Recalling the early summer of '73, Ruby ripened as the centre of Coral's attention. Even her magnificent horse, Champion, could not upstage the brunette, though primed to do her bidding on an equestrian course bedecked with hurdles and water hazards.
The day developed warm; high clouds tempered the sear of the afternoon. Coral and I entered the showgrounds to watch Ruby. We noticed the organised dressage arena surrounded by the jumping course. Coloured red and white poles, vertical fence spreads, triple bars, a high fake brick wall, and two tricky water jumps. The arena's outer wooden railing spruced; I could smell and see fresh white paint.
Coral and I scouted in front of the main grandstand. She ranted on our way here, and inside the venue, she fumed.
Josh declined the invitation to attend alongside Coral. My mate chose a cricket match ahead of girlfriend time.
My bestie would have preferred her troupe, all in the same place.
Coral and Josh, like any pair, entertained different interests but were often stripped of a mature compromise.
Josh attended Coral's netball finals, passing on her roster matches and tennis games. Coral equally forwent her boyfriend's table tennis but put in an appearance at basketball playoffs.
The golden girl shook her head whenever Josh mentioned cricket or rugby. My bestie spewed 'the injustice' as she unloaded on Josh in front of the spectator grandstand.
"I give into my first spit-swapping sloppy kiss," she flared.
A riled Coral posed rather hot.
"I let him pick a dumb action movie, and he still couldn't hold my hand today! Boy, sometimes, I don't think he is worth it."
I remember thinking that I would have made an effort.
She rubbed her palms. Those hands, I believed, deserved holding. I wouldn't grip or clutch them; I would clasp their slenderness. Today, I couldn't soothe Coral; I hoped Ruby would cheer her girlfriend this summery afternoon.
We idled, orientating ourselves at the big grandstand. Neither of us showed interest in the arena dressage event currently underway. The brunette had informed us the stable's location lay behind the stands.
Coral and I waved at Ruby's mum alone in the front VIP rows. She waved at us as Coral set a decent pace heading to the stables, her mission to locate Ruby.
Rounding the grandstand's side into the shade provided heat relief. We considered asking Ruby's dad where his daughter might be. Gabriele stood in the lane, conversing, flanked by two young male strappers on the opposite side. We declined to interrupt or stop as he faced into a closed circle.
Coral said, "No, Ruby, let's keep going."
My bestie added quickness to her stride. She sought 'Ruby time' before the brunette required uninterrupted preparation for her event.
The smell of dung hit first in the full sun behind the main grandstand. Then fresh stall hay. Next, saddle leather lingered in my nostrils.
Coral halted, her hands shielding the glare as she scanned unsuccessfully. She clasped her hands behind her and started wringing them.
"Oh, bother, I've missed her," and she planted her hands on her hips.
A horse stall near us swung wide, and Ruby latched it. Her blues dazzled impish delight in her pivot as the brunette mirrored her girlfriend's forlorn body language.
Coral lost her bristle concerning Josh and laughed at herself. She let her right arm relax at her side. Her left hand stayed at her hip. Ruby copied her.
Quickly, the scene became girlfriend crush stuff. These two could banter, and I accepted a third-wheel moment. The instance belonged to the girls. Ruby spruced impeccably, and Coral her constant exquisite.
The golden girl out-dressed the brunette every day of the week. Ruby never competed in flaunting dresses or skirts; the minx endorsed jeans and sass. The pair knew their attraction dress codes.
Here, at the show grounds, prim and formal, the brunette in white jodhpurs. My, (oh, my), they flattered Ruby's figure, outlining her thighs. She sported a smart navy jacket, distinguished by wide lapels and big buttons. The bottom one closed tight near her navel. This allowed the wings of her jacket to flare and show off her hips.
The sleeves of her jacket tightened at her wrists—a ruffled lace trim high at her neck, a feature of her delicate cream-white blouse. Her rich, black leather, full-length boots approached her knees. Their elegance won Coral and me.
I spied one blight on her pristine self, the toe end of a boot marred by a slight scuff. Her riding helmet pulled stylishly, almost hiding her braided hair. Her mum had woven genuine magic where the brunette's ponytail usually dominated.
"Chic, sweetie, you're a winner already!"
Coral told Ruby, feeling the jacket's designer cut between her fingers.
"Not half bad yourself, honey," the brunette responded.
Coral wore a short sky-blue mini-skirt and a classic white blouse. Her feathery golden locks framed her face, opulent and filigreed fine in the open sunlight. Ruby followed Coral's touching lead, though her fingers rubbed the fabric of Coral's skirt at her tummy.
