Pas de deux Page 9
“Then maybe it’s time you figured out how to tell her why you behaved the way you did. Without the hair pulling.”
“I never actually pulled her hair.”
“No?” Teresa’s laugh was short and full of mirth. “Well you never know, maybe that’s her kink now. This is the time for you to get your shit together and get over your childhood baggage.”
“I don’t have baggage,” I said instantly and perhaps a little petulantly.
“Everyone has baggage. Granted, yours always seemed less fucked up than everyone else’s.”
“Okay fine, of course I have baggage but I don’t have baggage about my time at Pony Club with Caitlyn Lloyd.” Even if she did.
“Good. Then talk to her, like really talk to her. Make the effort. I promise it’ll be worth it.” She stole a sip of my coffee. “If for no other reason than you guys need to get along or it’s going to add a whole other level of stress to an already stressed-as-fuck situation.”
I grunted, then mumbled my answer. “I’ll try.”
Chapter Seven
Caitlyn
I found Wren in the tack room, chunky headphones over her ears, dancing as she cleaned a saddle. Leaning in the door, I waved to get her attention. She grinned, wiped her hands on the towel draped over a saddle stand and looped the headphones around her neck. “What’s up?”
“Do you have some time to help me with a thing?”
“Of course.” She capped the bottle of leather dressing. “What are we doing?”
“I have to do those Dewey autographs, and some idiots on the Instagram post said that I was just going to do it myself and pretend the horse painted them.”
Wren snorted. “Ha! As if you’d ever do that.”
“Right?” Dewey’s engaging persona and playfulness was a gift from the money-raising gods. “So I’m going to video it and show them all it really is him. Then I might get another fifteen takers if I put up another autograph auction.” Every dime helped, even if it meant constantly putting myself in the public eye and opening myself up to ridiculous criticism. I was willing to bet none of the other USDF members had ever had to do anything like an auction to raise money for their campaigns, because every one of them was independently wealthy or from family money. I had enough cash for rainy days, to keep my barn running and my career chugging along, but it wasn’t enough on its own.
“Probably will,” Wren agreed.
“Could you grab the artist for me please while I change?” Even fun activities required shout-outs to my sponsors. “I’ll do it at the cottage so we’re not in the way here.”
“Sure.”
When I’d finished dressing in jeans and sponsor-laden clothing Wren and Dewey were outside the cottage. She’d taken off his blankets and groomed him, and he looked every inch the camera-ready horse. Wren stared at the clothesline with pegs ready to hang each piece of artwork, the table I’d set up with a pot of green paint and one of those huge thick-handled kiddie paintbrushes, and the metal baking tray into which I’d poured black paint for Dew to stamp a shoe print onto each of the heavy ten-by-twelve cards before he decorated them with the green paint.
Wren was trying to dissuade Dew from sticking his nose into everything. “This is gonna get messy,” she sing-songed.
“Tell me about it.”
Dew nickered at me, then stretched his head forward to receive a treat, straining at the end of the lead. I gave him a carrot then tied him to the porch railing. He immediately started nibbling Lotte’s flowers.
I lightly slapped his shoulder. “Can you not do that?” I tugged his head up and faced Wren. “So I was thinking if you could just follow whatever we’re doing, me going back and forth with him and the table and the clothesline, and I’ll try to edit it into one of those cool fast-motion time-lapse looking things.”
“Sounds great. You going to add a funky soundtrack?”
“Mhmm. The Three Stooges would be appropriate, or maybe “Flight of the Bumblebee” to reflect what’s going on inside Dewey’s brain. I’ll try to keep the bending over in front of the camera to a minimum.”
“I bet Add—” My groom’s lips parted then slammed back together again. “You know what, never mind. Let’s make a movie.”
I eyed her and decided to let her slip go.
My plan was to do each of the fifteen cards with a Dew shoeprint, hang them to dry, then start from the first one and get Dewey to add his paint flair to them. If offered, he would hold anything not edible in his mouth and usually had to give it a shake for good measure. If my plan went to plan, I could hold the cards close to the brush and get some of the paint on each one. Then he could have a piece of licorice after each piece of artwork was done which should entice him to keep “painting.” The possibility for disaster and hilarity were equally high.
I positioned myself at Dew’s head and gently pulled his halter to make him face forward. “All right, are we ready?”
“Let’s do it.” Wren held up the video camera. “Three, two, one…aaaaction!”
I flashed a wide smile. “Hi, I’m Caitlyn Lloyd and this here is my partner in crime—Midfields Adieu, AKA Dewey.” Dew nudged my shoulder. I nudged him back. “We’ve been doing a little fundraising to support our bid to make the US Dressage Team for Rio 2016, which is in fifty-six days!”
Dewey, apparently bored with my thirty seconds of talking and not paying him attention, started nibbling my ponytail then my polo collar. Laughing at his whisker tickles, I pushed him away. “One of the items we offered was personalized artwork made by Dewey himself, and we thought you guys might like to see how the next Michelangelo creates his masterpieces.”
