*Authors
Note: This story is cheesy as hell, but I don’t care. I was going to work
horse racing into these fics somewhere, so help me God. Don’t worry if you don’t
understand the terminology. You’re not really supposed to. Just have fun with
it. That’s all it’s for. =)
Saturday,
May 3rd, 1997.
“Good God,” Brian
muttered, dodging through a mob of people and doing his best to keep Kevin in
eyesight. “I feel like we’re back in Europe!”
“Yeah, but at least this
time the crowd isn’t after us,” Kevin called back over his shoulder.
“No kidding. They’re here
to see a bunch of horses. Go figure.”
The two cousins crowded
their way into the Clubhouse of Churchill Downs amidst the throng of people who
had flocked to the historical track on the first Saturday in May for America’s
greatest horse race.
“Are you sure we had to
come today?” Brian whined. Kevin rolled his eyes as they made their way back to
their seats.
“Today is the Kentucky
Derby,” he said dryly. “Somehow I don’t think we’d get the same effect if we
came tomorrow.” The dark-haired singer looked above him, craning his neck about
for a glimpse of the famed Twin Spires that made the track a landmark. “This is
so incredible,” he said in awe. The blare of a trumpet jerked his attention to
the giant racetrack that sprawled out in front of them.
“Hey,” Brian said.
“Haven’t you ever just wanted to shove that thing up that guys nose?”
Kevin stared at him.
“No.”
Brian shrugged. “Okay, so
maybe it’s just me.”
“I can’t believe we’ve
never done this before,” Kevin said with a grin, determined not to let his
younger cousin damage his mood.
“Honey, I got you a
program. And a Mint Julep. Brian, you too.”
“You are an angel,”
Kevin said, reaching over and kissing the brunette who offered him the glass on
the cheek.
“Sarah, do you have any
idea how many people are here right now?” Brian said in disbelief.
“Ahh, over 125,000 I
believe. Probably more.”
“Shit!” Brian reached for
the program that Sarah held in her hand and flipped through it with interest.
“Kev, do you remember when your dad took us to Keeneland?”
“Yeah,” Kevin said,
smiling fondly at the memory. “I do.”
“Why the hell didn’t we
ever go to this thing? It’s not like we ever missed it on TV growing up.”
“We’d probably have been
kicked out of Lexington if we did,” Kevin said with a snicker.
“I’m just excited about
being able to wear a Derby hat,” Sarah declared. “I’ve always wanted to do
that. Did you see all of the women getting off of the plane with their hat
bags?”
Kevin grinned at her.
“Yes, I caught a few of those.”
“This is so weird
being able to walk around without even a bodyguard,” Brian commented, glancing
around.
“No kidding,” Kevin
agreed. “But hopefully, that won’t be the case for long.”
“When is your single
coming out again?” Sarah asked.
“Next month.”
“Wow. That is soon.”
“Cross your fingers.”
“Soon the whole country
will be singing it,” she said confidently. “I just know it.”
“I sure hope so. I think
we picked the right song to release.”
“Quit Playing Games,
right?”
“Yeah.”
“Kevin, do you remember
how to place a bet?” Brian asked absently, pouring over the program.
“Nope. Probably wouldn’t
be hard to figure out though. Isn’t there something in the book that tells you
how?”
“Probably,” Brian mused.
“You don’t want to stress
out his fragile little mind though,” Sarah said seriously.
“Two words,” Brian
replied. “David Duchovny.”
Sarah’s jaw clamped shut.
“What did you say?” Kevin
asked curiously.
“Nothing,” they said in
unison.
“Angel, if I didn’t know
better I’d think you were hiding something.”
“But since you love me sooo
much you are going to drink your mint julep and forget all about it, aren’t
you?”
“Ha. We’ll see.”
“Oh! Look! The race is
about to go off. Which one is it?”
“The fourth,” Kevin told
her. “Baby, can you see okay?”
“Yes, I can see.”
Brian sniggered. “ Well I
can’t. Jeez, Sarah, that hat adds about a foot to your head.”
