the bottom so that the overall effect was of a costume for a giant kewpie doll. 'The letter said you'd need clothes for social occasions.'

  Her anxiety became panic.

  'What social occasions?' She hadn't bothered to read that part of the letter.

  'I think they have a party to welcome all you girls.'

  Charlotte's panic subsided. That wasn't too bad.

  Her father continued. 'And I think there might be a dance or something with the boys' academy.'

  Boys! Oh, no. Charlotte didn't mind working with boys, she didn't mind playing football or cricket or softball with boys but dancing with them? This was ridiculous. Wasn't this Thornton Downs place for learning how to jump and do dressage? What did dancing have to do with that? Charlotte's history with boys was patchy to say the least. When Brian Buchanon thought he'd scare her by putting a snake in her schoolbag, she reacted in the only way a real girl could. She belted him in the nose. For the rest of the day she had to stand staring at the classroom wall. Not that she minded. Everybody laughed when Brian walked into the classroom from sick-bay with a big, stupid bandage around his nose. She would have stared at a wall a whole week for that moment. Maybe this dress was karmic payback.

  Her father said, 'I'm glad you like your dress. You better brush your teeth and get to bed. We've got a long, long drive. Nearly sixteen-hundred k.'

  She offered to help with the dishes but her dad wouldn't hear of it. She reached up and kissed him goodnight, fighting the urge to cry.

  'See you in the morning.'

  It was dark when Charlotte woke and checked the old clock radio by her bed. Two a.m. Three hours before they left. There was something she needed to do one last time. She got quietly out of bed and tiptoed into the lounge room. Making sure the sound was low, she clicked on the TV and the video player and then inserted the tape which had inspired her to want to be a JOE. It showed a beautiful young woman competing in an equestrian event. The young woman's face shone with excitement as she moved her mount effortlessly around the ring. The young woman was her mum. She'd been competing at the Royal Show in the city, aged twenty. It was when her mum and dad had first met. He had been down there looking after cattle. When her mum's horse escaped, he recaptured it, riding bareback. They fell in love instantly. Her mum had told her that story a hundred times and, even after she became ill, whenever she told it she always laughed and looked twenty again.

  Something inside Charlotte had come alive at seeing that video of her mother. Everybody always said what a great rider Charlotte was and she knew she was fast and could jump as far as any boy, but she wished she could be as graceful as her mother had been. Her dad had told her that her mum might have ridden in the Olympics if she hadn't married him and moved to the middle of nowhere. This was really why Charlotte wanted to try out for the JOES – to be like her mum, to make her proud and pay her back in some way for what she had given up.

  Chapter 5

  It is often said that people resemble their pets. A man walking a Pekinese is likely to be rotund and waddle. Siamese cats are favoured by sleek young women who enjoy soaking up the warmth from the sunniest window of their apartments. Miss Caroline Strud-worth of Thornton Downs Equestrian Academy had spent her entire life around horses and, to be frank, it showed. Over six feet tall in her riding boots, which she wore the entire day except when in bed, her face was long, her nostrils slightly flared and her mouth was crammed with teeth the size of bathroom tiles. And when she laughed it was with a decided whinny. A lack of grey hair suggested an age less than fifty but her attitudes belonged to somebody in their sixties. On rare occasions she could act quite girlish, but most of the time she ran her academy the way Captain Bligh had run his sailing ships, with an iron fist. Today she was trying to occupy herself while awaiting what, for her, was the highlight of the year – the new intake of horses. Like a child on Christmas Eve, she had barely slept last night and had been up as usual at five a.m.

  Miss Strudworth was extracting troublesome weeds from around the base of the parade ground flagpole when her acute hearing snaffled the hiss of hydraulic brakes, the way a frog's tongue might lash out and snatch a fly mid-air. The lorry had arrived and was slowing to negotiate the gate at the foot of the drive.

  A minute or so later she reached the stables, her heart beating fast. Bevans, the stable foreman, was already at the big lorry chatting with the driver. His gaze turned on Miss Strudworth as she arrived.

  'Chap here says he's got thirteen horses. I told him we only ordered twelve.'

  'That is correct, Bevans.' Miss Strudworth was certainly not going to pay extra. She pulled out the invoice from a stiff tweed pocket. 'I have the invoice right here and I'm not paying a cent more.' She handed it across to the driver.

  He checked it against his order and shrugged. 'It's the same price. Maybe they threw in an extra one, like? Baker's dozen?'

  Bevans pointed out that Hero, the colt, was still struggling with colic and an extra horse would be handy with the new intake of JOES due to arrive today. Miss Strudworth had learned from great-grandfather Tobias, founder of Thornton Downs, to never look a gift horse in the mouth.

  'Very well, so long as it's not costing me anything,' she said.

  She noted the first of what would be a long line of Mercedes, BMWs and those absurd four wheel drives arriving at the gates. The intake comprised fifteen girls, all proven horsewomen. Over thirty days they would hone their skills under Miss Strudworth's watchful eye. After this they would compete in the disciplines of dressage, jumps and point-to-point, and then seven would be selected to return as full-time members of the squad.

  Miss Strudworth knew that while the girls might arrive with the same hopes, they would not all leave with them intact. For those who succeeded there would be boundless happiness; for those who missed out, utter despair. A
pity, but that was the way of the world. As Miss Strudworth herself knew, it was a very foolish person who believed in happy endings for all. Somebody always had to miss out. She thought of her lonely trophies up there in her parlour. Yes, sad but true, somebody had to miss out. Her gaze drifted to a large Mercedes where the Hayes-Warrington girl was climbing out.

  'Yes, Mum, no, Mum, bye, Mum.'

  She slammed the door. A beautifully groomed blonde was getting out of a BMW next to her. She was talking quite angrily to somebody in the car.

  '... and if pizza face uses my computer while I'm away, I'll set fire to her pigtails again.'

  Miss Strudworth took a deep breath. Thirty days of having to deal with these precocious princesses would test her. But life, after all, was not meant to be easy. She would emerge triumphant as always.

  Leila had no idea where she was. The last thing she remembered clearly was being in a field and a big truck arriving and bundling her in with the 'hacks'. Then somebody had jabbed a needle into her and the next thing she knew she was being led out of the truck with a dozen or so other nags, including that bundle-of-fun-not grey mare.

  'Hey, nanna,' she managed in horse. 'Where are we?'

  The grey mare narrowed her eyes. 'What's it look like?'

  'It looks like the set of every movie I've ever made.'

  'We're in a riding academy.'

  A riding academy! Ludicrous. 'I don't want to ride, I want to eat.'

  The grey mare shook her head in disbelief. 'No you idiot, they ride us.'

  She inclined her head to the gaggle of teenage girls who had congregated in the centre of the circular driveway.

  Oh yeah? Leila smirked. She'd like to see them try and ride her, she really would.

  Miss Strudworth ascribed the success of her academy to careful selection of horses. Some she sourced in Australia, some came from Europe and some from her favourite breeders in California. Her program of putting young riders and horses together in an equestrian symbiosis had won plaudits, not just from Mr Graham, who ran the JOES program, but internationally. While most of the girls attending would have their own horses back home, Miss Strudworth had set in place a rule that at Thornton Downs all the girls would start equal. They would each choose a new Thornton Downs horse and bond with that horse over the course of their stay. In this way she felt that girls from less advantaged back-grounds were on something of an equal footing with their wealthier peers. Miss Strudworth looked over the array of inductees and blew her whistle loudly.