Daybreak in Seattle Part 1

Original article written by The Steward posted 13 years 3 weeks ago

Despite the dusting of raindrops, Pike Place Market bustled with its usual activity. The vendors stood sheltered by the protection of the overhangs above the sidewalk, calling and pitching their wares to passersby. One man, who held an ornate red and blue parrot on his forearm, tried to convince tourists to pay a dollar to get their photo taken with the bird. Frustrated drivers honked as people jaywalked from one side of the street to the other, and the salty air provided the only clue that the ocean lay two hundred yards beyond.

Moving like a blur amongst the consumers and visitors, Rob Kilbourn ducked from one building to the next, weaving his way towards a little bakery on the right hand side of the street. He wore a long navy raincoat that lacked a sufficient hood, so while his body remained warm and dry, drops trickled down behind his ears and drove him nearly mad. He couldn’t even reach up to brush them away, he was too busy clutching two paper-backed booklets to his chest, trying to shield them from the endless mist.

One, covered red and white, boasted a staggering 1,100 pages. The other, a squat, square shape of sickly green and yellow with a horribly clashing purple and gold emblem on the front, had only 40 pages. The smaller one kept threatening to slip out from under the big one, and so Rob clutched them tighter until he slipped inside the red door of the bakery.

He spotted his comrade immediately, a man with graying hair sipping from a steaming mug in the corner. He was bent over a collection of past performance sheets, Rob could tell, and it wasn’t until Rob cleared his throat that the man looked up and smiled.

“Mr. Kilbourn, how nice to see you,” the man said, standing to shake hands.

“Mr. Davenport,” Rob responded, nodding.

“Please, call me Lucas,” the man grinned. “Fine weather, don’t you think?”

“Nothing less from Seattle, of course,” Rob rolled his eyes, sitting down. He placed the Stud Book and the Seattle Downs Condition Book on the table. “I hear it might rain on the big day.”

“Indeed,” Lucas nodded, “but possibly not on Thursday. It could be sunny for day one.”

“Well, it’ still six days away, but that would be a nice break for Seattle Downs,” Rob shuffled his papers, opening the Stud Book. “I remember what happened when it was in New Jersey one year, it rained so bad on the first day that everyone called it a bust but it’s not as if the track controls the weather.”

“Let’s get down to business,” Lucas said with a wave of his hand. “I’ve come to offer you a hefty sum for Live It.”

Rob took that in and considered. “There are already 13 sons of Sic Transit Gloria at stud, and he hasn’t even reached the earnings marker.”

“I know, but he will,” Lucas shrugged. “It’s only a matter of time, he has a few more seasons on the track.”

They haggled over details for a few minutes, and then Rob sat back in the chair, shaking his head. “I just don’t know. Let me think about it?”

“Of course,” Lucas said, smiling kindly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see that Jamie is here.” Rob turned to follow Lucas’ gaze; Jamie Newton had just stepped into the bakery, wearing a cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. Lucas allowed a sly grin and held up a sheet of paper. “You should see the list I have for him!”
--

Kevin Hern stretched out on the expensive cream-colored couch, propping his white-socked feet against the overstuffed arm rest and lifting his hands to rest over his head. He closed his eyes and was nearly gone before the distinctive smell of warm cookies in the kitchen wafted over him and jarred him back to a pleasant reality.

“Whatcha makin?” he called, expecting to hear his wife’s lighthearted voice in response.

“She’s making grown men weep!” a familiar male voice replied, and Kevin bolted upright, leapt off the couch, and hurried into the kitchen, slipping on the sleek wood flooring as he went.

He careened around the corner, gripping the doorframe, and at first glance the room appeared normal. His beautiful blonde wife was hovering over the oven in a pink and white flowered apron, pulling tray after tray of cookies out and replacing them with new ones. The counters were dusted with flour and the sink contained used measuring cups and a mixing bowl, but the floor was neatly swept and the lights overhead blazed cheerfully.

But at their quaint four-seat table, three men were devouring Kevin’s cookies.

“Kevin!” Scott Eiland roared, leaping out of the chair and tackle-hugging his friend.

“Oh, my God, get off,” Kevin grunted as he was rocked backwards. Scott released him and peered, grinning, into his face.

“I haven’t seen you since, what, Derby? It’s been too long, man.” Scott turned and waved at the table. “Hope you don’t mind, but I invited Norman and Art, too.”

“To… eat my cookies?” Kevin asked, momentarily confused.

“No way, to stay here!” Art Vandelay crowed, his youthful face shining.

Kevin blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Cheers, mate,” Norman Architecture lifted his glass of milk, and then promptly dunked another cookie into it.

“I don’t see why they can’t stay, Kev,” his wife said, moving to pat him sympathetically on the arm. “We have a nice big house.”

