by Ann Self
Jane started to walk away, but Owen shoved his glasses back on and followed her, dragging the horse with him and grabbing her arm. “Why in hell don’t you set you sights realistically? Go out with me and see what it’s like to ride in a real car, instead of that disgusting hunk of junk you schlep around in!”
“Let go of me, Owen!” She was screaming at her dual reflections in his mirrored glasses. “I wouldn’t go out with you if you owned a fleet of Cadillacs!”
Jane yanked her arm away and marched off.
“You think that Canaday guy would ever look twice at you when he’s got more money than the Rockefellers and Hollywood’s best drooling at his feet? I don’t think so!”
Jane kept on walking. Owen started to yell at her retreating back, his voice gaining volume with every word: “Trust me chicky, he ain’t in the cards for you! Especially not after the way you looked the night of the party! Not unless he has a thing for the BARN HELP!”
His last words echoed off the flat walls of the north wing.
BARN HELP BARN HELP...
Jane swung back to Owen, her face full of rage. She thought she could hear Lucinda laughing. Before she could speak, General chose that moment for a good head-to-toe shake, flapping the saddle and stirrups violently and flinging chunks of slobbery green foam from his mouth in a wide arc. He showered Owen’s face, sunglasses, bare chest, gold chain and shirt with saliva and masticated grass.
Owen turned the air blue with oaths and epithets, and lunged at the horse, smacking him in the neck with his whip. General neatly jerked the reins from his grasp, causing the second swipe of the whip to whistle through nothing but air, making Owen over-balance, lose his sunglasses and crush them with his boot—just barely catching himself before he fell flat on his face. General galloped back to the barn, turning his head from side to side, thoroughly enjoying the freedom.
Jane gasped and started to run after the horse, but stopped as she saw Dylan jump off the hay truck in the distance and capture General with an armful of tempting greenery.
“Damn you Owen!” Jane whipped around to confront him, and was shocked to see the ferocious anger on his face. He clutched the whip with a white-knuckle grip, and for a second, she thought he was close to striking her with it. Dylan riding back on the captured horse snapped Owen out of his spell. Owen snatched up his ruined glasses and stomped past Jane to retrieve the horse as Dylan swung a leg over General’s neck and slid from the saddle in one smooth motion. Owen yanked the reins from Dylan without a word, jumped into the saddle and galloped away—digging the horse with his spurs.
Dylan shook his head and yelled a few unflattering descriptions and curses in Owen’s direction. Jane caught up with Dylan and followed him back to the barn, grumbling and muttering herself about Owen.
“What was that idiot up to anyway?” Dylan inquired as they took a shortcut through a paddock.
“He just mad again because I don’t want anything to do with him.”
Dylan laughed. “So that was Owen’s version of a tantrum. Dude doesn’t take rejection well.”
“It didn’t help that General shook green slobber all over him and he stepped on his own sunglasses.”
Dylan laughed heartily again, slapping his leg. “Hah! He pays over a hundred dollars a pair for those little pieces of plastic. So, he gets rejected, breaks his sunglasses, the horse slobbers him and runs away. He’ll be in a foul mood for a week.”
“Seems so,” Jane agreed as they crossed the road to the barn. She did not notice the silver Rolls a half mile away, making its way along the hilly road to the barn. To the car’s occupants, she was but a tiny figure in its windshield.
As Jane approached the large open end of the west wing, she saw Sam standing in the shadow of the doorway with his arms crossed and feet braced. He shook his head at Dylan, and Dylan shrugged, flung his hands in the air in a what-can-you-do gesture and then returned to the hay truck. Sam observed Jane’s stony countenance as she walked up to the garage-sized doorway.
“Mr. Sweetness and Light at it again?” he asked, stepping forward into sunlight. He glanced distractedly at the distant Rolls as he spoke.
“I hate that man!” Jane spat.
“Join the hate-Owen club,” Sam said, turning to follow her into his office. “Membership’s nearly full though, but I can put you on the wait-list.”
“If he had a brain he’d be dangerous!”
“True enough...”
