The following night she heard some terribly exciting news about one of Jim Meloney's horses scheduled to start within the next two or three days.
The horse, Little Red Jewel, had never before started in a race, but it had broken a track record while in training earlier at Bay Meadows. Jim, it was reported, was going to try and pull one on the New Mexico and Texas owners by putting the no-record horse in a race with proven campaigners. The odds should be good.
It was at that point Grace decided it was really time to relent a bit toward Ricky Karl.
He always swam in the late afternoons, so Grace waited until she saw him in the pool, then put on her briefest bikini and went down to join him.
Ricky would have given odds that the untouchable Mrs. Hope was going to break the ice with him within the next day or so. Actually, he was surprised it had taken her this long. He had watched and made note of her downward movement from the hundred dollar win window to the two dollar show and place windows. She had the bug just about as bad as anyone he had ever seen. Knowing instinctively that she would come to him, he had bided his time, and now as he saw her wade into the pool he knew the time had come.
Grace waited for him to say something to her, but he seemingly was interested in other things. When he did happen to glance her way, she gave him a half-smile. Ricky simply nodded his head, then swam over to the end of the pool and began talking to a friend. Grace swam the length of the pool slowly, stopping at a place where she knew he could see her. She smiled again in a friendly manner and this time there wasn't even a nod. Now she began to get angry at him. After all, she was trying to make friends with him. That's what he had been trying to do for a long time, wasn't it? It was almost as if he were trying to make things difficult for her.
In spite of her heartfelt repugnance, Grace forced herself to finally swim over beside him and begin the conversation. "Mister Karl, could I speak to you for a second?"
"Sure, Mrs. Hope." He began swimming leisurely toward the side of the pool where no one was in earshot. He put his fat, pudgy arms up over the side, waited until she joined him, then asked, "What can I do for you?"
Grace hoped her dislike and revulsion didn't show on her face. He was so gross! He had layers of fat across his chest, resulting in breasts that actually were almost as large as those on some women. His stomach was covered with short black hair that resembled hog bristles. All things considered, though, what Grace disliked most about him were his eyes and his mouth – both mean, small, and obscene. She looked away from him and said, "The other night you mentioned you had a friend who could make a bet for me on other tracks?"
"That's correct, Mrs. Hope."
"Even Raton, New Mexico?"
"Even Son Pardo in Mallorca, if you want."
"How do I get in touch with him?"
"I'll give him your message."
Grace didn't like that arrangement. She didn't want Ricky Karl knowing about her information. He was the type who might blab it to all his friends.
Ricky watched her closely, evaluating just how far he could push her, knowing that she wasn't happy dealing with him. He waited, amused, like a big cat toying with a small mouse.
Grace didn't want to offend him, not until she got the information she wanted – the name of the bookie. She said, "I don't want to bother you. Just tell me where I can reach him."
Ricky grinned. "It isn't quite that easy, Mrs. Hope. Ah… maybe I'd better have him call you. I'm sure you understand. He's a bookie and bookmaking is illegal. I'll tell him all about you and let him know you're good for the dough."
"All right. But could you have him call me tonight or tomorrow morning?"
"Sure." Ricky had a hard time keeping the gloating out of his voice. The fish had swam into the net, now it was just a matter of hauling in. His eyes fell to the luscious, soft ripe mounds of her breasts, pinched tightly in their bra cups, looking eminently biteable. She didn't know it yet, but within two weeks he was going to take a tit in each hand and then press them around his cock and fuck her that way and shoot a hot stream of jism up against her chin and mouth. The haughty bitch… she really had some coming to her and he was just the boy to see that she got it. He felt his prick crawling in response to the mental stimuli.
Grace saw the hot, vacant look in his eyes and drew back in fear. Almost immediately he superficially seemed to be a nice person once again, but that one glimpse she'd had into the depths of his filthy soul was enough to make her wish she had never started talking to him in the first place. Grace lost no time in getting back to her own apartment.
The contact with Ricky's "friend" was made about an hour later when Grace's telephone rang.
"Mrs. Hope?"
"Yes?"
"A friend said you wanted to talk to me."
"Are you the… ah… bookie?"
"That isn't a nice word, Mrs. Hope."
"I'm sorry."
"Okay. Let's just say that you can make certain investments with me and let it go at that."
"All right, Mister… Mister?"
"You can call me Andy."
"Thank you, Andy. Now can you make a bet for me?"
"That's what I'm here for. What do you want?"
"There's a horse by the name of Little Red Jewel that's going to be entered in a race at Raton sometime soon and I'd like to place a bet on it."
Andy's voice didn't hesitate a second. "Its going in the fourth tomorrow."
"That soon?"
"That's what the form says. How much do you want on it?"
"Do you have any limit on the bets. How will I give you the money?"
"Our mutual friend says you're good for the dough. I can go two and a half bills for you."
"Two hundred and fifty dollars?" Grace couldn't keep the pleasure out of her voice. It seemed years since she had that kind of money to bet with.
"No, two thou five hundred."
Stunned, Grace couldn't speak for a moment, and Andy repeated his earlier question. "How much do you want to bet on the horse?"
"Five hundred," she said quickly. "To win."
"Okay. I'll be in touch. You want I should call at a certain time every day?"
Grace thought a moment, then answered, "Is eight fifteen in the morning too early for you?"
"Naw. I'll call." He hung up.
Grace left for the track. As she was going out the door, she felt a sudden stab of guilt about Stan. She hadn't written to him in five days. She stopped, feeling a brief note to him wouldn't take more than five minutes to write, but then went out of the apartment after deciding to do it after she got home.
The Gods smiled on Grace for part of the evening. She had gone to the track with fifty dollars – proceeds of an insufficient funds check she had written at the market. She came home with $220, and at one time she had been almost four hundred dollars ahead. It had been an exhilarating evening, the best in a long time, and Grace knew positively that things were looking up, that she would be out of the hole within a day or two – especially after Little Red Jewel won tomorrow.
The next afternoon Jim Meloney's horse finished eighth in an eight horse field. That same night, Grace came home from the track with only twenty six cents in her purse.
A week later, after a streak of unbelievably bad luck, she was in hock to Andy for $3100, and was apprehensive because she knew she could never pay that much money back. He hadn't asked for his money yet, but Grace knew it was just a matter of time. It was going to be terribly embarrassing when she had to confess that she was broke. The thing that frightened her most was the fact that she had written almost four hundred dollars in bad checks. The least of her worries was Stan who had written a hurt and bewildered letter asking her why he was receiving no mail from her.
And it was on Friday that she got the call at work from Andy wanting his money that afternoon.