Gargantuan (21 page)

My good friend Richard Migliore happens to have his filly right next to mine.

“Pull her up, junior, she’s gonna break down,” he shouts.

He’s right. I ask the mare to slow down and I pull her up.

A few minutes later, I ride Appellation off the track and hand her off to her groom and Nick Blackman curses me out. I curse him right back until Appellation’s owner, an old man with a bad attitude, comes over. At this point, Blackman turns his back to me and starts drumming up excuses for the benefit of the old man who, of course, wouldn’t notice if his mare was missing an entire leg.

I’m not sure how I brought myself to ride for Blackman at all. But at least I didn’t let the mare break down on the track.

I skulk off, not caring what Blackman or the old fuck thinks of me.

I go back to the jocks room where I avoid eye contact with the others and change back into my street clothes. As I emerge, hoping to put the whole episode out of my mind, what is fast becoming a bad afternoon gets worse.

“Johnson,” a voice says behind me.

I turn around and come face-to-face with a man I’ve never seen before. He’s well over six feet and his upper body is massive. He has rust-colored hair and a flat nose smattered with brown freckles. He doesn’t look like an easygoing guy.

“Yes?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“A word about race five tomorrow.”

I don’t like the sound of this. He’s using the same tone of voice that Tony Vallamara used when he’d come ask me to hold a horse back. And tomorrow’s fifth race happens to be the one I’m riding Jack Valentine in. Even if I was up for fudging a race, this wouldn’t be one I’d fuck up.

I look at the guy, waiting for the foul words to come out of his mouth.

“You’re gonna have a little incident,” the guy says.

“I am?”

“Yes. You are. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I’m sorry, I’d prefer not to have any incidents,” I say calmly.

“Is that so?” the guy says.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“My name’s Fred,” the guy says, not mentioning anything about Tony Vallamara or who it is that’s interested in my holding back Jack Valentine. And it sure isn’t Henry or Violet. They’d personally maim me if they thought I gave Jack anything less than my best. I start wondering if this Fred character is a cop of some kind.

“I just don’t do that kind of thing,” I say.

“Well that ain’t what I heard,” Fred says.

“You heard wrong,” I tell him, turning my back and walking off.

“I’d think twice on this one, Johnson,” the guy threatens. I ignore him and keep going.

I’M FEELING
very low by the time Sal drives Ruby and me back to our little hole-in-the-wall motel on Linden Boulevard. Night is coming on like a curse and my mood is getting dark in spite of Ruby and Sal being so pleased over my win. Of course I haven’t mentioned the episode with that creep asking me to hold back Jack Valentine. I need to think it through before telling anyone about it.

As we pull into the parking lot of the Woodland Motel, Ruby and Sal are babbling on about something to do with classical music. I hop out of the truck, listening to Sal issue a warning that we’re not to stray from our motel room without him. I feel a tightness in my head and chest and I sense I’m going to blow my top. At Sal. At this motel in a strange wasteland of a neighborhood and even at Ruby for having a friend insane enough to appoint himself my bodyguard. And then, just as I’m about to say something unpleasant, a black man on a white horse appears out of nowhere. Even though I know we’re not far from the Hole, seeing a cowboy come riding off Linden Boulevard is so incongruous that I am enchanted.

Of course it turns out that Ruby knows the cowboy.

“Hey Neil,” she says, smiling and going over to pat Neil’s horse.

Sal’s standing there, by his red truck, seeming to hesitate, like maybe the black cowboy and his horse are here to snuff my lights out. My mood sours some more.

“We’re good, Sal,” Ruby says, feeling Sal hesitating over there. “Neil is a friend of mine.”

She makes introductions all around and I excuse myself, telling Ruby I’m going in to shower. I leave her to her little festival of weirdos even though in truth, Neil’s horse looked like a fine old horse and I wouldn’t have minded getting on him as a lark.

I let myself into the room, turn on the lights, and am almost tripped by Stinky, who launches himself at my legs. I curse out loud and I swear, the cat actually frowns at me. I feel instant guilt. I consider yelling out to Ruby to get in here and feed her cats but then I decide I’ll try to change the tone of the evening a little and actually do something nice. I take two cans of cat food from the bag where Ruby’s got her cat stuff. Stinky starts meowing and Lulu actually deigns to come out from under the bed. I put the unappealing gray meat into the cats’ bowls and then stand back, watching them attack the food.

I go into the bathroom and start the water running in the tub even though the tub looks a bit dirty and I’d probably do better to shower. I’ve stripped down to my boxers and am about to close the bathroom door when Ruby finally comes in from the parking lot.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asks.

“What? What did I do?”

“You’re in a horrible mood.”

“I am?” I ask innocently—though of course it’s true.

“Was it something I said?” She furrows her brow.

I shrug.

“What’s that mean? Was it?”

“I fed your cats,” I say.

“I see that. Thanks. But what’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” I look away because I feel like I’m going to start crying.

I can’t remember the last time I cried. Even when things were going terribly wrong with Ava and I knew Grace was affected by it, I didn’t cry. Or the first time I held a horse back in a race for a few lousy bucks. I didn’t cry. And maybe I should have. Because it’s all catching up to me now. And I don’t know how to tell her. This woman with violent red toenails. I don’t know quite how I’ve ended up here with her or how to tell her what’s wrong. So I just tell her I’m sorry and then close the bathroom door.

