Scarlet Hussy rides the Cup

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.

Maybe it was his voice, or that he was so relaxed and confident but I couldn't help feeling I had been enveloped into a rich cloud of hot testosterone. It was seriously affecting my ability to think straight. My husband had never made me feel like that. This guy was making me weak at the knees. I could only imagine how he looked in speedos.

He was sweating. Little beads were showing on his forehead.

"I'm sure your sponsor wouldn't mind if you took your jacket off you know," I said. "You'll be a lamb roast before the day is through. Here, come on, I'll help."

Before he could say no I quickly gave him my champagne glass to hold. I couldn't remember if it was my second or third, I was feeling tipsy, probably just the heat, or him. I reached up to hold the corners of his jacket, much higher than I had anticipated and my Hollywood tape immediately burst away around my boobs. Everything fell forwards and I yanked my hands down and pulled him straight back into me. The jacket became tangled around his waist as I tried to hide inside it. His massive arms were bound in his sleeves and I attempted to wrestle him in front of me while he pulled the other way.

"Lady, what the hell are you doing?" He turned around quickly, taking his jacket with him and pulling my arms sideways.

"Sorry, Slight wardrobe malfunction here. The chicks have flown the coop." I blurted out clutching at the problem.

"What the..?" he exclaimed, his arms still held captive by his sleeves. He hadn't spilled the drink at least.

Thank god he was big enough to block me from the rest of the balcony.

"Just stay there a sec while I fix myself up," I said. He was staring at the loose strips of fabric that were failing to cover my chest. I covered myself with my hands. "Please!"

His face was like a goldfish in sunglasses as I frantically put the pieces back over the places they needed to go. It seemed to stay in place.

"Right, that's better" I finally said, trying to appear dignified once more and took the champagne from him.

He looked shocked. He really did seem to be a rather nice fellow.

"Sorry about that," I said, sculling the rest of my drink. "All better now."

He was speechless.

"Right, you look like you could use a beverage?" I told him. His arms were still caught in his jacket.

"Um, sure," he replied finally removing his coat and folding it in half.

A waiter walked past with a tray and I swapped my champagne for a new one and took a beer for my guest. We both took a sip.

"So, do you know anything about horses?" I asked when the silence threatened to go too long.

"Absolutely nothing," he said. "Do you?"

I looked into his sunglasses again seeing only my reflection, he was just being polite or embarrassed. I wished we could be friends.

"Horses?" I said. "My h..." and I stopped. Suddenly I knew if I mentioned my husband he would quickly find a way to leave me alone. Now that someone had finally noticed me I didn't want to be left alone again. I really liked him. He was so cute in an all-powerful Roman Gladiator kind of way and those arms, now in crisp white sleeves, that chest in matching vest and tie... He looked like a birthday present waiting to be unwrapped.

"Ah, My horse is racing later today." I lied a little too easily.

"Your what?" he said suddenly very interested.

"My horse. She's running in the Melbourne Cup. That's why I'm here."

"You have a horse in the Melbourne Cup! Wow, I had no idea. That's so impressive."

"Well hold onto your hat and don't count your chicks yet," I said. "She's a rank outsider and will probably come last but at least she's here."

"No wonder you're nervous though," he said.

I wasn't nervous, I thought. More than anything I was far too pissed from all of the champers in the sun. I was annoyed that I'd been abandoned by my husband on my debut into the birdcage and this totem of a sex symbol in front of me only served as a desperate reminder that I hated my horse for denying me any kind of affection for the past eleven months.

"What's the name?" he asked.

"Scarlet Hussy," I said. His forehead furrowed and then his cheeks lifted. He waited a second.

"Is that the horses name or yours?" he asked carefully. His mouth curled into a playfully wicked grin. I realised he was making a joke about me breaking out of my dress just before. I slapped his arm.

"Oh my god, you're so naughty," I scolded him. "It was all your fault I had a wardrobe incident. I was trying to help you with your coat. You should thank me, I was being nice." I tried to sound huffy but I was laughing too.

"And I do thank you for it." He said with a little bow. "From the bottom of my heart." I slapped his arm again. "It was by far the nicest thing that anyone has done for me all day."

We both laughed.

"Well, at least you'll have something to remember your first cup by," I admitted, wishing my cheeks hadn't gone quite as scarlet as my outfit.

"It's a great name by the way, for a horse," he said, laughing easily. His body language had changed from being polite to much more relaxed as the cat next to my heart settled in for a while.

"Well it's important to have a good name I think." I agreed. "I mean you don't remember the ones who have crap names do you. Did you know there is a horse in the Cup this year called Ploughman, I mean, a horse called Ploughman can't win the cup?"

He laughed again.

"You're right, that would sound wrong," he grinned.

