Lucky Thirteen

by Melanie Jackson

  From horseback, we continued our tour of the facility. I felt like a genuine cowboy, though my rear end began hurting almost immediately. I supposed that I needed to grow callouses back there, but cringed at the thought of what Alex would say if I showed up back at the hotel room with blisters at the end of my stay. The day was beautiful, filled with blue sky and warm sun. Everything smelled so clean. Everywhere we went people were working with horses. I was surprised to look back and find that Flying Miss Lady was still following.

  Passing through a series of gates which Miss Hightower opened and closed for us, we were eventually let out into open countryside where we were able to give our mounts some rein and gallop on the horse trails through high grass and beneath shady oak trees.

  By the time the sun was well past its zenith and getting ready to set, I realized that I was getting hungry, having eaten nothing all day. I was both pleased and disappointed when we returned to the stable to get ready for dinner. Again I received copious assistance and much needed instruction during my dismount. Once back on solid ground, I walked around the stable yard like John Wayne trying to get the feeling back into my legs. The stable hands also found this amusing.

  “Come, Chloe, we need to get you ready for dinner,” Miss Hightower announced. “Did you bring appropriate attire?”

  “I thought I might wear what I’m wearing now,” I replied innocently.

  “No. That won’t do at all,” Miss Hightower retorted. “We’ll see what Sissy has that might suit you.”

  I had no idea who Sissy might be, but wasn’t about to argue. I liked trying on new clothes, at least clothes that were new to me.

  Miss Hightower drove me back to the mansion in the golf cart. Somehow, Flying Miss Lady had managed to keep with us the entire day. Then again, I thought, she is a greyhound. We parked in front of the hacienda and Miss Hightower led me inside. After she threw wide the heavy oak door, I froze, awestruck, the moment we stepped inside.

  A large wrought iron chandelier dominated the massive space above the stone tile floor. A polished wood staircase with a red carpet runner, like that out of Gone with the Wind, curved up to a second-story landing. Large arched windows let in so much light that the foyer appeared to be outside. An elegant fountain tiled in a blue mosaic stood in the center of the space producing the sound of dappling water.

  “Your home is beautiful,” I observed.

  “It is at that, and it’s huge as well. The old servants’ quarters have been closed off and abandoned and still we have plenty of room in the house for family and servants.”

  I had only a moment to take in the sights before Miss Hightower grabbed my hand and whisked me upstairs. She marched me down a hallway and pushed open a solid oak door to a charming bedroom.

  “Don’t you knock anymore?” a young woman protested.

  The young woman was standing beside the bed, clutching a dress to her body in a vain attempt to hide the fact that she was clad only in panties and a bra. I could hardly fail to notice that her body was as lovely as her heart-shaped face, regardless of the scowl. I looked away out of propriety. Miss Hightower scowled at Sissy, refusing to avert her eyes.

  “Chloe, I’d like you to meet my spoiled niece, Sissy Hightower. Sissy, this is my close friend, Chloe Boston.”

  I could hardly object to her portrayal of me as a close friend, though it made me feel uncomfortable having only known each other a short time. It also made me wonder what kind of company Miss Hightower had been keeping. I nodded my head rather than extending my hand, given the situation. Sissy lost the scowl, replacing it with a most winning, though undoubtedly artificial, smile.

  “How do you do, Chloe?” she asked politely.

  “Sissy,” I replied.

  “Sissy, I was wondering if you might have a suitable dress that Ms. Boston can wear to this evening’s meal, the two of you being more or less the same size.”

  Sissy was a good three inches taller than me and voluptuous besides. Still, I imagined that something might be put together to last one evening given enough pinning and padding.

  “Why, of course, Auntie,” Sissy replied.

  Miss Hightower looked as if she wanted to say more. Instead, she glowered at Sissy, smiled at me, and left the room, closing the door behind her. Sissy quickly slipped into a lovely chiffon evening dress, ignoring me as I stood uncomfortably in the center of the room. She then stepped to the door and turned to address me with her hand on the knob.

