Star Quality
By Syrinx
Summary: Cindy has been all over the country, trying to become something that has always slipped out of her grasp. Now, in her quest to become a respected jockey, Cindy falls into Belmont Park and finds the horse that can help her take her first steps in the right direction.
Disclaimer: All rights to the Thoroughbred series belong to Joanna Campbell and Harper Collins.
A/N: post Cindy's Desert Adventure, sequel to Before the Fame, Cindy/OC angst.
1.
Welcome to the City that Never Sleeps
Cindy McLean stood out by the side of the track, her eyes skipping over the vast expanse of it. The sun was rising hot on the horizon, reminding Cindy that summers in New York were just as bad as the summers anywhere else, if not more humid. Silently, she collected her shoulder length blond hair into a low ponytail, pulling the thick hair away from her neck in relief.
Belmont Park spread out before her, painted in a faint tint of orange and red as the sun began to spill out onto the giant city, lighting up the brilliant blue sky. Horses had been out on the track for some time, their beautiful earth toned bodies slipping through the shadows and the sun, dancing on delicate legs, their manes ruffling behind them in fans of bronze, onyx, silver, and gold.
She remembered the track as well as she knew the back of her hand. Sometimes it helped to know the lay of the land, Cindy reasoned, before she went out to try and communicate with the people.
Slowly, she made up her mind. Cindy turned away from the track and made her way up to the barns, her boots crunching on the gravel as she looked in on stables, staying out of people's way as horses were led in and out. She stopped outside barn 28, glancing inside to see a tall man checking on a horse, a clipboard underneath his arm.
He glanced up when Cindy took one small step into the barn, looking around her.
"Can I help you with something?" He asked, pulling off his glasses, turning to look over at Cindy.
Cindy nodded, smiling softly. She was no longer nervous when it came down to asking for jobs. Either they had something to offer or they didn't. If they said no, Cindy thanked them and walked away. If they said yes, that was a whole other story.
"I was looking for work riding," Cindy said, keeping her distance as the man slowly shook his head.
"You got an agent?" He asked, putting his glasses back on and glancing down at the clipboard.
"Not yet," Cindy sighed, knowing the whole routine.
"Well," he said, shaking his head. "Policy around here is that trainers don't pick up young riders without agents, and I've got all the hands I could need."
Cindy nodded, a frown forming on her mouth. The story was the same where ever she went. Good, worthwhile jockeys started out with agents. They had contracts, and owners to ride for. Cindy had none of those things. She had only one controversial stakes win under her belt, and that was not worth anything to anyone she had met in the past three years.
"Hey, kid," the man called as she started to turn, heading out for another barn.
"Yeah?" Cindy asked, turning around, whipping her head back hopefully.
"You look familiar. What's your name?"
"Cindy McLean," she said, watching his face closely.
The tall man stood there for a moment, his eyes narrowing at her as though he was scrutinizing every aspect of her.
"Dubai winner, right?" He asked, taking a step back from the stall and facing her fully now, frowning.
"Yeah," Cindy muttered, shrugging. It wasn't new information that she had won the Dubai World Cup on a Triple Crown winner four years ago. Of course, that seemed like it had been a life time ago to Cindy.
"My name is William Lewis," he said, offering his hand.
"Hi," Cindy said, taking his hand and shaking it disinterestedly.
"I'll tell you what, Cindy," Mr. Lewis said, pressing his clipboard to his chest. "There is a slot open at Lucas Simm's barn for an exercise rider."
"Lucas Simm?" Cindy frowned, recognizing the name. He was one of the best young trainers in the business. His four-year-old, Counting Crosses, had won the Breeder's Cup Sprint the year before.
"Right," Mr. Lewis nodded. "As far as I know he hasn't filled the position. You may want to give that a shot, though. His main office is over in barn 41."
"Thanks," Cindy nodded, giving the man one of her few and fleeting smiles before turning on her heel and walking off. She paused outside, looking down the rows of barns and gravel aisles.
Belmont, Cindy thought to herself. As similar as it was, it all seemed different. Cindy supposed it was her new found ability to see without the rose colored glasses that Whitebrook had placed on her face. When she had grown up it had been all about the Classic races and the stakes winners. When she moved away everything suddenly became much more plain.
She scowled down at the rest of the backside, silently cursing to herself. She took a big breath and let it out, starting off down the gravel aisle, heading for barn 41.
When she walked into the open air stable of barn 41, she paused, looking around her. The aisle was immaculately clean, and there were several sleek Thoroughbreds lifting their noble heads to survey her calmly, pricking their ears at her as she began to walk by.
"Can I help you?" She heard a man's voice behind her and she turned around, finding a man slightly taller than her standing in the entrance of the barn, holding the lead to a skittish gray.
"Yes," Cindy nodded, taking a few steps forward. "I'm hear to talk to Lucas Simm. I heard he was short an exercise rider."
