Credo's Bandidos, page 6
I’d visited the facility a dozen times since Gia had gifted Shelley and me a racehorse, and I’d become quite comfortable watching the horses from inside the building. The ranch hands jokingly call it the grandstand, but from my perspective, it isn’t a joke. To me, it’s an actual, scaled-down version of the grandstands at the Rillito Racetrack, sans the betting booths and carnival atmosphere.
I followed Gia into the elevator that would take us to the viewing booth while Shelley and Jack hurried off to watch from the saddling paddocks. We emerged into a carpeted room with three floor-to-ceiling glassed-in walls. Two leather sofas faced the windows, allowing for a perfect view of the track. In addition to the sofas, several comfortably padded armchairs were placed in strategic locations around the room. A wooden-topped bar ran the length of the back wall, and behind it, several shelves were stacked three bottles deep with every type of spirits you could imagine.
A tall, lanky waiter in white slacks, button-down shirt, and jacket had just entered the room through a swinging door to the right of the bar. His Germanic ancestry was evident in the way his sinewy muscles stretched over a slender frame. He had the blonde hair and blue eyes Hitler had so admired in his followers, and there was a fullness to his cheeks and lower jaw that gave his face a bit of unexpected puffiness, something you wouldn’t expect in a man with his particular build.
A burly bartender, who doubled as a bodyguard when Gabe wasn’t in the room, wore all black and stood behind the bar polishing wood that already shone with the perfection of a star on a moonless night. Both men stiffened to attention as Gia entered the room.
Without acknowledging either, she walked to her favorite upholstered, high-backed wingchair while I stepped to the front window to watch the latest horses rounding the back turn. I’d noticed that while she always treats her employees with polite respect, she never crosses the line into friendly.
The waiter picked up a silver tray—when I say silver, I mean silver—and approached Gia. He balanced the tray on the palm of one hand and respectfully placed his other on the small of his back. He gave a slight bow and said, “Madame?”
“My usual, thanks, Tom.”
“Of course.” Instead of looking over at me and asking what I wanted, he stepped behind me and cleared his throat. I turned, and he gave me the same abbreviated bow of respect he’d given Gia.
The first time this happened, it had startled me so much that I’d laughed out loud. Back then, Tom had blinked at my reaction and then had stood at attention and waited for me to give him my order. Unsure of what he wanted, I’d looked to Gia for some hint about what I was supposed to do. She’d glanced up at the ceiling and, although I don’t remember what she’d said, I do remember the slight chuckle that accompanied her words.
This time I had it down pat. “A dram of Glenlivet, two rocks, please.”
“Very good.”
“Oh, and two banana pancakes, heavy on the maple syrup, some bacon, and an egg over easy.”
“Right away.”
He bowed and had just made his turn when I added, “And a cinnamon roll, and you know what? I forgot how early it is. I’ll save the Glenlivet for later and just have a glass of milk and a cup of hazelnut coffee, please. Six hazelnut creamers and six packets of sweetener.”
Turning once again to face me, he waited to see if I’d finished.
I glanced back at Gia, who was holding her cigar next to her face and watching me with a twofold mixture of forbearance and amusement in her eyes. The thing is, when her smile reaches her eyes, I feel good all over. Like everything is right with the world. That look is so rare when she’s in Tucson. The stress on her when she has to deal with politicians and businessmen always takes its toll.
I smiled at Tom. “That’s all for me. And thank Marla for me, will you? She always makes the pancakes exactly the way I like them. The bananas are never overcooked, and she puts a ton of walnuts in the batter. Nobody makes banana pancakes the way she does.”
Marla is Tom’s wife, and although I don’t think he’s technically allowed to smile, I did see the side of his mouth lift just a bit. “Of course. I’ll pass along your appreciation.”
With Gia’s arrival, Credo’s Hope, a reddish-gold chestnut with a muscular chest and hindquarters, and my horse, Credo’s Legacy, an all-black gelding, were saddled and brought to the track. They had a set of starting gates at one end, but since this was only a morning exercise, the jockeys mounted and were immediately led onto the track.