“Watch it Power Puff
Boy,” Sarah shot with a nasty grin.
“That is so not fair!”
Brian yelped. “That was innocent! Nick had the remote, I swear.”
“Don’t look at me,” Kevin
said with a snort. “I like Rugrats.”
Sarah stuck her tongue
out innocently at the shorter Backstreet Boy, and was saved a retort by the
excited shout of the track announcer. The three of them were instantly lost in
the excitement of the crowd as a field of straining thoroughbreds crowded the
track, seeking position and fighting for a chance at glory. Even Brian found
himself yelling as they hit the head of the stretch, pumping his fist in the
air as they neared the finish line. The electricity was alive among the
onlookers, uniting each one in the pounding of horseflesh as heart and hooves
carried the gritty animals past the wire.
The cheers died away as
the victorious betters went to collect their winnings, and the losers tore up
their tickets and started over with the field of the next race. For many of
these people, the track was their life, and the Daily Racing Form was their
bible. It was a life Brian and Kevin had always been aware of, having grown up
in the middle of the richest horse country in America, but had rarely been
given an inside glimpse into. It was a separate language, a separate existence,
and a separate world. And it was wonderful.
“Kevin, can you imagine?”
Sarah crowed with delight. “In a few years when y’all have been on the cover of
every magazine in this country and have sold more records here than your minds
can comprehend, we’ll be up on Millionaire’s Row to see this. The Kentucky
Derby is one of the most elite events in sports, and we’ll be in a position to
take part in it the way most people only dream of.”
Kevin grinned, and kissed
her full on the mouth. “You and me.”
“Yeah,” she said, her
eyes shining. “You and me.”
Brian cleared his throat,
and Kevin glanced over at him with an amused grin. “Oh pardon me for
intruding,” he said sardonically. “You know, this is a testament to the unjust
world. I am sitting in the middle of a crowd even bigger than what we saw in
the insanity God decided to name Europe with only two twitterpated teenyboppers
who have visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads for company. I’m telling
you, we should have talked A.J. into coming. He and I could have gotten down
with the crew in the infield. Now that is a party.”
“And you are just
jealous because you don’t have someone as beautiful, talented, witty and bold
as I do,” Kevin said slyly. “Am I right?”
“Gag. Me.”
Kevin laughed.
“I am going to go and
place a bet,” Brian informed them.
“You don’t have the
slightest idea who to bet on,” Kevin goaded him. “You don’t have a clue what
all those numbers mean.”
“So? What’s that got to
do with anything? I have a proven system that I use.”
“And what might that be?”
Kevin asked skeptically.
“Pick one.”
“Ha. Ha.”
“Who do you like for the
Derby?” Sarah interrupted smoothly.
“I don’t know, I kind of
like this Phantom On Tour fella. Or how about Celtic Warrior?”
Kevin sniffed
disdainfully. “Celtic Warrior? Are you serious?”
“Oh like you
know.”
“Look at the odds,
dipshit. That horse is the longest shot on the board. And besides, he’s only
won one race.” He waved the program in Brian’s face.
“Well then, Mr.
I-Think-I’m-The-Shit-Because-I-Grew-Up-In-Lexington-And-Therefore-Am-A-Racing-God.
Who’s gonna win the race?”
“I’m thinking Captain
Bodgit or Free House. Free House won the Santa Anita Derby, and Captain Bodgit
is the favorite.”
“I’ll stick with Phantom
On Tour,” Brian informed him, and squeezed his way back through the crowd
towards the betting windows. Countless windows lined the clubhouse, each one
spouting a fair-sized line. He picked one and stood in it, using the time to work
out what his bet would be.
“How in the world is
anyone supposed to decipher all of this?” he said aloud. “I just want a simple
bet on Phantom On Tour. How hard can it be?”
Behind him, someone
clucked her tongue. “Phantom On Tour? Won’t happen.”
Brian turned around in
surprise, and found himself face to face with a young woman about his age
smiling piteously at him.
