Shedrow, p.3
Shedrow, page 3
“Can I see her now?” Gianni asked again.
“Sure, she’s lying down in her usual stall. The vet thinks she’ll be okay. One more thing, though.” Jeff stopped walking and gave a somber look in Gianni’s direction. “She’s the third horse this month who was sponged right here in the backstretch at Saratoga.”
Bradford Hill looked quizzically at the trainer, then at Gianni. “What kind of business have I gotten myself into, Anthony?”
Chapter Four
Armonk, NY
“Must you drink that now, Janice?” Gianni said.
She looked up at her husband with a bored expression on her face. “It’s only water.”
“The hell it is, and Jesus Christ, it’s not even noon yet.”
Janice took a generous gulp of the clear iced liquid, then clinked the glass loudly on the table beside her. “Come here and taste it if you don’t believe me.”
“I don’t have to. I can tell by the way you swig it. Christ, I didn’t even have to come out here to know. I can tell by the way you clink the goddamn glass on the table. I can hear it from upstairs.”
Janice smiled, replaced her sunglasses, laid back in the recliner and stared at the sun. She had recently bleached her hair blonde, and she twirled the streaks idly with her fingers.
“I’m not going to argue today, we have to be at Belmont for the fifth race,” he said.
“I know, I just want to get a little more sun,” she said.
“And I want to leave here by one-thirty at the latest. Aren’t you tan enough already? It’s almost time to close the pool for God’s sake. Another week and it’ll be full of leaves.”
“Never tan enough. I want to look as tan as your friend Brad Hill does today.”
“One-thirty, Janice. And if you’re not ready I’m leaving without you.”
They left together at one-thirty-five. Janice had finished a second tumbler of vodka and was considerably more chatty now.
When they arrived at the track, she lagged behind her husband as she struggled to navigate the soft gravel walkways in her four inch heels. Gianni made little effort to alter the pace for her. He hustled his way past the attendant at the entrance to the paddock, a brief wave exchanged between them.
A towering white pine tree sat in the center of the paddock, its many branches reaching out like huge tentacles at all angles, some skyward, others growing out horizontally from the fat trunk. In an area outside the shade of the great pine, a bronze statue of Secretariat glinted in the sunlight, giving tribute to the horse’s spectacular thirty-one length romp in the 1973 Belmont Stakes and his capture of the Triple Crown.
Gianni went directly to stall four, where he met up with Jeff Willard. A double-breasted, light grey suit framed the trainer’s tall, rugged body. His boyish face and blue eyes appeared a bit incongruous, belonging on a smaller frame, perhaps. Jeff wasn’t always the most winning trainer, but he usually found himself ranked in the top fifty nationwide. More importantly, Gianni knew that Jeff understood how to treat horses. Often quoting one of his mentors, Jeff would remind his owners that “if you take good care of the horses, they’ll take good care of you.”
“How’s he looking, Jeff?”
“He’s fit, Doc. Mean as hell like the old man, but fit. Tried to bite the blacksmith again this week.”
Gianni looked devotedly at the animal. Chiefly Endeavor was large for a two-year-old, a dark brown muscular animal with an alert demeanor and an intelligent look in his eye. He reared slightly and shifted his body when the saddle was cinched up under his flank, then again after his tongue was secured with a thick elastic band to keep it from interfering with his airway—a technique many trainers utilize before a race.
Chief pranced off alertly to join the other two-year-olds in the paddock. There were seven other horses, and nearly in unison eight jockeys got the “leg up” as they were boosted like anxious little warriors into the irons.
Anthony was rejoined by Janice, who had found Brad Hill on the way in, and the two had been quite content to gab and watch the people in the paddock while Anthony tended to the horse. Alison McKensie, the exercise rider, was there too. She could have easily passed for one of the owners, wearing a simple but elegant print dress that accentuated her shapely torso and muscular calves, conditioned by years on horseback.
Together they all followed Jeff out of the paddock area. They walked by a block of betting windows, where edgy bettors lined up ten deep. Some carried crumpled Racing Forms and scribbled combinations of numbers with pen or pencil as they nudged their way forward in line.
“How do we get to the winner’s circle from here?” Alison asked.
“Jeff knows,” Gianni said.
