Maybe Baby Lite (12 page)

“
Yes!” I screamed, hugging
Andy as he spun me around. Jezebel would race one spot in from far
outside, ideal for this horse.

“
Tylar?” someone called
out behind me.

Holy horse
shit!

I was afraid to turn until
he repeated my name. It was Clint's voice and he sounded
pissed.

“
Hey, Clint,” I said going
over to him and giving him a hug.

“
What the hell are you
doing?” he asked, his voice now having more than just an edge to
it.

Christ! A junior version
of Trey here!

I stated the obvious,
“Riding Jezebel in the fourth.”

“
Are you nuts?” he yelled
at me. “Do you know how much
more
trouble I'll be in with
him
if I allow you to do
this?”

Did he say allow?
Allow?
Oh, hell no.

“
First of all
Clint,
you
don’t
have the responsibility for deciding what I'm allowed to do or what
I'm not allowed to do, got it? Secondly,” I continued on a roll,
“
He
doesn’t have
responsibility for deciding what I'm allowed to do, or what I'm not
allowed to do on my own personal time!”

Clint was fuming. At any
moment I fully expected smoke to curl out of his ears, they were
beet red. Andy had walked away from our argument and for that I was
grateful.

“
He sure as hell does if
you’re riding a Sinclair horse!” He was furious. People were
starting to look over at us. Andy seemed unperturbed from the
distance. I tried another approach.

“
Clint, look,” I said
quietly to him, “nobody has to know that you saw me, right? And
hey, they have me listed under a different variation of my name, so
it'll be easy enough to say that you didn’t recognize it on the
roster if you have to right?"

Clint pulled a program
from his back pocket. He skimmed down through it, and then looked
back up. “Jockey: T.J. Preston?”

I smiled proudly. “I know,
right? Tylar Jamie Preston, T.J. for short.”

“
Oh yeah, I see what you
mean Tylar. That'll throw somebody off for, gee, like a full
10 seconds
?” He was
quickly becoming more exasperated with me. Trey must’ve really made
his life miserable this past week. It was clear that I wasn't going
to win Clint over.

“
Do what you have to do
Clint; I guess our friendship means very little to you. Besides
that, Trey’s out of town so there's really nothing you can do about
it anyway.”

I turned my back to him
and walked back over to help Andy finish cinching up the outer
girth on Jezebel. When we finished I turned back around, relieved
that Clint was nowhere in sight.

I loved the pageantry of
horse racing as much as anything else. I loved jockeying. It had
always been a part of my life, starting as far back as junior high
school. I was fortunate that during my years in college I'd been
afforded opportunities to ride and train in racing and
dressage.

The announcer’s voice
boomed over the loudspeaker, introducing the horses, their owner,
trainer, and jockey in that order. Socrates was scheduled in this
race in the number four post position. The bugle sounded the
familiar chords in three successions.

“
And the horses are
entering the track for this evening’s featured first race in the
Annual Kick-off Stakes Amateur Challenge here at the beautiful Le
Vie Belle Race Track!’

I saw Socrates wearing the
Sinclair Stables signature purple and gold colors, jockey astride
in matching silks. Clint rode the escort horse, Trafalgar, as was
customary for the trainer as the horses were introduced onto the
track.

“
In the number four
position, we have Socrates, owned by Sinclair Stables, trained by
Clint Cavanaugh, piloted by Luis Cappezio.”

I looked over at Clint. He
was busy trying to get Socrates maneuvered into step using
Trafalgar. Socrates was skittish and not handling the reigning
well. Nine horses took their places at the gate. Clint and Luis
were struggling getting Socrates into his post position inside the
gate. That was never a good sign.

Once all of the horses
were secured in their post positions, the trainers left the track
on the escort horses. After a few minutes, the buzzer rang out and
the gates opened with the loud pounding of quarter horse hooves
sprinting onto the turf track. There was so much advance
preparation for a race that lasted less than a half-minute with any
luck.

The announcer had to have
the ability to talk faster than an auctioneer, which was no easy
task with some of the names given these horses. There were a lot of
bets being placed at the windows. This was a fairly lucrative
business for the owners.

Socrates came in second;
no shame there. A horse from Alexandria, Virginia took the purse,
clocking at 32 seconds.

There was a 10-minute
break between each race, giving people time to place their bets.
Clint would be busy for a little while, getting Socrates back to
the paddock and rubbing him down. Maybe luck would hold out and he
wouldn’t come back out before my race.

The third race finished.
Andy and I checked and rechecked the saddle and girths to make sure
everything was tight and secure. Jezebel was calmer than either of
us, it seemed.

“
Good Luck, T.J.,” Andy
teased me. “Don't get overly concerned if she’s not first out of
the gate, she works into her stride in about eight or nine seconds
when she’s on the outside post.”

“
I know, I got it,” I
laughed, “I watched her race DVD, remember?” He was making me more
nervous with his fussing.

“
Oh, the horse to beat
is Lucky Lulu; she’s number three on the inside.”

The announcer started the
introductions for the fourth featured race in the series for this
evening. I lowered my goggles as we were being announced onto the
track. Andy rode his buckskin horse, Jubilee, escorting Jezebel and
me onto the turf.

“
Jezebel is number eight
out of the nine horses competing in the fourth leg of tonight’s
Amateur Kick-off Stakes Challenge. She races for Sinclair Stables,
trained by Andy Graham, and in the irons, T.J. Preston.”

We had no problem getting
Jezebel into her post position. Once the last horse was in, there
was a minute’s pause before the buzzer sounded and the gate lifted.
True to Andy’s prediction, Jezebel wasn't quick to break out of the
gate. I decided to do what I was trained to do and let the
announcer play it back to me.

