Winter Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 2) (13 page)

On Saturday, I stood at the in-gate with Linda, watching Dakota on Midway. Midway had quickly become my favorite of Dakota’s horses. He was a blast to ride and was so sweet around the barn, goofy, like the class clown of the barn. You couldn’t have him anywhere without him getting into trouble, chewing on a leadrope, trying to nuzzle Fernando’s dog, Rudi. Now, he loped around the course like an overgrown pony. He didn’t jump incredibly round but his knees were always up and neat. Dakota put in good rounds on him and when the jog was called, he trotted in third in the second round, even beating out one of Cassidy’s horses.

I gave him a few extra mints. Dakota handed me her ribbon as Fernando took Midway.

“He’s done for the week,” Linda said. “He can go back to the barn and turnout.”

We still had the two low junior jumpers left for the day. I walked the course with Linda and Dakota. A few tiny birds were taking a bath in the liverpool. The course designer roamed around, repositioning a rail in the cups and switching the flags on a pair of standards. Linda said hello to him and then told me in a quiet aside how she wished he were single.

As we walked out of the ring, Dakota asked me to get her a drink from the coffee cart.

“I want a smoothie with light unsweetened almond milk, flaxseed, unsweetened cocoa powder, protein powder, banana, cinnamon, and honey and get it right. I hate it when it’s wrong.”

Yes, I wished she would treat me as well as her horses—it was only my first week and I could have used the occasional pat on the shoulder instead of being ordered around.

I pulled out my phone. “Wait, say it again so I can write it down.”

She repeated her order super fast, before I had even been able to type in my passcode. Then she stalked off to the stands.

I should have followed her but I didn’t want to be that type of person—the Hollywood handler following their movie star around like a servant. I decided to forget putting it in my phone. Somehow I’d remember. I said it once more in my head.

At the coffee cart, however, I began to question whether it was unsweetened almond milk or unsweetened coconut milk. And had she asked for honey or cinnamon or both? There was a big line and while I waited I texted Dakota to double-check. No response, which seemed odd for someone who was always checking her phone.

I felt my body getting hot—she was going to freak out if I got it wrong. Then I got mad at myself for getting worried. This was a smoothie for a kid for Godsakes. She was no Hollywood star or big-time CEO. I decided to stop stressing. When it was my turn, I ordered her completely overpriced drink and went back to the ring.

“I texted you,” I said, when I found her with a bunch of her friends. “I was trying to double check your drink order.”

“Does it have the bee pollen?”

“Of course,” I said, automatically, although I definitely had not ordered bee pollen. Had she said bee pollen? Who could taste bee pollen anyway, though? She’d never know it wasn’t in there. I held the drink out to her.

She made a disgusted face. “I’m allergic to bee pollen. It could kill me.”

I pulled back the drink. I couldn’t tell her I’d lied and there was no bee pollen. “Okay, well, I guess if you tell me your order again I’ll go back.”

“No,” she said, like I was too dumb to take proper direction. “You know what, just forget it.”

She turned back to her friends and I walked away, nearly bumping into a woman filming the rider on course with her iPad. I told myself to breathe and calm down. I sat on the fence at the end of the in-gate area and tried to temper my hostility. I took a sip of the drink Dakota wouldn’t touch. Not bad.

“Thinking about quitting?” Mike said, surprising me.

He must have seen what happened. He had a lead rope tied around his chest like people in the real world wear one-shoulder sling backpacks and a hoof pick sticking out of his back pocket.

“The thought has occurred to me,” I admitted.

“Maybe she needs you,” Mike said. “Maybe you’re just the one to help screw her head on straight.”

“We need you, Obie-Wan-Kanobi,” I goofed. “You are our only hope.” Ryan had been the one who was into STAR WARS when we were young and I’d picked up a lot of it from watching with him. “I think I’d need a very big wrench to screw her head on right and I might just hit her over the head with the wrench instead.”

Mike laughed. “Hang in there, kiddo.”

