Daybreak on Long Island - Part 4

Original article written by The Steward posted 13 years 4 weeks ago

At 10:00 am, the Owner and Trainer Brunch began in the Priceless Forever Room on the fourth floor. The Post Position Draw was being held at the front of the room, with racing officials pulling the pills and calling out numbers.

“If I may have your attention please,” the Racing Secretary said into the microphone on the podium at the front. “272 horses were entered for the Steward’s Cup…”

Standing to his right, Emily Shields had just taken a sip of sparkling cider. Upon hearing the final number, she choked hard and spit the drink back out. The audience snickered. “First we will draw the Turf Sprint, 12 horses were entered in the Turf Sprint…” the official started to drone, and only those with runners in the race paid attention. Stormy Peak groaned upon drawing the second to outside post with her beloved gray, Storm the Blockade.

“It’s okay,” Kimberly Jean assured her, “your horse is a deep closer. He’ll love being outside!” A few minutes later, however, it was Kimberly’s turn to fuss when her filly Drastic Fantastic drew post-position two in a 14-horse field.

Emily Mitchell hung around the fruit table, hunting for peaches. She wore a blue, green and white baseball cap that read CAUSE TO BURN across the forehead and her hair – dark auburn at the moment – was pulled back into a pony tail.

“Cause to Burn, eh?” Brandon McClellan asked. Emily looked confused, and Brandon nodded at her hat. “He has pretty good breeding, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Emily said, smirking. “He’s by Sun Raider and out of a sister to Wonder.”

“Hot,” Brandon agreed, but was interrupted by his cell phone chiming. He glanced at the Caller-ID and smiled. “It’s Janena,” he said, holding the phone up so that Emily could read the display flashing JANENA OLSON. “We’re going to work out a stud deal with Battlenote.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Emily said, stepping away. She headed in the direction of her table, hoping she could order a peach.

Drunken Skunk and Mike Smith hovered near the windows, but they weren’t gazing at the sweeping beauty of Long Island Park. Instead, they were locked in a battle of, “No! Santa Claus horse is better!” “No, Mad Cat is better!”

Jonathan Bolt was holding court in the Eastern corner of the room. He had three Steward’s Cup entrants, with one, Adjust the Sound, in the first race. He had to wait until Race 14 for the draw of his next race, the Dirt Mile with defending champion Lokite Officer.

Above his head was an enormous portrait of Priceless Forever, the first Triple Crown winner. The other three – Tremendous, Jet Ski, and Awake As I Am, decorated the lower portion of the vivid painting. Jonathan was oblivious to it, as he talked with Amanda O’Brien about bloodlines. Matthew McMahon – sporting a SLEEPY baseball cap – and Katy Turner were listening in, interjecting ideals about stretching out sprinters to be milers.

“I’ve had a lot of success breeding those mares that prefer seven furlongs to milers,” Katy explained.

“Well, Adjust the Sound’s only try at seven furlongs yielded a win by almost eight lengths,” Jonathan said. “With that in mind, do you think he’ll cross with miler mares?”

“What about when a sprinter starts slowing down?” Amanda asked. “Should you just breed them at 3 to avoid that?”

“Not all sprinters slow down that early, though…” Matthew started.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” the racing official said into the microphone, “we just wanted to make sure you all knew you were invited to the Cup Connections party tomorrow night at the Garden City Hotel. It starts at…”

“WOOO! PARTY!” someone shouted.

A hundred heads turned in the direction of the offender. Sitting meekly in the center of the room was Amelia Smith, who turned a bright shade of red. “Sorry,” she squeaked quietly, “I just got excited.”

Jon Smythe burst out laughing, and Charles Bunbury followed suit. Soon the whole room was snorting and cackling, and finally Amelia joined in. Jon Smythe stood up and clapped her kindly on the shoulder. “That…was…hilarious…” he said between gasps of laughter.

“… 8:00 pm,” the official finished once everyone had calmed down.

The brunch and post-position draw resumed, with the happy trainers talking loudly over the announcements from the pill draw.

In the Northern corner, Eric Nalbone and Laura Ferguson sat together, their heads bent over a stack of papers. Some of the newer trainers watched them enviously from a nearby table, toying with their food.

“What do you think they are talking about?” Sasha Heald asked, looking hopefully in the direction of the two power trainers, as if silently hoping that one of them would look up, see her, smile, and give her a stakes winner.

“They’re probably coming up with a plan for world domination,” Randy Booth said, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice.

“Maybe not,” Rachel Sadler said hopefully. “Maybe they are working on a mare lease or something simple.”

As they watched, Laura and Eric grew more animated in their dealing. Eric frowned several times, but finally nodded and shook Laura’s hand. Laura gathered her papers and strode off towards the eggs, sausage, and bacon, looking distinctly pleased. Eric sat back down and whipped out his BlackBerry.

