Chapter 3

After several years of being one of California's less important race tracks, Bay Meadows finally began to attract horses and bettors of a calibre that moved it up in class until it is today the state's third or fourth track from a standpoint of attendance and daily handle.

Part of this sudden spurt in popularity came with the complete renovation of the club house and stands. The other was the advent of night racing, which permitted daytime workers to blow the week's pay check on the quarter-horses and trotters.

The Turf Club is big, comfortable, and roomy--except on Saturdays and holidays when it can become a bit crowded. In the evenings, the Turf Club is open to club house patrons. Dinner is served, if one desires, out on the terrace high above the finish line. There is an overall air of luxury and expensiveness that can be, and often times is, contagious.

In spite of her cool calm exterior, Grace could not help but feel a certain growing excitement as she had her second martini of the evening and watched the horses parade to the post in the initial race. The first martini had been ordered for her by Mr. Austin, the big boss. Dubious, because she had never had one before, she cautiously sipped it and, in her aroused state, discovered that it tasted delicious.

"It is now five minutes to post time," the voice over the public address system boomed out.

Judi, who was talking to Bill Hill, the Sales Manager, turned to Grace and asked, "You making a bet on this race?"

Grace shook her head silently.

"Want to split one on number three?"

Grace, biting her lower lip in uncertainty, shook her head again. It would be fun just to bet a dollar. After all, what was a dollar? Still, though, her earlier resolve not to foolishly waste money came back to her.

Judi disappeared toward the sellers' windows with Bill Hill. Doug, another one of the car salesmen came over to the table and asked, "What you betting on this race, Gracie?"

"Nothing."

Doug glanced out toward the tote board. "That number seven looks awfully good at the price. Seven to one; why he shouldn't be more than three to one at the most."

Grace had absolutely no idea of what he was talking about, so remained silent in order not to show her ignorance.

"I think I'll try a fifteen dollar combination," Doug said, then turned back to her. "You sure?"

"Positive."

She was sitting there alone, waiting the return of the rest of the party from the sellers' windows when a tall, distinguished looking man who had been seated at Sam Austin's table came over and smiled down at her. "You're Mrs. Hope," he said smiling.

"Yes?" It wasn't an invitation, but it was non-committal.

"I'm Jim Meloney. Sam was just telling me you're his new Office Manager. I couldn't believe it, you look so young."

Grace dimpled in spite of herself. "Thank you." She paused a second, feeling a bit awkward about his standing there, then asked, "Would you care to sit down for a moment, Mister Meloney?"

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Hope. Yes, if I'm not intruding." He pulled out the chair next to her and seated himself. An expensive cigarette case and lighter was pulled from his pocket. "Do you smoke?"

"No, thank you."

"Do you mind if I do?"

"Not at all." Now, she thought, here is a real gentleman. Sophisticated, rich, dignified, handsome... unobtrusive.

She noticed his hands as he lit the cigarette. Manicured nails, long sensitive fingers, tanned and obviously capable hands... immaculate white French cuffs peering from the sleeves of his navy blue cashmere coat... extraordinarily large wrist watch with two sets of sweep hands. She also noticed the way he peered at her, looking at her as though she were an interesting person--not like a piece of meat being inspected in a butcher shop.

"You're not only young," he said suddenly, "but I have a feeling you're pretty intelligent as well."

Grace blushed, feeling momentarily a loss of words. Then she replied in light banter, "Thank you, kind sir. But how could you tell if I'm intelligent... or stupid?"

"Well, for one thing, there's a lot of intelligence in your eyes. Another thing--which furthered my conviction--was that you're not betting this race. I saw you turn down several offers. Now that's what I call smart. These are a real bunch of dogs. The race is wide open. Anything can win it. Never bet unless it's a lead pipe cinch."

He seemed so knowledgeable! Grace blurted out before she could stop herself. "You seem to know a lot about it. How come?"

The man laughed, obviously delighted with her question. "I can tell You're not a race fan, and I'll bet you don't read the sports pages, either."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. This is my first time."

"You show even more sense then, in not betting. This isn't a game for amateurs. I ought to know. I own Red Rebel Stables; we're running seventeen horses here at this meet. It took me almost thirty years to learn the game. And even now, I get fooled all the time."

Grace recognized the name "Red Rebel Stables" from an earlier glance at the program. She brightened immediately. "You have a horse in one of the races later this evening?"

