Sample had been right when he’d warned me that she rode hard, even though he may have had something else in mind.
When we gravitated to the bed in the other room, we fell on it with her on top and, if she rode her races the way she rode me that night, I wondered why she didn’t win every race by at least twenty lengths.
“Why did you wear that particular dress?” I asked her later.
“I wanted you to see me in something other than riding silks,” she confessed.
“I think you look just fine in riding silks, lady, “I told her. “In fact, I think you’d look fine in just about anything.”
She kissed me for that and said, “Look, Hank, I want you to understand something. I approached you originally because I heard you talking to the other jocks. I heard them say you were a private detective — ”
“Investigator,” I corrected. “Detective is a police department rank.”
“Okay, have it your way. What I’m trying to say is — ”
“If I was fat and sweaty we wouldn’t have gone any further than the hall outside the jockeys’ room. 1 understand, Brandy. Initially the attraction was my occupation, but from that point on my natural charm and raw animal magnetism took over, right?”
She laughed and slapped me on the stomach.
“Something like that,” she agreed.
“So okay,” I said, “now we know where we stand. I always wondered what it would be like to go to bed with a jockey.”
We both laughed at that and kissed again. Everything was very nice and cozy and then I had to ask, “Could we talk about Penny Hopkins, now?”
She made a face and rolled over on her back. I stared at her firm little breasts with their large, brown, still tense nipples.
“You seem to have a one-track mind,” she told me.
“Us private eyes have to finish what we start,” I teased her, using my Bog-art voice.
“Shit,” she said, then, “Penny Hopkins is a twit. She makes like she’s little Miss Innocence, all round eyes and clasped hands. She has all the guys drooling over her.”
“Does she put out?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. A lot of the guys talk, you know, but I think it’s just bullshit.”
“What about Louie Melendez?” I asked.
She laughed. “That little queer is crazy about her. It’s the funniest thing.” Then she caught herself and admitted, “Well, it’s not really funny, but you know what I mean.”
“I know,” I assured her.
“Understand, I’m not jealous or anything. She doesn’t have anything, or anyone, that I want — except maybe a few inches,” she added ruefully, looking down at her own bosom.
“Any more than a mouthful,” I started to say, but she interrupted me with, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that?”
“Sorry.”
“I just can’t stand that act of hers. She’ll turn a guy on, and then tune him out.” Shaking her head she added, “I’m sorry. but that’s wrong. It’s a bad game to play.”
“What do you know about Paul Lassiter?”
“Ah, now there’s a man she can’t turn on and off at will. Everybody believes the rumor that they’re ‘an item’, but since I can see past her obvious charms,” she said, making a face, “I can see that that relationship is all in her mind. He just plays along with her to piss her father off, but he doesn’t care for her. He’s big, he’s handsome and he thinks he’s God’s gift on earth for all women — ”
“Has he ever come on to you?”
“Oh, he tried — once. Offered me a ride on Bold Randy if I’d give him a ride in return.”
“You could have reported him for that.”
She shrugged and her breasts moved nicely.
“I didn’t want to cost Randy a race. He’s a nice horse, an inquiry might have laid him up for a while. I couldn’t do that to him.”
“You really love these animals, don’t you?”
She nodded and a faraway look came into her eyes.
“I think they’re the most beautiful animals in the world, the most beautiful creatures on earth, especially when they’re in motion.”
“I agree, although I’ve never seen you run so I can’t compare.”
“You’ve seen me ride, though, haven’t you?” she asked.
“Sure, once or twice. I’m not really into betting horses.” Which was absolutely true. I used to bet a little, but when I started working for the N.Y.S.R.C., I felt it might be a breach of ethics to bet on horses when I was in a position of possibly getting inside information.
I guess it’s my ethics that will keep me from ever being wealthy.
“Did you ever bet on me?”
“Hell, no, “I told her, feigning a look of shock at the very idea.
She propped herself up on an elbow and looked down at me.
“I didn’t like the sound of that,” she told me. “What’s wrong with betting on me?”
“Well, for one thing you only know one way to ride: on the lead. How many races can you expect to win wire to wire?”
She smirked at me and asked, “Would you like me to show you why I like to ride on the lead?”
“I’d love to know, “I answered, and the next thing I knew I was being kicked off the bed. I went down hard on the floor and shouted, “Hey!”
“Watch and learn, Private Eye,” she instructed me.
She took the two pillows from the bed and put one on top of the other. I leaned my chin on the bed and watched her.
“Now watch closely,” she told me. She mounted the pillows as though they were a horse, her back to me. Then she hiked her bare behind up in the air, as if she were standing in the irons, practically wiggling her butt in my face and asked, “If you were a jockey and you were riding behind this,” she asked, wiggling her ass further, “would you be thinking about winning some dumb old race?”
You know something, she had a point there.