Daybreak at Louisville Downs Part 6

Original article written by The Steward posted 14 years 3 weeks ago

Dance music floated out of the Executive West banquet hall, enticing the hundred Steward’s Cup trainers and their guests to join the party. Carolyn Eaton stepped through the double doors with her husband and took in the party.

The dimly lit room flickered with light from pale candles in purple vases. Yellow streamers decorated the stage at front where racing officials had their table. A bar leaned up against the left wall and a delectable buffet adorned the right. Twenty round tables, each seating ten people, dotted the back half of the room, while a dance floor commanded the front area ahead of the stage. The dynamic duo of Scott Eiland – MC – and Kevin Hern – DJ – had a stand on the left of the stage. Emily and Dave Shields sat in the center table. Emily appeared lost in thought, toying with a Sprite can, while Dave doodled on a napkin, showing a delighted and elegant looking Chani Ruzzo how to create a headshot sans the computer.

“Ticket, please!” a familiar voice demanded. Carolyn turned, confused, to see Amanda O’Brien in a turquoise blouse and pressed slacks.

“Do we really need our tickets?” Carolyn asked, recalling that hers were not only not with her, they weren’t in the state – they were on the kitchen counter at home in Texas.

“Yes, but not really,” Amanda grinned. “I’m in charge of the door. I’m not even near the door!”

They headed to get drinks together, leaving room for more trainers, owners and press to arrive. Michelle Calderoni, Jolene Danner, Lisa Strummer, and Ara Davies arrived in a limo. Michelle was dressed in a shimmering, floor-length gown, while the other three preferred to party in slacks and nice tops, although Ara did sport a stunning green feather boa wrapped over her shoulders.

Melissa Mae headed immediately towards the buffet, pausing to examine the dessert table on the end first. She stumbled upon Steph Lonhro nearby and stopped to talk. “Are you nervous yet?” Melissa asked.

“I’m not sure I’m going to eat anything,” Steph admitted. “Anna wants me to sit with her” – she gestured to where Anna Leroux had a table with several seats open – “but I don’t think I can look her in the eye today!”

In all corners, men in suits were talking business. Near the speakers, as if to avoid being overheard, Paul Sellers and AR Roberts were discussing speed figures and the merits of entering a juvenile filly against colts rather than against fillies. Sean Furney hovered near the back corner discussing business with Kenneth Gordon, whose undefeated Stroke of Genius would be one of the Juvenile Turf favorites. Cheri O’Kelly looked slightly confused, sitting at a table alone, but Teri Lawrence soon joined her. Within minutes they were laughing loudly and inviting Star Girl and Nikki Sherman to join them. Nikki carried her digital camera and occasionally took candid photos of Alysse Jacobs and Ashley Gibson on the dance floor, so far the only two brave enough to dance.

“Oy! Hurry up and eat so we can get this party really started!” Scott shouted into the microphone, grooving a bit on stage as Kevin dialed up a popular disco theme. Most people looked uncomfortable at the thought of dancing, especially Jarrod Brush and Norman Architecture, who hung back towards a set of potted plants, hoping to avoid attention. Unfortunately for them, the shy and embarrassed were exactly what Scott preyed on. Almost instantly, Scott was on top of them, dragging them towards the dance floor.

Skippy Bowen and his wife Sarah arrived arm in arm; Sarah’s silvery gown contrasting with Skippy’s dark suit. Tammy Stawicki followed, gorgeous in a vibrant red gown. “I can’t believe I’m wearing this,” she hissed to Katy Turner, who had opted for a purple knee-length dress with a yellow belt – Steward’s Cup colors.

Before long, the dance floor brimmed and burst with dancers, swirling about, carefree and happy. Peihe Sun had climbed out of her shy shell and laughing and swing dancing with Tasha Langley, who cheered loudly when Kevin turned on Viva La Vida. Pepper Carol joined them shyly for one song, then dropped out to grab a chocolate brownie from the dessert table..

Amanda Kessler sat alone at a table, pouring over training charts. “Did you bring your work to a party?!” Regina Moore demanded, plopping down next to the harried trainer.

“I just have so much to do, I’m still trying to get all the yearlings shipped for the new year and I have at least twenty unplanned breedings,” Amanda responded without looking up.

“How can you concentrate in here?” Regina asked, looking around at the flashing, glaring lights as they were bombarded by thumping music from the stage.

“We just moved, and there’s construction at our house, so I can’t concentrate there either,” Amanda complained. Regina got the hint and moved on.

An obligatory slow song came on, causing a fit of giggles around the room. Ronnie Dee bowed gracefully and swept his lovely wife Jeb Clampett onto the dance floor. Mallory Claire followed with her husband, leaving baby Olivia with Sara Kendall at the table for one song. Josh Dutzy charmed his way to take the hand of Ashley Gibson, causing her to blush and become hardened again.

Paul Heinrich and Tim Matthews, Jr. arrived late, crashing the party closer to nine thirty. “Where have you guys been?!” Bryan Doolittle demanded, bounding over to them.

“I had to explain to Tim that he needs to have patience when it comes to winning the Steward’s Cup,” Paul explained, looking apologetic. “He seems to think Sunset Ride is going to win this weekend.”

“She will,” Tim agreed confidently. “And next year, Earn the Roses will win the Classic.”

