We clap. I have to admit, I’m stumped. I’ve watched him closely and I could’ve sworn the dinner roll turned into a scarf.
“For you.” Sam kisses my wrist and ties the scarf onto it. “Oh wait, what’s this?” He reaches behind my ear. “Ah-ha, a dinner roll.”
My body shakes with laughter. “There is no way that dinner roll is real.”
To prove a point, Sam polishes off the roll in two bites. “You were saying?”
McMillian slides the chips in his direction. “Well done, mate. You’ll have to book a slot to perform at Operation Studio 54.”
I sit taller. My ears preen at the words Studio 54. It’s the name of a famous New York disco from the 1970s. Why would the orderly army be connected to a disorderly, crazy place like Studio 54?
“We’ll see, McMillian.” Sam laughs. “I don’t normally perform for an audience. All the magic is just for fun.”
I glance between the two of them.
“You fooled me. Those tricks were brilliant. Just do what you did tonight.”
Sam takes two chips. “I’d be too nervous; there’ll be a lot of top brass there.”
“Would somebody mind filling me in? What’s Operation Studio 54?”
“It’s the code name given to the H-Cav’s annual celebration that marks the end of the silly season,” Sam offers.
My eyes twitch. I’m still confused. “Silly season?”
“That’s cavalry speak for the ceremonial season,” McMillian says, taking pity on me.
“Oh. Got it.”
“Yup,” he says. “We spend the entire summer being on parade and front and center in the public for events like Trooping the Colour, the State Opening of Parliament, state visits, the Order of the Garter Ceremony, and Remembrance Day. It means endless sleepless nights to prep the horses, our kit, and early morning rehearsals.”
“I can see where you’d be mentally and physically exhausted by it.” I’ve seen Sam prep a horse for a normal day. I can’t imagine how much extra pressure and attention to detail must be added for a big event like Trooping the Colour.
“We always are, but that’s why Operation Studio 54 was created,” Sam says. “It gives us a little bit of a mental break between the last major event, the Order of the Garter ceremony, in June and Remembrance Day in November.”
“The horses always seem to know when the ball is approaching. It means their holiday is right around the corner too.” McMillian takes a sip of his pint.
“And where do they go?”
“The horses are taken to the beaches of Norfolk,” he says.
“Wait a second, doallthe horses go? Doesn’t there need to be a few left behind in London?”
“Yes, all the horses go. No equine is left behind.” Sam chuckles. “Some will be sent to the pastures of Melton in Leicestershire, but most of the horses will make the trip to Norfolk. In our stead, the King’s Royal Horse Artillery comes in and takes over our duties at Horse Guards for a month.”
My eyes widen. “That sounds like fun for everybody.”
“It is. The horses love being able to run through the surf and feel sand under their hooves instead of the streets of London,” Sam tells me.
I locate the ketchup bottle and slather some of it in the corner of the basket. Sam and McMillian wrinkle their noses.
“Can I be your date to the summer gala?”
“No, Min, I’m taking Orpheus.” Just for that smart remark, I playfully cover some of Sam’s fries with ketchup. “Min,” he whines.
McMillian laughs. “You sort of asked for it. Never tease a lady about a ball.”
“He’s right. You could learn from him,” I joke.