"Ah," the man chuckled, leading the gray into the barn, the horse's hooves clomping rhythmically on the concrete. "He is short a rider. What's your name?"
"Cindy McLean," she said, as though she were tired of saying it.
"Yeah?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow at her. "Whitebrook, right?"
"Used to be," Cindy shrugged. "I came up from Baltimore just yesterday."
"Pimlico?"
"Yes," Cindy nodded, walking up to the gray as the young man put him in a stall marked "Silver Admiral."
"My name is Micky Anderson," he said, reaching over and offering his hand. "I'm Lucas' one and only Belmont exercise rider at the moment."
"I guess you'll be needing another one soon," Cindy said, taking his hand and shaking it firmly, then letting go.
Micky laughed and nodded. "I'd hire you myself if I could," he said, rubbing his forehead. "But fortunately for you Lucas is in the office."
Micky led Cindy down the barn toward the cramped office Lucas Simm operated out of. Cindy glanced quickly at the Far Side cartoons, all having to do with horses, taped to the open door of the trainer's office as Micky stopped in the doorway.
Cindy stood just behind the young exercise rider, looking over his shoulder at the man sprawled out in a chair behind a large oak desk, one foot propped on the messy top.
"That sounds great, Jack," he was saying. "It's about time you got the hell out of California and headed east. This is where the big shots play anyway."
Cindy frowned, watching the trainer talk into the phone, running his hands through his mousy brown hair, his green eyes sparkling excitedly.
"Well, I'll tell you what," Lucas said into the phone. "Come by here when you get in on Saturday. I'll be around to show you the horses. You're set to stay with Ryan when you get in, right?"
Cindy frowned, wishing the man off the phone. She had little patience for such chatter.
"All right," Lucas nodded, swinging his leg off the desk. "I'll see you then, Jack."
At that, the trainer put the phone back on the hook and looked up at Micky, waving him inside.
"What have you got for me, Mick?"
"A possible exercise rider," Micky said, moving out of the way. "By the name of Cindy McLean."
"Cindy McLean, huh?" Lucas Simm stood up, motioning Cindy inside the office. "Thanks, Micky," he said, walking around the desk and offering Cindy his hand.
"I'm Lucas Simm."
Cindy swallowed and accepted it, smiling at Micky slightly as Lucas shut the door, patting the leather chair on the other side of the desk.
"Take a seat, Ms. McLean," Mr. Simm said, walking back around to his chair and sitting down, sighing. "Sorry about the wait," he said as Cindy sat down in the chair, looking around her, noticing two Eclipse awards sitting on the far side of the room, flanked by winner's circle photos of several big name horses that she recognized.
"Just got myself a new assistant trainer," he chuckled, turning in his chair to rummage through his desk.
Cindy sat in silence, watching him pull out a few forms.
After a minute of waiting, he asked, "You are the Cindy McLean, aren't you?"
"I suppose so," Cindy frowned, shrugging.
"Ashleigh Griffen's apprentice," Lucas clarified. "Raced for Whitebrook Farm."
"Yes," Cindy nodded, trying to bite back the bitterness of being called Ashleigh Griffen's apprentice. "That would be me."
"How old are you now, kid?"
"Twenty," Cindy said, sitting up in the chair.
Lucas stilled, and chuckled. "Time does fly," he said under his breath as he pulled out a pen, beginning to write on the papers in front of him.
"Where were you last?"
"Baltimore," Cindy frowned, beginning to pick at her nails as Lucas still wrote.
"Not much luck?"
"Not any luck that I wanted," Cindy said sourly, then she mentally kicked herself. She wasn't going to walk into a new job with a bad attitude. She had done that at Chicago and wound up staying only a month.
Lucas only chuckled at that, tossing the pen down and pushing the papers to her.
"I need an exercise rider," he said, pointing at the papers.
"Don't you want to know any of my experience?" Cindy asked frowning at him, glancing at the papers quickly.
"I know your experience," Lucas said, sitting back in his chair. "Being on the racing circuit for ten years and racing against Whitebrook is all I need to know about your experience."
Cindy frowned at the papers, reading them. She had stopped caring much about the papers she signed somewhere along the way, and the words seemed to blend together in front of her.
Cindy picked up a pen and signed the documents, pushing them back to Mr. Simm.
"You'll start tomorrow," Lucas said, picking up the papers. "Pay is pretty good right now," he added. "Just get in early, no later than five, and I'll make sure it isn't cut."
"Mr. Simm," Cindy asked, watching him slide the documents in a separate file.
"Call me Lucas," he said, shaking his head.
"Lucas," Cindy tried, sitting up. "I do have my jockey's license."
Lucas got up and put the file folder in one of his cabinets, then turned around to look over at her.
"Let me see it," Lucas said, holding out his hand.
Cindy immediately dug into her purse and produced the license, handing it over to him.
Lucas looked at it for a moment and sat down in his chair again sitting quietly for a few moments before tossing the license back on the middle of the desk.
