Stallions & Studs: Back in the Saddle Again

This story is dedicated to Zeus, the man whose love and support inspired it. Matthew “Mack” MacIntyre stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window behind his large mahogany desk, staring out at the panorama of New York City. He held a cup of coffee in his hand. He absentmindedly took an occasional sip as he surveyed the scene, assessing his life. So much had changed in the last few months since his wife, Nancy, had passed away. From his vantage point, he could see buildings, buildings, and more buildings stretching out as far as the eye could see. The only break from the steel and concrete was a tiny glimpse of Central Park just visible if he leaned against the glass and looked far to the west, the only green in a sea of gray and silver. He could just make out the rows of horse-drawn carriages at the edge of the park waiting to take visitors on a tour. How long had it been since he’d been on a horse? Or even near one? He was always promising himself he’d find a new place to ride. When he first came to the city he’d ridden at the Claremont Riding Academy where he’d been sort of an anomaly: the only western rider in a myriad of kids and adults dressed in hunt caps and breeches. The stable wasn’t in Central Park, but a block and a half away. He’d drawn a lot of attention on the ride to the park: a big man, dressed in his cowboy duds. The location of the stable made for an unusual experience, riding in heavy traffic. Getting to the park required riding a horse on Manhattan’s streets, mixed in with the regular traffic, and crossing Central Park West. But Claremont had closed after one-hundred-and-fifteen years in the city, the owner citing insurmountable costs and the degradation of the park’s bridle paths. Once restricted only to horses, the public was now allowed to stroll, jog, push their strollers, walk their dogs, throw Frisbees, and so on all over the bridle path. This reduced what had once been a pretty decent riding experience to something more like a fearful running of the gauntlet, making it impossible to jog your horse let alone canter. So Mack had given up the one thing that had connected him to his roots: the wide open range of the west. But this was the life he’d chosen, the ordered life of a New York City executive. His phone intercom buzzed. Taking one last look out of the window, he turned and walked to his desk. “Yeah, Denny?” he asked his secretary. “Mack, there’s a guy here to see you,” the young man replied. He sounded perplexed. “Who is it?” “Well, that’s the point. He says he wants to surprise you…Won’t give me his name.” “Tell him whatever he’s sellin’ we don’t need any,” Mack said with exasperation. s**t! Don’t have time for salesmen who play these fuckin’ games. There was a pause. Mack heard Denny relay his message. Then Mack heard a muffled, “Gimme the Goddamned phone.” Then more clearly came a vaguely familiar voice. “Call off your guard dog, ya old coot! I didn’t come nearly two-thousand fuckin’ miles ta have my surprise ruined by some wet-behind-the-ears pup!” “What the hell?” Mack said aloud. He cut off the call, put his coffee cup down, and headed for the door. Throwing it open, he walked into the outer office. The man who had been harassing Denny stood from where he’d been leaning on the secretary’s desk and turned around to face him. He was dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt, cowboy hat, and boots. A silver buckle gleamed in the florescent office lights. He glared at Mack, who stood with his mouth open and eyes wide. “Oh my God!” Mack moaned. “Seth! Seth Buchanan!” “Hell, yeah, ya old mutherfucker!” Seth yelled as he covered the space between the two men in a single stride. He wrapped his arms around Mack’s waist and, despite Mack’s size, picked him right up off the floor. Seth held him for a moment, the two men staring into each other’s eyes. Then Seth let Mack slide down his body until their faces were even. “Uh…come on in here,” Mack said, feeling uncomfortable with the display. He looked beyond Seth to his secretary. “Denny, hold my calls for a bit, would ya?” “Yes, sir,” Denny answered, looking puzzled. Mack turned and walked back into his office; Seth followed and closed the door. The men stood looking at each other for several long moments. Then Seth said, “Ya look great.” “Thanks, you too,” Mack responded. “It’s good ta see ya again after…how long has it been?” “It’ll be thirty-five years next month, on the twenty-eighth.” Mack should have remembered. The last time they were together had been on Mack’s wedding day. Seth had been his best man. Mack and Nancy had met in college, got married soon after graduation, gone on their honeymoon, and—because Nancy had been raised in the east and couldn’t wait to return—settled here in New York. Mack had cut all ties with his home in Montana, doing so for his bride. Mack loved her enough to give up the life he loved to move here where, for so much of their married life, he’d felt like a fish out of water. Here they had raised their three children: Matt Jr., Harry, and Annie. Here Mack had made a name for himself in the real estate business. “I was sorry ta hear a Nancy’s passin’,” Seth said. Mack smiled. “Thanks. She’s at peace now. The last few months were pretty rough.” Seth walked toward Mack. “I wish there was somethin’ I could do. How are ya holdin’ up?” He reached out to put a hand on Mack’s shoulder. Mack backed up a step and walked behind his desk. He indicated Seth should sit in one of the leather chairs facing him. “I’m adjustin’,” Mack said. “It’s been hard at times, but I know she’s better off now. The pain is gone.” He wanted to change the subject. “How’ve ya been?” “Well, don’t know if ya heard but me and Mary Lou split up a few years back.” “No, I hadn’t heard,” Mack said. “I’m real sorry ta hear that.” “No need. We parted friendly,” Seth went on. “It wasn’t workin’ for us.” He smiled at Mack. “So, it looks like we’re both single again, just like the old days.” Seth’s words triggered a flashback in Mack’s mind—two young stud cowboys out on the open range, tending cattle for old man Chesterfield in southern Montana, forming a bond based on loneliness and s*x. They drank away their weekends in Boardus and Billings, and f****d the week nights away under the stars. They’d become friends based on that life. Then Mack had gone away to school in the Midwest, fulfilling the wishes of his daddy. The old man had wanted Mack to do him one better by getting a college education. There he majored in business, met Nancy, and left Seth and the life of a cowhand—which he’d loved—behind. The intercom buzzed. “‘Scuse me,” Mack said to Seth. Picking up the phone, he said, “What is it, Denny? I told you ta hold—” “Sorry to interrupt, but your appointment with Mr. Silverstein—” “Oh yeah. I forgot…” “Well…he’s here.” “Yep, yep, all right. I’ll be done in a minute. Tell him I’ll be right with him.” He put down the phone. “I’m sorry, Seth, but I got this here big s**t client that wants ta buy a buildin’.” “Not a problem.” Seth stood. “But I want to see ya again. We got us some catchin’ up ta do. Can we have dinner somewhere tonight?”