A
ttila pulls the bathroom door shut gently, as if trying to soften the harshness of his refusal to talk to me. I stare down at Stinky as he inhales his food, oblivious to the sadness of humans. Lulu, who picked at her food and then walked away disdainfully, jumps up onto the bed next to me and bumps her head against my arm. I absentmindedly pet her and look around at the horrible brown hotel room with its soiled curtains and furniture, all of it evenly synthetic and appearing to have sprung from the thigh of some malevolent Zeus. As I let my fingers make little ridges in the soft fur of the cat’s head, I suddenly realize I have to get out of here. Immediately. Though I feel like my being near Attila will keep him safe, I know that’s not true. My presence isn’t doing either one of us any good. I feel like he’s shut the door on me in more ways than one and I need to go home and clear my head.

I shove clothing into my overnight bag and pack all the cat products into a shopping bag. I take the Yellow Pages from the nightstand and thumb through until I find a local car service. I call and order a car.

I’m ushering Stinky into his carrying case when my paramour emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel that was probably once white but is now a depressing gray.

“What are you doing?” Attila asks, looking at me with violently bright eyes.

“Going home.”

“Just like that? Why?”

“I’m not doing you any good here and I really want to go home.” I stand up and carry Stinky’s case to the door.

“Ruby!” Attila shouts behind me as if I were fifty feet away.

“Attila.” I turn around. “I have to go home. I need rest. I’m sorry.” I add, softening, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“We will?”

“Unless you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” he says.

He picks up Lulu’s carrying case and the bag of cat products and brings these out, like he’s suddenly resigned to my desertion and trying to hurry the process along.

I see the car service pull up in front of the motel office. I shout, trying to get the driver’s attention. When this fails to work, Attila, clad only in his towel, sprints out into the parking lot, over to where the cabbie is parked. It’s thirty degrees out and parts of the parking lot are frozen over but Attila doesn’t seem fazed at all and I suddenly feel I’ve made a mistake. How could I lose patience with someone who’d sprint into a frozen parking lot in a towel just to save me from walking a few extra steps?

I’m dumbstruck. By Attila, by the fact that I’m so moved by the gesture.

As the cabbie turns around and pulls up in front of the room, Attila returns and stands in front of the open door, jumping up and down to warm himself.

I load cats and bags into the backseat. The cabbie frowns. “You bring animals?” he asks in an accent of indeterminate provenance.

“Cats. Nice cats. I’ll tip you well.”

He growls. I notice great tufts of white hair sprouting from his ears.

Attila has stopped jumping up and down and is just hugging himself for warmth. His eyes have turned a cold dark blue.

“ ’Bye,” I say ineffectually “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he responds.

I turn and get into the car. I give the driver my destination. He grunts and pulls ahead. I look back at Attila, who is still standing in the doorway, hugging himself.

IT TAKES A
Herculean effort to haul both cats’ cases and my bags up the stairs to my apartment. Ramirez has his door open.

“Ramirez,” I nod, looking in at him. He’s sitting at his kitchen table, staring down into an empty soup bowl. He has a yellow plastic flyswatter sitting by his right hand.

“Flying cockroaches?” I ask as I set the cats’ cases down and pull my keys from my pocket.

“No,” my neighbor says humorlessly “just flies. I hate flies.”

I can see he’s not in the mood for conversation and I mentally chastise him for leaving his front door open when he’s in a foul humor. I’m also slightly miffed that he doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about where I’ve been or why I took the cats there.

“Have a good night,” I say, opening my door.

He grunts.

I turn back to look at him, feeling badly that he’s so depressed. “Elsie will be back soon,” I tell him, even though I have no way of knowing this.

“I sure as hell hope so,” he says sadly.

I go into my place, release the cats from their cases, and walk into the kitchen to fill their water bowls. My apartment is a mess. There are clumps of cat fur all over the rugs, CD cases on the floor,
and dirty dishes in the sink. I water the cats then go into the living room and sit on the couch. I hold my head in my hands and think. I stare at the phone for a moment then walk over to the piles of CDs. I tentatively pull out a recording of Schoenberg piano pieces played by Glenn Gould. Then opt for Townes Van Zandt instead. I’m about to hit the Play button when the phone rings. I stare hopefully at the caller ID, wanting Attila’s cell phone number to appear there. But the little screen reads:
Hildebrandt, Jane A
.

I pick it up.

“Jane.”

“Ruby?” She sounds surprised. “I tried your cell phone and it was turned off. I thought I’d just leave you a message at home. I didn’t expect to find you there. What are you up to? Don’t tell me you’ve got the jockey with you, attracting trouble.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I left him at the motel.”

“Oh. Why?”

“He was being difficult.”

“Ruby,” she says sternly, “I thought you were going to stop being fickle with men.”

“I was. I am. I’m not being fickle. He won’t talk to me and I’m not doing him any good. You don’t like him anyway.”

“I haven’t formed an opinion about him. I’ve barely even met the man.”

“Well, I’m not being fickle. He puts me in danger and furthermore I think he still covets his wife.”

“He’s married?” she gasps.

“Technically yes.”

I tell her what I know about Attila’s marital status and about all other developments, including the accident on the track.

Jane is upset.

“Ruby, why are you doing this?”

“I’m doing what I need to do. Don’t yell.”

“I’m not yelling.”

“Can we change the subject?”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Let’s talk about Liz,” I insist.

“What about her?” Jane asks. Liz, who I met last spring at Belmont when she was working as a groom, has become a good friend. Not long after I met her, she stopped working at Belmont and took a less taxing job at a riding school in Jamaica Bay. We’ve stayed in touch though and sometimes go to the races together. I was with Liz the day Attila came to find me in the grandstand and introduce himself. In fact, she’s the only one who didn’t disapprove of my dating him. She’s long coveted jockey Shaun Bridgmohan—though she refuses to actually ever try to meet him since she’s idealized him to a degree that borders on spiritual. Liz insists that watching Shaun ride is a nearly mystical experience for her. But she doesn’t want to meet him and I think my dating Attila has given her some sort of vicarious jockey thrill.