“I like my guess better, but Black Stallion is alright, too.”
Cal’s smile stretches beyond his usual lopsided grin, and, as always, I’m hit with a strange sense of accomplishment knowing I made that happen.
He drives past the large Craftsman house toward a big open barn surrounded by pasture. His tires crunch over gravel as he comes to a stop and throws the truck into park. He’s out before I even have a chance to unbuckle my seatbelt.
I slide out and meet him at the truck’s canopied tailgate. He’s already got it popped open and the bed of the old F-250 looks like a mobile workshop—scuffed totes strapped down with bungees, a metal toolbox up against the cab, a cooler jammed into the corner. Everything is covered with a fine layer of dust, yet somehow still feels clean.
He reaches first for a plastic tub withOBwritten in large, block letters in black marker. This he hands to me with a quick, “Do you mind?” I shake my head as he grabs a canvas duffel that’s seen better decades and a hard case with battered latches.
“Do you get woozy around blood?” With both arms full, he shuts the tailgate with his hip like he’s done it a thousand times.
“No.”
In a different life, I might have been a nurse. In my real one, I played a Nurse Paula in my first movie, a World War II drama. It was a small role, but I loved learning all of the medical jargon and being part of the life-saving emergency, even if it was staged. The blood and scalpels were fake. The energy wasn’t.
“I might need your help.” He leads the way to the barn, moving so fast I have to stretch my legs to keep up with his pace. “Hank’s going to want to be there, but owners have expensive horses and are too emotionally attached to their investment. They get in the way. Today, you’re my assistant,” he adds in a conspiratorial tone as we approach the barn.
I blink, surprised, and my pulse picks up with excitement. I’ve spent two years taking orders for pancakes and eggs and bussing tables. I like the job. I like that it’s mindless. But walking into the barn, I feel the same kind of adrenaline rush I used to get before a surfing competition. The same rush I got my first day on the set ofSurf City High, and the first time I walked the red carpet.
I’ve missed that feeling, but I have to swallow back the nervousness that follows. I remind myself that this experience doesn’t have to lead to disappointment and regret like those other experiences.
“Hank?” Cal calls, and a man steps out of a stall on the other end of the barn.
“She’s down here, Doc.” He motions us in his direction.
A horse whinnies in response, and Cal and I hurry downan aisle lined on both sides with stalls full of horses. The animals hoof the ground and shake their heads as we pass. I don’t know what they’re saying, but I bet Cal speaks their language. I follow Cal into the stall where Hank is. A black horse with a white stripe on her face snorts nervously in between heavy breaths, her body covered in sweat.
Another man holds a rope wrapped loosely around the mare’s neck, soothing her with quiet whispering and long strokes. Hank paces, and the mare follows his nervous movements with worried eyes. I immediately understand why Cal anticipated needing my help instead of Hank’s.
Cal stops in front of the horse, and all the nervous energy that propelled him in here softens. “How you doing Jasmine?” He asks quietly as he tilts to each side, examining her with his eyes and nothing else. “We’re gonna get your foal here safe and healthy. Just relax.”
With his voice alone, Cal not only gets the mare’s breathing to grow quieter but also slows Hank’s pacing and my own racing pulse.
He turns back to me, and there’s an uptick in his energy, but everything stays calm.
“Set the tote here.” Cal’s voice remains quiet and steady as he puts down his bag and case long enough to overturn a feed bucket, prop open his duffel on top of it and take out a stethoscope. He listens to Jasmine’s heart before running his hand over her back, nudging Hank out of the way. Cal holds his breath while pressing the stethoscope to Jasmine’s belly. When he exhales, it comes out as a “huh,” and his brow furrows with thought.
In two long strides, Cal is back at his bag, motioning for me to open the tote. He pulls out a roll of something that he tosses to Hank. “Wrap up her tail.”
Next come alcohol swabs and a box of gloves before he scans an index card he’s got taped to the lid of the tote. I recognize his tight-lettered handwriting from the notes he’s left me on the back of napkins telling me tomake it a good day. I don’t understand the shorthand on his index card, though, or know what I’m supposed to do, so I watch him as carefully as if I were back on set, waiting for my cue to step in and play my role.
When I think about my part here as “acting,” the adrenaline coursing through my body settles into excitement instead of fear.
The mare huffs and snorts, and I look back at her. Hank’s wrapped half her tail, and his face twists with worry when her belly contracts in a visible, rippling wave. Seconds later, a tiny leg pops out of her…baby maker?
Doesn’t matter what it’s called.
Right now, I’m a bit lightheaded and can’t quite work out how I ran away from Flamingo’s and ended up in a barn next to a horse with a leg dangling out of her...
I’ll have to ask Cal later what the proper name is.
“Only one leg here, Doc. And the hoof’s pointing the wrong way. I don’t want to lose this foal.” Hank’s voice rattles with fear and the blood runs from my face.
This isn’t normal.
Forget Flamingo’s. How did I run away fromHollywoodand end up in this very real moment? This isn’t at all like being on set. Everything here matters. This is life or death.
Cal rushes to Jasmine’s back end, takes one look and says, “Foal is in posterior position.”