Jane stopped at the office doorway, looking aghast at the jumble of open cartons, chunks of Styrofoam, pamphlets, computer, monitor and printer. “You got a computer?”
“One was foisted on me,” Sam complained, glancing uneasily at the wide empty corridor behind them. “And this thing will be networked to Elliot’s computer in his barn office—hard wired, no wireless broadcasting of any kind for Elliot. The electrician will be here this afternoon. That way Elliot can have total access to anything I do, roam through my day to day business at will—only slightly more dignified than plowing through my desk or file cabinets.”
“Trusting soul,” Jane commented, as she stepped gingerly through the pile on the floor. Sam picked his way through to his desk and began shoving things aside to make room for the monitor. The black plastic gismo looked alien on his old wooden furniture.
“I’m surprised Elliot sprung for that,” Jane mused. “He’s on a cost-cutting rampage, now that Charmante drained away a large chunk of cash.”
Sam sighed. “Personally, I’d rather just stick with my rusted file cabinets, and tons of good ole paper—really save Pooh Bah some coin.”
Jane was kneeling and sifting through a pack of manuals for the main board, CD ROM and the monitor. “Everyone says that at first. Pretty soon you’ll be dragging me in here to tell me what a marvelous time saving machine this is; you’ll be talking windows and modems and hard drives.”
Sam was gathering up the boxes. “Oh yeah...I’ll be smo-o-okin! Right now I’m only capable of separating the cardboard and the Styrofoam from the machine. Maybe. Somebody better watch me or I may throw part of it away.”
Jane chuckled. “Dylan knows computers.”
“Does he? Well, I’ll just have to get him back off that hay truck and pick his brains.”
Jane nodded in agreement, and then stood up to leave.
“You going by the front office?” he asked.
“I can. Want me to drop off something?”
Sam leaned out of the pile of rubbish at his feet and grabbed a fat show schedule off his desk. “Elliot is anxious to get this weekend’s show schedule back, so I guess you better take it to his eminence.”
Jane stretched out a hand and took it. “Sure thing. I hope we make it to this show.”
“As far as Elliot is concerned, Lucinda is going; whether she wants to or not,” Sam said, adjusting the angle of flat screen. “Watch yourself up there—I saw Gladys’s Rolls driving to the front office when you walked in. She’s probably gracing Elliot with her presence.”
“Oh fine. Guess I’ll just drop this and run.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Sam agreed.
Jane spotted a white van pulling up to the open west wing entrance.
“Here’s your electrician.”
“Good timing,” Sam said, making his way out of the rubble.
Jane paused in the front wing when she spied Gladys’s silver-gray Rolls parked sideways next to the main entrance. Roger, the uniformed chauffeur, was in the front seat with a newspaper spread across the steering wheel. Jane took a few strides toward the closed paneled door of Elliot’s office, trying to decide whether or not to knock, when she heard Gladys arguing with Elliot.
“...why we need that scalawag of a girl running around here Elliot! She has no breeding, no family. She and her aunt were supported by welfare! Welfare!!”
Jane froze to the spot.
“She had a family...” Elliot began.
“Not much of a one. They didn’t provide for her after their death. She and he
r aunt ended up on the public dole. I don’t like our Lucinda exposed to rough-edged people of her ilk.” There was silence for a moment, and all Jane could hear was her angry heart pounding itself into gear. Then Gladys continued: “She looked like a disgusting rag-tag tramp the night of Lucinda’s party. I was humiliated. Can’t we assign the barn employees some regulation uniforms that they are required to wear at all times..?”
“Gladys!” Elliot snapped. “Jane wasn’t exactly a party guest, and I’m sure everyone knew she was just barn help. I am not worried about her clothes, as long as she produces the goods. Lars says it would be difficult to work without her, and she does make our horses more valuable—she has improved every one of their competition records with the Dressage Federation.”
Gladys made a disparaging noise, but Elliot continued: “If she can help Lucinda qualify for the Regionals and for international competition and improve the value of our bloodstock, then I wouldn’t care if she looked like a bag lady. We’ll just have to put up with her impecunious state until something better comes along.”