“I think Laura won that round,” Sasha observed.

Rachel shook her head. “Knowing Eric, he let Laura think she got the better end of the deal, but in reality, twenty years from now, he’ll have gotten the better end of this moment.”

“Who wants more pancakes?” Randy asked, standing and picking up his plate.

Across the room, trainers were gathering their belongings and heading for their hotels.

“Hey, guys,” Rose Hepburn said cheerfully, approaching the table where Keith Maidlow, Rachel Bromen and Regina Moore were bidding each other farewell.

“Hey, Rose,” Keith smiled kindly. “What do you have there?”

“I got back some of my new artsy photos, want to see?” Rose offered the red and white package across the table.

“I do!” Regina took the packet and opened it. She pulled out the prints and began studying them while the other two pressed in beside her.

“Wow, Rose, this one with the gray is really good,” Rachel held up a 4 x 6 photo of a gray filly grazing. The background was nothing but seamless blue sky.

“That’s Heart,” Rose gushed. “She’s running on Friday.”

“You’re quite artistic,” Keith praised her.

“Thanks, I just wanted to show someone,” Rose accepted her photos back. “I really love my filly!”

Regina leaned across some chairs to give Rose a hug and a smile. “Don’t we all?”

--

“So, did you do it?” John Slotman asked on Wednesday morning, steering his pony over towards Larry Burndorf seated on an oversized Paint.

“… Do what?” Larry asked, frowning.

“You know,” John grinned, “sabotage?”

Larry stared at him blankly. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

John slapped Larry on the back, causing the Paint to skitter forward nervously. “Well, congrats, man. I’ve got to go pickup one of mine from the chute.” He rode off.

Larry rode in stunned silence for a minute until he reached Scott Pho leaning up against the rail. “How’d you do it?” Scott called, grinning. “I wish I’d thought of that!”

Larry hauled back on his stable pony’s face. The pony stopped obediently and shifted his weight to three legs. “Can you tell me what everyone is talking about?” he asked.

Scott laughed. “Come on, man! The hoof pick?”

“What hoof pick?” Larry asked, still in the dark.

“The one you stole from Emma Lochran’s tack trunk,” Scott stated as if this were obvious.

“Why would I take her hoof pick?” Larry asked. “I’m sure my guys each have their own.”

“Because you don’t want to run against her, obviously,” Scott laughed again. “Whatever you say, though!”

Larry couldn’t quite comprehend the accusation, so he asked his pony for a quarter turn and watched Kentucky Value motor down the stretch, reaching strongly for the wire.

--

“I never thought I would hate a horse,” Steph Lonhro said matter-of-factly. She was standing outside of Eastward Bound’s stall, holding the bay filly’s head in between her hands.

Eastward Bound flicked one ear forward, then back, then bumped Steph affectionately in the chest.

“That’s even worse!” Steph declared out loud. “Please don’t be nice to me! I don’t care if you’re a stakes winner, I just don’t like you!”

“Is someone talking about me?” Ara Davies asked, appearing in the shedrow wearing a hip-length teal blouse and dark flared slacks. She sported low white heels and a long gold and pearl studded chain around her neck.

“I was just telling Eastward to not beat Helen in the Steward’s Cup,” Steph explained, nodding over to the stall across the aisle where Helen Keller was dozing in the corner, her head, ears, and lip drooping.

“I hate that,” Ara nodded agreeably. “I don’t like running my horses against each other in case the stupid horse wins.”

Steph giggled and then pointed at Ara’s flashy outfit, clearly unfit for the barn area in the morning. “What are you all dressed up for?”

Ara straightened up, showing off her attire. “I’m going to be interviewed live in an hour on LBTV. I’m supposed to discuss the pros and cons of training older horses. Obviously, the pros are that it is awesome and there are no cons.”

“Obviously,” Steph agreed. “Good luck with that!”

--

Ricky Bobby hesitated outside of the shed row, wringing her hands together nervously. She wasn’t in the habit of randomly entering other people’s barns, but this was important.

She checked the shedrow to make sure no horses were coming. It was quiet; training had finished two hours before and most of the horsemen were at lunch or back at their hotels. The office door wasn’t locked, so Ricky let herself in.

The desk was tidy, the shelves nearly empty save for a few bottles of fly spray and a canister of hoof polish. Ricky reached into her pocket and pulled out a blue hoof pick wrapped in a red ribbon. Attached to the ribbon was a small white card reading, “Hope you catch the thief soon! Love, Ricky Bobby, Nora Jean, and Lee Kay Shipyard.”

Ricky set it on the desk just right and carefully closed the office door behind her. Hopefully, the thief wouldn’t strike twice.

---

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