Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories (19 page)

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Authors: Alisa Surkis

BOOK: Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories
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The sword swallower started in surprise, and tossing his sword aside, he leaped off the stage and gathered his niece in a warm embrace. Johnny Apple caught the sword and balanced it on his nose, as the crowd applauded both the heartwarming reunion and the talented horse.
“Can this be my little Lena?” cried Uncle Shmuel, gazing at his niece.
“This . . . this has been your fate?” Lena exclaimed wonderingly, looking around the gay boardwalk. She had pictured something much worse. Lena bubbled over with questions. “Why did you leave our family? How did you come to be here?”
“Ah, my Lenalinke, still with a thousand questions.” Uncle Shmuel laughed gaily. “How sad I was to leave you, but my father could not understand that I did not wish to be a rabbi, I wished only to entertain the common people.” A distant sadness passed like a cloud through Uncle Shmuel's eyes. “When he found out that I had apprenticed myself to a sword swallower, he cast me out of my home, and cautioned me never to return.”
“My troubles, Uncle, are perhaps not so different from yours,” Lena explained. “My father could never understand that all I wanted was to study the Talmud, and be with my friends Johnny Apple and Lily.”
“And is this your Lily?” Uncle Shmuel asked.
Lily was standing a few feet away, politely letting the uncle and niece become reacquainted, while she gulped down her red hot.
“Yes,” Lena said proudly, “this is my Lily.”
“Ahhh, what a
shayna maidel.
You have chosen well, my niece,” said Uncle Shmuel as he looked kindly at the pretty blond girl.
“Ang oo,” said Lily, her mouth still full of the red hot.
“And this is Johnny Apple.” Lena pointed to the horse, still balancing the sword. Again Uncle Shmuel started in surprise.
“Why, this is Herschel the Wonder Horse!” he cried. “The most talented horse in the world! We were on the same bill in Odessa. How often I have wondered what became of him!”
“He is ours now,” said Lena, “but I do not know how I will provide the oats he needs, or these red hots for Lily.” She looked worriedly at Lily, who was licking her fingers.
Uncle Shmuel clapped his hands decisively. “Worry no longer, little one! Herschel—that is, Johnny Apple—will have a part in my act! Why, with his talents, I can double my money! And perhaps this little maid might sell these red hots, of which she is clearly so fond.”
“God bless America!” cried a rapturous Lily.
Uncle Shmuel then turned to Lena. “And you, my dear, you shall study the Talmud and earn money too! Here in Coney Island, the visitors like to look at the babies in their incubators. Why should they not also pay to see a young girl studying the Talmud?”
Lena grew concerned. “But would it not be wrong to use the Talmud in this way for earthly gain?” She was surprised when the response to her question came not from Shmuel or Johnny, but from Lily.
“But did not the great Rabbi Gamaliel say, ‘Comely is study of Torah with worldly occupation, for toil in both makes sins forgotten'?”
Shmuel and Lena stared in amazement at the blond girl, who offered, “Johnny Apple has been teaching me as well.”
“So he has.” Uncle Shmuel laughed. “So he has. But enough talk of work—for your first night in Coney Island, we must celebrate!” And so saying, he paid the four entrance fees and led the three friends through the gates of Dreamland.
L
ADY
S
NOW
J
ulie Creighton stood in the corner of the sunken living room, holding her Shirley Temple and looking out the window as if she were fascinated by the view of Palm Beach. In reality it was too dark to see anything more than her own reflection—an average-looking girl with brown feathered hair and anxious eyes.
Nervously she smoothed her new Jordache blue jeans, hoping no one would guess how out of place she felt. They'd looked great in the motel room, but she stood out like a sore thumb in the snowstorm of white Guess jeans everyone else was wearing. She just didn't belong in this fancy, ocean-front condo. She didn't belong at this party. Why had she come?
Julie bit her lip and her reflection did too. They both knew why she'd come—she'd come for Brittany.
Brittany was the top rider on the show jumping circuit and had been for years. Sure, there'd been rivals from time to time, riders that looked as if they might unseat Brittany from her throne, but they never seemed to have her staying power. They might start strong, but by the end of the season they always fell apart, making stupid mistakes while Brittany maintained her calm perfection. Pressure never bothered Brittany. She was the girl who had everything—wealth, talent, beauty—and winning was in her blood.
This was Brittany's party, to celebrate the opening of the Citrus Classic, the final show of the Florida circuit. Julie had never ridden the winter circuit before, having only graduated from high school the previous June, but even so she'd heard about the notoriously lavish parties that Brittany threw at her cousin Blaine's condo, where she stayed every winter.
Julie glanced covertly around the room. No Brittany so far, but everyone else who was anyone in show jumping was there. Owners, trainers, riders, and even track officials mingled on the deep-pile carpet. There were the de Cuysters and their new trainer Lance; there was Jillian, who used to ride for that Virginia couple, but now rode for the Lilienthalers. And there was Ashley Morgan at the bar, talking to a trainer and looking like a pale imitation of Brittany.
