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I sprang up in my bed, beads of sweat covering my forehead. My heart raced in my chest; I heaved for air; scrambling to get my bearings. I realized I was no longer the 13-year-old and this wasn't my old room at home. I was safe from all of that. I was in my room at my cottage. The familiar hum of my window air conditioner was soothing. This was the first horrible dream I'd had since the hospital. I wanted to be done with them. This nightmare had left me more anxious than the other. It was different. I wasn't the observer in this one; I was a full participant. It was more like a re-living of a situation I didn't remember.
I climbed from my bed and went into the kitchenette. The clock on the microwave read 5:48 a.m. No point going back to bed. I made myself a light breakfast and set about getting dressed for the day. I located my empty laundry bag and dumped the contents of my dirty clothes basket into it, cinching it closed. I needed to leave a note for Ray who would be stopping by early, according to Trey.
Hi Ray!
Trey phoned me last night and generally filled me in as to my revised duties starting next week. He asked that for today I sit tight since my new assignment doesn’t start until next Monday. I’ll get with you sometime over the weekend and you can fill me in on the details. Heading over to the Belle to do laundry before the machines are all taken. After that, I’ll just hang out and try to stay out of everyone’s way.
Talk to you later!
Tylar
This would put his mind to rest, at least for now. I taped it on the front door and gathered up my purse, phone, laundry bag, and the last of the carrots for Derringer.
I walked quietly down the path to the stables, relieved to see that no one had yet reported in for work. I couldn’t pass the barn without visiting Derringer. I walked over to his stall and rubbed my hand gently up and down his beautiful black muzzle.
“Here you go, handsome,” I crooned, offering him the carrots; he ate them from my palm happily. I continued rubbing his neck until he finished. He nuzzled my hand for more.
“Sorry, handsome,” I said. “I don’t have any more carrots but how about if I come back tonight for another visit? Would you like that, huh?” His massive black head bobbed up and down as if confirming our date. I left the barn and made my way to the laundry room, which was next door to the banquet hall over at the Belle. Staff was allowed to use the washers and dryers for free. I separated my colors and delicates. I got the washers loaded; I'd about an hour before the wash cycles were completed. I was curious to see the stables at the Belle so I headed that way.
The stables and paddock area at the Belle were much larger than those over at the Sinclair estate. The Belle boarded a lot of horses that were not owned by the Sinclair family. This track held races for quarter horses, paints, and appaloosas. No thoroughbred racing was done there. The straight track was turf instead of dirt. I was glad because turf was much safer for the horses than a dirt track.
I strolled through the paddock area to see some of the horses that would be competing in this weekend’s race. I found a preliminary line-up sheet posted on the bulletin board for the eight races that were scheduled for the Kick-Off Stakes on Saturday evening. This marked the official opening of race season for Le Vie Belle track. I glanced through the line-up and saw that between Sinclair Stables and the Belle, the Sinclair's had a horse competing in each of the eight races. Ariel, Socrates, Witches’ Streak, and Runaway Jessie were entered from Sinclair Stables; Eyewear, Hail to Patsy, Junebug, and Jezebel were entrants from Le Vie Belle.
As I continued scanning, I noticed Jezebel didn’t have a jockey assigned. I was unfamiliar with Jezebel but the sheet listed Andy Graham as her trainer. I'd seen Andy around with Jenna. Maybe it was time to pull in a favor from Jenna; the trashy underwear was small compensation for my stint in the hospital.
I went back over to the laundry and transferred my clothes from the washer to the dryer. I got my phone out and called Jenna.
“Hey Ty! How are you doing girl?” she asked almost too cheerfully.
I decided to work the guilt; she owed me not only for the near-death experience, but that awful slut underwear from Fred-X of Follywood had added insult to injury.
“Cut the shit, Jenna,” I replied dryly.
I heard a gasp at the other end of the phone. Before she could utter another word, I got to the point.
“Look, you’re friends or whatever with Andy Graham, Jezebel’s trainer, right?”
“Yeah, so?” she countered.
“So, this is how you're going to make it up to me for missing a whole week’s pay.”
“Go on,” she replied, piqued.
“I noticed that there wasn’t a jockey listed for tomorrow evening’s fourth race for Jezebel. What’s the story?”
“All I know is that Andy’s ex-girlfriend was the jockey and once they broke up she told him to go flip shit. As of yesterday he believed they'd have to scratch Jezebel from the race because she won't reconsider. It’s no big deal; the horse is a long shot. Andy’s only worried the Sinclair's will be pissed because he didn’t have a back-up plan.”
“He does now,” I said. “Jenna, you call your friend, Andy. Tell him he has his jockey for Saturday night.”
“Who?” Jenna asked.
“Me!”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” she exclaimed. “Tylar, you're not a jockey. Besides, don’t you have to be certified or something?”
“Jenna, I’ve jockeyed, don’t worry about my credentials. Worst case scenario is even if Jezebel finishes last, I still get the $75 jockey fee which only recoups a small portion of the money I lost because of your stupid stunt last week.”
“Well, I don’t know,” she hesitated.
