Winter Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 2) (21 page)

The pass allowed you entrance to the FEI stabling tent, which was a temporary tent like the ones in Vermont. If your horse was going in an FEI class, it had to be in the tent from Tuesday after the jog till it was done showing in FEI classes. Depending on the week and how the horse did, this could mean Friday after the WEF class, or Saturday night after the grand prix.

Behind the tent, in the fenced-in FEI enclosure, was a schooling ring. It was the only place FEI horses could be ridden except for when they went up to the ring for their classes. Some of the European riders who didn’t want to have their horses go through the mandatory three weeks of quarantine upon coming into the U.S. could have them stay in the FEI tent the whole time they were in the country. But that meant no turn-out, barely anywhere to hand walk, and maybe two small patches of grass to graze on, for however many weeks they were at WEF. It also meant certain scheduled times for treatments like injections of Legend or Adequan, which had to be done by a vet—and the official horse show vet also had to consent to additional treatments like massage or acupuncture.

The security was serious and I had to show my badge as I followed Chris in to see Arkos in the tent on Tuesday.

“How do you get carrots in?” I asked.

“Carrots are okay.”

“How do people know they’re not laced with NSAIDs?”

“I guess they could be, but they’d show up on the drug tests.”

Arkos was looking over his stall door. “Hey,” Chris said to him.

After scratching Arkos’s neck for a little bit the way he liked it, Chris went out back to see how busy the schooling ring was. There were a lot of horses in the tent this early in the week for the WEF class.

I opened Chris’s trunk to look for a treat to feed Arkos. I startled slightly when a man said in a heavy European accent, “Christopher around?”

Standing in front of me was Roger Berhardt, one of the most famous riders and trainers in the entire world. It took me a moment to answer him.

“He’ll be right back,” I finally said. “He went to check out the ring—see how busy it was.”

I’d only ever seen photos of Roger Berhardt. Photos of him winning the World Cup Final and the Gold at the Olympics. During the past five years he’d been doing more training than riding—especially catering to young, wealthy American riders who spent months training and competing out of his farm in Belgium.

I sighted Chris coming back down the aisle.

“Christopher,” Roger said. “I was just asking your groom where you were.”

I shuddered. Apparently my FEI pass did not scream ‘girlfriend’ at all. Did one look at me say groom? Jeans, sneakers, T-shirt with a slobber stain from Midway when I’d gone to fix his magnetic blanket, baseball hat. I guess my attire did scream groom. I didn’t really care so much that Roger thought I was Chris’s groom but did it matter to Chris that I didn’t look like girlfriend-material? That I wasn’t one of those willowy women in animal-print tops and high-heels I’d seen on the arms of other grand prix riders? It seemed to me that the straight grand prix riders had one of two types of girlfriends or wives. Either the aforementioned beautiful arm-candy type, or the fellow-rider girlfriend in Animo breeches and Parlanti boots.

As if on cue with the thoughts in my mind, Mary Beth appeared in the aisle. I wondered if Roger knew her.

“Mary Beth,” Roger said in his funny accent.

She threw her arms around him and kissed one cheek and then the other. She even knew the European customs. “Roger, so good to see you.” She didn’t say his name like I had been saying it in my head, plain old Roger. She said it the right way, Ro-ger, with a long ‘o’ and a soft ‘g’.

“You as well, mon trésor. You are going to win this week?”

“I hope so.”

“You and Christopher. First and second, that is how I like it. I’d also like to see both of you in Europe this summer.”

“You and me both,” Mary Beth concurred. She blew Roger a jaunty kiss and headed off down the aisle.

When Chris came back, he and Roger conferred for a few minutes. Roger did a lot of gesturing and shoulder clapping. All I could think about was how Roger thought I was Chris’s groom. Should Chris have corrected Roger and told him I was his girlfriend? Should Chris officially introduce me to him?

Roger told Chris how he really had to show in Europe this summer. Since he wasn’t an American, I wasn’t sure why Roger cared so much. Maybe just because he liked Chris and thought he was a good rider. But that seemed rather uncomplicated in terms of a motivation, which did not aptly describe most things in the horse show world. Chris told him he was working on getting another horse.

“He’s a fan of yours,” I said after Roger had demonstrated another healthy shoulder clap and left.

Chris looked nearly forlorn—not the response I expected.

“It’s nice to have people on your side. Rooting for you. Could you really go to Europe this summer?” The thought terrified me.

Chris shook his head sadly. “I wish, but the way it’s looking getting a legit 5-star horse and having it ready for Europe this summer isn’t going to happen.”

I tried to disguise my relief. Chris would be around this summer.

Chapter 24

A lot of the rumors that swirled around WEF had to do with price tags of horses since the winter circuit was all about sales for many barns and professionals. We were constantly hearing numbers tossed about. This hunter going for 500K. This pony sold for 250K. So-and-so was asking one million for their jumper—could you believe paying that much for a junior jumper? I’d heard my mom say once that rich people thought that it was crass to talk about money but it seemed like just the opposite here. At every possible opportunity, they bandied about how much a horse, or a VIP table, or even lunch, cost.

Dad and Ryan arrived at the barn after we were done for the day. I could tell they were both immediately impressed with the Pearces’ farm, even coming from gorgeous Palo Alto. And who wouldn’t be?

“This is really something,” Dad said, giving me a hug. He held me close to him, despite the fact that I was dirty, and didn’t let go for a few moments and I soaked up the knowledge that even though my dad could be a total pain in the ass the guy really loved me.

“A little crazy, though,” Ryan said, giving me a hug too. “It’s like horse farm after horse farm. Couldn’t some of them share barns or at least rings?”