Around midnight, after Laura Smith had shouted, “I LOVE YOU GUYS!” more drunk than buzzed into Scott’s microphone and Matt Woolfolk had – completely sober – sung karaoke to the howling crowd, everyone realized that both Kevin and Emily Shields had gone back to their hotels. The party slowly broke up, with some people, such as Mac Silver, Karen Shields and Kimberly Jean, staying until almost two when the hotel management kicked them out.

**

Shortly before dawn on Wednesday, veteran trainer Jon Xett stood in the backstretch chute with his favorite racehorse. A well-built medium bay, No Bias No Hate stood at attention examining the racetrack. Together they observed the rising sun, which cast purple and orange streaks across the cloud streaked sky. The wind had ceased around midnight, leaving a calm across Louisville Downs. Due to the amount of partying the night before, many trainers had opted to sleep in, and Jon knew the after-break rush would be chaotic. Even though the track had been open for nearly an hour, No Bias No Hate seemed one of the few horses out of his stall.

The star sprinter would be making his fourth appearance in the Steward’s Cup, tying the record of the tough gelding Artillery. This year’s Turf Sprint would be the swan song for No Bias No Hate; a career as a stallion beckoned. Although it had been three years since he won the Turf Sprint as a three-year-old, the tough, battle-scarred runner still laid his heart on the line every time at the post.

Even with eight Steward’s Cup hopefuls, including one of the Classic favorites, Something Better, Jon only held No Bias No Hate in his heart. If the horse finished fourth or higher, his earnings would push over $1 million, a difficult feat for a turf sprinter.

Jon ran his hand lovingly over the colt’s rough bay coat, then released the shank and nodded at the exercise rider. He clucked, urging the stallion onwards, and No Bias No Hate jogged off with no hesitation. He had done this routine hundreds of times: stand, wait, look, jog, gallop, walk, graze.

“It will be tough to see that one go,” Cleo Patra said consolingly.

Jon eyed her with suspicion, knowing that Cleo had a runner in the Turf Sprint as well, a black gelding named Creative License. She looked sincere, and smiled encouragingly. “It will be tough, but he should be a good stallion if people don’t forget him,” Jon agreed. He scanned the track for Creative License, but only saw the gray horse Force of Power, Cleo’s Marathon contender, jogging the wrong way through the clubhouse turn.

The two of them seemed alone against the rail, and the calm morning air felt strange. “Where is everyone?” Cleo asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know, I left around nine. How late did the party go?” Jon asked, curious.

“I left at eleven, and there was still dancing. I don’t know why they schedule those things so late, they know we all have to be here early,” Cleo complained.

As the sun broke above the horizon, cars began to stream through the main gate, scattering across the backside towards various barns. The trainers were loud, raccous, and still feeling good. The nerves wouldn’t hit until Wednesday night or Thursday morning, but for Jon, they tackled his stomach whenever No Bias No Hate stepped onto the racetrack. The bay horse came off collected, quiet, and eager for his morning meal. He, for one, was unconcerned about the weekend.

**

Rubbing sleep and hangover out of her eyes, Lauren Haggerty climbed out of her car and stepped into the shedrow she shared with Tammy Fox and Peter Gleason. Her pleasant chestnut filly, Red White and Gold, nickered warmly from the first stall, her white striped face poking out from behind the blue and white webbing. Just a two-year-old, Red White and Gold was one of Lauren’s favorite horses in years. The friendly filly was not only a pleasure in the barn, but also a marvel on the racetrack, winning three of four lifetime starts.

“Good morning, baby,” Lauren cooed, stroking the filly’s muzzle before opening the webbing and slipping under the chain. She grabbed the chinstrap of the filly’s halter and tied her to the back wall, then collected a curry comb and brush and went to work on her golden coat.

“They have grooms for that,” Peter noted from the aisle, also late and looking slightly disheveled.

“Oh, I just have the one horse here, so I didn’t bother flying the groom out,” Lauren answered, perky and jubilant as always. “I might even gallop her myself!”

“Can’t a filly like that afford her help?” Peter commented, moving off down the aisle where his own pair of Juvenile Turf fillies, Pellerani and Sell Me Your Soul, were stabled.

Once Red White and Gold had donned her purple Steward’s Cup towel and Lauren’s dark leather bridle, the young trainer led her out into the aisle for a few laps. Tammy Fox’s end of the shedrow contained her pair of runners, both of whom remained asleep for a spin on the turf later. On the back side of the shed many stalls remained empty except for one directly in the middle. A pretty gray filly stood in the back, her head in the corner. Lauren didn’t see anyone around, so she cooed to the filly and coaxed her to the front of the stall. The filly’s halter plate read GAUCOMO, and although Lauren had heard the filly’s name, she couldn’t place which race or her connections.

After three rounds, Lauren asked Peter for a leg up and steered Red White and Gold through the doorway and out towards the track. Although the sky remained gray with morning, Lauren could tell it would be a bright blue, sunny day, possibly even warm. Horses were converging at the gaps, waiting to join the crowded racetrack as hordes of runners left the track following their exercise.

“I didn’t know you rode!” Jonathan Bolt declared from the trainer’s stand, where he was leaning with Stephen Skaggs. Both of them held stopwatches.

“I do!” Lauren answered cheerfully. She urged Red White and Gold through the gap and passed Franky Dam leading All I Want to Tell back to the barn. “Congratulations on the Steeplechase, Franky!” she shouted over to him. Low key and quiet as usual, Franky mumbled thanks and kept walking.

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