Ever the cooperative and attention-loving horse, Dewey treated the whole thing as a game. Within an hour I had fifteen hilarious paintings made by a horse, paint in places I didn’t want paint, and hopefully some good footage that I could edit into something fun. And Dewey was now twenty-five percent licorice.
“Aaaand cut,” Wren yelled.
I leaned against Dew’s shoulder, relieved that I could finally switch off. Introvert battery status? Close to empty. “Great, thanks so much for helping.”
“No problem. FYI, you have paint…like, everywhere,” she observed as I moved everything out of Dewey’s mouth range.
“I know.” I poked Dew’s cheek. “Yet somehow, he’s managed to keep himself clean.” I wiped my hands on some paper towel then took the camera from Wren. “Time to clean up and do some editing I suppose.”
“And time for me to get back to making leather things shiny. Call me if you can’t figure out how to edit.” She untied Dewey. “I’ll take care of this one.”
“Thanks. And I’m not a total Luddite you know.”
“I’ll remind you of that when you can’t get the music on your phone to download again. It’s your turn to cook dinner, by the way.” She couldn’t quite hide her alarm.
“Fear not, your tastebuds are safe. I’m already planning on just ordering something. I’ve got that video chat Q and A thing with Dressage Daily tonight so I need to prepare. Nightmare fuel,” I mumbled. But I’d agreed to it because it was good publicity and as I kept broken-record chanting to myself—publicity translated to funding.
Wren was aware of my aversion to social interaction, even online, and she laughed quietly. “I know, but you’ll be fine.” As she led Dew away, she called back over her shoulder, “Just pretend they’re all naked.” Then she said something under her breath that I didn’t quite catch.
I laughed my way through editing and compressing the video to five zoomy minutes, added a zany song over the top then posted it to all my social media accounts. By the time I’d been out to say goodnight to Dewey and had dinner, the video had become one of my most popular. It had brought in more likes, comments, and shares than even the ones of my winning rides at the WEG in Normandy and the adorable video of Rasputin balancing on Dewey’s back while Dew got up from a lying-down nap, that I’d captioned Next Team USA Vaulting Member?
Just before seven, I checked that I looked presentable and logged on to the live chat where I smiled and joked with the host, answered her questions and those asked by the virtual attendees for an hour and a half—everything from “How do I make my horse canter on the correct lead?” to “Why can’t I sit on my horse’s medium trot?” to “How do you get your horses looking so great?”
I mentioned my sponsors at every opportunity, explained my background, which they probably already knew, talked about my coaches, my vet team, my employees, everyone here readying us for Olympic selection and smiled so much my cheeks hurt. When I was finally done, I thanked everyone profusely for joining the chat, slapped my laptop closed then practically sprinted into the kitchen to make a drink.
Less than a minute after I’d collapsed on the couch, an unknown FaceTime caller request interrupted my book, dark chocolate and ice-cold vodka. Probably a telemarketer. The moment I twigged that the number had a Florida area code was the same moment I twigged that I knew someone in Florida. Plus, telemarketers didn’t really go for FaceTime. I swiped to answer and a familiar face popped into view. My stomach did a funny little drop. “Hello.”
“Caitlyn, it’s Addie. Gardner?” There was an unmistakable edge of fatigue in her voice, making her twang even twangier. She laughed and added, “Sorry, you probably guessed that by my face.”
“Yeah, I did.” Her face with the interior of a car as backdrop.
“Right. I’m sorry to call so late there but I meant to call you first thing this mornin’, then mid-mornin’, then at lunch and well, I’m sure you get the idea. And also sorry for the FaceTime, but I’m always better face-to-face.”
“No problem, and that explains the unknown number. I thought you were someone trying to sell me something.”
There was an awkward pause before another laugh broke the silence. “I might still try. Just a quick call. First up, I wanted to let you know that I’ve spoken with Teresa Warren and I now have all of Dewey’s history. Everything looks fabulous and I don’t anticipate anything underlying that might cause issues going forward.”
“Great. I mean I know he doesn’t have any issues but I’m glad you’re satisfied now too.” Though I tried to sound neutral, it definitely came out a little accusatory and I hoped she didn’t catch the edge in my tone.
If she did, she did a good job of hiding it. “I am satisfied. I—” Her forehead furrowed as she leaned closer to the screen. “Something with a twist?”
I held up the ice-filled glass, which she’d apparently seen. “Vodka.” Addie’s expression of confusion made me ask, “What?”
“Nothing. Just thinking about how good that would be right now.”
The question came out before I could stop it. “Rough day?”
She smiled tightly. “It has indeed been a day.” A dismissive wave. “No matter. In a few hours I’ll be on the couch myself with a glass and a fistful of chocolate.”
It was right on my tongue to ask her about her day, about why it’d been so obviously shit. But that felt like crossing a boundary. So I said nothing, just slowly raised my chocolate until it was in view.
Addie burst into laughter. “I feel like we’re living in a parallel universe. Only you’re a few hours in front of me.”
“It does feel a little like that.”
“Enjoy it.” She sobered, clearing her throat. “There’s nothin’ else going on you think I should know about?”
