The Mare (33 page)

But the next time I came, I didn't go to Estella's stable or even to Pat's house, not the first day. Because that lady at the party, her daughter Joanne invited me to come and see where she rode because she was Edie's friend. I could visit and watch and Joanne would give me her lesson. I wanted to go, especially when Ginger said the name of the place was Spindletop—I remembered that was where Heather went, and Beth before their parents couldn't pay.

Spindletop at first didn't look better than Estella's except it had a big sign with a fancy horse on it. You could see the barn from the road and it did not look scary like Estella's place the first time I saw it even though it was a lot bigger—maybe because it was winter and there wasn't thick green secluding it. Or maybe because I wasn't young. Anyway, it was two big buildings with a big parking lot in front and big paddocks with horses in them.

Then Ginger dropped me off and I went in the office and saw how different it was. In this office there were no bags of horse treats or horse medicine or boxes of horse combs or boots or blankets or dirty rags—no dirty
anything
really. There was no radio playing country music and no cats hanging off anybody. There were desks with computers on them and neat-dressed ladies with manicures. When I asked for Joanne they smiled and took me back into this big stable that was warm and bright-lit and so clean it didn't even smell like horses. I was starting to get nervous when this smiling girl wearing tall boots and tight pants came and said, “Are you Velvet? What a great name for a rider!”

That was Joanne, and she took me into the tack room, where everything was hanging
so
neat, bridles all tied the same way with the nose pieces standing out, on hooks with horses' names on them—not just hanging on the stall door like at Estella's or Pat's. There were so many horses and their stalls were all clean and they looked perfectly brushed and
chill,
like yeah, they had something to say but you needed to be
somebody
to get their attention.

Joanne's horse was named Major Tom and he was big like Joker, but different, not wild or funny, more like a soldier at attention, like he was clean on the inside too. While Joanne groomed him, she told me what a great horse he was, and how much he loved her, that he would jump in her lap if he could. While she talked, girls in the same kind of tall boots and tight pants walked by; their hair was so perfect that if Alicia saw it she wouldn't know whether to bow and worship it or rip it out. Men wearing work clothes walked by too, Mexican men pushing wheelbarrows and carrying buckets and mucking forks. Joanne smiled and said hi to them the same way she did to the girls. But they were the only ones who looked at all dirty.

“So where do you ride now?” asked Joanne.

“At Wildwood. Pat teaches me.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I know her and Estella. They're sweet.”

And I thought,
Sweet?

When I picked her up she didn't look triumphant or even happy like I expected. She seemed troubled and subdued. I asked her how it went and she said, “Fine.” I asked if it was different from learning with Pat and she said, “Not that much.” We rode quietly for a while. Then she said, “Those women we met at the party in the summer, one of them is Joanne's mom?”

“Yes,” I said. “And Joanne knows Edie.”

“And that was Edie's mom there too?”

“Yeah. Becca.”

“Who was that other lady? The one Paul went to talk to?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I think she's probably a new teacher at the school.” And I turned on the radio.

The Spindletop trainer was not like Beverly or Pat; she was more like Estella, but smaller in her body and face. Her name was Jeanne and when she asked what I wanted to work on, I said jumping. We warmed up like usual: walk, trot, canter. About two minutes in she said, “Good hands, excellent hands!” and when she did, these two girls stopped to watch. It made me nervous, so I missed my diagonal when we went to the trot—but I sat a stride to fix it and Jeanne said “Good!” again, her voice surprised and her mind
on
me then.

But then she said, “Let's see your two-point” and suddenly everything I did was wrong. “Stretch, don't lean,” she said. “It's bad form.” I even grabbed the mane bad form-ly. The girls walked away from the fence like they didn't need to bother watching. She made me two-point for
half an hour
until she liked how it looked, walking, cantering, posting, then going from two-point to sitting trot and back. When we finally jumped I felt good, but she said I was too far forward in the saddle and I was releasing too much and I was supposed to
stop
after the line of jumps, that the horse couldn't just canter. Pat
never
said that.

Joanne and those two other girls were watching again toward the end, and I felt like shit—even when Jeanne said, “That was outstanding. I hope you come back soon.” I didn't believe her until I saw the way one of the girls was looking at me. Like I was a problem. The blond one.

The next day I went to Pat's house. I wanted to talk to her about Spindletop; I wanted to hear what she had to say. But I couldn't because there was an emergency and Pat had to stick her arm in Nut's ass to save his life. It sounds funny, but it wasn't. She had to do it because he was sick with colic and could die, and the only thing she could do was try to pull shit out of him herself. It was freezing and windy, and when I came, she was in the barn wearing rubber gloves almost to her elbow. She said it would be “educational.”