I mostly watched Legacy because he was the first and only horse I’d ever owned. The jockeys started them out with a slow jog and then gradually increased the pace until they were running in a comfortable canter. They were neither racing nor being timed, and I was able to watch without the usual rush of adrenaline that accompanies a full-out gallop.
“He’s magnificent,” I said to nobody in particular.
Gia stopped writing in the small notebook she had resting in her lap. She was a hands-on owner who discussed the horses and their performances with her trainers whenever she found the time to enjoy the facilities. The notes documented various points she wanted to bring up when the time came for their meeting after the morning runs. “They both are. Hope will be running in the Wood Memorial Stakes on the third, and Legacy will be entered in the Ashland Stakes on the same day.”
“How many races will Legacy run this year?”
“I’m only putting him in fifteen, and that’s assuming he stays healthy.” At my startled gasp, she smiled, “And I have no reason to think he won’t. Look at him. He has strong, muscular legs. That’s something I do differently than a lot of breeders. I don’t believe in breeding out the soundness of the bones to maybe get a slight edge as far as speed goes. When a breeder does that, they only have a horse for a few years before their bones and ligament break down. But most of them don’t care. They have plenty of horses in their stables, and if one fractures a leg, they move on to the next. No, Legacy will run for a few more years, and then, who knows, maybe you’ll be a competent enough rider by then to take him on pleasure rides.”
I put my forefinger on my chest. “Me?”
“Shelley is determined you’re going to learn to ride, and you know as well as I do when she makes up her mind about something, there’s no arguing with her.” She watched the horses while she spoke, occasionally jotting down her thoughts for future reference. “Hope is still going strong, too, but I’m a little concerned about that slight movement in his right forehoof. Do you see it?”
Try as I might, all I saw was a great-looking horse. “He looks fine to me.”
“It could simply be that he’s a bit tight this morning, or he could be starting an abscess in that hoof. Hopefully, it’s nothing. If I have to pull him from the Wood Memorial, I will. I never run a horse that’s not one hundred percent.”
Our breakfast arrived, and Tom set everything on the small dining table nestled up against the window on the room’s left side. The chairs were set so that neither Gia nor I had to miss any of the activity on the track. As I settled myself with a napkin in my lap, I looked up to see Hope and Legacy being led from the track.
To my utter surprise, Shelley and Jack, mounted on a bay and a palomino, respectively, took to the track. Shelley turned in her saddle and waved up at the grandstand, and although I knew she probably couldn’t see me, I swung my arm back and forth over my head in acknowledgment. “Are those retired racehorses?”
With a piece of sour cream herring on her fork, Gia glanced at the kids and then shook her head. “No. While Shelley likes to think she’s an expert because she can jump two and a half foot fences, she’s only been riding for a year and a half and hasn’t developed the natural balance a seasoned rider possesses.”
The herring disappeared into her mouth, and a moment later, she continued, “Jack, on the other hand, was carried on a horse from infancy. His grandmother competed in hunter-jumper trials at the international level, and I believe she earned a silver medal in the Olympics. His father is the master of a hunt club in England.”
“In England?” We watched the boy as he walked his horse next to Shelley’s. “What kind of saddle is that? It’s different from what the jockeys use. Why England?”
“His father is British. Although I don’t know what it is, he has a title and is referred to as Lord Capell. He married up when he wed Jack’s mother. She is Danish nobility, and I’ve only met her once.” The amusement in her voice told me everything. “I won’t be encouraging that relationship any time soon. She’s a spoiled harridan with a capital H.”
“I’ll bet they’re thrilled Jaqueline is transitioning to Jack.”
“He’s the third of three painfully neglected children, so apparently what happens to him is of little consequence to either one, but yes, the parents aren’t pleased. They did sign the medical permission papers, though, but only after Jack’s second suicide attempt.”