Last season Ashley and Brittany had been inseparable. It had been Ashley and Brittany having drinks at the Hunt Club, Ashley and Brittany arriving at the shows in Brittany's Porsche, Ashley and Brittany sharing a condo in New York. The word had been that it was going to be a breakout year for Ashley and her horse, Stardust. But though they'd started the season with a string of victories, by the time the Grand Prix rolled around, Ashley appeared pallid and jumpy and Stardust looked even worse. They hadn't even placed.
Julie turned to peer at the group of people by the fireplace. No Brittany there either, but wait—was that Caro Carmichael, sitting and staring at the flames? Yes, it must be her, because there was a set of crutches leaning against her chair. Two years ago she'd seemed a sure thing to beat Brittany—until that terrible accident. Julie shivered a little, remembering, and turned back to the window.
Now there was serious talk that Julie might be the one to end Brittany's Grand Prix winning streak—her, Julie Creighton! She stared at her reflection. Was this really the girl who would beat Brittany Fairchild? This ordinary girl with average looks and no money, just an honest determination to do the best with what she had? And what she had was her horse, Lady Snow. Julie smiled just thinking of her. And then there were the years of training she'd gotten from Liz Halstead—one of the best riders around and Julie's best friend. That is, Liz
had
been her best friend—before The Incident.
Julie shuddered. Her reflection shuddered too. Neither of them wanted to think about that again. Instead, she thought about Brittany. The way she'd suddenly appeared at the stall door that afternoon, while Julie was grooming Lady Snow. Julie had never been so close to Brittany before, close enough to see how blue her eyes were and how even her tan was, close enough to smell the mixture of hay and Opium that clung to her. Julie had stood there, staring at her idol in wonderment.
And Brittany had smiled, a dazzling, perfect smile. “Julie. Party at Blaine's tonight. Be there.” That was all Brittany said. That was all she needed to say.
Suddenly, cries of “Hi, Brittany!” “Brittany, hey, where have you been?” brought Julie back to the present. She turned around. Her reflection turned around too, but she wasn't watching it anymore. Because Brittany was standing in the doorway, surveying the party with a small smile on her lips. The lights picked up the gold in her hair, which fell in smooth waves on her cream-colored cashmere cowl-neck sweater. She wasn't wearing Guess jeans. Instead she wore wide-wale cords in a vivid shade of pink. In a week, everyone else would be wearing them too.
Her eyes met Julie's, and she came straight to her, ignoring the partiers who tried to catch her attention. Without asking permission, she picked up Julie's drink and took a sip. That was Brittany. Taking what she wanted. And no one ever minded, because she was Brittany. Her eyes sparkled at Julie over the rim of the glass. “Where'd you get this, the kiddie table?” She laughed, a silvery laugh. “Let's get you a real drink.”
Julie followed Brittany toward the teak wet bar in the corner, a little uncertain. The truth was, she hadn't ever
had
a real drink. And she was thinking about what Liz had said to her, the morning she'd left for Florida. She'd been loading Lady Snow into the trailer when Liz had appeared. They'd been avoiding each other for weeks, and Julie's heart had jumped with hope when she saw Liz walking toward her. But Liz had only come to deliver a brusque warning: “Stay away from alcohol and drugs and from . . . from the people who use them. They can make you do things—things you thought you would never do.”
Brittany looked up from the drink she was mixing, and smiled. “I'm going to make you my favorite drink, okay?”
“Okay,” said Julie. Liz's warning seemed silly. How could a drink make her do something she didn't want to? And it had hurt—the
only
time Liz had spoken to her since The Incident and it was just to give her the same old sermon Julie had been hearing since sixth grade! Well, Julie decided, she was sick of Liz and all her preaching—after all, Julie was eighteen now, an adult, whether Liz realized it or not!
Brittany handed Julie a glass filled with a clear liquid, a little sliver of lime perched precariously on its edge. Julie sipped tentatively. She had tried beer once and hadn't liked it. But this—this didn't taste too bad at all. She took a bigger sip, smiling at Brittany. Brittany laughed her silvery laugh again. “Looks like gin and tonic is your drink!” she said with pleasure. She raised her glass. “Here's to those blue ribbons you've been winning!”
Julie felt a warm glow spread through her. Brittany was so nice! Not that Julie was surprised—Brittany never let rivalry get in the way of friendship. Actually, many of her top competitors were also close friends. No one was sorrier than Brittany when they fell apart.
Then Ashley pushed through the crowd. “Brittany! Where have you been?” she complained, ignoring Julie completely. “This party is dead, but
dead
.”
Julie's glow evaporated as she watched Ashley preening before Brittany. Sure, Ashley hadn't even placed in the top ten this season, but she still made Julie insecure. Like Brittany, she had money, and the kind of clothes and hair that came with it. She fit in.
Brittany paused for a moment, and looked Ashley up and down. “Dead? Yes, Blaine did invite a few too many corpses. Now if you'll excuse me, I want to introduce Julie around.” She slipped her arm around Julie and led her away, while Ashley's face went slack with shock.