“Share? Never. You haven’t seen anything yet. Just wait till you see the show grounds,” I told them.

I showed them around the barn and introduced them to Linda. Dakota had gone into the house. I could tell Linda thought Ryan was attractive, even though he was too young for her. He was medium height and had a thin build. Nothing that made him stand out so much. But his face was incredibly charming. He had dark hair and really blue eyes and a fantastic smile. I think he mainly got girls because of his smile. He also had a slightly stand-off-ish quality about him, especially when you first met him, which counter intuitively seemed to draw people to him. They wanted to figure out what he was thinking about. They wanted to get him to like them.

“So when do we get to meet Chris?” Ryan asked after the tour.

“Well, I thought we’d all get dinner together.”

“Sounds good.”

I should have been more nervous about my dad and Ryan meeting Chris but I just knew they would love him. What was not to love? A serious, motivated, centered athlete who was going about building his own business.

I was right that they hit it off. Dad and Ryan spent a lot of time asking about how the world of show jumping worked. They wanted to know how much the entry fees were and how much it cost to keep a horse and train it. Chris explained how the prize money in a class is divvied up percentage-wise among the top finishers. Ryan was surprised to learn that first place in a million dollar class didn’t mean the winner walked away with a million dollars, but only $350,000. Of course there was talk about the price of horses, too. What it cost to buy a proven winner versus a green horse. How it cost less to bring a horse along in Europe so American breeding programs lagged far behind European ones.

“What about Logan?” Dad asked. “What’s he worth today?”

Chris touched his napkin to his mouth and then repositioned it on his lap, probably just to give himself a moment to prepare his answer. “Logan’s a good horse. Do I think he’s a 1.45 or 1.50 meter caliber horse? No, I don’t. I think he’s a great 1.30 meter horse.”

“Which means? Layman terms?” Dad said.

“He’s not a grand prix horse. He’s not an Olympic horse. He’s a good junior or amateur jumper, or 25K-type grand prix horse.”

“And those cost?”

“Two-hundred and fifty-thousand to five-hundred thousand.”

Dad made a temple of his hands and rested them in front of his finished plate. “That’s a big range. Where is he in that?”

“He hasn’t won a lot. He doesn’t have a proven record so I’d say if I were to market him tomorrow I’d put him at 325.”

Dad let slip a satisfied smile. “Not bad.”

“How much did you buy him for?” Ryan asked Dad.

“Fifty.”

“Nice profit margins.”

“Logan’s a great success story,” Chris said. “But that’s pretty rare in this business. It’s hard to make a lot of money on these horses and you can end up losing some too.”

“I hope this isn’t part of your pitch to prospective investors,” Dad said.

I interjected, “Of course it isn’t.” I didn’t want Dad to think Chris was that unsophisticated. But I realized after I said it that it wasn’t my place to speak up and defend Chris.

“I’m being honest and open with you because you’re Hannah’s family,” Chris said. “But actually I do tell prospective owners the truth because I don’t want the relationship to sour if things don’t all go swimmingly. Nothing ever goes like you thought it would, right? Nothing ever happens perfectly according to plan. I’m sure it’s the same in your business, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes it is.” Dad put his hand over mine and patted it, catching my eye quickly.

I could tell what he was thinking. He was thinking,
I like this guy, Hannah
.
You picked a winner.
I let my heart swell with pride.

Dad had to make a bunch of calls the next morning but Ryan came and tagged along with me at the show. He rode in the golf cart as I put Dakota’s number in and went along to the coffee cart. Everywhere I went people knew me. They waved or said hi or asked how Dakota had done the day before. It felt great that Ryan was seeing me like this. In high school, he had been the one who walked the halls of our school with people constantly calling out to him. He was the one everyone knew and I faded into the background. But here at WEF, I had carved out my own place and identity. That identity might be tagged somewhat to Linda and Dakota and even Chris but still, people knew who I was and liked me and I could tell Ryan was noticing.

He was also noticing the pretty girls all around him. “Holy shit, this is like the seventy-two Virgins in Islamic afterlife,” he said to me after yet another skinny young woman in breeches with beautiful hair pulled back in a ponytail walked by us.

I turned the golf cart toward the Grand Hunter Ring, making sure I didn’t spin the wheel so hard as to make our coffee spill through its lids. “Okay, that’s not really funny, and let me tell you most of these girls you are seeing are so not virgins.”

“I don’t care if they’re virgins. They’re beautiful. Can you even be ugly and compete in this sport?”

“You can but for some reason most of them are beautiful people. I don’t quite know why. The ugly ones sort of stick out. So do the unwealthy ones.”

“So they’re gorgeous and wealthy. I think I’m gonna stay here for a few weeks.”

“A lot of them are crazy, though,” I said. “Comes with the territory.”

“Okay, good to know.”

Ryan wasn’t the only one doing the checking out during the time we spent at the ring together. Plenty of girls were checking him out. One even came up to me at the in-gate when Ryan was taking a call in the golf cart asking all about him—who was he, where was he from, was he straight, was he available? I guess there were so few straight, available men in the horse show world that a cute new guy showing up on the grounds sent out a ripple of excitement.

I had so much fun being at the ring with Ryan. He got to see me in action and I definitely got the feeling he was impressed by the overall scene, how big the stakes were for all the classes, how throbbing with energy the show grounds were.

We had a few good laughs too, like when we saw a goat sitting in a golf cart.

“I’m sorry, is that a goat?”

I had gotten so used to the odd things you’d see around the show. One trainer even had a wolf. A legitimate real-life domesticated wolf. But Ryan craned his head at the goat in the golf cart and another golf cart filled with dogs, five or six dogs. It was hard to tell who was even driving what with all the tails and legs.