The recording engineer was a guy named Keys. They called him that because he’d been a hot keyboard player when he was young and had actually toured with some big-name jazz groups. But he developed arthritis in his hands. Keys knew his way around a soundboard though. And he knew how to talk to musicians and how they liked to work. I felt comfortable right away. He set me up behind some wooden sound baffles with a stool and a microphone and my guitar plugged into an old Fender tube amp. He said it would give my riffs a good old-time sound. It did.
We laid down five songs that morning. I’d only ever heard myself on cheap tape recorders before. The way the studio recording sounded made me feel ten feet tall. The guitar runs were crystal clear, and when I vamped the chords, they were all fat and thumpy like the old-time bluesmen. My voice sounded raspy and growly and very blue.
“We got something here,” Keys said. “It’s bluesy, jazzy, very funky. I like it. You write good stuff.”
I’d never felt prouder.
Vic and Jerry hung around for the whole session. They hadn’t been too happy when I told them there was nothing to bet that day. They were less impressed when I booked out of there alone.
“The boss won’t like this much,” Vic said. “Things are a little one-ended here.”
“Well, what would you have me do? Lie to him? Lay down dumb money just so he’s happy knowing there’s action?”
“Maybe not. But you have to give him the word. Not me.”
Vic punched in some numbers and then handed me the phone. Hardy answered right away.
“Yeah,” was all he said.
“It’s me. Cree.”
“Hey, Wonderboy. How’s the action looking?”
“Well, if it was my money, I’d keep it in my pocket today.”
“Why?”
“There’s nothing. Everything’s a tossup. I wouldn’t put your cash out there.”
“You’re not just saying that?”
“No.”
There was a silence at the end of the line. Vic and Jerry eyed me. I shifted from foot to foot, waiting.
“Okay,” he said finally. “You’re the man. I trust you. Take the day. Spend some loot. Have a little fun. I’ll talk to you later.”
I handed Vic the phone, and he mumbled into it. Then broke the connection and shrugged.
“Guess you can go,” he said.
“With your permission,” I said.
“Don’t get cute, kid. Ever.”
I took that as my cue to leave.
Ashton wasn’t exactly impressed with my thinking. He sat there while I told him my plan and shook his head slowly. Then he looked up at me and stared for long enough to make me nervous.
“This guy sounds like trouble if things don’t follow his line,” he said finally.
“I know that. But the thing is, Ash, I gotta show him that I know how to think too. Right now he’s making all the moves and taking control. I don’t want him thinking I’m just a flunky.”
“Okay, but are you prepared to handle it if he flips out because you acted on your own?”
“He asks me to act on my own.”
“To pick the horses, yeah. Not to venture out without telling him.”
“I don’t see the problem.”
“You won’t until after.” He picked up his coffee and took a long slow sip. “But I’m still gonna go with you.”
“Why?”
He laughed. “I’ve never seen anyone lay down a thousand bucks on a bet before. Nor have I watched anyone have to watch their money run around a track.”
“Glad I entertain you.”
By the time we got to the track, the grandstand was full. We’d missed the first four races, and the action for the fifth was fast and heavy, according to the numbers on the tote board. We picked up some burgers, Cokes and a racing form and found a quiet area that overlooked the paddock area so we could see the horses when they arrived prior to their race. Ashton liked to people-watch. He sat and ate and looked over the crowd while I thumbed through the form. I was so nervous that I had trouble reading. Finally I put the form down and ate my burger while I watched the horses and jockeys get ready in the paddock. Just for something to do, I walked to the window and put a ten-dollar bet on a big roan gelding called Falmouth’s Boy. I never made pointless bets, but I was antsy. I needed a distraction. Ashton followed my lead and bet five dollars on the same horse. He won by half a head.
“How’d you know?” Ashton asked as we cashed out.
“I guessed,” I said.
“Good guess.”
“Yeah. But I never do that. It’s being foolish.”
“Foolishness just made me fifteen bucks.”
“Yeah, well, luck is luck, I guess.”
“Hope your luck holds out in the seventh.”
We killed time until the horses paraded for the seventh and I got a chance to look at Sports Day. He was muscular and fit-looking but smaller than the rest of the field. There was a knot of anxiety in my gut. I fingered the roll of bills in my pocket and toyed with the idea of just forgetting it and waiting until I could find a sure thing for Hardy. But I needed to show him that I was independent, that I could operate on my own. I didn’t like feeling owned. This was my chance to gain a little freedom. With three minutes to post time, I walked up and made the bet. My hands shook while I counted out the bills. My mouth was dry, and I gulped down a Coke. There was no way I could sit to watch the race, so we stood at the rail at the edge of the second-floor seats. Ashton watched me worriedly.
“You gonna be okay?”
“I hope so.”
When the horses charged out of the starting gate, Sports Day was almost invisible behind the larger horses. But his size let him slip between them, and he found daylight. The gate was at the foot of the backstretch, and I could see him race into the far turn, leading by half a length. I thought I would faint. He led through the turn, and then a pair of bigger horses made a move and drew even with his shoulder. Down the homestretch, there wasn’t an inch to separate them. Every lunging stride seemed to push one of the three ahead. The crowd was wild. I leaned on the railing and clutched it hard. Time slowed. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I could hear Ashton yelling in my ear, but the words didn’t register. My hands hurt from gripping the rail.
When the horses flashed across the finish line, Sports Day had won by a nose. I wobbled to a seat and flopped down in it. I could barely breathe. I put my head on my forearms and swallowed huge gulps of air. When I looked up, Ashton was smiling at me.
“You just won five thousand dollars,” he said.
I still hadn’t got my breath back when we returned to the counter for the winnings.