Hill and Janice continued their chitchat as they walked behind the rest of the group, following them to Bushmill Stable’s box on the third level of the clubhouse. Janice took one of the corner seats, and everyone else stood in front of their seats and looked over the crowd to the track below.
The track announcer had begun to introduce the eight horses as they pranced towards the grandstand for the post parade:
NUMBER FOUR IS CHIEFLY ENDEAVOR, OWNED BY BUSHMILL STABLE, TRAINED BY JEFF WILLARD AND RIDDEN BY RAFAEL BEJARANO.
Anthony glanced down at his program. Race 5, For Maidens, Two Years Old, One Mile on the Turf. Then under his horse, Chiefly Endeavor, by Dynaformer, out of Still Mine. He didn’t look at any of the other entries, though he had studied them earlier. He knew that he was in a race with some famous owners, the sheiks and the Kentucky blue bloods. Racing may be the sport of kings but it can also be a great equalizer at times. Funny Cide had proven that. Six buddies from western New York purchased that seemingly ordinary gelding for $75,000 as a two-year-old. Funny Cide went on to win the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, and to bankroll $3.5 million in earnings.
Anthony looked through his binoculars as the horses were nearing the starting gate. The track at Belmont Park is a mile and a half long, so for this one mile race on the turf the horses would start at the farthest end, across the track from the clubhouse, and would go through only one full turn before their run to the finish line. Many of the two-year-olds were skittish and took a long time to enter the gate. Chiefly Endeavor was one of the last to enter, but he went right in and stood like a pro his first time out. The announcer began his call of the race:
THEY’RE IN THE GATE…AND THEY’RE OFF. FAST FALL AND PHONE TAG SHOW EARLY SPEED, FOLLOWED BY ATONED AND THE EDITOR. THEN IT’S A GAP OF THREE LENGTHS BACK TO KID ROW AND ELECTRIFY IS SIXTH. CHIEFLY ENDEAVOR IS SEVENTH, SAVING GROUND ALONG THE RAIL, AND THE TRAILER IS WALL STREET SCANDAL. THE FIRST QUARTER WENT IN 23 AND 2, AN HONEST PACE FOR THESE TURF MAIDENS…
“It’s okay,” Jeff said, “I like him where he is now. The pace is strong. He’s good.”
…AND THE HALF WENT IN 46 AND 1, WITH FAST FALL CONTINUING TO SET A VERY HEALTHY PACE FOR THIS FIELD OF JUVENILES.
Gianni continued to listen to the track announcer as he focused on the royal blue Bushmill colors through his binoculars.
AND IT IS WIDE OPEN NOW…CHIEFLY ENDEAVOR IS SUDDENLY THIRD AND LOOKING FOR ROOM ON THE INSIDE BUT CAN’T FIND IT… KID ROW HAS NOW TAKEN THE LEAD FROM FAST FALL, BUT WITH A BLANKET OF HORSES NOW CHASING FOR THE LEAD, AS THE FIELD TURNS FOR HOME.
Through his binoculars, Anthony saw the jockey tap his horse left-handed, causing him to veer to the outside where he found room to race towards the front runners.
NOW NEARING THE FINAL SIXTEENTH, KID ROW AND FAST FALL CONTINUE TO VIE FOR THE LEAD, AND NOW CHIEFLY ENDEAVOR IS CHARGING WITH A LATE MOVE ON THE OUTSIDE…CHIEFLY ENDEAVOR HAS TAKEN THE LEAD NOW BY TWO LENGTHS AND AS THEY CROSS THE WIRE IT IS CHIEFLY ENDEAVOR BY AN INCREASING FIVE LENGTHS. THE MILE ON THE TURF WENT IN 134 AND 2, A VERY IMPRESSIVE SHOWING FOR CHIEFLY ENDEAVOR OVER THIS TALENTED FIELD OF MAIDEN TWO-YEAR-OLD TURF RUNNERS.
Alison was jumping up and down, Jeff’s fist pumped the air in front of him, and Dr. Gianni, while composed as usual, felt as though his heart might jump out of his chest. He gave Brad a hearty handshake. Janice was still seated, and Gianni leaned over to kiss his wife on the cheek.
“See, Anthony, things really are looking up,” Janice said.
Chapter 5
The middle-aged lady wore rose colored glasses, and she was lying flat on the operating table. They were safety glasses and they were part of the protocol for any patient having laser surgery. Tufts of bleached red hair poked out along the edges of her surgical cap.