I was first afraid he would kick her, but then I saw him with his head way down, looking so weak and hurt he could hardly stand. I thought he would cry out when she went in, but he didn't; his poor body just got crunched up and horribled, like when the dentist is getting in your mouth. Pat talked soft to Nut and worked her arm. The wind got bad and started shaking the barn and the mares talked to each other. Pat pulled out the shit and handed it to me. “Feel that,” she said. I did feel it—it was like a cooked rock.

“At least it was warm in there,” she said.

Then we cleaned the stalls and groomed Chloe and Girl. By the time we were done, Pat said Nut would be okay. Later when we were in the house getting warm, Pat told me you shouldn't do what she did. Her face was sick-white when she said it, and her fat cheeks were hard. She said she could've killed Nut by tearing his butthole. I asked why she did it, and she said she couldn't afford a vet. She said she had to face reality. She said she had to do that a long time ago. She said it old and tired, like she forgot I was even there. “I have the ability,” she said. “I have the quality animals. But I don't have money, and it's all about money in this business.”

I didn't know what to say. I felt the dirt and the broken things around us. There was wind and the sound of the furnace. There were all the ribbons on the wall saying “First prize” and “Scorpio” and “Handsome.” I didn't know what to say, but I did know not to talk about Spindletop. Not then, maybe never.

But at night I was wondering, Why was I at the poor, dirty place? I used to think it was so cool, but now it just seemed like crap—as Ginger would say,
literally,
like it had to be pulled out of the horses.

Something happened at Spindletop. Not something bad—I would've known if it was actually bad—she wouldn't be able to hold it back. No, it was something confusing. She was trying to understand it, that was the most obvious reason she would ask those questions in the car.

But it felt like something else was going on. It felt like she was being aggressive with me. Like she did with her mom that time they came up for the play, the subtle way she sided with the tall blond woman at the barn and shut her mother out. Velvet knew all about weakness and power, and it felt like she was pressing on my weak spot, just to see what would happen. She didn't push it; she didn't have to. She was just letting me know she saw it. And that she was curious about it.

Before I left I went across the street to look at the old barn again. It was freezing cold but still I thought someone would be there, maybe Pat giving a lesson in the arena indoors. But nobody was there except the horses chewing grain and giving out heat. Then Gare came around the corner singing something corny—she saw me and got her friendly shy-dog face, which made me feel embarrassed but sorta happy. She said she was going to ride in the arena, did I want to?

I liked Gare, even if she was dumb, because of how she helped me get up on Fiery Girl and also for how she cried for Joker when Beverly was a bitch to him. But I still didn't know what to talk about with her. That I lied about being in a gang made it worse, but I couldn't take it back, it would be too embarrassing. She'd say, “What's it like being in a gang?” and I'd say, “We don't talk about it unless we know you.” And she'd say nothin'.

But we didn't have to talk about anything to ride together. I tacked up Little Tina while she tacked up Joker three stalls over and she yelled to me that it was better now 'cause Heather wasn't at the barn anymore since she had a fight with Pat about never cleaning Totally's feet and he got thrush. Then we led the horses out and the talking was all in their eyes and soft-up necks and our hands on the reins and the heavy gate coming open.

Then we were riding, Tina following Joker until I passed on the outside, Gare yelling, “Bitch!” but laughing. Some of the lights were out, so the arena was dark and like a place bats would fly, except for broken parts that let in the cold and light, you could see tiny branches covered in ice. We warmed up, walk, trot, canter, and even though we were going in different directions and not following nobody, it was like we were together at the
stomach.
And then I did the two-point, stretching, not leaning. She said, “Horse whisper-ass!” I put my leg on Tina, made her feel me, counting my strides, rushed seven, then slow seven. I sat back and controlled my release, and she took them easy, three in a row; I could feel her happiness like I can smell
perfume.
Gare couldn't make Joker take any jump and she fell off trying. But she just cursed and got back on him. She said, “Damn, you really
are
the horse whisper-ess!”

And I felt good again. Everything felt right again. Nut was okay and even if Pat didn't have money, she had the ability. And I had Fiery Girl. And I had new things to teach her. And Ginger didn't care about that woman at the party, so it must not've been what I thought.

When she left, I walked alone. Snow and brilliant light poured through splotchy clouds. Family things were heaped on porches: boots, cheap round sleds, statues, hidden flowers sleeping in red pots. Somebody still had their Christmas lights up. Because there was no traffic, I walked in the middle of the road.

“You and she have nothing in common.” Paul always said that. But what did I have in common with these houses and the people in them? I thought of Velvet's powerful music, the song of guns and dogs—“Ronca!”—and the song we sang in the Christmas play that time, Danielle running around with her blue face, Yandy pounding the piano, Mrs. Vargas looking out of her tank. The horsewoman who ruined the day with her bad Spanish, the horses running, Mrs. Vargas cursing me like I couldn't understand her, then taking her daughter home and beating her. The time we biked on the broken pavement, me yelling “Lumpety-bumpety!” What did any of it have in common?