They clicked dapperly, one in jodhpurs, spruced to dominate the arena, and the other trendy to command the grandstand. It now seems like ages before digital cameras and Instagram snaps; only memory captured two girls dressed to the nines at the stables.
Ruby broke their genial exchange.
"There's a competitor's briefing. I have to go. Catch you later."
Lightning quick, like a riding crop, she flicked Coral's hair near her ear.
The loudspeakers announced a competitor's call. The brunette's cue to start her fleet-footed exit.
"Let's see, Champion," suggested Coral.
We moved to the stall to greet Ruby's mount.
"Well," Coral managed as the stall revealed another horse.
The name tag: Marquis.
She queried me, "Where's her boy?"
I wandered past the horse stalls to the left: one, two, three.
No, Champion.
Coral stalked right and called me to a stall. Ruby's lad nuzzled forward, and we rubbed his familiar nose.
Next, we headed high in the grandstand to await Ruby's event. The current dressage showcased discipline and choreography. We acknowledged the riders, mounts and precision skills. We laboured to engage in the event and scanned the crowd, commenting mindlessly on fashion.
Coral wriggled on her blue slat seat and, patting her thighs, announced, "Let's get ice cream."
We strolled to the pavilion farther around the arena. A café served a full array of flavours. I liked watching Coral make taste choices. I recalled a similar process when she decided what to wear. My bestie selected colour first, followed by texture and brand name. She liked three scoops of ice cream to blend.
Today, she started with light chocolate, a near uncanny match to Ruby's hair. She decided on classic vanilla, fresh like her blouse. The texture: today, she chose pistachio. She made me get the same: tongue-licking fun.
The nutty texture and savoury smell of the pistachio hold my memory where they joined Coral's favourite green dress and her scented lotions.
We eased to the grandstand as Ruby's event commenced. The loudspeaker announced the under-eighteen jumping event. The riders and their mounts paraded onto the course — Ruby spiffy, trotting Champion, his chestnut coat glossy.
The Public Address System announced the late withdrawal of Marquis under veterinary advice.
Coral turned to me, "No way?"
Her brow creased.
I never liked Coral intense.
"No, Ruby goes for what she wants. The girl knows the line."
My voice played fair; I didn't undermine the brunette, "She wouldn't cross the line to win?"
I grasped Coral thought Ruby might have interfered with Marquis.
I added, "Her toes dangle, never right over."
We both knew the brunette used every stratagem at her disposal to win. I tried to be light, to ease Coral's negative thoughts. She neither smiled nor laughed as we followed Ruby's warm-up canter.
Ruby competed fourth on the circuit, an outstanding performance that lightened the golden girl. The brunette excelled, putting her mount through multiple jumps. Her approaches were assured precisely timed lifts, her flight high, faultless landings and recovery, and inch-perfect positioning for subsequent fences. Coupled with Champion, her triple jump showed nous and composure.
Damn, Ruby and her skills!
I softened; she belonged on the podium, its centre, where she collected her trophy.
"She looks good," complimented Coral, "she has given me goosebumps!"
My best friend trembled perceptibly, a palpable quiver of felicity.
Finally composed, Coral deliberated, "Can I trust her?"
I didn't know what to make of either of her honest remarks.
I thought girlfriends (unlike guys and their mates) attuned closer.
Not in a sexual attraction way, but an emotional rapport. I grew up holding in my feelings like my mates. Considering Coral's trust comment, I wondered if she meant Ruby and the horse stall or a more profound yearning for the brunette.
I kept glancing at Coral beside me. My bestie entirely focused on Ruby's formal stance on the showground podium below. The brunette's feet planted, shoulders straight, and hands clasped respectfully. High in the grandstand, Coral seemed to seek to touch Ruby. She leaned forward, and her fingers wandered down her thighs.
Later, I supposed, she would reward her girlfriend via a timely gift.
In my mind, I simmered envious of what the two girls were sharing, their mental closeness. There and then, I craved to snare Coral's attention, matching the degree of ardour between the girlfriends.
Suddenly, my fingers flexed and tensed, scathing of Josh.
He should have been here beside his girlfriend! I could do better as Coral's boyfriend!
Coral wiped the corner of her eye as Ruby left the podium with a shiny gold cup.
Was Coral attracted to Ruby?
It flittered across my mind, where I dismissed it.
I preferred picturing Coral fixated on me, taking the kisses I previously watched Coral dispense to Josh and making them ours. I imagined kissing Coral, starting at the back of her neck and sidling to her earlobe as we picked strawberries.
Next, I pictured myself stealing a kiss, no rehearsal, like in A Midsummer Night's Dream.
I imagined our lips exchanging happiness and our minds poised in harmony.
To have composure alongside girls, my youthful fancy.