  “Take what you want. The evening dresses are in there,” she said, pointing to a beautiful antique wardrobe and managing to sound as if she didn’t care if I lived or died.

  She was about to leave when she apparently thought of something more to say.

  “Oh, and Chloe.”

  “Yes, Sissy?”

  “If I find out that you’re here after my aunt’s money, you’ll be dead before the evening is through.”

  The words were spoken flatly, more a statement of fact than a threat. Having spoken her piece, she was free to exit the room which she did with haste. I shivered in the cold of her wake.

  Chapter 3

  Rifling through Sissy’s evening gown wardrobe, I was shocked and intimidated by what I found. Christian Dior and Vera Wang dominated the scene, and these weren’t your standard off the rack dresses. Many looked to be from the designers’ couture collections. But when I found the white flowing gossamer number with the halter top, plunging neckline, and rhinestone accents, I looked no further. This was the dress of every woman’s dreams. Of course, it was too long and I wished that it needed pinning around the waist. The length of the dress helped hide my tennis shoes beneath—none of Sissy’s heels came even close to fitting and I didn’t feel safe trying to balance on a pair of heels that didn’t fit. The deep V of the neckline precluded wearing a bra, but I fortunately found some stick-on cups which I applied for modesty’s sake. Next stop—Sissy’s vanity and her large array of makeup. I took my time doing my hair and makeup, and when I was through I had to admit that I looked sensational. I was about to leave when I spotted a jewelry box sitting on the top of a dresser and thought—in for a penny, in for a pound. It wasn’t something I would have done if Sissy had been less nasty, but her threats had brought out my rebellious side.

  When I lifted the lid of the box, diamonds winked back at me in profusion. I gasped, and then examined each piece individually. I settled on a diamond choker and matching bracelet that probably cost more than I’d make in a lifetime. I left the rings behind not knowing if they might have sentimental value to their owner.

  Swishing out the door, I sashayed down the hall and stepped slowly down the stairs. I was halfway to the foyer when I looked up and saw Alex standing just inside the door, accompanied by Miss Hightower, Sissy, and beside him none other than Mark Halifax.

  “Chloe?” Alex said, looking up the stairs in wonderment.

  “My diamond choker and bracelet,” Sissy gasped.

  “Wow,” Mark exclaimed.

  “Chloe, you look absolutely radiant,” Miss Hightower proclaimed with a smile.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Mark amended.

  “Chloe, is that really you?” Alex asked in surprise.

  “Yes, Alex, it’s really me,” I said, fully descending the stairs. “What is he doing here?” I asked, nodding toward Mark.

  “Oh, he insisted on coming when he heard,” Alex said, shaking himself from his trance. “Besides, we’re celebrating tonight.”

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “Mark is my new partner in the firm of Lincoln and Halifax Security,” Alex announced.

  “I see,” I replied noncommittally.

  “Do I get a hug and a kiss now that I’m nearly family?” Mark asked me.

  “Knock it off, Mark,” Alex warned.

  It was then that both Miss Hightower and I noticed that our most recent guests, though dressed in business suits, were hardly attired for an elegant evening of dining.

  “Charles!” Miss H
ightower called.

  “Yes, madam,” Charles replied, appearing at her side as if from nowhere.

  “Escort these two gentlemen to Hillary’s room,” Miss Hightower ordered. “I’m sure you’ll find suitable attire amongst his belongings.”

  “As you wish, madam,” Charles said, bowing.

  As Alex passed, we shared a quick kiss and a smile. He then headed upstairs with Charles and Mark to get dressed, casting glances back my way as he went. Meantime, Sissy stared daggers of hate at me. I tried not to smirk. It was a good thing my mother wasn’t there to see me. She would not approve of my behavior.

  “Come, Chloe, and meet the rest of my tenants,” Miss Hightower said, taking my arm and leading me from the foyer through a set of wide double doors.

  The dining room was massive, with exposed wooden beams running across the ceiling far overhead. The room was dominated by the longest table I’d ever seen, covered in white linen and set for a feast. There were fresh cut flowers set in elaborate vases amongst beautiful crystal and china. There were also several men and women milling around the room engaged in idle conversation. All of them stopped talking and turned to watch us the moment Miss Hightower and I entered the room.