He grinned, obviously pleased with her ability to recall the information. "Yes. We've got Red Jewel in the fifth... and the entry in the feature race."

"Oh, well. In that case, I'll make a bet on those two races. Just to wish you luck."

Jim Meloney shook his head. "Now don't make me change my mind about you, young lady. That would be an extremely foolish thing to do."

"But why?" she protested. "Don't you think your horses will win?"

He pursed his lips and shrugged. "I really don't think we have a chance for top money in the fifth. I'll settle for the show or fourth place purse. As for the seventh? It's going to be very close. It's a toss up between one of my horses and six of the others. If I do bet, it'll be only a small amount. I never bet big money unless I'm almost positive."

"Oh." Grace's disappointment showed in her voice. Jim Meloney laughed, a deep booming laughter of pleasure and companionship. "Look, try to find me just before the sixth race. There's a horse in the sixth that may have some possibilities; I'll know better after I see him in the paddock. Find me and I'll tell you."

"Will you? Promise?" She sounded like a little girl.

"I promise." He patted her hand paternally and stood. "May I buy you another drink?"

Grace glanced down at her empty martini glass. She was already feeling the effects of the liquor she had consumed, and it was still an hour or so before they planned to have dinner. She shook her head and said, "No... I think I've had enough for now." Then she added with uncustomary candour, "This is not only my first time at the track, but also the first time for martinis, and the first time I've been out socially without my husband."

He stood there looking down at her with a half-quizzical expression on his face, and Grace thought she had better adjust in case he had misinterpreted her remark, "My husband's in Vietnam."

Immediately he became sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hope. I didn't realize." He patted her hand again, then repeated, "See me about ten minutes before the sixth. I may have something for you."

Bill Hill and Doug arrived back at the table with their arms wrapped around the waist of a giggling, excited Judi. Bill looked toward the retreating figure of Jim Meloney and raised his eyebrows. "Hey... hey! What's he doing? Touting you on one of his horses?"

"Yeah," Doug demanded. "What'd he say about Red Jewel in the fifth?"

Grace paused a second, then feeling quite important, replied, "He thinks Red Jewel may be overmatched in the fifth, and the seventh is a tossup."

"A tossup, eh?" Bill Hill asked thoughtfully. "Sounds to me like he's trying to hide something--probably wants to keep the odds up. I think I'm going to bet him anyway."

Judi was gazing at Grace in open-mouthed speculation, her eyes wide. "Gee... Jim Meloney! He's yummy, and so rich! Why don't you invite him over to our table, Grace?"

"No." She wasn't quite sure why she refused, but it had something to do with not wanting to appear too forward with him. She liked the man as a person. She felt safe and comfortable with him. She already thought of him as a friend, and some subliminal snobbishness told her that Judi and Bill Hill and Doug were not his type of people.

Judi bore the refusal philosophically and turned her attention to the starting gate where the last of the horses was just entering the stall.

The flag went up, the gates popped open, and the horses suddenly came out as if they had been shot from a cannon. The roar of the crowd built up to a crescendo of thunder and exhortative screams, making it quite impossible to hear the public address system at all. Beside her, Grace heard Judi suddenly groan and fall silent as the horse in front abruptly was overtaken by longer-striding quarter horses. It was all over in less than 20 seconds.

No one at Grace's table had the winner, a big bay gelding by the unlikely name of Meat Wagon Herb, who had gone off at 12 to 1 odds.

And so it went. Grace, against her better judgment had another martini just before dinner was served. Ravenous, she lit into her filet mignon as though she hadn't eaten for weeks. As the time grew closer for the sixth race, she found an almost unbearable tension building up in her body. It was akin to fever, leaving her weak and feeling light-headed. As Jim Meloney had suspected, Red Jewel wasn't quite good enough in the fifth, finishing third in a photo finish. Doug, who hadn't really believed Grace, bet the horse to win and lost another fifteen dollars; he was now down $130 for the evening. Judi had kept her bets at a more conservative level, but still was out $30. Of the eight people at Grace's table, only Bill Hill was ahead, and then just slightly thanks to a lucky long-shot in the third.

The feeling of light-headed excitement continued to mount to a point where Grace's hands were actually trembling when she picked up her purse shortly before the sixth race and walked toward Jim Meloney's private box. He wasn't there, nor was he in the dining room or bar area. Disappointed, she stared around hoping for a glance of him. Then, spirit crushed, and dejected, started back toward her own table. She hadn't taken more than half a dozen steps before she felt her shoulders grasped from behind and heard his voice, "Mrs. Hope. Don't go away."

