Daybreak at The Spa - Part 3

Original article written by The Steward posted 6 years 2 weeks ago

Part 3

“Easy, easy, whoa,” Laura Smith said, the words coming like a mantra. Her shoulder muscles ached, but her arms gave willingly and her back remained ramrod straight. The rubber reins slipped through her fingers just a notch, enough to give Rogue exactly what she wanted. She lowered her head and barreled forward.

Laura had ridden enough horses in her day to know from the start that Rogue was anything but special. That’s what it came as such a surprise when the willful, nervous filly had jumped up from being a generic galloper to a sudden multiple stakes winning standout. She had defeated fillies last year in the Steward’s Cup, and taken on males to win in Dubai. All in all, despite a recent decline in form, Rogue was one of the all time greats.

As if sensing Laura’s mind wandering down the rabbit hole, Rogue bolted forward, the bit in her teeth. Laura let her roll for a few strides, then wrenched the bit away. Rogue’s gait flagged and she settled, her morning testiness done for the day. Laura wasn’t even mad; she only had three more days to ride her filly before their partnership would be over.

Rogue dropped into a fancy jog heading back towards the gap, her head and ears up and black mane bouncing.

“Rough ride?” James Burns called, leading Rogue’s challenger Phaedrus the opposite direction on the outside rail.

“Nah,” Laura said, shaking back her ponytail under her helmet. “Just feeling good.”

In truth, her arms ached from Rogue’s run off, but the filly had settled now and was amicably making her way back to the barn.

Activity had increased mightily in the last 24 hours. It was Tuesday before Steward’s Cup Thursday, and all runners had to be on the grounds by noon. Rafa Usoz hurried past, bowed against the morning chill with a hoodie on. Xander Zone was holding court outside the training track; a group of other trainers as well as media were gathered round, listening appreciatively. Laura could make out Eugene Ferguson, Dave Mackay, and Doug Cuomo amongst the group.

She jumped off of Rogue in the shedrow and handed the filly over to her groom. Gigi Gofaster’s dark hair and bright face popped up from behind a closed stall door; Encrypted Hello had arrived on the grounds. “Are you going to the party tonight?” Gigi asked.

“Absolutely,” Laura said. “No one ever misses the Steward’s Cup party!”

“I hear there is dancing.” Gigi pulled a face. “I’m not all that interested in dancing.”

“You have to go,” Laura encouraged, watching Nikki Everdeen get after a high strung bay filly down the aisle. “It’s the must attend event of the year. And it’s free, except for the alcohol.”

“She makes you pay for the alcohol?!” Gigi sounded annoyed. “Who does that?”

“The Steward,” Laura explained. “Her party, her rules.”

--

Patrick O’Malley straightened his bow tie in the mirror, checked his teeth, and sucked in a breath, ready to enter the ballroom of the Saratoga Hilton. “You look fine,” Regina Moore said, checking her phone for the 15th time before stashing it in her clutch purse. “I already told you that.”

Patrick nodded resolutely. “I hate these things and having to wear a suit,” he said. “Okay, let’s go in.”

Regina pushed the door open, and they were immediately greeted by the pulsating sounds of dance music coming from speakers near the DJ booth. Lights flashed across a wooden floor, and at least a dozen tables circled around it. There was a buffet lined up on the right hand side, and people in fancy dress were standing around, some talking and some looking awkward.

It was comical to see trainers, breeders - horse people – who regularly got by on jeans and sweatshirts, decked out in their Steward’s Cup finest. This went even beyond the standard raceday suits, as the women wore ball gowns that clung to them like cellophane.

Trastevere Peru sat at a nearby table, nursing a water and determinedly avoiding the eye of anyone else around that hoped to dance. Amy Atkins spun circles on the dance floor all by herself, oblivious to the fact that she was getting looks from some of the other women, such as Talia Ichinari and Jake Peters. Within moments those two had joined in.

Fanta Arcadia and Stormy Peak were buried in deep discussion by the buffet, food on silver serving spoons halfway to their plates while they discussed a turf mile breeding trade. Ashley Gibson laughed loudly at a joke told by Tamara Estes; Johanna Stk jerked back to escape the raucous noise.

Trainers spilled through the doorway, self conscious and socially anxious, until they allowed themselves to unwind and relax with the music. Kent and Cindy Saunders cleared the floor during one beautiful love ballad, the only ones brave enough to slow dance in public.

Leigh Ann Anderson sat in her chair, talking animatedly with Darcy McBride. They both had legitimate shots in the Friday Steward’s Cup races, and Ash Valley was hanging on their every word. Brianna McKenzie sat down to join them as well; her stunning black dress was adorned with faint red rose print, a tribute to her brilliant runner Canadian Roses.

The door swung open again, revealing Eric Nalbone. After some time away from the sport, Eric was back in full force, his juggernaut churning along as it always had. He looked impressive in a carefully tailored suit. With wife Lauren Haggerty back home, girls shyly flocked to him until Jon Xett appeared, shooing them away. The master trainer looked as only he could in a bright red coat, a tribute to his first superstar steeplechaser, Tomato.

The party roared well into the night, with Kaine Saracen one of the last to retire. “Aren’t you exhausted?” Bradley Davis asked, yawning as he held open the door for Kaine and Willie Carson. Tonight they were friends, colleagues, but in the morning they would be enemies on the racetrack.

“I am,” Kaine agreed, “but Steward’s Cup only comes once a year.”

--

Friday morning dawned dark and misty, the sun clawing its way through the daily fog. The backside was abuzz talking about the impressive performances from yesterday’s races, with filly Owl Let You Know and colt The People’s Horse scoring epic wins in the Juvenile races.

“Did you see the final times?” Erin Sanderson asked Emily Shields, pouring over result charts. “She went faster, by just a tick.”

“He wasn’t pressed though,” Emily said absently. “No offense. You know that was too short for your horse.”

Erin’s Castles Crumble had run second, and was bred to excel at three. Unlike the two “big horses,” her horse had no hints of a suspect pedigree going long.

They sat together in the trainers stand at the training track, watching horses sweep around the turn and down the lane with hurried breaths. “Life, right?” Erin said quietly.

“It’s crazy,” Emily agreed. They didn’t need more words to understand to what the other was referring. Between the two of them in the last year they had battled cancer and divorce, staggering life losses and life’s everyday disappointments. In retrospect, running second in the $2 million Juvenile wasn’t a heartbreak nearly on par with what they had each experienced off the racetrack, and what else they’d faced that week alone.

“We’re strong,” Erin said firmly. Below them, trainers and horses continued on, just like any other normal day.


“All of us,” Emily agreed.

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