“He tried to kill himself twice?” I thought about that as I popped a piece of banana pancake into my mouth. “Even so, I can’t imagine either parent paying for anything like that.”
“They aren’t.”
“Well then, who is?”
“His maternal grandmother. Now that’s a woman whom I enjoy spending time with. She’s the one who forced Jack’s parents to sign the medical papers for her…I mean him. Money talks. Apparently, she still holds the purse strings for her side of the family. She’s down-to-earth, still rides horses in her seventies, and most importantly, knows her Glenlivet.” She popped another herring into her mouth. “She moves back and forth between Devon, England, and Kentucky and spends as much time with Jack as she can fit in. Honestly, without her, Jack would have no familial love. Even his siblings treat him like a pariah.”
She finished with the herring, and Tom removed the now empty plate. This time the tray held a platter with tiny pancakes covered with some other strange concoction I didn’t recognize.
“What is that stuff?” I wrinkled my nose and then remembered Gia had once said that particular expression made me look like an angry walrus. Relaxing my face, I picked up a piece of bacon with my fingers and took a bite.
Gia, who always cut her bacon with a fork and knife, scratched her forehead with a perfectly manicured fingernail, “They are blintzes covered in a blend of crème Fraiche with slices of salmon laid on top.” Delicately placing some on the new plate Tom had set in front of her, she said, “Please bring Alex another plate, as well. I’m sure she’d love to try something new.” Mischievous grey eyes met my own, boring brown ones.
I sat back, “What? No, she wouldn’t. Fish? You’re eating fish for breakfast. I mean, I’ve seen you eat herring in the mornings, which now that I think about is a fish, too, but…”
She motioned for Tom to carry out her orders, and it wasn’t long before he returned with a small plate bearing one of her blintzes.
I poked it with my fork. “What’s a blintz?” Tom offered me a second fork, and I waved mine at him. “I have one, thanks.”
Gia accepted the fork for me and set it on the blintz plate. “You’ll want to taste this without the extra flavors of banana and maple syrup.”
“Oh.” Taking my time, I picked up the new fork and once again wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know, Gia…”
Instead of answering, she raised her eyebrows and dipped her chin in the direction of the plate.
Still not in any hurry, I carved off a piece of the blintz with the side of the fork and ever so slowly raised it to my mouth. I made the mistake of sniffing it first. It smelled of fish and whatever that crème Fraiche was. I didn’t think the two odors should be mixed like that.
“Alex. You don’t sniff your food in polite company.” By this time, she’d put down her fork and was resting both hands on the arms of her chair, watching me.
Closing my eyes, I slipped the bite past my lips and pulled it off the fork with my teeth. My eyes flew open, and I sat up a little straighter in my seat. “Hey! That’s good!” I took another bite. “That’s really good!”
Chuckling, Gia retrieved her fork and resumed eating. “Have I ever led you wrong?”
“One word. Seaweed.”
Who knew my bowels would object so strenuously to a piece of a dried plant that grows on the bottom of the sea? She lifted a shoulder to acknowledge the fact that the one time I’d eaten seaweed, I’d had to make an emergency trip to her bathroom. “Other than that.”
I’d forgotten about the kids, and when I looked down at the track, I was surprised to see Shelley cantering now. Watching the two kids, I could see what Gia meant about the difference in their riding abilities. I don’t think Jack even needed a saddle; he was so attuned to the horse’s every movement.
On the other hand, Shelley rode with a tenseness that belied her jaunty wave at the beginning of the ride. She did have a huge grin on her face, though, and she said something to Jack before kicking her horse into an even faster gait.
Gia tensed and put her hand on the table as though making to rise. She stopped when Jack pulled back his own horse, slowing it to a trot and forcing Shelley to slow down too if she wanted to continue riding side-by-side.
Speaking under her breath, Gia whispered, “Good girl.”
“Boy.”
“What?” She’d been distracted by Shelley’s antics and hadn’t understood what I meant.
