Call me...

They're all gone now.

Back to their East Coast mistresses and European wives. Gone with the morning sun and yesterday's promise. They come for one glorious moment and then melt away like an early snow.

It took me longer to take off my make-up.

Sure, I have my regulars and they warm my heart, but a woman has to let her hair down once in a while.

How I do love the Europeans though. So proper and entitled. That young Frenchman was dashing; headstrong and cocksure, daring any one to come and catch him and then outlasting them all. It was a shame what happened to that strapping Brazilian chap, rangy and dark, like aged rum. That stumble out of the gate cost him and it broke my heart but mine is not the prize for the timid. I don't give myself to just anybody.

That young gun of Irish descent shows promise; a little rough and eager as all boys are but nothing that time and experience can't hammer into a world class goer. I hope he comes back to me next year and why would he not? I know he found me to his liking.

The French maid ravaged me though; how deliciously wicked she is. The bond we shared is something only women understand. Patient and delightfully unforgiving, gentle but determined and strong in her finish. She may have been flashy and unfocused earlier in life but she has grown into a damn fine runner. She could give that fiery Frenchman an honest run.

For now though they are just memories of one ineffable afternoon when everything good under the sun came together and created magic. That intangible something, altogether rare, that keeps me young.

The days grow shorter now, as they are wont to do, and my time with it but there is work to be done; no rest for the weary. My charges are still here and I need them to be. They run for me every day with no thought to discomfort or pain and I love them for it. They toil in the heroic anonymity of an honest day's work. No roses or trophies greet them when they head home but they do it anyway because that is what I ask them to do.

Next year will be here soon enough and I will don my hat and dress and be ready for the dance to entertain my prodigal courtiers and erstwhile champions. They will abandon their dainty mistresses and old world wives for another sweet moment in the sun and come calling once again upon my door.

And I will be there.