In his hand, Dr. Gianni held a black, pencil-sized instrument attached via a flexible black wire to a carbon dioxide laser machine. The machine looked like a large robot, a tall white structure on wheels, with a confusing array of touch buttons and digital gauges. Each time he activated the laser, it made a clicking sound and emitted an invisible beam of light energy, vaporizing the brown spots on her face.
“Do you use the same machine for wrinkles?” the patient asked.
“Well, the same machine, used in a somewhat different manner than for the solar keratosis areas,” Gianni said.
He studied the numerous wrinkles on her face and neck, some fine and narrow, others deep and crevicular. Like the brown spots he was treating, they were all aggravated by years of sun exposure compounded by years of smoking. He imagined for a moment, this is how Janice will look in fifteen years. Maybe less if she doesn’t lay off the cigarettes and booze, and cut her sun exposure by about eighty percent. Her fondness for all three seemed to be increasing, though she hadn’t always been that way.
“I guess I should have thought of that at the consultation appointment,” she said. “Too late now, right?”
“There is a distinct protocol that we follow, but we can go through it at another appointment if you think you may want to know more about that particular surgery.”
The last of the brown spots was transformed into an ash-like eschar.
“Now these areas are going to look worse for a while before they look better. We’re going to review some instructions with you, but I want to emphasize that you must stay out of the sun for a while. Expect the areas to look a little pink or reddish. That will go away, but the after care is extremely important. Any questions?”
Gianni noticed his receptionist standing at the doorway to the operatory. He stepped outside the door and she said quietly, “Mr. Duncker is on the phone. Will you take it or should I take a message?”
“Tell him I’m just finishing a case, but I’ll be with him in a minute,” he said quietly. Gianni peeked back in to finish speaking with his patient, then walked to his private office, closed the door and grabbed the phone. “Good morning, Stu.”
“Well good morning to you, Anthony. That colt of ours was certainly impressive his first time out. I’m glad you were able to be there, and we’ll send you the photo from the winner’s circle.”
“That was a thrill, I must say.”
“And we are thrilled with his performance. His jockey said he barely asked him the question in the stretch, and you saw how he responded. Quite a turn of foot, I must say. So we’re looking to enter him in a stake next. Maybe the Pilgrim Stakes back at Belmont. Only thing, that one comes up pretty soon. And he did have a little bleeding from his lungs after that first race, so we’ll up his lasix a little next time and I expect we’ll just let the horse tell us when he’s ready to run again.”
“Bleeding? Has he ever shown blood before?” Gianni asked.
“Once after a hard work on dirt, Jeff tells me, though he generally seems to do quite well on grass.”
“Well, I’m all for letting the horse tell us when he’s ready. Let’s not push him too much, right?” Gianni said.
“Right you are, my friend. We’ll be in touch, okay?”
“Right, one more thing though. How’s the filly doing?” Gianni said.
“Oh, Boots. She’s fine. Recovered completely from that sponging episode, thank God. Still no leads on who was behind it, I’m afraid.”
Chapter 6
Gianni left the Diplomat Hotel in the late afternoon. The convertible top was down and the day was unusually hot for January in Miami. The smell of ocean salt was pleasant and strong as he headed south on Ocean Drive toward Hallandale Boulevard, then on to Gulfstream Park.
He put a CD in the player. The first selection to play was from Phantom of the Opera.
As he listened to the lyrics, he somehow knew that a victory loomed.
Approaching the entrance to the track, Gianni was unnerved. Where he remembered a low profile clubhouse, he now saw a rather gaudy assortment of buildings, some a few stories tall, some higher. Frank’s idea of progress, I guess, Gianni thought, referring to the track’s current owner. It looked more like a casino, less like the old racetrack he remembered.
Actually, it was because of Frank’s seemingly misguided attempts at expansion that Gulfstream was even open this early, and for that, Gianni was happy. Better a fresh turf course near the season opener than the well-worn and rough course at Calder Racetrack’s closing.
He went directly to the paddock, arriving just in time to meet Chiefly Endeavor’s other connections. As he walked, he looked down at the mass of synthetic pavers that lined the entire walking arena. Not a single patch of living grass had survived the renovation.
Jeff Willard had just saddled the horse, and he reached down to slip off the protective bell boots, extending and then stretching each of the front legs in the process. From the hind legs, a groom spun off two bandages with amazing speed and handwork.
