Flamethrower - Maggie Estep [69]
Ruby nodded. She snapped Spike’s lead onto his collar then walked out into the barn aisle, taking care not to step in a puddle with her new bright green sandals, repeatedly chiding Spike, who kept trying to make a beeline for the manure pile.
As she came around the corner at the end of the barn, Ruby nearly collided with Tobias’s wheelchair.
“Sorry, Ruby,” Tobias said. “My driver is drunk.” He motioned at Miller, who looked glum but not drunk. Tobias had been given a prosthesis, but he seemed to prefer having Miller wheel him around.
“Good luck with Juan the Bullet,” Tobias said.
“Oh, you know?”
“Part of why we’re here. Wanted to watch the race live.” He looked slightly sad saying it. Fearless Jones, whose new owners had put him with a trainer in California, had sustained a career-ending ligament injury. He would recover but would never race again. There wouldn’t be any bittersweet thrills for Tobias watching the horse he’d lost turn into a stakes winner.
“Good luck,” Tobias said, “and tell Ed good luck too.”
“Thanks,” said Ruby. “Nice to see you,” she added, even though she wasn’t sure it was.
As she watched Miller wheeling Tobias away, Ruby wondered what Jody would think of her husband now. Ruby thought about Jody at least once a day, had added the psychiatrist to the repertoire of dead people she sometimes imagined were watching her. It was harrowing but better, she supposed, than not thinking about it at all and internalizing it till it turned into a neurosis that one day would come screaming out at the wrong time.
Ruby walked back over to Ed’s barn to lock Spike in the office until after Juan’s race. The puppy stared at her long and hard then rested his head on his paws and sighed.
Ruby didn’t run into Ed, who was probably at the security barn with Juan. She made her way to the clubhouse to look for the owners.
THE HEAT HADN’T kept the fans away. Belmont was unusually crowded for a Friday in fall. There were women in hats, aging patriarchs in navy blue suits, girls in skimpy outfits, and, here and there, bedraggled degenerate gambler types grumbling about the heat and the crowd.
It was fifteen minutes to post time, and Ruby was standing with Juan the Bullet’s owners, Lisa and Mary Tyson. Ruby’s dress was itchy, and her shoes pinched her feet as she stood inside the leafy Belmont paddock. Juan was in his saddling stall, shaking his head as Ed put the saddle on and Nicky tightened the girth.
The paddock judge called “Riders up,” and Nicky led Juan the Bullet from his saddling stall. Ed gave the rider, Freddy Frio, a leg up.
“Oh, he’s so beautiful,” Lisa said softly.
“Yes,” Ruby agreed, “he is.” She was admiring Ed as much as the horse though. Ed looked particularly good to her right then. In the month since Jody’s death, Ed had cooked dinner repeatedly, bought at least six dozen roses, and frequently thrown Ruby down on the bed for the kind of impromptu frenzied screwing she liked best. So Ed looked good. But the horse did too. Juan was still pigeon-toed and a little under-weight, but, at that moment, under the giant sun, with his tack gleaming and his tiny rider astride, Juan the Bullet was magnificent.
As the horses were led to the track to meet up with their ponies, Ed came over to attempt to exude confidence for Mary and Lisa’s benefit. Ruby knew it wasn’t entirely an act. He believed Juan the Bullet had a much better chance than his 34-1 odds might indicate.
“I’ll be watching from the rail,” Ed told the two women. He’d already warned them he’d be too agitated to sit in their box. It was Ruby’s job to make sure Mary and Lisa were comfortable and entertained.
“See you in the winner’s circle.” Mary winked at Ed.
Ed offered a weak smile.
While Lisa went to sit in the box, Mary and Ruby headed for the betting lines. Ruby was in line right behind Mary and heard the woman putting a thousand dollars to win on Juan. Ruby didn’t want to risk the racing gods’ wrath by making an enormous bet on her boyfriend’s horse. She kept it to twenty dollars to win.
Ruby tried to relax as she settled into