And they're off.
The race caller was of course referring to the unmistakable sound of the 23 horses exploding out of the gates at Flemington for the Melbourne Cup and not to my underpants which had just been removed with some urgency. But he could well have been...
It was a perfect day and you could be forgiven for feeling that Melbourne might just be the world's most liveable city. Spring Racing Carnival at Flemington and the weather was gorgeous. Not too hot but sunny enough so that all of the ladies could wear their nicest frocks, polish and groom themselves to the nines to spend a Tuesday at the races with another hundred thousand other people. The track was beautiful, the kind of lush green that made you want to kick your shoes off and feel it between your toes, the famous roses in full bloom and I was rather proud that Melbourne could look so well turned out, hats and fascinators dancing atop heads like bobbing displays of delicious sweets from a High Tea Trolley at the Windsor. Champagne corks popped, people were laughing and giving their applause generously for the horses as they ran past the finishing post. It was like one big smile parade.
From my perch on the balcony of the main Marquee in the Birdcage I looked over at the people in the Grandstand. Talk about privileged. It was the first time I had ever made it into the birdcage, the hallowed square of VIP tents and sponsor pavilions. Photographers and news cameras were everywhere, not that they were going to photograph me, yet! It was clearly a place for lavish entertaining with whichever celebrity guests they could provide, no expense spared. Thanks to my husband, and his new mistress, I had entered the hallowed realm. Hubbie was part owner in a syndicate for a horse called Scarlet Hussy, and because of that I got to sip free French Champagne in the Birdcage all day and spot lists of B-grade celebrities. I'd seen Jen Hawkins, much taller close up, Tim Robards from the Bachelor looking delish, his wife Anna, still together despite the rumours. Matt Preston from Masterchef, in his cravat and top hat and a couple of Brownlow footballers and their impossibly skinny girlfriends. Jamie Fox was supposed to be there but I couldn't get close to him and there was a rumour one of the Kardashians was coming. It was like a walking copy of WHO magazine.
Mistress Scarlet, or Scallywags, as Hubbie affectionately called her, had surprised everyone this year with an uncanny knack for beating much better horses over long distances and she had earned herself a starting gate in this years' race by coming third on a wet track in the Caulfield. Nobody expected her to win of course, especially the bookies who had her name up on their boards as a rank outsider at nearly 70 to 1, but that meant she wouldn't be carrying too much weight. Just like me, not an ounce of handicap for the big day. We were both in tip top condition for our first Melbourne Cup and, as an invited guest, I felt like a million bucks. Apart from spending a ransom on my scarlet red dress; silk and lace tulle with peacock feather details through the hem and front, tailored especially by J'Aton, I couldn't have cared less about the silly Nag.
I should probably have thanked that dumb horse, it was her who had gotten me here but, to be honest, I was a little resentful and more than a tad jealous. Hubbie's new mistress, and because she happened to be a racehorse it was all right to have it all out in the open. He had bored me to tears for the last six months with his constant monologue about her gait, her seven speeds of gallop, the way she could be ridden as hard as you like and never get tired, her slender ankles, her lean thighs, how she tossed her mane whenever he came near her and flicked him with her tail like she was flirting with him, there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. He was in love. My slender ankles and lean thighs had gone completely unattended for months. I now knew what it was like to be jilted for another filly. Scarlet was all he could talk about, day and night and she was sending us broke- preparing a horse to run in the Melbourne Cup certainly ain't cheap. But I wasn't going to go down without a fight, that was for sure. I was nearly matching her dollar for dollar on the way to cup day. There was no cosmetic procedure or spa treatment I hadn't given myself, no amount of sessions with my personal trainer in the gym, hours on the pilates mat flattening tummies and squeezing hips, the number of carbs I had forgone in the lead up beggared belief and I had never been tighter nor more wound up in my life.
But it was worth it. I looked like a winner before the day had started, even if my neckline plunged a bit too far and the hem of my dress was a little too high for a race day. The only thing I seemed to be missing as race three came and went was someone to talk to and as the day wore on past lunchtime I found myself becoming more and more uninspired. Hubbie had been totally absent, neglecting me completely on my big day. He'd been down at the stables of course, obsessing over the horse so I started talking to this ridiculously big guy who looked as lost as I did. By big I mean his shoulders were massive and in his three-piece suit he looked like a brick outhouse.
"You should seriously take off your Jacket," I said. "It's way too hot for that."
"Um, Hello Ma'am," he said like I had just bitten him.
"Ma'am? Don't worry, I won't bite," I reassured him, "I just wanted someone to talk to and you didn't seem that busy."
He looked at me and I at him. Up close he was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen. A real prize of a man. Strong and powerful, like a true King's champion. His face was square and handsome and he clearly spent a lot of time in a gym but it was his smooth, coffee dark chocolate skin that had me mesmerized.
He looked nervous.
"You're not from around here are you?" I said. He just smiled and said he was from the US. From Carolina. I'd always been fascinated by how Americans say the letter 'R', so round, like it rolled around their mouths before coming out. His voice came from deep within his chest and settled right next to my heart like a cat, stretching itself in front of a fire.
I swallowed and tried to stay composed.
"Wow, that's awesome, did you just come out here for the Cup?"
"Kind of," He replied with a smile, the cat started to purr. "Lexus," he waved his arm at the big sign, "sponsors a half time show for the NFL and I came here to meet some of their clients."
"Wow again. You know you have to be pretty special to get in here." I said. I looked around, so relieved that I had someone to chat to. "It's not too shabby is it?"
He smiled and nodded.
"Not the kind of place where they serve Vegemite on Jatz crackers, although a few Devils on Horseback wouldn't go astray."
He looked confused.
"The food," I said as a waitress passed us with a tray of cubed nondescript white meat laced in a green swirl of chard stem and dots of Salmon Roe. "Devils on horseback is a prune wrapped in bacon and Vegemite is something we spread on bread. You have got to give it a try if you're here, it's an Australian thing."
He smiled, properly, like a TV personality, teeth dazzling.
"So what do you do then, Mr important? You must be pretty good at it for them to fly you out here for this." I was talking too fast but he was literally the first person I had talked to all day.
"Um, I play football." He said. "Or I used to until last year."
"Wow, that's amazing. We have football players here too," I said and looked around. "There's Gary Ablett, he plays for Geelong, and that guy there is Max Gawn and he's the ruckman for Melbourne, Buddy Frankling hasn't turned up yet but he should be here soon. They're really good but, by the looks of you, you could eat them for breakfast." I giggled.
He laughed at that. I laughed. The cat in my chest started to preen. We were getting along much better now.
"And that's Rebecca Twiggley, I mean Becca Judd," I kept on. "She's the super skinny one over there. Married to Chris Judd who was the captain for Carlton. She wore a dress like this one I've got to the Portsea Polo classic. It was in all the magazines. But I had mine made in red, with a different front, I think it's much better. Same designer, see. J'Aton, you probably don't know them. Do you like it? They're really famous."
I gave him a twirl, the little dress came to life and flew up like a happy little helicopter fan. With a squeal I quickly pushed it down again. Lucky he was so tall or he would have surely seen something.
He laughed nervously and I tried to hide my blushing cheeks under the little fascinator of bright red Peacock feathers and stiff curled ribbon that was holding back my hair.
"It's really very nice," He assured me.
His Adam's apple rose above his tie and he swallowed.
