Free Horse Heaven by Jane Smiley Page B

George understood. “Speed kills,” said Deirdre.
    “What does that mean?” said Skippy.
    “It means that the horse wasn’t ready,” said Mary Lynn. “It means he would have maybe thrown himself out of whack with a race like that and had a big bounce or worse. Why don’t you ever listen to anyone, Skippy?”
    “I listened to a good trainer who thought the horse was ready.”
    “Skippy, when you go into discovery, do you take the advice of the opposing team about what you should pay attention to and what you shouldn’t?”
    “I don’t consider Harry Jacobson to be on the opposing team. He’s a disinterested outsider.
And
he has a good reputation.”
    “He’s on the opposing team to Deirdre here, right?” She cast a look at Deirdre.
    “I would say so, yes,” said Deirdre, as always beginning reasonably, “He’s trying to steal the fucking horse,” and then ending offensively.
    “Oh, please,” said Skippy Hollister. “When I asked him if he could do better with the horse, he said he didn’t think so, that Deirdre is one of the best trainers around, and whatever the horse has, Deirdre will eventually find it.”
    “Mother of God,” said Deirdre.
    “Skippy, I wonder that you are my life’s companion. I wonder that I allowed that to happen.” Then Mary Lynn said to Deirdre, “Honey, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t use vulgarities in my presence. Thank you.” She smiled autocratically.
    “Max Weber uses the guy. He’s won and won and won.”
    “Skippy,” said Mary Lynn. “Has he
profited?
”
    “Well, I suppose. How could he not?”
    “Well, he has not. Jolene Weber told me they’ve spent millions on yearlings and two-year-olds in training and broodmares. They’ve won millions,too, but not as many millions as they’ve spent!” When Skippy looked at his wife, Deirdre had the distinct impression that she was going to slap him upside the head a couple of times. You could call her abusive in her way, but Deirdre found it rather satisfying. Other than horses, Mary Lynn Hollister did an incredible amount of volunteer work. She was a classic dragon of benevolence, and with luck Deirdre herself would end up in some care institution that Mary Lynn Hollister oversaw.
    “You, Skippy, have profited,” said Mary Lynn. “Thanks to Deirdre, you are in the one percent that has profited.”
    “These are horses here,” said Deirdre. “I don’t like to run them out unless they are at a fu—that is, at a hundred percent. Sometimes you use races to prepare for races. We’ve talked about this before.” She heard her voice rise irritably as she mentioned this last. Harry Jacobsons voice was ever and anon respectful with every owner or potential owner, and since every person in the world, through the striking of lightning or an Act of God, was a potential owner, Harry Jacobson was uniformly respectful
to
them, if not
about
them.
    “I want to move the horse. Just that horse. Just to try it. We’ve profited, but we haven’t won a big race.” Now the note of petulance in Skippy Hollister’s voice was distinct. Deirdre wondered if maybe Mary Lynn had taken the wrong tack, treating Skippy like a child. She said, “I certainly respect your wishes, Mr. Hollister. If you wish to move the horse, you may. My bookkeeper will work up your final bill.”
    “It’s an experiment, that’s all. The horse can come back here after a few weeks. Or something. I think a change would be good for the horse, maybe.”
    Deirdre just couldn’t keep it up. She knew that, theoretically, she had a choice, and that making the right choice was in her long-term best interest, but she said, anyway, “I don’t fucking think so.”
    “What?” said Skippy.
    “I said … Well, you heard me.”
    Skippy looked offended and so did Mary Lynn, unfortunately. Just then, George breezed into the office without knocking.
    “Lovely animal, that one,” he said.
    “Which one?” said Daniel Hollister, grumpily.
    “Why, that