Gladys wasn’t mollified. “Do you have to let her go to so many shows?” she demanded. “We’re not here to finance that girl’s show career. I hope Lars isn’t spending too much of his time on her?”
“No more than he has too. I’ve told him...”
“She’s a poor reflection on our estate,” Gladys interrupted, “and besides that, Lucinda gets very upset when Jane beats her in the show ring.”
Elliot sighed loudly. “That’s why we invested a small fortune in Charmante—he’s already a very valuable proven show horse. Jane will never get to show him, she’ll only be allowed to help school him. We’re not promoting her show career, we’re very careful the girl only shows as much as necessary to help us and not a second more. And we try to keep her too busy for too much coaching with Lars—her list of chores will be growing accordingly. Besides that, Mother, she is always impeccably turned out at the shows. Jane doesn’t wear a sign around her neck proclaiming that she’s poor barn help. We certainly don’t want her out there competing against us.”
“Oh please! I don’t think she’s so over-burdened with talent that she’s that much of a threat. Stable girls who can ride are a dime a dozen and she doesn’t look any different on a horse than the rest of them.”
“Mother...” Elliot tried to slow her down, but she continued her rant: “Lucinda’s friend Ashley Parker is much more elegant and talented and is really coming along as a show rider. She’s a very polished young lady, a college graduate with a degree like Lucinda and she comes from good breeding. An excellent family! Her father Gerard, as you know, is a well-known prosecuting attorney with political connections that will take him a long way.” Gladys paused for a breath and Elliot tried to interject, but she steamrolled on: “Her mother Rebecca Wentworth Parker comes from a prominent, wealthy family and has been very high-profile in charitable organizations...the kind of identity that is good for our estate’s image. I doubt if this welfare case had a single day when her fanny graced a college seat. I just don’t feel comfortable with a person of such low character hanging around and I think you should respect my feelings on the matter.”
“Gladys..!” Elliot sputtered, but again she cut him off.
“She was very impertinent to your daughter when her party guests were out at the barn, and she was so careless; allowing that stupid rooster to get loose! To cause us such public humiliation—on television no less—is unforgivable!”
“That rooster was Reggie and Sam’s responsibility! Cecily specifically warned them put that bird in the trailer and keep it under control! And Lucinda was overdoing it with the bossy act.”
“Bossy!” Gladys exploded. “The girl is Lucinda’s employee! She is being paid to do what Lucinda wants. You have to be bossy with employees to keep them in their place!”
“Yes Mother...”
“Don’t patronize me, Elliot! I repeat, I don’t like having that girl here. She’s far too full of herself for someone of such a low station in life...and she somehow always manages to upset Lucinda. I think we should give Ashley Parker strong consideration for her job. Our ranks of employees should have some social status and breeding.”
Elliot sighed heavily in exasperation. “I suppose you’ll want the Secretary of State for farm manager?”
“Elliot...” Gladys spat out his name, but he plowed on, his voice rising in irritation. “Brian Canaday wants Jane to give his daughter riding lessons, and what he wants he gets, as far as I’m concerned! Canaday International is an eight-hundred pound gorilla—a big player in this state and someone I need in my pocket.”
“But...couldn’t Lars or Lucinda do it? Or Ashley?”
“Lucinda, unfortunately, has not yet been able to pass the certified instructors exam; Ashley hasn’t even applied—and besides, even if Lucinda did pass the exam, she hates teaching kids. She hates kids period. You’d never get her to do it. Lars would never teach a rank beginner, and anyway Canaday directly asked for Jane.”
“Why in the world would the man ask specifically for her? Does he know her?”
“I don’t know for sure...he seems to thing she looks familiar—but I doubt it.”
Gladys agreed. “I don’t think a girl like that would be running in the Canaday’s circles.”
“Not likely. Unless she worked as a maid or cleaning lady in one of their mansions.” Elliot sighed again and then said: “Maybe the guy just has bad taste, but I plan to keep him happy. I’d offer him Jane on a silver platter if it would keep him in our good graces.”
