Gargantuan_ A Ruby Murphy Mystery - Maggie Estep [62]
We make our way over to my truck and get in. Attila is quiet and I can sense he’s preparing himself for riding. Ruby is quiet too. I drive.
I’ve never known why New York racing moves to Aqueduct for winter. There’s not much of a stable area there and most trainers keep their horses at Belmont and ship them over on race day. Belmont is much more beautiful than Aqueduct, so I just don’t get it. I decide to ask Attila about it.
He doesn’t seem to hear me though and Ruby answers.
“It’s ’cause Aqueduct has that all-weather inner track. It’s got a special surface so they can run even when it’s really cold. Plus, the paddock viewing area is indoors and race fans can stay warm.”
“Oh,” I say, and, since Ruby doesn’t seem to be in a chatty mood and I don’t want to break Attila’s focus by putting on the Schoenberg, I start daydreaming about the exercise rider from the cafeteria. I keep seeing her in the back of my mind. Smiling. Lips parted. It’s quite a vision.
We reach Aqueduct and soon we’re all huddled around the stall where Henry’s got Oat Bran Blues. I half listen to Henry giving Attila his riding instructions for the race and, about twenty minutes later, I walk with Attila over to the jockeys’ room.
We don’t have much to say to each other and are walking in silence when I notice the exercise rider from the cafeteria right smack in front of us.
“Hi, Layla,” Attila calls to her.
“Hey, Johnson,” she says, nodding to him then turning to me and grinning.
Attila makes a quick introduction and Layla and I exchange a long look before Attila and I start walking again.
“Who’s that?” I ask him, trying not to sound particularly interested.
“Layla Yashpinsky Exercise rider. Nice girl. Got a sister that’s the hottest exercise rider going.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Layla rides some for Henry and Violet now and then and she ponies a little too,” Attila says.
“What’s ‘ponies’?”
“You know, the pony riders who escort the racehorses to the starting gate. She’s some sort of a substitute pony rider I think.”
“Oh,” I say.
We’ve reached the jockeys’ room now and, since I’m not allowed in, I leave Attila to his own devices and wander off to buy a program. I think about the exercise rider as I open the program and glance from it to the tote board. Attila’s mount is one of the longest shots on the board. But I like long shots.
ATTILA JOHNSON
19.
Hush
Ruby hasn’t seen me ride a race since that day, lifetimes ago—but really only three weeks ago—when we met here at Aqueduct. I’m still convinced I won that race because of her. Because of the way she stared so intently at old Ballistic. Because of her red coat and the notion I had before even speaking to her that her toenails would be painted bright red. And today I want to ride well. For her and for myself, to put myself at peace after the madness of these last few days.
Normally I might try talking to some of the other guys in the jocks room but today I just nod at everybody and keep focused. I sit down in a corner and work on some of the yogic breathing techniques Ruby’s taught me, pulling air deep into my lungs and distributing it throughout my body. I sit with my spine straight and my eyes closed and after twenty or so minutes like this, I am very calm. By the time I walk out into the paddock, I feel good. I’m visualizing the track and what I’ve got to do to give Muley a good trip and a real shot at winning.
It’s a cold day but it’s bright and cloudless and, in spite of this being just another allowance race, there are a lot of owners in the paddock, several with their kids in tow. Sons dressed in conservative blue blazers. Little girls in shiny shoes.
I feel cheerful, almost optimistic as I go to stand in the center of the walking ring, next to Ruby and Violet,