She turned, a radiant smile of relief on her face. "I was looking for you." She faltered, suddenly unsure of herself. "You did say to find you before this race?"

He turned his head in both directions then gently took her elbow and steered her over to his box. "Right. Number six. Bet it to win. But don't bet more than you can afford to lose."

"But... but you said you never betted unless you were positive," she protested.

He smiled sadly. "Nothing on a race track is ever one hundred percent positive. I've had horses five lengths out in front stumble." The grin came back, along with a wink, "Six is almost positive."

Grace looked out toward the tote boards. The odds on six were eleven to one.

"Don't pay attention to the odds," he said. "I'll be making my bet about thirty seconds before post time. They'll probably drop to around seven to one." He paused, staring at her with what seemed to be fondness and amusement, "Would you like me to place your bet when I put mine down?"

Grace took a deep sigh, then nodded her head. Quickly then, before she could change her mind, she opened her wallet, pulled out two fives, and offered them to him.

Jim glanced down at the money, then his handsome face broke into a wide smile of delight. "That's playing it safe. I knew you were an intelligent woman." He took the money and shoved it into the side pocket of his coat. "Let's see now, your ten dollars and my bet... that makes a total win wager of one thousand and ten dollars."

Grace gasped and choked. "You're betting... ?"

"One thousand."

She sat down weakly on one of the padded chairs in his box. "Oh, my," she managed to say.

Jim Meloney patted her hand again. "You sit here until I come back. We'll watch the race together and both pull for our horse." He disappeared.

She sat there, waiting for him, and actually shivering from excitement. A thousand dollars! She couldn't believe it. A thousand dollars on one horse! And he seemed so confident, so sure of himself... as if he had talked to the horse himself. Then, one by one, the horses began going in the gate. She began glancing frantically around for him, not wanting him to miss the race.

"The flag is up," the public address system announced as the last horse was locked in the stall.

Again the crowd screamed when the gates opened and the horses thundered out. She felt, rather than saw, Jim Meloney at her side. Their horse had broken alertly, but was no match for the blazing early speed of a gray which had immediately drawn out to almost a length lead. She found herself screaming exhortations at their horse and jumping up and down. Fifty yards from the finish line their horse and a big black on the outside both began overtaking the gray. She reached out, without volition, and grasped Jim Meloney's hand in excitement, digging her sharp fingernails painfully into his palms. Ten yards away from the finish line, the three horses were neck and neck; it looked as if the gray were getting a second wind. Then, just as the three horses flashed across the wire, Grace saw number six put his head out in front. She was screaming and jumping up and down like a school girl. Nothing in her life had ever exceeded this moment in pure excitement. "We win... we win," she yelled, and then impulsively threw her arms around Jim Meloney and kissed him.

The touch of his lips on hers brought her back to earth immediately. She blushed a deep red, then began blurting an apology...

"Sorry!" Jim Meloney asked, staring down at her face. "What's there to be sorry about genuine emotion... excitement, fear, love?" His eyes sparkled. "We got a better price than I thought we would," he said, nodding toward the tote board. "I saw Charlie Webster and Pete Grossman both plunking down some big bills on the four horses. So, it looks like you're going to get... ah... oh, lets say, about ninety five dollars or so."

Grace sat down stunned. She couldn't believe it. A profit of $85 in less than half a minute. She was forced to believe it, though, a few minutes later when Jim handed over $96.20 in payoff for her ten dollar bet.

Jim ordered drinks for them both, then laughed delightedly and seemed pleased when she insisted on paying for them. "That's the first time a woman has bought me a drink in a long time."

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' 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.

Jim saw it, though, and his power and importance was such that the parking lot attendant immediately averted his eyes from this luscious sight, staring off in the distance.

Grace had the sensation of driving, of being extremely comfortable in the deep leather cushions of the car, and finally of going up a set of stairs with Jim's arm around her waist again.

A half-fleeting moment of complete awareness came to her and she realized she was in a room--a smartly decorated, obviously expensive and masculine study. She was lying full length on a long maroon leather couch in front of an unlighted fireplace. Grace sat up quickly, swaying and attempting to focus her eyes, her heart pounding in alarm. Then she saw Jim coming across the room, carrying what appeared to be a coffee pot.

"Jim," she gasped. "Where are we?"