I held Dakota’s drink up like we were toasting and took another big sip. At the very least I was going to enjoy her drink.

“I have to go out with the Tellers.”

“Oh,” I said.

I guess Chris could hear the disappointment in my voice when I said that one little word because he continued, “This is part of the drill. I wish things were like when I was working for Harris and I didn’t have to do this stuff but I have to try to make all these different people happy. It was easier when I just had to keep Harris happy.”

I could tell Chris wished he hadn’t said that last part because I was one of the main reasons why Harris had pulled his horses from Chris. He quickly continued, “I mean it wasn’t easy keeping Harris happy either and that partnership had its definite downsides. I’m not saying I wish I had Harris back…”

“I understand,” I said. I did understand, but I still wished Chris had more time for us. And I wished he’d asked me to go with him to dinner with the Tellers. Mom said Dad always wanted her to go out to business dinners with him but she couldn’t because of her anxiety and she felt terrible about it. A few times she’d gone and drank too much to try to calm down and he’d practically had to carry her out of the restaurant. I had hazy memories of a few of those nights, his coming home and putting her to bed, while the babysitter sat uncomfortably with us in front of the TV, waiting to be paid so she could go home. Eventually it was clear that it was better if she stayed home.

“Are you going to ask the Tellers about a horse for you?” I said.

“That’s the plan,” Chris said.

Linda saw me in the barn after I’d hung up with Chris. I was in Midway’s stall, just hanging out with him. We played this game where I stood next to him and he searched every pocket I had until he found a mint.

“What’re you up to?” she asked.

“Nothing. I thought maybe Chris and I’d go out but he has dinner plans with a client.”

“Wanna go to the food trucks?”

“Sure,” I said, even though I had no idea what the food trucks were.

Linda drove us to a parking lot on Forest Hill Boulevard over by the Wellington Amphitheater. The lot was filled with at least ten, maybe more, food trucks parked around the perimeter of the lot. Once we got out of the car, we did a loop, checking out what each truck had to offer. There was everything you could want—Mexican, burgers, grilled cheese, Chinese, plus several ice cream and gelato trucks.

A few girls I recognized from the show passed us still in their breeches.

“I guess a lot of people come here,” I said.

“Yeah,” Linda said. “Where was Chris going?”

“International Polo Club.”

“Fancy,” she said. “Who’s the client?”

“Lily Teller.”

“Right. The Tellers. Big money.”

“Chris is hoping they might invest in a horse for him.”

Linda clucked. “Not sure about that.”

“Why not?”

“In my experience there are two types of wealthy parents. Those who only want to spend their money if it benefits their kid and those who are willing to spend their money not just to help their kid.”

“And the Tellers are the first kind?”

“So far. Maybe Chris will make the difference.”

“I hope so,” I said. “He’s so talented and he works so hard. It just kills me that he doesn’t have the right horses.”

“That’s the sport,” Linda said. “The best riders usually
don’t
have the best horses. They have to do whatever they can, prostitute themselves out, to get mediocre horses and ride the shit out of them. Or then, every once in while, they get lucky and find a nice rich girl to marry and buy them horses.”

I let out a deep breath.

“Sorry,” Linda said. “Am I being too blunt? I have a reputation for doing that. I don’t mean to depress you.”

“No, it’s nothing new. It just kind of sucks.” I liked that Linda was candid. She seemed wiser than her years. I guess if you didn’t have endless means this sport could age you quickly.

Linda stopped at the Mexican food truck. “I think I’m going to get the fish taco.”

“That sounds good. I think I’ll get that too.”

We waited for our turn to order. The lines weren’t insane but each truck had a nice little crowd around it. Some were regular non-horse show people who lived in Wellington. I thought about how it’d be odd to live here if you weren’t into horses since so much of the town was all about horses. I saw grooms and riders too. I spotted a few DQs—discernible because of their full-seat breeches. Wellington wasn’t just a hunter/jumper scene—there was dressage and polo too.