I told Kayla I was not sure I should keep sending Mrs. Vargas money if she had a job and a boarder. Kayla didn't think I ever should've started. “When you have to cut that money off, trust me, she will feel anger at you. It'll be like now you
owe her,
not the other way around.”

But I knew that wasn't true. She wasn't like that. I knew because of how she'd looked me back in my eyes.

It was Velvet I wasn't sure about. Because it still felt like she asked me that question in the car out of aggression. Or anger. Or scorn. Because of something she saw.

“So I heard your young lady rode out at Spindletop,” said Becca. “She made a good impression.”

We were on the phone talking about Edie's spring break visit when she dropped that in.

“Joanne said they'd maybe have room for her as a work-study—apparently that place she's been training isn't the best quality.”

“What in the fresh hell?” I said. “You've been aggressively icing Ginger for years and now you're interested in her…her—”

“I'm
not
interested in messing with your wife's project, although I was under the impression it was your project too. Spindletop wasn't my idea. It was Joan who suggested it, and because she knew I was going to be talking to you today, she asked me to mention some event they're going to in the early spring, a big show that a lot of people from all over the country come to. It's called EQUAL for some reason—anyway, her daughter was thinking Velvet could come along, act as a groom, get a look at a different part of the horse world. She asked me to mention it. That's all I'm doing, mentioning it. I'm not trying to sell it.”

We spoke about other things, and almost got off the phone. Then I felt bad for my attitude, so I apologized.

“No, it's okay,” she said. “And partly I was okay mentioning it because when I met the girl, she seemed nice. Not just nice, interesting. Which is what Edie's always said, but Edie can be…romantic about people.”

“Edie's very perceptive.”

“I know, and I trust her in general. It's just that Joanne's heard gossip about Velvet that wasn't so nice.”

“She
did
?”

“Well, she knows horse people, so yeah. Apparently some friend of a friend had talked about being afraid of Velvet, said she glared at people and—”

“Afraid of
Velvet
?”

“Well, there was some story about her getting kicked out of a barn because she caused a trainer to get trampled, even something about her being in a gang.”

“That sounds like teenage BS!” But then I recalled that Velvet had somehow abruptly stopped going to that barn.

“Well, I thought so, yeah. Edie's said nothing but good things about her, and like I said, Joanne had a good impression of her, and the trainer at Spindletop was struck with her talent. So…”

I thanked her for telling me about Joan's offer, quietly guessing that one, the conversation had been a chance to feel me out about the gossip and two, she'd really enjoyed the idea of Ginger's cluelessly taking up with a menace.

“And you know what? If it's awkward, I can just have Joan call Ginger.”

“No, Becca, it's okay. I'll tell her it came from you.”

“And just so that you know that I know that you know—I'm not the only ice queen at the party. That woman has a thousand-yard stare that could stop a truck. She does not make it easy.”

I wished I could say I
didn't
know what she meant. But I did. Which I did not share with Ginger when I brought it up that night.

“Becca,” she said. “Becca? Becca, who insulted me to my face about Velvet, now wants to get involved? Get involved with sending Velvet to a place that's better than the place I've found for her and now to some ridiculous—”

“Ginger, you didn't find the place, it was just next door. It's not a reflection on you.”

“You don't understand how I feel? That she's trying to—”

“I do! My first impulse was to question her. But I think she essentially means well.”

“I don't.”

“Ginger, give her a break! I know she's been unpleasant. But I was technically still married to her when I met you. You're younger, you're better-looking, and you're living in the same town. And it's only been six years.”

“That's exactly why I don't think she means well.” We carried our dinner into the living room to eat while we watched a TV show about a likable gangster.

“Whatever she means, it's an opportunity for Velvet. If Velvet wants it.”

She didn't say anything.

“And if it really bothers you, we don't have to bring it up.”

We stared at the TV; the gangster was in the middle of an argument with his daughter in the family car. Ginger stared at it as if absorbed and then out of the blue said, “I have a question for you. Are you having an affair?” She turned from the TV to look directly at me.

“No,” I said. It was the truth.

She turned back toward the television. The gangster had left his daughter sitting in the car so he could follow somebody into a gas station bathroom and kill him. She looked at me again and said, “So fucking predictable.”

I felt my face go hot. “What do you mean?”

“Becca. The main thing she has over me is that she's a mother and now that I have something a tiny bit like what she has, she wants to come in and show me up. What a fucking bitch.”

“So you don't want Velvet to have this opportunity.”

She looked at me angrily. “Of course I want her to have it! If she even
wants
it. I just wish you were more—” She stopped, and her expression changed. Then she said, “You're blushing.”