"My study," he glanced at her quizzically. "Don't you remember? You wanted to come here for coffee rather than go to a crowded restaurant."

His face and the room were rapidly going out of focus again and she was having a terrible time keeping upright. "I... I... think I had better go... home now," she said, struggling to regain her feet, but succeeding only in falling backward on the couch.

Jim laughed and called out, "Whoa, there. Steady, girl. Come on... get this coffee down and I'll take you home. Come on," he coaxed, "try to drink a little of it."

"You promise... promise to take me home?"

"I promise to take you home just as soon as you ask to go." He watched her carefully in an effort to see how she took the remark, and was relieved when she nodded her head.

"That's a good girl," he said soothingly, as though he were trying to steady a nervous horse. He sat down and put his left arm around her shoulders, supporting her swaying figure in an upright position. He felt the incredibly supple warmth of her upper arm. "Here, try sipping a little of this." He held the steaming cup near her mouth until Grace had taken four or five swallows, then he permitted her to fall back onto the couch again. As she slowly slipped sideways the mini-skirt hiked all the way, almost as if it were pulled by venetian blind cords. He saw her lovely pouting young vaginal mound through the near-transparent yellow and black lace edged bikini panties. She had put the panties on over her black garter belt and this made him smile even more; it was this-- more than anything else--that prompted his final decision to fuck her tonight. Until that very moment he had been prepared to let it go one way or the other. Now, though, knowing there was easy access to her starved little cunt and not a lot of undressing and fumbling to do, he could wait no longer to possess entirely this young, almost virginal bride.

Jim bent down and lifted her limp, nylon clad legs onto the couch, then pushed a pillow beneath her head. She smiled sleepily without opening her eyes. Next he went over to the stereo set and put on a softly seductive record. Then he padded upstairs and removed all of his clothes, putting on an expensive silk lounging robe which came just to mid-thigh and was fastened in front by a silken cord. He brushed his teeth and sprinkled some after shave lotion on his face before heading back downstairs to the study.

Grace was sound asleep, lying flat on her back with left leg slightly cocked at the knee. Jim could plainly see the shadow of her vaginal crevice and the full ripe mound of warm creamy flesh that denoted the beginnings of her deliciously proportioned buttocks. Softly curling strands of her pubic hair peeked out from under the elastic legbands of her panties. It was all he could do to keep from spreading her legs wide and savagely tearing into the young, almost naked cunt lying helplessly there before him. Only by exerting an inordinate amount of self-control was he able to be gentle with her.

Grace was not aware of it when he eased her shoes off her feet and teased soft wet kisses along the bottom of her foot and up the back of her calf. Nor did she realize what Jim was doing when she felt her hips being raised. She never felt her scanty little nylon panties being pulled down over the smoothly rounded curves of her hips and slid down her legs.

Slowly, the heavily breathing man spread her thighs apart, bending and raising the right knee until it pressed against the back of the leather couch. The left leg he simply let trail on the floor.

Then, with quickening breath, he knelt between her ankles and stared with lascivious eyes at her soft black pubic hair and the wide, coral pink lips of her now completely open and defenseless young pussy. It seemed as if they were a magnet pulling his face toward them. Her cunt called out, begged to be touched, to be kissed, to be eaten like the most succulent forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden. The hardness of his throbbing prick rubbed against the silk of his lounging pajamas and made his balls ache. He had never felt more alive than he did at this moment. He could feel the cool leather on his knees and the warmth of her inner thighs on the palms of his hands as he pushed them even further apart.

It was not until her smoothly tapered young legs were completely widespread that Grace began to regain some semblance of consciousness, and even then she was incapable of evaluating completely what was happening to her. She knew her naked buttocks were on cool leather, that her legs were spread wide apart, that warm hands were stroking the insides of her thighs. Everything considered, it felt good.

Jim Meloney sensed that she had snapped out of her stupor momentarily. He waited for some protest, then felt her momentarily stiffened legs relax and fall limply open again. He grinned and licked his lips; she either knew or she didn't know what he was about to do. Either way, she was permitting him to go ahead.

Quickly then, he slithered forward until his face was just above the soft, wetly glistening little slit between her thighs. Never before had he seen such a mouth-watering cunt; the vaginal lips were perfect, looking almost as if they belonged on a young teenage girl instead of a married woman. Her pubic hair was more like silken sable and the tiny, sparsely used cuntal mouth was small, delicate... timid.