“We didn’t a few years ago!” Kevin sputtered. “They wouldn’t have been able to do this before.”

“Thank you, Caesar!” Scott crowed, lifting his glass towards the oil painting of Caesar Augustus’ Steward’s Cup Turf triumph hanging over the fireplace against the Eastern wall of the room.

Kevin finally relented and grinned. He picked up a cookie and also raised it in the direction of the vivid work of art. “Thanks, Caesar!” he echoed.

“I remember that day,” Norman said, frowning. “How did a brand new youngster like you manage to win one of the biggest races in the world? With a horse you bred yourself, no less?”

“I’m just that good,” Kevin answered, before the doorbell interrupted his comeback. He frowned and made his way to the white entrance way.

Paul Heinrich and Tim Matthews, Jr. stood on the threshold, gripping suitcases and looking mildly sheepish. “Good day!” Paul chirped with enthusiasm. “Uh, we heard you had a few rooms available for this week?”

Before Kevin could protest, Tim yelled, “COOKIES!” and bounded past him. “Sure, Paul, come on in. The more the merrier?”

--

“Excuse me, can you tell me what barn I’m in?” Andy Gol asked, stepping up to the counter in the racing office.

The young blonde woman sitting on the stool frowned across at him, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. “And who are you?”

“Andy Gol?” he said his name as a question, confused. “I just shipped in, my three horses are on the van at the stable gate still.”

“Mmm,” she murmured noncommittally, typing away at the computer. “Are you sure?”

“Sure that my horses are outside? Yes, unless someone has injured the driver and made off with the truck since I’ve been waiting in line here,” Andy responded, still feeling more baffled than angry.

“Are you sure you have horses eligible for the Steward’s Cup,” she answered in a clipped tone, eyeing him even more. “I’ve never heard of you, myself.”

Andy felt something inside of him snap, and for an instant he wanted to bark at her. He struggled for his resolve, dragged it to the surface, then continued in a quiet tone. “Maybe if you try looking up one of the horse’s names, you will be able to find their stall assignments. Try I’m a Celebrity, or Bluebells?”

The blonde worked over the computer for an instant, then hit print and handed him an Excel sheet with stall assignments. “Barn 11, the furthest one from the gap. Go all the way to the end.” She then turned her back and walked away.

“Good going, mate,” a thin young man said, startling Andy and causing him to jump. He hadn’t noticed Peter Gleason leaning against the other side of the counter, paging through the condition book. “I thought you were going to rip her face off, and you just stayed cool.”

“I’ll let my horses do the talking,” Andy smiled. “And besides, she’s right. Who am I? Just some upstart trainer with three horses in the Steward’s Cup!”

--

Laura Cameron stood just inside the shedrow entrance of Barn 11 and frowned with her hands on her hips. True to their word, the vanning companies had delivered all the various tack trunks to the barn, but hadn’t placed them in front of their assigned stalls and the grooms were nowhere in sight. She wasn’t keen on opening up ten plain black tack trunks to find hers, but she started to proceed anyway.

“That one is mine!” snapped a voice, and Laura jumped back as if she’d touched a hot burner. “Just teasing,” the voice said; it belonged to Happy Trails. “They sure made this a cluster.”

“I don’t even know how to tell which one is mine, it didn’t occur to me to put the barn name on it,” Laura confessed.

“I wish we could afford to have the fancy trunks all decked out in our colors,” Happy agreed, “but until we win a few more races, this will have to do.”

A horse van rumbled around the corner and backed into the loading dock. They continued to talk over the noise. “Who else is in this barn? Are they around?” Laura asked, standing and shading her eyes to see.

“I don’t think so, it’s almost 1 in the afternoon. Maybe in a few hours it will get busier?”

They started peering into the tack trunks, and immediately Laura discovered that the first one belonged to Amy Atkins. “Is this the all-girl party barn?” she joked.

“No, because this one is James Jerowski’s,” Happy replied, holding up a purple and white LAND OF THE GODS saddle towel. “Hey, I just found yours!”

Laura hurried over, grasped the handle, and started to haul it down the shedrow to the stall that would serve as her office, tack room, and possibly on race night, sleeping quarters. When she returned, Happy had discovered hers and was making the same effort.

Eight tack trunks remained outside the entryway, and Laura realized what they should do. When Happy returned, the two women picked up James’ trunk and carried it down the aisle to where the stunning dark gray Land of the Gods stood with his head raised over the webbing. They moved Amy’s, and placed Regina Moore’s and Matt Woolfolk’s as well. Andy Gol, who had just moved in on the other side of the barn, helped them place the stalls of Robert Mertz, Lee Cara, Mary Whalen and Tammy Fox.

“You guys want to go to lunch?” Happy asked, dusting off her hands.

“You bet!” Laura grinned, “let me get my rain coat. It looks like it’s going to start up again soon!”

---

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