“
And runners away in the
challenge!” I heard him yell into the microphone, echoing across
the track. “Lucky Lulu broke well on the inside; Cosmos is quickly
out in the middle of the pack. Here comes Jezebel well into stride
from the outside! Now just to the inside, it’s Lucky Lulu; Jezebel
is gaining on the outside! Now it’s Lucky Lulu! Cosmos drops to the
back. It’s Jezebel and Lucky Lulu nose to nose! And it is…Jezebel
across the finish! Jezebel has won the Kick-off Stakes Amateur
Challenge in race number four!”

Oh my god! We did it! We
did it, Jezebel!

The best part was a chance
to earn another $15,000 in the bonus race. I checked Jezebel’s
clocked time: 29 seconds, the fastest so far. Andy ran over to me
and lifted me off of Jezebel, twirling me around in a
circle.

“
You did it
T.J.!”

“
We all did it, Andy!
Thank you so much for taking a chance on me!”

“
You're a natural for
this. Jezebel knows it too.” He slapped me lightly on the back a
couple of times as we led Jezebel back to the paddock. I was
thrilled! I wanted Trey to be proud of me. Jezebel was the first
winner’s purse taken by a Sinclair horse so far this evening. There
were only four more races to go.

“
I’ll see you back here in
about an hour okay, Andy? I have a few things to take care of in
the meantime.”

“
Sure thing,” he answered.
“Take a break and get psyched for the next one, hear?”

I went to the locker room
and pulled my gear off placing it in my locker. Trey would be back
tomorrow and I could hardly wait to tell him how well I raced this
evening. Part of me secretly hoped that none of the other
Sinclair-sponsored horses took a purse tonight, but that was kind
of selfish, not to mention unsportsmanlike, so I chastised myself
for thinking like that.

Bringing my focus back to
reality, I pulled out my phone and noticed I had a text message and
several missed calls. It had been on vibrate for most of the day. I
stared at the screen. It was Trey. I was afraid to read the text. I
realized now that Clint had probably been in touch with him,
telling him that I’d planned to race Jezebel. I gathered courage
and opened the text message:

What in the hell do u
think u r doing?? I'll deal w/u as soon as I get back!

Trey had clearly found out
about tonight’s races. No mystery there.

Thank. You.
Clint!

I was pissed; Clint had
turned me in. Andy was pacing when I returned to the paddock. For a
moment I worried that he'd received orders from “mission control”
to strike me from the race. “Where have you been?” he asked,
panicked. “I was scared you had slipped out on me!”

I felt relieved. He simply
was succumbing to pre-race jitters. He knew nothing of Trey’s
displeasure with the jockey.

“
I wouldn’t do that,” I
replied. “What did I miss?”

“
Two of the eight horses
in the bonus race represent Sinclair Stables,” he said proudly. A
pang of disappointment shot through me and I reminded myself once
again to stop thinking like that and to be happy for the Sinclair
team.

“
Really? That’s great!” I
lied. “Who else?”

“
Ariel,” he
replied.

That
was
good news. Luke was Ariel’s
trainer. “I’m really glad; I still want Jezebel to beat them all,”
I admitted.

“
No argument from me on
that T.J.!” Andy said as he helped me up into the racing saddle. He
mounted Jubilee and we rode on out to the infield. Andy explained
that the post selections were determined by best times clocked.
Jezebel had the second best time in the earlier series, so we would
get second choice on post positions.

“
Who has first pick?” I
asked.

“
The winner of the sixth
race, Paradox,” Andy replied.

Paradox’s trainer made
first selection and wanted the third spot from the end. Andy
selected the same spot that Jezebel held during the first race. As
it turned out Ariel was in the position just outside of Jezebel. I
didn’t know the jockey, but this was certainly making it
interesting to be neck and neck with Ariel on one side and Paradox
on the other.

The announcer started the
introductions again, going through the line-up, horse, owner,
trainer, and jockey. Andy escorted Jezebel and me back out onto the
track. I wanted to giggle as we were announced this time as “Rookie
Jockey, T.J. Preston.” Within minutes all of the horses were at the
gate; the escorts had cleared the track. I pulled my goggles down
and took position ready for the sound of the buzzer and the lifting
of the gate. There seemed to be some sort of a delay in raising the
gates. The announcer had stopped his banter as well. What
now?

“
Ladies and gentlemen, may
I have your attention please? There has been an adjustment made to
the bonus race line-up this evening. The number seven horse,
Jezebel, has been scratched from the competition by the owner.
According to racing rules, the horse finishing with the next best
time as the horse currently in the gates with the least best time
of all the feature race winners this evening is eligible to take
the number seven slot. That horse is Socrates. At this time, we ask
that Trainer Graham and Jockey T.J. Preston remove Jezebel from the
track.”

I was not only freaked, I
was humiliated. Andy was back at my side within seconds, getting
Jezebel backed out of the gate, leading us toward the paddock. I
ripped my cap and goggles off as we passed Clint escorting Socrates
and his jockey up onto the infield area beside the track. I threw
him the most hateful look I could muster, too angry to say
anything.

Andy was eerily quiet as
he took the reins from me and walked Jezebel into the stables off
of the paddock. And then my questions were answered—all of them.
Andy handed off Jezebel’s reins to one furiously angry,
blue-eyes-blazing Trey.

Holy Shit.

Trey dismissed Andy; “I’ll
take it from here.”

Trey quickly untacked
Jezebel and led her to her stall. He turned and addressed me,
leaning in. I was mere inches from his beautiful, but very angry
face. “What do you have to say for yourself
T.J.
?” he seethed, putting emphasis
on my jockey name.

I was distraught and
humiliated that it had come to this. How could I've been so stupid?
I'd actually thought he would be proud of me. He'd crushed me with
that one show of power.