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WORK IT!
Lolly Benoit. High Winds Polo Club. Palm Beach, Florida.
This headstrong filly, Tattle, will eat anything, Cheez-Its, road apples, your ham sandwich if you’re dumb enough to take it into the barn. She’s snuck slurps of Earl Grey and Gatorade, post-match beer, and bourbon. I even caught her with my favorite sweatshirt hanging out of her mouth one time, but that was long before we knew she was a nibbler! We’ve smartened up since then, horse-proofing her stall and keeping anything, even if it doesn’t look edible, out of her reach.
Gustavo—best barn buddy ever—pops his head around the corner. “How’s our little Pica Princess?”
“She does not have pica. She’s curious about the world around her.” With her tongue and her teeth, mostly. She’s devoured a window box crammed with petunias, the wheelbarrow of bulbs the gardener parked too close to the barn door, and a granola bar her owner, Stephanie, accidentally left in her stall. And that’s just this month! “She’s orally curious, that’s all.” And fast and funny and stubborn as fuck. Can’t say who she reminds me of, but I’m proud to share all those attributes with a horse who knows what she wants and goes for it.
He runs his hands along the tooth marks on her saddle. “She likes to chew…” I know where he’s going and I can’t stop him, but I wish I had some clapback that would make him laugh. “She’s a pica-chew!”
He snorts and strides away, whistling, but ends with a sharp double note, which is our code for ‘lookout, here she comes!’
Theshein question is none other than Stephanie Weiling, Tattle’s owner.
“She’s not ready yet? I have a lesson.” She’s perfectly manicured, glossed, and bejeweled as always, but why—the word bounces around the inside of my cranium—whywould you turn up to a barn looking like that? A gala, yes. Fundraiser? Sure. But the barn? Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t get it. All you need to ride is britches, boots, and a brain protector, that’s what I say! And mud? It’s a badge of honor!
But Stephanie is one of those women who seems never to get so much as a smudge on her immaculate ensembles. From her thousand-dollar Fabbri boots to her ridiculous shadbelly coat and Cavalleria Toscana breeches, she’s one of those horsewomen whose shiny hair never has a single strand out of place, whose fingernails never get grimed with dirt. Her clothes never have a single spot or stain—maybe because she never wears the same outfit twice.
She’s on her phone, eyes anywhere but on her horse. “Oh, yeah, the man’sover. Totally. I got it from an impeccable source. One thousand percent certain, he’s done.”
Her laugh—sharp, shiny, and short—chills me.
“Am I happy about it? Me? No!” She flicks a look at me, eyes sliding to her horse’s swishing tail and back to the barn door like I’m invisible. “I’m freaking ecstatic. What goes around comes around. Karma, baby! And here she comes, whacking him upside the head like she’s a two-by-four.”
My heart’s in my throat, even as I slide Tattle’s saddle pad down from her withers onto her back and loosely do up her girth strap, all the while beaming messages of calm to her horsey brain. Stephanie’s one of my highest paying clients and I need to make sure everything’s perfect, but she and Mariano, theGolden Horseshoes’top scorer, were an item for several months—the breakup messy and acrimonious—and if he’s theheshe’s talking about, I want to know. Now. Ten minutes ago. Yesterday.
I don’t go in for sighing and swooning, but Mariano Arias is a cut above. Polo god, philanthropist, and my secret crush since he first graced the cover ofPolo Lifeall those years ago,he isn’t merely my obsession, he’s the embodiment of the life I crave. The life I’m destined for. Oh, to be a polo player for theGolden Horseshoes.It’s so close, I can almost taste it.
If by close we mean slipping the bit into Tattle’s mouth, sliding the bridle (which, of course, she nommed in the past) over her ears, and buckling all the straps before handing off the reins to Stephanie.
She takes them and yanks poor Tattle’s mouth, hard. “Listen to this, because you’re going to crap yourself laughing. He’s looking for someone.” She throws her head back and laughs, oblivious to the effect she’s having on her horse.
Tattle’s head shoots up, startled at Stephanie’s loud voice and sudden movement. The mare is seconds away from going into full-on freeze mode. Not good. If Stephanie keeps flailing her arms, what happens next could be very, very dangerous. If Tattle rears or bolts, Stephanie’s not skilled enough to be able to control her.
I drop my whole essence—that part of me that remains eternally calm—into my core and radio a pulse ofshhhhhhh, you’re fine; hang tight; I won’t let her hurt you—at Tattle’s heart. I know horses and they know me. It’s a biological thing, below and beyond language. It’s the chemistry of the animal kingdom and I speak it fluently. I sigh out a breath, loud enough Tattle can hear.I am not holding my breath, there is nothing to fear.Whatever else is going on—Stephanie braying, Marianolooking for someone,Gustavo staying busy so he doesn’t get caught in the crossfire—is banished to the sidelines as the horsewoman in me takes over.
“Where’s the mounting block?” Stephanie holds her phone away long enough to snipe at me, still completely oblivious to her horse’s agitation.
I run my hand down Tattle’s neck, tighten her girth strap one more hole, and once again send her calming signals before hunting down a block and placing it at Stephanie’s feet.
She steps up, just missing my fingers by a hair. “I don’t know if I feel pity or scorn, but the word’s out. Mariano Arias is advertising. Couldn’t you just die?”
My brain smashes the pieces together, trying to make sense of what I’m hearing. There are massive gaps in the data, but one thing is clear as clear can be: Mariano Arias islooking for someone.
Stephanie trots away. No thank you, no nod of appreciation, no acknowledgment that I keep her horse in tip-top shape, but what does any of that matter?Mariano Arias is looking for someone!
Gustavo pops out of the far stall as if he’s been working, rather than avoiding her. “What? You’d have done the same if you could.”
He’s not wrong. It she wasn’t a paying client, I’d run a country mile whenever her car crunched on the gravel.
“Did you hear?” I’m not normally a squeeing type, but this is not a normal turn of events. “Mariano Arias is hiring!” If he hires me—even if it’s to do what I do for Stephanie—the exposure alone will be a massive opportunity.
Gustavo keeps a straight face for all of ten seconds, then breaks into a grin. “Go!Estúpida!What are you waiting for?”
I wasn’t waiting for permission, exactly, but if I head over to Mariano’s place and get my foot in the door before anyone else beats me to it, Gustavo will have to take care of the High Priestess of Complaints when she returns from her ride. “Thank you, Gustavo. Thank you, thank you!”
He rewards me withbesoson each cheek and sends me on my way.