“Not since I saw you six days ago, no.”
Her expression turned sheepish. “Right. Of course.”
“And I did agree I’d call or email if there was anything going on here that you should know about. I’m a woman of my word.” It came out teasing, though I hadn’t consciously intended it to.
“You did.” Addie jumped at the unmistakable loud sound of a phone ringing. She disappeared out of view for a moment before popping back. “I have to go. Work’s on the other phone. Talk soon, take care.” I caught a flash of panic before she said a hasty goodbye and the screen went blank.
I stared at the phone for a few long moments. Even though I’d promised myself that I was going to shove my teenager problems out of the way so we could work together, the call had left me feeling off balance. Probably me adjusting my thought processes to Nice Addie. That was it. Couldn’t be anything else.
Wren strolled into the room and dropped onto the other couch with all the gangly uncoordinated grace of a newborn foal. “Are you talking to yourself?”
I dropped my phone onto the couch. “That was Addie. Doctor Gardner. Addie.”
She made an encouraging gesture. “Pick just one name, you can do it.”
I gave her a middle finger along with, “Addie.”
“Ah. Is everything okay?”
“Mhmm.” I dragged my legs up onto the couch and tucked them underneath me. “She was just letting me know she’s talked to Teresa about Dew. How’s Brandon?”
“I think he’s enjoying being a bachelor again. The house probably looks like a tornado went through it, but you know the barn will be spotless.” She smiled the slightly spaced-out smile she always did when mentioning him. “Everyone and everything is fine.”
“Yeah, he messaged me earlier. With pictures.”
“Not surprised.” Wren changed position so she lay on the couch with her too-long legs slung over the arm. “Seriously though, what’s going on with you and the esteemed Doctor Gardner?”
“Nothing’s going on,” I said immediately.
“Sure,” she drawled. “Then why did you look like you’d just spoken to your idol when I walked in?”
“Did I?”
“You did.”
I took a few moments to think about how to phrase my answer. All I managed was, “I guess she’s easy to talk to.”
“That she is. And I can see that but just resting on the tip of your tongue.”
I took the bait. “But…I’m trying to figure out if I hallucinated those Pony Club years, or what’s going on now. I just don’t know. She’s not the way I remember her at all and I’m finding that weird and hard to reconcile.”
“People grow up, Caitlyn. Sad fact of life. How exactly did she use to tease you?”
“Usual teenager stuff. Hiding my gear, tossing dried manure at me, calling me Lesbo Lloyd.” Among other things.
Wren barely contained her laughter. “To be fair, you are Lesbo Lloyd.”
“Obviously, but being called that as a teenager was mortifying and, on top of everything else that crowd put me through, it was awful.”
“Did she do those things to anyone else?”
“Some of it.” After a pause I admitted, “Everyone got called stupid names.”
Nodding slowly, Wren mused, “Right.” After a long pause she sat up and dropped her feet to the floor. “I can understand how you’d be hurt by that as a kid and holding on to stuff like that is totally normal. And if Addie had come to you now and thrown manure at you and hidden Dew’s bridle then yeah, totally permissable to punch her or whatever. But she didn’t.”
“No, she didn’t,” I agreed. “See my dilemma? Teen me is stuck on the past and current me thinks she’s actually nice, and knowledgeable and…cute.”
Wren nodded slowly, a few stray mhmm’s escaping as she did. “You know, when you first hired Brandon, I thought he was nice to look at but an absolute idiot. I couldn’t stand him and I was so grumpy that you’d subjected me to this fool.”
I laughed at the mental image. There was Wren’s Way and then there was the wrong way, and though I’d hired Br
andon as a highly knowledgeable horseman and very capable rider, there’d definitely been friction when he’d first started out. “What changed your mind?”
“I actually don’t know. He was so weird around me all the time, like he’d either act like I was some beacon of equine knowledge to be tiptoed around, or just talk utter nonsense to the point I thought maybe he was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Turns out he was nervous because he thought I was hot.” Grinning, she affected an overly casual shrug. “He’s right of course. Once he settled down and started acting like himself, I realized what a great guy he is and how perfectly suited we are and it all kinda just fell into place. I just had to give him a chance to show me who he really is.”
I raised my glass to her. “I’m glad you came around.”
“Me too. And if I’d never had that lightning-bolt realization then I wouldn’t be as happy as I am now. Sometimes you have to get rid of shitty old ideals to make way for the new, better ones.”
Chapter Eight
Addie
Being startled awake by my work phone was the worst way I could think of to wake up during an on-call night, especially at…2:13 a.m. Bah. Thanks to muscle memory I’d answered the call, which was sure to be a drag-me-out-of-bed emergency, before my eyes were fully open. “Equine after hours, this is Doctor Addie Gardner.”
A high-pitched voice demanded, “Who is this?”
I…just said, didn’t I? I tried again and made sure to enunciate very, very slowly. “Doctor. Addie. Gardner. You’ve called the equine after hours number of Seth Ranger and Associates Veterinary Practice.”