After we had ordered, I said, “Well, I’m unfortunately not the rich girl Chris needs. I don’t have that kind of money.”

“No, that would have been Mary Beth.” Linda grimaced at me. “Now that was too blunt.”

I made a dramatic show of putting my head in my hands. “It’s kind of refreshing actually not to dance around it. I feel like she’s this nemesis of mine.” I didn’t say that every time I thought of her I wanted to chew my nails and a few times I’d come close.

“Is Chris over her?”

“Yes, definitely.” I said it so confidently and then wished I hadn’t. Maybe I sounded like I was trying to cover up that he actually wasn’t. But he was over her. He had said so.

“Well, that’s good. So all he needs is for the Tellers to buy him a number one horse.”

“Fingers crossed they’re getting on board with that tonight,” I said.

We carried our cardboard trays over to the group of pub tables. The tacos were delicious. I asked Linda about what she’d done before she worked for the Pearces. She ended up telling me her whole horse show history. It seemed like horse show people were like that, not just Linda. You got them started with a question about a horse or a time in their lives and they’d happily recount nearly every horse and show they’d ever ridden in. But I didn’t mind with Linda. She was a good storyteller and regaled me with crazy times working for different trainers. She’d ridden as a junior, winning a lot in the jumpers, including a Gold Medal at Young Riders. Then, instead of college, she’d gone to work for a grand prix rider in California. She’d burned out and taken an eighteen month hiatus from horses, working in Hollywood as an assistant to an assistant to a movie producer—a job she’d gotten through a rider at the barn she’d worked for. She thought about going back to school but found she missed the horses too much and didn’t want to spend her days in an office job. So she moved back East, bounced around with a few trainers before getting the gig with the Pearces.

“Do you miss competing?” I asked her.

Linda took her sunglasses from where they were propped on her head and repositioned them. I’d never seen her without them either on her face or on her head. Often, she wore them like a headband holding back her hair.

“Sometimes but I knew I didn’t have it in me to kill myself to find sponsors. What Chris is doing—it’s hard and I think it’s only getting harder. When an eighteen year-old with family money can make it to the Olympics, why would you ever buy a horse for a professional instead of your kid?”

“You think the teams should be picked by experience instead of record?” I asked.

“I don’t know what the answer is, but I know there are fewer and fewer owners wanting to support a grand prix rider. And then you have some of the ones that do backing European riders.”

I was so glad that I’d come out with Linda. I liked her no-nonsense attitude and she really knew what she was talking about.

“What kind of parents are Dakota’s?” I asked. “The kind that only do for their child?”

“Yes, but with a weird twist since they’re never here to watch her and they spend their whole lives helping others outside of the horse world.”

“They’re never here?”

“Well, not often.”

I had finished my taco. I twisted my napkin under the table, wondering how this was ever going to work. I would need to be around 24-7 for Dakota and Chris seemed like he was always going to be busy scrambling to make his business thrive.

“Is Dakota, well, as bad as she seems?”

“Yup.” Linda smiled. “But you’ll get used to her.”

“Other people who’ve done this job…. They’ve quit?”

“They don’t last that long. But you’re only signed on for the circuit anyway, right?”

“Right,” I said.

Linda put her napkin in her empty cardboard tray. “Just don’t let her run you off before then.”

“No way,” I said, full of fake confidence.

After we tossed our trash, we hit the popsicle truck for dessert. It was hard to choose from the many different flavors—Oreo, chocolate, coffee, strawberry, mango, banana. I decided on a banana base. Then you could choose to have the popsicle dipped in milk, dark, or white chocolate and covered with sprinkles or Oreos. I went with just dipped in milk chocolate. Linda got coffee base with milk chocolate and Oreo sprinkles.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I asked her. I was pretty sure I knew the answer from her earlier comment about the course designer.

She swallowed the first bite of her popsicle. “Not right now. I was dating a vet back home but it’s hard to maintain a relationship in this business when you’re both traveling different places.”

“Is the only way it works if you can be at all the same shows?” I asked.