Jane heard the creak and groan of a chair being quitted. “For crying out loud, Elliot! The employees are going to run the show here. My father Edward used to say they should be kept in their place at all times, and to never ever let one feel that he or she is irreplaceable!”
“Yes, I remember quite well how Edward Barrett dealt with people.”
“Elliot!!” The old woman screeched, sounding hurt and offended.
“Sorry...Gladys.” He was completely agitated now. “Look...this is a temporary situation. Life is a lot more complicated now than in the horse and buggy days. I have a lot of work to do.”
That last was clearly the old woman’s dismissal. Jane spun around and fled, racing down the corridor, surprising Sam and the electrician as they headed for the front office. She ignored them and ran to the circular staircase, rushing up to her room. Once there, she flung the show schedule in a corner, then angrily paced the floor, roughly swiping away tears streaming down her face with the heel of her hand. She finally went to stand in front of a dormer window and stared out at the stableyard, still looking through a sheet of hot tears.
Owen walked by cooling out General, yanking him along impatiently. That spiked her anger and exacerbated her sense of frustration and helplessness. She gouged away more tears. “I should have listened to you Madeline! I should wake up. I have no value as a human being to these people.” She shuddered, her breathing ragged with anger. “Nothing is worth this humiliation!”
She stomped away from the window. “Lucinda’s employee...I don’t think so!” Jane trounced into the bathroom and drew a steaming hot bath in the claw-footed porcelain tub—one of the few luxury items in her small apartment. Her teeth were clenched and she muttered to herself the whole time the tub was filling. She piled her dirty clothes in a heap on the floor, poured lavender bubble bath into the tub, and climbed into the foam.
A half hour soak patched her up to the point where the psychic wounds were only a dull ache. As the foam of the scented bubble bath began to deflate, Jane’s mind sifted down through comments until it arrived at Elliot’s mention of Brian and his daughter. It made her happy for a brief moment, but then she cynically dismissed any cheery thoughts. She doubted Brian would show his face around the barn again and she decided that he must have a spoiled-brat daughter also. Just a younger version of Lucinda. “Probably have the nanny drop her off,” Jane spat, as she roughly shampooed stable dus
t from her hair. She scrubbed with a vengeance, almost abrading her scalp, as if cleanliness could cancel the stigma of poverty and the grime of hard work.
Feeling a need to boost her spirits, she took special care with her long dark hair when she exited the tub; drying it thoroughly, spraying and arranging it into a dramatic swept back style and letting it cascade from a gold filigree clasp on the back of her head that was her mother’s. She had managed to hang onto the diamond studded, 24 carat clasp and hide it from creditors, the IRS, and Aunt Edith and the pawn shop.
For the complete poverty cure, Jane dressed in a white riding shirt, put on her best, slate-gray Dafna breeches, and her new, custom-made riding boots that cost a years worth of savings. Her old show boots were getting worn, and they were about ready to be tossed. With her extra long legs, she could only wear custom-made, so there was no saving money on bargain boots. The impressive effect of the stiletto-thin boots with their gleaming black leather was worth the money, and she decided it was time to start breaking them in.
Jane buckled a gray leather belt around her slender waist as she stood in her window again, lost in thoughts. As she looked down into the stableyard, a blue minivan roared up and lurched to a stop by the south wing door. A short, red-haired young man with a buzz cut leaped out, yanked up his pants and surveyed the barn as if he owned it.
Travis the Toad, Jane recognized the car’s occupant. Travis was Gladys’s gopher and all around handyman; not to mention eavesdropper (literally) and trouble maker. Dylan had dubbed him “Travis the Toady”, and just as Mean Chicken, the name stuck like glue. Travis also had the same social graces as the irritable poultry. Jane knew Travis usually came to the barn on some errand of Gladys’s. There was no doubt in her mind what that errand was—and she meant to be ready for it. She touched her lips with a light pink lipstick, brushed a hint of color over her cheeks and fastened the stock tie of her shirt with a little gold pin, just for the complete in-your-face look.
