Post Office

unfavorable conditions in order to keep the public money off the horse. The distance switch, plus the switch to a less popular jock all pointed to a gallop at a good price. I looked at the board. The morning line was 5. The board read 7 to 1.

“It’s the 6 horse,” I told Vi.

“No, that horse is a quitter,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, then walked over and put ten win on the 6.

The 6 took the lead out of the gate, hugged the rail around the first turn, then under an easy hold kept a length and a quarter lead down the backstretch. The pack followed. They figured the 6 would lead around the curve, then open up at the top of the stretch, and then they’d go after it. That was standard procedure. But the trainer had given the boy different instructions. At the top of the curve the boy let out the string and the horse leaped forward. Before the other jocks could get to their mounts, the 6 had a 4 length lead. At the top of the stretch the boy gave the 6 a slight breather, looked back, then let it out again. I was looking good. Then the favorite, 9/5, came out of the pack and the son of a bitch was moving. It was eating up the lengths, driving. It looked like it was going to drive right past my horse. The favorite was the 2 horse. Halfway down the stretch, the 2 was a half length behind the 6, then the boy on the 6 went to the whip. The boy on the favorite had been whipping. They went the rest of the stretch that way, a half length apart, and that’s what it was at the wire. I looked at the board. My horse had risen to 8 to 1.

We walked back to the bar.

“The best horse didn’t win that race,” said Vi.

“I don’t care who’s best. All I want is the front number. Order up.” We ordered. “All right, smart boy. Let’s see you get the next one.”

“I tell you, baby, I am hell coming out of funerals.” She put that leg and breast up against me. I took a nip of scotch and opened the Form. 3rd race.

I looked it over. They were out to murder the crowd that day. The early foot had just won, so now the crowd was conscious of the speed horse and down on the stretch runners. The crowd only goes back one race in their memory. Part of it is caused by the 25 minutes wait between races. All they can think of is what had just happened.

The 3rd race was 6 furlongs. Now the speed horse, the early foot was the favorite. It had lost its last race by a nose at 7 furlongs, holding the lead all the way down the stretch and losing in the last jump. The 8 horse was the closer. It had finished 3rd, a length and a half behind the favorite, closing 2 lengths in the stretch. The crowd figured that if the 8 hadn’t caught the favorite at 7 furlongs, how in the hell could he catch it with a furlong less to go? The crowd always went home broke. The horse who had won the 7 furlong race wasn’t in today’s race.

“It’s the 8 horse,” I told Vi.

“The distance is too short. He’ll never get up,” said Vi.

The 8 horse was 6 on the line and read 9.

I collected from the last race, then put a ten win on the 8 horse. If you bet too heavy your horse loses. Or you change your mind and get off your horse. Ten win was a nice comfortable bet.

The favorite looked good. It came out of the gate first, got the rail and opened up two lengths. The 8 was running wide, next to last, gradually moving in closer to the rail. The favorite still looked good at the top of the stretch. The boy took the 8 horse, now running 5th, wide, gave it a taste of the whip. Then the favorite began to shorten stride. It had gone the first quarter in 22 and 4/5, but it still had 2 lengths halfway down the stretch. Then the 8 horse just blew by, breezing, and won by 2 and 1/2 lengths. I looked at the board. It still read 9 to 1.

We went back to the bar. Vi really laid her body against me.

I won 3 of the last 5 races. They only ran 8 races in those days instead of 9. Anyhow, 8 races was enough that day. I bought a couple of cigars and we got into my car. Vi had come out on the bus. I stopped for a 5th, then we went up to my place.

12

Vi looked around.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“That’s what all the girls ask me.”

“It’s really a rat hole.”

“It keeps me modest.”

“Let’s go to my place.”

“O.k.”

We got into my car and she told me where she lived. We stopped for a couple of big steaks, vegetables, stuff for a salad, potatoes, bread, more to drink.

In the hallway of her apartment house there was a sign: NO LOUD NOISE OR DISTURBANCE OF ANY KIND ALLOWED. TV SETS MUST BE OFF AT 10 P.M. WE HAVE WORKING PEOPLE HERE. It was a large sign done up in red paint.

“I like that part about the t.v. sets,” I told her. We took the elevator up. She did have a nice place. I carried the bags into the kitchen, found two glasses, poured two drinks.

“You get the stuff out. I’ll be right back.”

I pulled the stuff out, laid it on the sink. Had another drink. Vi came back. She was all dressed. Ear rings, high heels, short skirt. She looked all right. Stocky. But good ass and thighs, breasts. A hard tough ride.

“Hello there,” I said, “I’m a friend of Vi’s. She said she’d be right back. Care for a drink?” She laughed, then I grabbed that big body and gave her a kiss. Her lips were cold as diamonds but tasted good.

“I’m hungry,” she said. “Let me cook!”

“I’m hungry too. I’ll eat you!”

She laughed. I gave her a short kiss, grabbing her ass. Then I walked into the front room with my drink, sat down, stretched my legs, sighed.

I could stay here, I thought, make money at the track while she nurses me over the bad moments, rubs oils on my body, cooks for me, talks to me, goes to bed with me. Of course, there would always be arguments. That is the nature of Woman. They like the mutual exchange of dirty laundry, a bit of screaming, a bit of dramatics. Then an exchange of vows. I wasn’t very good on the exchange of vows.

I was getting high. In my mind I’d already moved in.

Vi had everything going. She came out with her drink, sat on my lap, kissed me, putting her tongue into my mouth. My cock leaped up against her firm bottom. I grabbed a handful. Squeezed.

“I want to show you something,” she said.

“I know you do but let’s wait until about an hour after dinner.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that!”

I reached for her and gave her the tongue.

Vi got off my lap.

“No, I want to show you a photo of my daughter. She’s in Detroit with my mother. But she’s coming out here in the Fall to go to school.”

“How old is she?”

“6.”

“And the father?”

“I divorced Roy. The son of a bitch was no good. All he did was drink and play the horses.”

“Oh?” She came back with the photo, put it in my hand. I tried to make it out. There was a dark background.

“Listen, Vi, she’s really black! God damn, don’t you have sense enough to take this with a light background?”

“It’s from her father. The black dominates.”

“Yeh. I can see that.”

“My mother took the photo.”