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Horse Two
a Short Story

by Anita Dime

Author blog: www.eisig.org
Twitter: #theRunningRail

Published by
Flatcar6 Studios

Amazon: Full version of the story may be purchased. ISBN: 978-0-9857136-1-4

iPad: Full version of the story may be purchased. ISBN: 978-0-9857136-0-7

Original linocut artwork by Julia Huff

Excerpt 1

Rain came down like piss from a race horse, fast and hard. I'd been wasting the minutes, trying to figure out what to do, which left me staring outside–folded paper on the seat next to me and coffee contrails, racing the Camels, keeping me company with the rain.

"C'mon, c'mon,” he pulled a chair to the end of the booth, flipped over the paper, and sat down. Scanning the headlines, he said, "Odds are in our favor–our favor. Did you hear me?”

I just wanted to hear the rain. "Heard you the first time, you fucking parrot.”

"Race Five's got Special Dark Star or Nutty Buddy, something like that. You know, one of the Candy Lady's horses; she's got so many. Here. I'll show you.” He turned over the Racing Form.

"This millionairess, husband croaks at fifty-something, leaving her a small, 3,000-acre Tennessee farmstead and thoroughbreds, all named after candy bars. Not one is a like War Admiral–geez, ain't he swift this year–but they're all consistent performers, collectively, when they're all running the same race. The odds sorta even out, and betting on any one of 'em, you'll make some dough.”

I took another drag. Yeah, I remember this brood alright. They just named their latest colt "Nation's Tastiest.” Well, I should say the nation named Nation's Tastiest; it was a radio contest, a publicity stunt to sell more candy bars, I suppose. But, also a replacement for last year's tragedy, a time I found difficult all around and try to forget daily.

Flipping pages, Smitty was instantly distracted. "Look, this race, number four. We got Sinbad Syndicate and Pollyana Piper. K, maybe not Pollyana, but Sinbad; I ... I can feel it–I really can.”

Excerpt 2

The following week I took Lillian. Geez, Lillian, what a dream–dating six months and climbing. She had never been before, and I thought the novelty of it all would drive her passion. She had never smelt the freshly groomed lawns and the wet track clay. She had never experienced this place of heightened energy, as all that entered surged with luck and faith in the four-legged gods and bet their savings for that moment to sit in euphoria with them.

The equine regal stance in the paddock is something to see at least once. His head is held high.

Wish I could really feel that, not just posing.

I’d gone all out for this date: bought popcorn and even an official program at ten cents.

“Oh, it’s so exciting!” she squealed, smashing her white pocketbook against my sleeve. We had seen the horses for this race already paraded. She had picked a gray with a well-sculpted haunch, standing fifteen hands high; its white star–yeah, a rarity–glistening as if a mystical unicorn stood before her, waiting to be adorned with a wreath of flowers and bathed in pink petals. I couldn’t bear to tell her the field typically yielded to the browns, chestnuts, and bays, but maybe it is all in the numbers running.

It was truly a holiday. We strolled to the betting window. I’d usually never dream of placing a wager with more than two minutes remaining to post time, but I took my time with Lily, strolling to stand in line, her arm in mine.

From her handbag, she opened her silver, initialized cigarette case–probably the last guy’s gift. She slid out a slim Lucky Strike. “You have a light?” I obliged, and she inhaled long and slow, looking like she was savoring this memory, and then turned her head away and politely blew smoke over my shoulder.

A shifty bald guy stood two ahead of us. Fists thrust deep into his trouser pockets, looking nervously at the board and nervously at the line. Like a sandpiper, he first stood on his right foot, then his left, looking around and through the people ahead of him and then back to the boards. “Ah, have your money ready, you fat cow!” he belched at the powdered lady in blue, accessorized in mink fluffs and hat netting, who finally laid down her bet. She sneered down her nose while his bald head grew redder by the second.

Anxiously, Lily gripped even tighter, a slight falter in her smile, but she clutched her two dollars, seeming to feel the life and death of it. She glanced at the board, and I sensed that even though she didn’t know what the changes in numbering meant, she felt urgency with each turn all the same. She glanced down, smiling, and we stepped closer to the front. Things getting down to the wire–that bell.

Please don’t ring too soon.

Thanks and such

Much thanks to family and friends for supporting my little schemes.
- Danelle, Laurie, Tom, and Cristina for reading roughs
- Kirsten for coffee
- Ted, Mel, Mom, and Bro for love
- Dad always

Author Biography

Anita Dime is a self-published author, debuting her first short story in 2012 entitled “Horse Two." This noir short includes seven original linocuts by the author; depicting scenes of a guy’s luck on and off the horse race track in the mid-1930s.

Author blog: www.eisig.org
Author email: anita.dime@flatcar6studios.com
Twitter: #AnitaDime
Published by Flatcar6 Studios

Amazon: Full version of the story may be purchased. ISBN: 978-0-9857136-1-4

iPad: Full version of the story may be purchased. ISBN: 978-0-9857136-0-7

Original linocut artwork by Julia Huff

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 Julia Huff. All rights reserved.