Julie relaxed into Brittany's tan, toned arm and took another gulp of her drink. Somehow, with an alcoholic beverage in one hand and Brittany's arm around her it was easier to talk and laugh with these people in their white Guess jeans. Her earlier shyness seemed like a distant memory as Julie told a rapt audience about the first time she rode Lady Snow.
“I was fourteen years old,” she said, her eyes dreamy. “And one day I showed up at Hunterdon for a lesson and I see this beautiful gray Trakehner in one of the stalls. I couldn't believe it when Liz told me that she was mine!” Julie stopped herself before she blurted out that she had never imagined that her dad, a baker in Jersey City, would be able to scrape together enough money to buy her a horse—that was a part of the story she knew no one in this crowd would understand.
One of the trainers asked, “Liz Halstead? I forgot she was still at Hunterdon. You remember Liz, don't you, Brittany?”
“Vaguely,” said Brittany. Julie recalled that Liz had been one of Brittany's early rivals. But she'd dropped out of competition just before the Grand Prix. Julie had always wondered why.
“Go on, Julie, tell us more about Lady Snow,” Brittany urged her, handing her a fresh drink.
“Anyways,” Julie continued, slurring her words a little, “I just knew—the first time I rode Lady Snow, and I felt those muscles, and how responsive she was, you know? Like she knew what I was
thinking
before I
thought
it.”
“She's sure some horse,” the trainer commented. “And she's really hitting top form at the right time. What is it? Less than a month now until the Grand Prix?”
“She seems decent enough,” said Ashley, who had joined the group midway through Julie's story. “But you don't actually expect to ride a Trakehner in the Grand Prix, do you?” She added smugly, “Father bought me a Hanoverian.”
Julie was crushed. She didn't have the right pants for this crowd, and she didn't have the right horse. She looked at the glass in her hand. It was empty again. If she could just have another gin and tonic, she knew she would feel better.
And then Brittany was there, with a gin and tonic in one hand, and a small cigarette in the other. A cigarette with a sweetish scent. A joint. Julie took the drink but hesitated a moment when Brittany offered her the joint. Then she saw Ashley looking at the joint, her eyes glittering with hunger. Julie took the joint. For once, someone else would be on the outside looking in.
At first Julie thought the marijuana had left her unaffected, but then she began to notice things. The pleasant haze that seemed to cover everything, the insistent beat of the music. It was as if Julie had never really
heard
the Pet Shop Boys before. The joint was passed around the circle before Ashley got hold of it. There was a comical desperation to the way Ashley drew in on the remains of the joint and Julie found herself laughing. She looked around, embarrassed, but everyone was laughing right along with her. Julie finally fit in.
“Come on, Julie, dance with me!” Brittany commanded suddenly, pulling Julie to her. As Julie started to dance, the memory she'd been trying to push away for weeks came flooding over her as intensely as if she were reliving it—reliving The Incident.
She was back in the tack room at Hunterdon, listening to an old Carpenters song, and Liz was swaying to the plaintive music. As if for a joke, Julie had started to dance with her—had put her hands on Liz's firm hips—then around her waist—and Liz had let her. But suddenly it had all turned sour. Julie, giving in to years of longing, tried to pull Liz closer, tried to sneak a knee in between Liz's sturdy thighs. Liz had pushed her away, glaring, practically frothing with shock and anger. “I can't—you're not—you don't know what you're doing. Just get away from me, kid!”
Julie's cheeks grew hot just thinking about it. The rejection had hurt, and now Liz was barely speaking to her except for that blah blah about drugs. But it wasn't the Carpenters playing now, it was Bruce Springsteen crooning on the stereo, and this wasn't Liz, it was Brittany.
Julie found herself swaying to Brittany's seductive rhythm. Brittany looked at her through half-closed eyes, and placed light hands on Julie's hips. Trembling inside, Julie clasped her hands behind Brittany's neck. She'd made a mistake with Liz, but this was no mistake because Brittany only smiled, and pulled her closer. Then suddenly, the music stopped. They both turned to see what had happened. Blaine was there, taking the record off the turntable.
“This blue-collar stuff is getting me down,” he complained. “This party needs some livening
up!
”
“Blaine!” Brittany let go of Julie and hurried over to Blaine, while Julie stood there, feeling suddenly empty. Brittany kissed Blaine and they stood talking and laughing. Julie couldn't help remembering the rumors she'd heard—that Brittany and Blaine were more than first cousins. Julie didn't believe them. People just made stuff up because Brittany stayed with him in the Florida condo, and sometimes they shared a hotel room.
Julie decided she'd get another gin and tonic while Brittany and Blaine talked. She wanted to keep this good feeling going. At the bar, she caught the scent of marijuana and realized the group next to her was passing around a joint. Yes, more pot—that would help too. Julie inhaled the sweet smoke as the sounds of Boy George filtered through the room.
“Julie! There you are!” Julie turned, drink in one hand, joint in the other, as Brittany reappeared at her side. There was a feverish glitter in Brittany's eyes and she had Blaine in tow.

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