"Cindy," Lucas said, leaning forward. "You don't have an agent, do you?"
"Well," Cindy sighed. "No."
"I'm not even going to go into the implications of hiring on a young jockey without an agent or no formal contract."
Cindy nodded. "That's all I needed to know."
"Wait," Lucas held up a hand. "Firstly, I want you to know that I am not in the business of serving out second chances on a silver platter."
Cindy automatically bristled at the idea of having lost her first chance, but she stared straight ahead, waiting for Lucas to continue.
"I'm hiring you on as an exercise rider," he said firmly.
"I understand," Cindy nodded, looking down.
"Cindy," Lucas said. "I know you've jockeyed for Whitebrook and Ashleigh Griffen. Of that I'm very well aware. And I'm sure I'm not the last trainer to tell you that."
Cindy shrugged, looking over at the trainer.
"I'm not saying I won't consider giving you the chance..."
Cindy looked up, her brown eyes lighting up at the words.
"But," Lucas paused, pushing her card at her. "There it is. Micky is outside. He can show you around. We'll start your string at five sharp tomorrow morning."
"Thank you, Mr. Simm," Cindy said, getting up, throwing her purse over her head.
"Lucas," he insisted, walking her to the door.
"Right, I'm sorry," Cindy started, smiling.
"Not a problem," Lucas said quickly, then pointed her to Micky. "Micky, show her the string!"
Cindy spent a good hour looking over Lucas' barns, wandering in and out of stalls, looking over her string of horses. It was a good group, Cindy supposed, running her hand over the dark muzzle of a bay with the name of Star Bank. The gelding snorted at her and tossed his jet black mane, eyeing her with deep brown eyes.
"You like what you see?" Micky asked, walking up to the bay gelding. "He's always been one of my favorites."
"How old is he?" Cindy asked, pulling open the gelding's mouth, peering inside. By the looks of the angles on his teeth he was definitely older than three.
"He's six," Micky said, patting the bay on the neck. "Always been a dependable racer. Recently started running in some ungraded stakes a few months ago."
"He's a nice looking one," Cindy nodded. "What are his bloodlines?"
"Personal Flag out of Vix," Micky said, smiling. "But if you want to see some amazing bloodlines, I suggest taking a look at Lucas' most recent acquirement."
Cindy rose an eyebrow and shrugged. "Sure."
Micky grinned at her and motioned for her to follow him down the aisle, walking along the line of beautiful Thoroughbreds, and stopping outside a silent stall.
Cindy glanced inside and frowned, taking in the red chestnut carefully.
"That's a Military colt, out of Princess Red. Doesn't get much more beautiful than that, does it?"
Cindy shook her head, watching the red colt walk up to them, his star-marked forehead gleaming in the late morning light that flowed into the barn, lighting his coat on fire. If Cindy had thought Lucas' string wasn't much before, she was dead wrong.
"What's his name?" Cindy asked, putting a hand on the colt's dark nose, looking in at his white feet, noticing the correct lines and angles.
"Red Army," Micky said softly, pushing the colt's trimmed forelock off his forehead. "He's a two-year-old maiden, but I've been riding him and I swear to God he's the most mature younger horse I've ever rode."
Cindy nodded, stepping back a minute and taking in the colt. "What does Mr. Simm have in mind for him?"
"Lucas?" Micky grinned, giving the red colt a pat on the neck. "The Breeders' Cup, the Kentucky Derby, the Breeders' Cup again. You know the whole circuit, I'm sure."
"Sure," Cindy repeated, nodding. "He's got the bloodlines. Military won the Preakness and the Belmont four years ago, and Princess Red was a Canadian champion, wasn't she?"
"Yeah," Micky nodded. "You know your bloodlines, Ms. Cindy."
Red Army shook out his crimson mane and snorted, bobbing his noble head several times as Micky moved down the row, showing Cindy the rest of the string.
"You'll start out with Queen City tomorrow," Micky said as he walked Cindy to her beat up Ford pick up. Cindy nodded, remembering the small bay filly Micky had shown her not thirty minutes before.
"Where are you staying?" Micky asked as Cindy jumped into the light blue truck, leaning against the door after she slammed it shut.
"Over at a Best Western," Cindy frowned, squinting her eyes against the intense rays of the summer sun. "Outside Elmont."
"You should get yourself an apartment sometime soon," Micky said. "There are tons of people around here searching for roommates. I can ask around for you."
"Yeah?" Cindy asked, looking down at the young man. "Okay, thanks."
"No problem," Micky nodded. "And remember to talk to the guard before you leave. He'll get you a pass for your vehicle, here."
Cindy snorted and tapped the black steering wheel, letting out a laugh. "This thing is hardly a vehicle. It's more of a rusting tin can on big wheels."
Micky laughed and pushed away from the door. "You'll be able to change that soon enough, Ms. Cindy."
"Sure," Cindy rolled her eyes, throwing the truck into drive and heading back out to the gates, out into the big city beyond.