“Anthony, I was afraid you might not make it,” Stu Duncker said, extending his hand. “Where’s Janice?”
“Business at home,” Gianni said. “She couldn’t make it.”
Duncker shifted his beige Stetson dress hat a tad and said, “Well, she may miss a trip to the winner’s circle.”
“We’re certainly in good company, I didn’t know Her Majesty the Queen was expected to have an entry. I don’t imagine she made the trip from England for our little stakes race, did she?”
“You’ll only see that for the rare Triple Crown race,” Duncker replied with his southern drawl. “Not that a Grade II on the turf is anything to scoff at. Remind me after the race and I’ll tell you a little historical tale from across the pond. It has to do with Chiefly’s great, great, great grand sire, a horse named Royal Charger, in the Queen Anne Stakes of 1945. It was the event that got me hooked on this crazy business. I’ll recount it later—the horses are about to leave the paddock. It’s a splendid bit of racing history, really.”
RIDERS UP.
“We have a table on level three,” Duncker said. “Not the best view through the glass enclosure up there. I think they’ve ruined this place in the name of progress. The paddock is an abomination. It certainly wasn’t designed with the horses in mind.”
“Actually, I’m going to just jockey for position at the rail. I’ll be near the winner’s circle, and I’ll be where I can hear the hoofs pound the turf as they head for home.”
“Good man, I like your spirit,” Duncker said. “See you in the winner’s circle.”
The view from the rail was still pleasant enough. Palm trees and a line of tall buildings off in the horizon provided a familiar, pacific backdrop. The hoof beats were still thunderous as the horses turned for home. The bright and myriad colors of the silks against the green turf course were spectacular. Reds, greens, yellows, and as the horses entered the stretch run, Bushmill’s royal blue and white, moving along the outside and approaching the two leaders. Only the width of the outer dirt track separated Gianni from the horses and he could hear the cajoles of the jockeys, yelling at their horses and each other. Once they flew by, he had to turn his focus to the announcer to hear the finish.
AND THEY’RE DOWN TO THE FINAL FURLONG AND IT’S CHAKOS AND CHIEFLY ENDEAVOR. CHIEFLY ENDEAVOR COMING AT CHAKOS. FIFTY YARDS FROM HOME…CHIEFY ENDEAVOR AND CHAKOS…CHAKOS AND CHIEFLY ENDEAVOR…AND CHIEFLY ENDEAVOR NAILS HIM, TO TAKE THE GRADE II TROPICAL STAKES IN 1:32 and 1, A VERY FAST MILE HERE AT GULFSTREAM PARK, AND CLOSE TO THE STAKES RECORD.
I felt it, I knew it, Gianni thought. He put his binoculars back into their carrying case and hustled his way through the crowd to the winner’s circle. Jeff Willard and Duncker arrived, and all eyes were on Chiefly Endeavor as he jogged down the track and pranced into the circle. He looked strong and not nearly as lathered up as some of the other horses.
“The way he galloped out, I think he could have easily gone another furlong or two,” Jeff commented.
After their picture was taken with the horse and jockey, the group left the winner’s circle and stood alongside the paddock. Artificial fountains in the center of the paddock gushed spouts of water and the wind carried a fine, cooling mist in their direction. Duncker began to recount the story of Royal Charger.
“I was basically a kid and had just finished my time in the Navy, looking to find my way in the world. Those were the war years, of course, so there was little or no racing in the states. My uncle was a racing fan and a very well-connected fellow. He had taken me under his wing and I had the privilege of going with him to this most prestigious race at the Ascot Racecourse. The dress code during the meet required morning coats and top hats for men, and formal dresses and hats for ladies. That dress code stands to this day. Anyway, my uncle had arranged everything, and I was quite taken by the whole affair. The pageantry, the beautiful turf course, lots of attractive ladies, and some of the best racehorses in the world.”
Gianni looked attentively at Duncker as he continued his story.
“I had always loved horses, but now I was hooked. My uncle later employed me in his advertising agency. I stayed with that until I had enough money and enough courage to pursue racing full time and to ultimately start Bushmill. The horse that won the Queen Anne Stakes that day was a horse called Royal Charger. That horse, Anthony, was the great, great, great grand sire of Chiefly Endeavor.”