  “Chloe Boston, I’d like you to meet my brother, Hillary Hightower,” Miss Hightower said after guiding me to the nearest gathering. “And this is his wife, Missy,” she added after almost forgetting the utterly forgettable woman standing beside her brother.

  “The honor is all mine,” Hillary said, taking my hand and bowing to kiss the back of it.

  “The honor is all his since there’s little honor involved in meeting an inebriate and a layabout.”

  “Really, Sis,” Hillary objected. “I do wish you’d allow me to leave my own impression.”

  Hillary held both a drink and a cigarette between the fingers of one hand. He had blond hair and a blond mustache which hid the gray and made it difficult to judge his age. His nose was a bright red worthy of W C Fields, which I’ve always associated with alcoholism. He wore an impeccably tailored white dinner jacket with black pants and had a red handkerchief peeking out of his breast pocket. In all senses, the impression he left me with was one of an inebriate and a layabout. It pained me to agree with Sissy.

  “Hello, Mr. Hightower, Mrs. Hightower,” I said, nodding my head though a curtsey would be in order.

  “I don’t believe that my sister ever mentioned you before,” Hillary commented. “How long have you known each other?”

  “We met yesterday at the track,” I explained.

  “How delightful.”

  I didn’t see anything dreadful or delightful in the fact. I assumed that Hillary was just bad at making idle conversation. Miss Hightower took my arm and steered me clear of her brother’s family. Sissy remained behind with her parents and continued to glare at me. I assumed she was envious of the attention I was garnering, attention that was typically reserved for her, especially any attention coming from her rich aunt. Missy, her mother, smiled demurely and never said a word.

  Miss Hightower led me to a pair of men involved in a spirited debate. I’d seen each of them earlier at the time trial. One was obviously a trainer while the other much shorter man was the jockey riding the horse.

  “Chloe Boston, I’d like you to meet my head trainer, Jerry Dietz, and my lead jockey, Jose Perez.”

  The two men stopped their quibbling instantly and looked to me with some interest. Dietz was tall and slender, dressed in a worn wool suit. Perez was tiny, as I supposed all jockeys to be. I wasn’t used to facing someone shorter than myself. It made me feel gangly and awkward.

  “Ms. Boston,” Jerry said, nodding his head.

  “Chloe, I’m so pleased to meet you,” Jose gushed in heavily accented English.

  While Jerry stood his ground, Jose grabbed my hand and all but slobbered over it. This was my first experience with a passionate Spaniard. I had no choice but to smile at his introduction.

  “I saw you first at the track this afternoon,” Jose explained, “and I must admit that I almost fell off the horse due to the spell you cast over me.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you too, Jose,” I replied, trying to get him to release my hand.

  Jose looked into my face, flashing his oscillating Rudolph Valentino eyes at me, undoubtedly trying to mesmerize me, a trick he no doubt read of in a men’s magazine. It didn’t work. Instead, I had to fight back the giggles.

  “Cool your jets, Jose,” Jerry interjected. “She’s married.”

  “I know that,” Jose snapped back. “But I also know that when the flames of passion burn so bright, they cannot be hidden. Excuse my frank speech, Senorita, but your beauty, it overwhelms my better judgment.”

  What was I to say?

  “Gee, thanks.”

  I was finally able to free my hand. Miss Hightower was the first to break the awkward silence that followed.

  “Mr. Dietz. I was not entirely happy with the performance of Soft Spoken Hal at the track this afternoon.”

  “Nor was I, Miss Hightower,” Jerry replied.

  “I told you I was going to hold him back,” Jose interjected defensively.

  “Need I remind you of the importance of tomorrow’s race?” Miss Hightower added.

  “No, ma’am. He’ll be ready.”

  “And he’ll lose,” a full-throated voice bellowed.

  “We already know your opinion, Mr. Harrigan,” Miss Hightower replied dismissively.

  “And it’s the only opinion that counts for anything in these parts.”