“Excuse me?” he said
curiously. The woman shook her head, and pointed to his program.
“Phantom On Tour is a
very talented horse. I like him a lot. He’s run some very nice races. But he’s
a sprinter. He’ll never last a mile and a quarter.”
Brian’s face was full of
confusion. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“The Derby is a mile and
a quarter race,” she said patiently. “None of the horses in it have ever been
further than a mile and an eighth. It’s a test of stamina and heart. Phnatom’s
got a more talent than several of the horses in the field, but he wasn’t bred
to go a distance.”
“How do you know that?”
“Look at his past
performances.” She held up her program, pointing to the gibberish of numbers
that might as well have been in another language. “His best races have been run
under a mile, say seven furlongs. He makes a bid at the lead and then fades
when they try and stretch him out. But he’s damn good at the shorter distances.
No, this year is the year of the Charm.”
Charm? What? He had
blanked out for a minute. He was too busy noticing how blue her eyes were. He’d
never seen eyes as pretty as hers were. Charmed indeed. “I’m sorry, but I have
no idea what you just said.”
She laughed, and he
couldn’t help but smile at her. “I’m sorry. I have this bad habit of just
automatically assuming people can follow me when I start spitting out the
handicapping tips. The next thing I know I’m getting these looks, much like the
one that you are giving me right now, that make me wonder if I just said
everything in German.”
“For all I know you did,”
Brian said with a chuckle.
“You’re next,” she said,
pointing ahead of him. He re-directed his attention to the window, and noticed
that the person in front of him was almost done with his transaction. He looked
back at the woman behind him. She was very pretty, he realized. Her eyes
sparkled with enthusiasm, and she was dressed in a very attractive suit. Her
shoulder length honey-colored hair was elegantly styled to give her a very
sophisticated look.
“Who should I bet on, if
not Phantom On Tour?” he asked her.
“A very good question,”
she said wisely. “And in most years, a very difficult one to answer.”
“What about this year?”
“This is the first time
in recent memory the field is quality instead of quantity. Instead of twenty
horses of mediocre talent, we have thirteen horses, eleven of which all have a
fairly legit shot.”
“But?”
With a sly smile, she
tugged on his arm, leading him out of the line, much to his dismay. “Come here.
You are going to make your first educated bet.”
He was positive that he
had an absolutely ridiculous smile on his face. A gorgeous woman was dragging
him off to who knows where. Where were Nick and A.J. when you needed them?
When she had gotten him
to a slightly less crowded corner, she fixed him with a very business like
expression. “Okay,” she said, whipping her program open for him to see. “First
thing’s first. Hello, my name is Whitney O’Connor, and I’ll be your instructor
for the next few minutes.”
He took her extended hand
and shook it. “Nice to meet you Whitney, my name is Brian Littrell.”
“Well Brian, the answer
to your question is Silver Charm. Now let me tell you why. Let’s start with the
favorite. He’s the one everyone is making a huge fuss over this year.”
“Okay.”
“Captain Bodgit.”
“What about him?
“He ran away with the
Wood Memorial a few weeks ago, and destroyed Pulpit in the Florida Derby, who
was being touted as the horse to beat in the Derby. He’s on top of the world.”
“I sense another but.”
“Correct. In the last
eight weeks he’s put forth two monster efforts, which might indicate he’s
already peaked. He beat lackluster horses in the Wood, and he runs on a bowed
tendon. A lot of people in the industry inside are backing him, I’m not.”
“Are you an industry
insider?” he asked with a smirk.
“I am a journalist for
the Blood-Horse, the largest racing magazine in the sport.” She held up the
press pass that hung around her neck for him to see.
“That answers that.”
“Then you have Free
House. He’s a beautiful animal, and if this was a beauty contest, he’d win
hands down.”
“But it’s not.”
“Nope. He may hit the
board,”
“Huh?”
“Finish in the top
three,” she explained. “But I don’t think he’ll win.”
“Why’s that?”
“Gut instinct.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Guts, eh?”