"Right, it'd be like the commentator saying, and here comes Weary Dunlop or Old Saddlebags, leading them down the straight to win the race," I said. "Not going to happen, is it? A horse needs a good name. I mean look at the favourite for the cup, 'Bucephalus'. Now that's an impressive sounding horse- He's a big, Black Stallion from America. With a name like that it's no wonder he's the favourite."

I looked at him.

He nodded with a smile that could have stolen my dignity and offered, "But then, Scarlet Hussy..."

We both nodded now.

"Scarlet Hussy." I repeated in as if she were greased lightning.

"She's got it all going on," he said. "She sounds like she's got all the right moves in all the right places..." He smiled knowingly and now I knew I was being flirted with. My day had just got a whole lot better.

Half an hour later we were getting on like a house on fire. We'd been making innuendos about the horse's names as the race caller announced them over the loudspeakers, and our theory was proving correct, only horses with impressive names were winning today. I was feeling like a million bucks again when I spied Hubbie crossing the courtyard looking for me.

I excused myself for a moment. He said he would go and put a hundred on Scarlett as a show of faith that she'd win.

"You'd better crack the whip," I said. "There's not much time left before the race begins."

"Crack the whip," he laughed. "Now there's an idea..."

God he was cute.

"Great, I've found you," Hubbie said as he saw me. "How're you doing then? Having fun?" he asked without really asking.

"Where have you been all day, I can't believe you've left me here by myself." I said. I wanted him to feel bad. I was going to tell him about my friend but he wasn't listening.

"So I'm going to go down trackside to watch with the other owners," He said. "You don't really want to come, do you?" He saw the look I gave him and rephrased, "I mean, would you prefer to keep enjoying yourself here?" He had clearly favoured the side where I stayed and he went with his buddies. "You'd better decide now though because we'd have to get there fast."

"You go," I said with no small amount of petulance. "Just leave me here, again. I'll be fine." And then I felt bad. It was his big day after all and I should be supportive.

"Give her a kiss for me, for luck won't you." I called after him.

"Yeah, Ok," he said but he was already running for the gate.

I turned and stalked away. There I was still being nice and he couldn't have cared less about me. God, he was so insensitive.

The marquee was in front of me and everyone else looked like they were bursting with excitement. Suddenly the anger and frustration hit. I was supposed to be fine about all of this. Just supposed to go along with it all while he dreamt of holding up the Melbourne Cup. He had ignored me, as he had done all day, all year. His wife. I had put in every effort under the sun to look like a thoroughbred winner for him and it was like I didn't count at all. I had done more than my bit and he hadn't. It was so unfair. I ran to the bathroom to fix myself up.

I looked in the mirror. My headpiece swirled like an exotic flower but my face was full of anger. I hated the Melbourne fucking Cup. It was supposed to make me feel special. Only then did I notice how badly I had put my dress back together, one boob was practically half out and my waistline had gone sideways. Hubbie hadn't noticed, or if he had he just thought I was getting wasted on the free booze and didn't care. I hated him too. I straightened everything up and did my face. If I was going to be forced to watch this race I would still look like the winner. I went to find my new friend again and try to have a good time. Watching Scallywags come in last would surely bring some satisfaction.

But as I came out of the ladies I still couldn't shake my mood. I was ropable. The tables and chairs in the Marquee were devoid of people as everyone had cleared out to go and watch. The DJ had left his desk and soft lounge music was playing through the speakers and even the potted palm trees and horsey decorations looked lonely all by themselves. The waiters and staff had loaded themselves up with bottles to serve outside. I heard them calling the horse's names for the cup over the speakers as they entered the mounting yard. 'Scarlett Hussy's name came up just as I made my way to the Balcony steps. It made me want to hit something.

And we see they horses come through the mounting yard for this year's Melbourne Cup, the race that stops the nation.

At the bottom of the steps I saw a large wreath of red roses next to the Champagne sponsor's logo. There were two black leather riding crops crossed over the middle. They were crooked. I tried to make it straight but the front crop fell down into my hands. I couldn't help it. I flexed it between my hands. The leather creaked as it resisted and stretched. I don't know why but I took it with me.

The balcony was chock-a-block full of people jostling for a good view but I had spied my friend right at the back. My heart leapt a beat. He was difficult to miss. His bottom, barely held by his baby blue suit pants looked as hard as a kitchen table. He didn't see me as I came up behind him. I was going to say something to let him know I had returned but suddenly had a better idea. I lifted the riding crop back. The last thing he had said was crack the whip after all. I swung it down. It moved so much faster than I had expected, meeting no resistance whatsoever as it sliced the air with a swift cutting sound. I tried to stop it in time but that only made the tip flick forwards and sting him right on the buttocks. The crisp crack as it landed on his bottom surprised me completely and I looked up in fear.