“You said ‘good girl.’ I’m assuming you meant Jack, in which case you should say, ‘good boy.’”
She put her fingers to her forehead and softly rapped on her temples. “Of course. I’ve known him as Jaqueline for a year and a half now, and I’m having a difficult time using the correct pronouns.”
“Don’t worry about it. From my first impression of him, as long as you’re trying, it’ll be just fine. Speaking of which, I haven’t heard him speak much. Does he have an accent?”
“Yes. He’s been at the Regency Academy on and off since the fifth grade. From what his grandmother tells me, he’s always been different and, therefore, an embarrassment to his family. But she did make sure he had an excellent primary education prior to coming to the States.”
“Why is he here instead of going to school in England?”
“Two reasons. First, His grandmother wanted to get him as far away from his family as she possibly could. They’re bullies who try to force Jack into their version of what an upper-class snob should be. And second, Regency is better equipped to handle a depressed, suicidal child than the private school he attended previously. It really is a remarkable school, and I’ll always be grateful to you for suggesting it for Shelley.”
“Hmmm.” The idea of a suicidal pre-teen wasn’t a new one to me. I’d had to take a few calls where young kids had killed themselves, and I was just glad Jack hadn’t succeeded on his first couple of tries. I decided to change that depressing subject. “So, what kind of saddles are those? They don’t look like the ones the cowboys use in the movies, and they don’t look like the other kind either.”
“English.”
“They’re from England?”
“No, the other kind you’re referring to is an English saddle. Those Shelley and Jack are using are Australian. They can be used for a variety of riding disciplines. Very versatile.” That mischievous glint returned. “By the way, before we get off the subject of Jack’s grandmother, she’s coming to visit this weekend. She’ll be arriving later today.”
“What! No!”
She reached over and patted my hand. “It’ll be good for you. Expand your horizons.”
“No, it won’t. I’ll make a fool of myself. I’m not…” I groped around for the right word. “…trained.”
If Gia’s smile is rare, her laughter is pretty much non-existent. I must have caught her off guard because laughter bubbled up from that deep dark place where she keeps it under lock and key.
Both Tom and Andy, the bartender, or Andrew as Gia calls him, looked our way with startled expressions.
She covered her mouth with her napkin. “Alex. You and Shelley are the only two people in the world who can make me laugh.”
Hearing her laughter made me smile, too. That is until I remembered grandma was coming to town. “Gia, I can’t. I need to get back to Tucson, anyway.”
“No, you don’t. You had planned to stay until Tuesday morning, and I hope that’s what you’ll do.”
“Gia. I don’t even eat right. You just said I was using the wrong fork for the little pancake thingies.”
“Blintzes and you weren’t using the wrong fork. I simply wanted to make sure you had an unadulterated taste when trying something new for the first time. You’ll do fine, Alex. Listen, there’s no way I’d subject you to Jack’s parents. They’re snobs of the first order. Lady Allegra is another matter altogether. I think you two will get along just fine.”
Something on the track caught her eye, and when I looked, I saw Shelley waving at us to come down.
Gia called out, “Thomas, please phone the track and let Shelley know Alex and I will meet them in the arena when we finish with our breakfast.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We had mostly finished with breakfast anyway, and with my mind on all the horrible things that could happen while I spent time with someone from the Danish nobility, I half-heartedly followed Gia to the arena.
“You’ll like her, Alex.” Gia repeated as if she could convince me through sheer repetition.
“What’s Kate gonna say if I cause some international incident or something? She’ll blow her top.”
She put her hand on my shoulder, “Not to worry, Alex. Shelley has something planned for us that will keep your mind off Jack’s grandmother.”
“What?”
“You’ll see.”
A guard in a pinstriped suit stood to the side of the door into the arena, and when we approached, he pulled it open for us. He dipped his chin to Gia and said, “Good morning, Ma’am.” Gia graced him with a small nod before going inside.