“Instinct is invaluable
to betting.”
“Gotcha. I’ll keep that
in mind.”
“Then we have Silver
Charm.”
“Aha. The winner.”
“Yes. Second to Free
House in the Santa Anita Derby. Hell of a race. He lost it by a nose. This
horse was going against a speed bias, got hooked up in a speed duel with Sharp
Cat that should have knocked him out completely, and never had a breather from
the three-quarter pole to the wire. And he lost by a nose.”
“Is that good?”
“Pardon my French, but
that’s fucking amazing.” Brian grinned. She was very, very into this. “This
horse has more heart and more grit than any horse I’ve seen since John Henry.
He’s got a hard-knocking pedigree that may not be blue-collar, but is full of
durability and stamina. He’s screaming for a mile and a quarter. He likes to
play with his opponents, than steal the race at the last jump.”
“I take it you like this
horse.”
“If he gets beat I’ll
quit and join the circus.”
He hooted loudly. “So I guess
that concludes my lesson.”
“Bet the farm on Silver
Charm,” she agreed solemnly. “He’s a nice price as the second choice, he’s
piloted by Gary Stevens, who knows how to find the winner’s circle on Derby
Day, and he’s trained by the hottest trainer this country has right now. So
there you have it.”
“Well thank you very
much,” he said graciously. “I can return to my seats and impress all my
friends.” She grinned, and he quickly realized her looks had nothing on her
smile.
“Brian! Brian! Oh,
there you are.” Brian turned around at the sound of Sarah’s voice.
“Sounds like you’re being
paged,” Whitney said.
Damnit. That woman and
her timing. He loved her to death, their playful bickering was only a show, but
right now he made a mental note to filet her later when he got the chance.
“That’s my cousin’s girlfriend,” he said with a roll of his eyes. Whitney
dipped her chin as she smiled, watching patiently as Sarah came up to them.
“Kevin was beginning to
wonder if you got lost trying to find the betting windows. I told him there
were only five thousand, so you might have trouble.” Brian reached out and
wrapped his arm about her neck, slamming her playfully into his chest. She
yelped and smacked him. “Aren’t you a peach?” he said in a high squeaky voice.
“Nothin’ but love for this one.”
Sarah readjusted her
jacket and smiled primly at the other woman. “Hello, I see you’ve had the
misfortune of meeting my oh so charming companion here. I apologize profusely.”
She shook her head, sighing dramatically. “You let them out of your sight for
two seconds, and look what happens.”
Whitney laughed. “Lucky
for you I found him when I did. I may have just averted a PR nightmare for Tom
Meeker. Churchill Downs should send me a fancy thank you letter.”
Sarah grinned. She had no
idea who this woman was, but she liked her.
“Well Brian,” she said cheerfully. “It was nice to meet you, oh
pardon me,” she said, giving Sarah a sidelong glance and a wink that was
frighteningly reminiscent to Howie, “it was absolutely dreadful to make your
acquaintance, and I thank this wonderful and brave woman for rescuing me from
you. If you will kindly excuse me, I must go to the paddock. I have trainers to
interview, and it’s a race for two year olds, which means the quicker I get
down there the quicker I can get out, and avoid Wayne Lukas’ nasty looks.”
Sarah elbowed Brian
roughly in the side, and he grunted before shooting her a Look. “Thanks for
your help,” he said sincerely.
“No problem. Enjoy the
race. It’s going to be a great one. One for the history books. And don’t forget
what I told you.”
“Silver Charm?”
“Silver Charm.”
Brian and Sarah watched
her disappear into the mass of racing enthusiasts who seemed to multiply by the
second. When she was out of sight, Sarah smacked him.
“Ow! What the hell was
that for?”
“What the fuck is wrong
with you?”
“What?!” he exclaimed. He
didn’t understand when this physical abuse had started. Sarah had almost
instantly become the sister he had never had when she had started dating Kevin
last year, but she hit hard.
“You just let her walk
away?” she exclaimed.
“What was I supposed to
do?” he said defensively. “Tie her up and stuff her in the trunk?”
