He insisted she stay seated in his box for a while longer, and Grace complied, trying to hide her eagerness. She liked it up here – seated up here like a Goddess looking down at the swirling herd of little humanity. Finally, though, she felt she had outstayed her welcome and made preparations for leaving. He put his hand over her thigh and pressed down in a commanding manner. "Stay here," he ordered, then softened it by saying, "Please? Wait until after this feature race. If one of my horses does come in, I'll want you to go down to the winner's circle with me and be photographed accepting the flowers."
Grace sat there, feeling more like a queen now, and waited impatiently for the race. It came and went in a flash of colour, and Jim shook his head in utter bewilderment as his entry finished first and second. "And I didn't have a cent on them," he groaned to friends in the box next to them. Then he was escorting Grace downstairs, across the paddock area, and up the tanbark to the winner's circle. Everything was happening too rapidly for her – the rush to the winner's circle, the smell of the horse, its panting breath, the shouted congratulations, the awarding of the flowers and trophy – both of which were given to her, the flash bulbs as photographs were taken. It was a moment of glory, all too soon over.
Upstairs again in Jim Meloney's box there were half a dozen buckets of champagne being iced. He grinned. "An old custom of mine for the newspaper handicappers and the adjacent boxes." The first of his guests were already wandering over; the news had gotten around that he hadn't backed either of his horses. It was a joke, one that both they and he appreciated.
Grace was introduced as "my gracious hostess, Mrs. Hope. Her husband is a sergeant in Vietnam." She found herself meeting several people whose names she recognized from the Society Pages of the San Francisco Chronicle. She poured, she made polite conversation… and she drank toast after toast.
Three minutes before the last race of the evening, Jim came over and whispered in her ear. "Would you like to try another race? I have reason to believe that number five is a shoo-in."
Suddenly the intense fevered excitement hit her again. It was so strong that she found it difficult to breathe. "How much shall I bet?" she asked, and was surprised at the hoarseness of her voice.
"Well, I believe in betting with the track's money," he said quietly. "Why don't you parlay what you've won. That way, if you lose, you still haven't lost any of your own cash."
Grace was really reluctant to let that much money go. She already had mentally deposited it in the bank. Then, shrugging and not wanting to diminish this feeling of excitement, she nodded. She could trust him. Carefully she counted out $96 and handed it over.
"I'm still winner by twenty cents," she said defiantly.
Jim's laughter was contagious; she found herself giggling. She also found herself feeling proud at his words of praise, "That's a girl." Also, she was strangely comforted by his partnership pat on her shoulder.
It wasn't until Jim had disappeared that she peered and squinted at the tote board which seemed to be going in and out of focus. She couldn't even read the odds on their horse.
The effects of the excitement and the alcohol had made her so light-headed that she was forced to sit down. Grace wasn't even aware that the horses had entered the gate, and only stood up when she heard the roar of the crowd. There was the blurry mass of horse flesh and human riders hurtling down the brown dirt track, coming closer – ever closer – until the colourful avalanche flashed by.
She didn't have the slightest idea of who had won.
The conclusion of the final race of the day generally is a depressing time, for it is then that the great masses feel the sudden let down and are forced to go home knowing that the last chance to recoup or make the big killing has evaporated. So it was that Grace sensed the difference in the crowd and felt a beginning of depression. She was weary – and knew that she was more than a little drunk. The pay-off prices flashed on the totalizator board, and she heard the "oohs" and "ahhs" and groans as the second-guessers saw what they could have earned if they had followed the form or their hunches.
The boxes around her had emptied quickly and now she sat quite alone, weaving a bit in her chair as the cleanup crews began rattling dishes and cans and banging folding tables together. A water truck, spewing rain behind it, raced along the dirt track below her. Dully she wondered, what had happened to Jim, then as she squinted down the aisleway, she saw what appeared to be his figure striding toward her with a big smile on his handsome face.
Whatever depression she had felt before disappeared when he handed her some money. She looked down and immediately sobered a bit when she saw the top bill was a hundred dollar note. She blinked. "I don't understand," she blurted out.
"We won. Not a bad payoff either. Twelve eighty… more than I thought we'd get."
"How… how much did… I win?"
Jim grinned. "I just gave you six hundred and fourteen dollars. I owe you another forty cents, but I thought I'd keep the dimes in case I need to telephone you."
She blinked owlishly at the money again, then felt an overwhelming gratitude. "Oh… Jim. How can I ever thank you." He was such a good friend! And such a gentleman! She looked up at him, weaved a bit, and he was forced to put out his hand to steady her. She saw him looking down in concern and amusement.
"I think," he said slowly, "that I had better get some coffee into you."
Immediately she became contrite. "I'm sorry… it's just that I'm not used to…"
"I know. Come on."
"But… but I came with friends."
"I've already told them we're going to get a nightcap and coffee. I'll see that you get home safely."
"All right." She trusted him. She wouldn't have ridden alone with Bill Hill or Doug in her present condition; they were uncouth, not to be trusted, not gentlemen.
She staggered slightly as they were entering the elevator, and Jim put his arm around her waist to steady her again. She could feel the warmth of his powerful right hand resting on her hip, could feel each of his sure fingers pressing gently above and below the hip bone. Somewhere in the distant recesses of her alcohol-fogged mind an alarm bell clanged, but it was so muted that she wasn't sure what it was for. After all, Jim could be trusted. She was completely safe with him.
Had Grace been more alert, she would have noticed the look in Jim Meloney's eyes as he gazed down at her proud, upthrust young breasts so enticingly outlined under the thin nylon yellow and black print dress. She would have realized that his hand on her hip was making subtle little circular motions – barely perceptible… possessive. And under normal circumstances she would have noticed the change in his demeanor as heated desire overcame the fragile barriers of a superficial chivalry.
Looking down at her, Jim Meloney felt his groin tightening. Without touching her, without doing anything but watching her young vibrant body, he had already begun to get an erection. She would have to be handled carefully, he thought. No fast moves… nothing to alarm her. He knew instinctively, that there had been no one other than her husband since her marriage… and probably few, if any, men before her husband. She was practically a virgin, but there were certain little things she did – the way she moved and talked and thought – that led him to believe there was a wild untapped streak of wantonness in her body that even she was not aware of. He vowed to unveil that streak. Maybe not tonight… or tomorrow… or next week… but soon. He had absolutely no doubt that given time he would have her naked young body moaning in sexual delirium beneath him.
Outside, the heat of the night hit her and Grace became even more drowsy. She wasn't aware that the valet parking attendant had opened the door of a Cadillac convertible for her. She slid in, not knowing or caring that her mini skirt had slid up past the top of her hose and that her rich creamy bare thighs were there for all to see.