  The owner of the voice was a large man dressed in an ill-fitting black suit and string tie. He appeared to use his voice more as a battering ram, attempting to bowl people over with it, than as a means of communication. He wore black cowboy boots and strolled toward our group with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his vest. A silver chain looped from one vest pocket to a button hole. As a final touch, he wore a black felt cowboy hat, something I would have assumed even the most hardened cowboy would have taken off upon entering such an elegant room. He carried a cut crystal tumbler in his hand that was almost empty. He was a walking parody of a Hollywood Texan.

  “Chloe Boston, this is my neighbor, Angus Harrigan,” Miss Hightower sighed.

  “Don’t you mean your competition?” Harrigan corrected, adding a guffaw.

  “He has a horse running in tomorrow’s race against Soft Spoken Hal,” she explained.

  “Not just a horse, I have the horse running in tomorrow’s race. Slippery Weasel is the name. If you’re smart, and you look to be, you’ll bet on him to win.”

  “Excuse my father’s boasting, Miss Hightower,” said a good-looking man who walked up behind Harrigan. “He tends to get carried away when he’s been drinking.”

  “You watch your tongue, boy,” Harrigan replied, managing to make his voice sound like a rattlesnake’s warning.

  “We’re pleased to meet you, Ms. Boston.”

  The young man had a pleasant voice and a kind smile. He was dressed in an expensive-looking business suit and wore his beautiful blond hair long. He extended a hand to me.

  “My name is Wayne, Wayne Harrigan.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Harrigan?”

  “Please, call me Wayne. My father has exclusive rights to the name Mr. Harrigan.”

  “As you wish, Wayne.”

  His hand was warm and rougher than I expected. I instantly liked him almost as much as I disliked his father.

  “Can we eat now?” Harrigan trumpeted.

  “Hello, everyone,” Alex said, stepping into the room. “What did I miss?”

  Alex was dressed in a gorgeous black tuxedo which fit sloppily since he was somewhat smaller than Hillary, especially in the gut. Mark fared no better with his attire. Since he was quite tall and muscular, the tuxedo he wore fit him tight in the shoulders and rode up his arms. I looked down to see that the too short slacks he wore showed off his brown socks and loafers.

  “We were just sitting down t
o dinner, Mr. Lincoln,” Miss Hightower explained. “It appears that one of us hasn’t eaten yet today,” she added, looking significantly to Harrigan.

  Make that two of us, I thought, feeling almost nauseated with hunger.

  “I’m afraid you missed the introductions, but I’m sure that can be taken care of at the dinner table. Please, have a seat.”

  Miss Hightower guided me to the seat beside hers at the head of the table. I was about to pull out my chair when I was overwhelmed by a wave of unwanted chivalry. Wayne was the first to appear by my side.

  “Please, allow me,” he said, grabbing hold of the back of my chair.

  “No, I will seat the young lady,” Jose insisted, trying to shove Wayne aside.

  “I’ll take care of this, little man,” Mark interrupted, placing a hand on Jose’s shoulder.

  “Unhand me or you’ll regret it,” Jose warned.

  “Really, gentlemen. I assure you I have this taken care of,” Wayne insisted.

  A brief struggle ensued. I stepped back to watch, embarrassed by the unwanted attention.

  “Perhaps I can help, little lady,” Harrigan added.

  I looked to Alex for assistance. He was standing beside the seat opposite mine.

  “I really think that it might be my place to seat my own wife,” Alex suggested as he walked around the end of the table.

  There were now five men gathered round my chair. My embarrassment only increased with the added attention. The men were shoving and slapping at each other.

  “Perhaps Chloe can seat herself,” Miss Hightower suggested, using a raised voice of authority.

  “Perhaps you’d like to seat me, Wayne,” Sissy suggested hopefully.

  The men stopped, considered one another, and almost recommenced their scuffle. Then with warning glances exchanged between them, they separated and left me standing unseated near the head of the table. Wayne walked around the table to seat Sissy Hightower. I shook my head, once more dismayed by the machinations of the male mind, and seated myself. Harrigan stepped behind Miss Hightower’s chair to assist her in taking her seat.