“Brian honey, the tying
up comes later.”
He groaned and put his
hands to his ears. “I am not hearing this!”
“Boy, you sure missed out
on a lot when you joined this band. Have you gotten out at all since you left
high school? I need to have a talk with A.J. and get you straightened out.”
“Do not bring A.J.
into this,” he warned. “I will never escape.”
“When you get the attention
of a girl like that, you do not let her walk away,” she informed him. “Now come
on. Let’s get back to our seats.”
“I have to place my bet
first. And you know what? I’m gonna win too.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of
course you are,” she said patronizingly.
“Just wait and see.”
* * *
Brian had difficulty
concentrating on the rest of the races. He kept seeing those blue eyes and that
gorgeous smile, and thinking about what an coward he had been for not asking
for her number, or asking her to dinner, or asking her to marry him. Sarah was
right. He was an idiot.
He clenched his win
ticket on number six, Silver Charm, in the eighth race: the Kentucky Derby. It
had been a hefty bet, and he was praying like hell it paid off. The horses
paraded elegantly in front of the stands to the strains of My Old Kentucky Home
when post time drew near, and he spotted the horse cantering easily by, his
iron-gray tail streaming out behind him like a banner. His steel coat shimmered
in the sun, and his muscles rippled freely underneath his immaculate coat. If
the charcoal coat didn’t stand out from the rest, the irregular white splotch
on his head did. A bright blue shadow roll rested on his nose, and his ears
were pricked alertly forward, awaiting his moment to shine. Silver Charm and the
rest of the field vanished to the starting gate, where the starter worked his
magic to get them all in line and ready to go.
The entire crowd held its
breath as the last horse loaded, and the silence was so complete that they
could have heard a pin drop. Then the gates flew open with a clang and a
collective roar erupted from the crowd as the race they had been waiting for
since the first Saturday in May of last year began.. Thirteen mighty
thoroughbreds surged past the stands for the first time, their colorful silks
and sleek coats flashing brilliantly in the fading sun. Brian found himself
swept up in the incredible excitement of it all, finally understanding just why
Kentucky loved this event so much. There was an unexplainable magic in the air,
where for two minutes the world seemed to sit back and watch this handful of
young horses to make or break the dream of every horseman who ever dreamed of
owning a racehorse.
The field rounded the
final turn and the crowd hit its feet, screaming and waving as the blur of
horseflesh fought for the right to wear a blanket of red roses. Brian tried
vainly to determine who was in the lead, and spotted a flash of gray, scarcely
daring to hope. He strained his ears to hear the frantic call of the announcer.
“Here comes the Captain, and down the stretch they come! Silver Charm
to the front!”
Brian began to scream.
“Go Charm! Come on, get up there! Get there! Get there!”
“On the inside Free House, on the outside Captain Bodgit! It’s
Captain Bodgit on the outside, Silver Charm at the rail!”
“Go! Go!”
“Those two to the
wire. Here’s the finish… Silver Charm by a neck!”
Brian whooped and threw
his hat high in the air, and then grabbed Sarah and kissed her on the cheek.
“He did it!” he hollered. “Did you see that?”
“I saw it,” she said
through her laughter.
“Get your hands off my
girl,” Kevin ordered with a grin. “Don’t even tell me you picked the winner.”
“Right there!” Brian
yelped joyously, waving his ticket in his cousin’s face. “Take that
Kentucky Boy!”
“I vow to go down with
dignity and grace,” Kevin said, fighting to keep a straight face.
“Oh the hell you won’t,”
Brian said indignantly, leaping at his cousin, shoving the ticket at him,
taunting him mercilessly.
“Sarah!” Kevin pleaded.
“Call him off!”
“Brian, heel,” Sarah commanded.
Brian ceased his attack
and contented himself to cackle maniacally instead. Kevin thwacked him with a
rolled up program, and his cousin gave him a wounded look.
“Pain,” Kevin said
affectionately.
They watched the
presentation in the winner’s circle, and Brian kept his eyes glued on Silver
Charm as he tossed his proud head and posed for the camera flashes. Damn it. He
should have asked for her number.
When the crowd had
thinned after the drama had concluded, and the excited exclamations of the racing
patrons (Can you believe it? That’s the closest finish since Iron Liege in ’57!
Wow, what a race.) had dimmed to a few lasting echoes, the three gathered their
things and prepared to depart and make the drive into Lexington. They exited
the clubhouse into the fading sunlight, Sarah and Kevin laughing about
something, while Brian walked in moody silence. He still had his winning ticket
clenched in his hands. For some reason, he hadn’t quite been able to bring
himself to cash it.
“Well holy shit,” Sarah
said suddenly, as they walked past the empty paddock, which had just emptied
itself of the horses running in the tenth race.
“What?” Kevin asked.
Brian looked up.
“Brian,” she hissed.
“Look over there. In the paddock.”
Brian swung his head in
the direction Sarah was pointing, and stopped cold. “I don’t believe it.”
There, in the saddling enclosure, stood Whitney, furiously scribbling notes on
a notepad as a gray haired horseman spoke to her. Kevin frowned. “What?” he
asked, clueless as to what they were looking at. Neither answered him. They
watched as she concluded her interview and wandered towards the corner of the
paddock by the extra saddling stalls. She walked up a few stairs, and suddenly
appeared on the cobble path directly ahead of them.
Sarah nudged him with her
elbow. “Brian. Go. You. Her. Now.”
“You know what?” Brian
murmured. “For the first time in my life I am not going to argue with you.” He
jogged away from Sarah and Kevin and hurried to catch up to her.
“Whitney!” he called out.
She paused and turned, looking for the origin of the shout. She smiled, a look
of pleasant surprise etched on her face.
“Why hello there,” she
said as he reached her. “Pretty ironic that I see you again, considering there
was a mob of over 145,000 people here today.”
“No kidding,” he said, a
warm smile spreading across his face. “It must be fate.”
“Did your bet pay off?”
she asked.
“I haven’t cashed it,” he
admitted, fiddling with the rumbled piece of paper.
“Really?” she said in
surprise.
“Yeah.” He shoved the
ticket inside his pocket, shuffling his feet a little. “Look, this may seem a
little… I don’t know, weird, but I was wondering if I could take you to dinner
sometime.”
She cocked her head,
(damn she was cute) as she considered his question. “Well, I live in Lexington,”
she told him. “I’m not from Louisville.”
Brian’s face broke into
an even bigger smile. “What a coincidence.”
Whitney grinned. “Then I
would love to.”
“Really?” he said, unable
to veil his excitement. “Great. The only problem is that I’m only in town for a
couple of days.” His heart flip-flopped as her face fell just slightly. “It’s a
long story,” he assured her. “Are you free?”
“I have a lot of work to
do to get these articles ready for publication, but I think I could squeeze you
in.” God, that smile was killing him.
She scribbled her number
on a scrap of paper and handed it to him. He stared at it, before looking back
at her. “I am so glad you said yes.”
She smiled knowingly.
“Who am I to argue with fate?”
Saturday, May 3rd,
2006
Brian Littrell gazed at
the photo frame, a quiet smile playing about the corners of his lips. The face
of a bold young thoroughbred pounding down the stretch under the famed twin
spires gazed back at him, that oddly shaped white patch on his head standing
out against his steel gray face. His eyes drifted just above the photo, where
an unassuming rectangular piece of paper hung preserved behind the glass. He
felt a presence at his back, and the smile deepened as a pair or arms encircled
his waist.
“Hey you.”
Brian turned his head
until he was looking into a pair of deep blue eyes. “The Munchkin asleep?” he
asked, placing his arms over hers.
“Astonishingly enough,
yes. What are you up to?”
“Pondering an old
question.”
“Oh?”
“Yup. And the answer is
yes.”
Whitney Littrell raised a
questioning eyebrow. “Yes what?”
“Yes, the bet paid off.”