When they reached his motorcycle he handed her a helmet. “Here’s the spare.” It looked like a giant beige pumpkin. “I know it’s ugly,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’d trade with you, but mine will be way too big for you.”
When she slid it over her head she knew she looked like a fool. She could feel her cheeks squeezing together as if her grandmother were sandwiching them between her hands, telling her how much she’d grown. And her head suddenly felt as if it weighed more than her body. Furthermore, she wished she’d worn her hair up. It was sticking out of the bottom like a shag rug caught in a doorframe.
“Let me help you with the chin strap. It’ll loosen it up a little.” His big hands moved beneath her chin, and she could see the callused edges of his fingers while he loosened the strap.
He slid on his black, edgy, I own a guitar shop and hang out in North Park helmet, and she wondered what he must think of this little peon riding on the back of his bike.
The only time she had ever climbed onto the back of a moving object was when she had been horseback riding in college. She knew it was going to be a little awkward climbing onto the back of his Harley-Davidson. Even worse, in fact. When she’d been horseback riding, she’d had the horse to herself. Was she supposed to hang on to Max? Did she slide her arms around his waist? Prop her hands on his shoulders? Hang on to the seat for dear life? Maybe she should ask. He motioned with his thumb for her to hop on the back.
“You can just hang on to my waist,” he yelled over the noise. Thank goodness he had told her.
She slid her arms around his waist and put her feet on the tiny little kickstand that they shared. Even though he wasn’t wearing a jacket, he smelled like leather and mint gum.
Riding on the back of his motorcycle was like hanging out on one long, fun ride at Disneyland. The fresh air on her face and the way her heart raced when he sped up made her wish they were driving to Cabo San Lucas rather than just twenty minutes to Del Mar. His waist felt firm and strong, and his T-shirt soft and clean against the side of her face.
Dust swept up around them in the parking lot at the track. “You all right back there?” he called over his shoulder.
“Yeah! Great!” Then she realized that she didn’t have to yell. He was sitting right in front of her.
The scent of clean Del Mar salt water and the soft breezes that filtered beneath her thin cotton shirt were enough to make her already love the races.
They walked to the open-air Spanish-style stadium. She was surprised at how clean the grounds were, not a piece of trash to be found. When she went to Padres games there were peanut shells and empty beer cans even at the entrance. It was the first time she had ever been to a sporting event and seen valet parking in the front. Every kind of luxury imaginable lined the driveway of the track, and she wondered if she should’ve worn the hat and gloves after all.
Max bought their tickets and gave Elise a small guide that showed which horses were racing, which jockeys were riding them, and a million other abbreviated things she decided to try to figure out later. He showed her in detail how to bet, and she asked if they could just watch the first race just as a practice round so she could get the hang of it before blowing any money.
He smiled. “Of course. Let’s grab drinks while we’re waiting.” He bought them each a beer. As she took the first crisp sip she couldn’t imagine doing anything better than playing hookey and sipping a cold beer on a sunny day with him. If the date ended now, she would’ve had a blast.
“C’mon. I want to show you something,” he said as he pulled her hand. As he led her around the grounds, she looked around. She had never seen such a variety of people in her entire life. There were old men in polyester and orthopedic shoes studying the odds from newspaper clippings. She suspected they probably knew a lot more about betting than the surfers who had taken a break from the swell and were still wearing their swim trunks, or the tourists who appeared to be just as confused as Elise was about betting. There were people still wearing their suits from work and parents who had brought their little kids.
She scanned the stands for Lady Di hats and spotted a handful of women who looked as if they were attending a presidential inauguration. But for the most part people were dressed like Max and Elise.
They walked down to a small track where several horses slowly pranced around a fence, their jockeys riding atop them like little mice dressed in colorful caps and black boots. A number of gamblers and photographers hung around the rail of the Paddock and watched the horses as if they were studying for an exam.
“This is where all the horses come before they race.” Max said. “You can check them out, see if you want to bet on them.”
She remembered the time she had gone horseback riding at a dusty dude ranch near Tucson with several of her girlfriends. She had blown her nose later that day, and her boogers had dirt in them. Their guide, a skinny cowboy with the worst teeth Elise had ever seen in her life, handed her the reins of a brown horse with a rough coat the color of a seventy-year-old copper penny. The horse’s name was Pappy and had absolutely no spark in its eyes.
The stallions that Elise admired today clearly bore no relation to Pappy. Dark chocolate in color and as sleek as brand-new Ferraris, these horses lifted their necks and knees like dazzling showgirls as they looped around the paddock. Instead of kicking up manure-laced dirt, their polished hooves tossed up dark earth similar in texture to the expensive potting soil her mother used in her rose garden. They carried themselves in such a way that made arrogance look absolutely beautiful. Just watching them made her heart beat faster.
“They’re gorgeous,” she said.
He nodded. “A lot of people like to see them before they bet. Sometimes if a horse is acting temperamental it might mean they’re distracted. They may not race as well.”
She was admiring a horse the color of fresh coffee beans when she heard a vaguely familiar voice behind her. “Elise? Elise Sawyer? Is that you?”
Her gaze moved from a polished set of hooves to Thomas Yackrell. Dressed in slacks that made his kneecaps look knobby, he wore the same tasseled loafers he’d sported at her parents’ house. His legs looked like chopsticks, and he seemed much taller and paler than she remembered.
“Thomas! Good grief. This is more than I had even imagined. What a surprise.”
He didn’t even glance at Max. “I know. I buy a booth here every season for my company. We’re up there.” He pointed to the section where she’d seen the Lady Di hats. “You’re more than welcome to join us.” When he turned his head toward Max, she noticed how severe the part in his hair was. “And, um, you can bring . . .”
“Max, this is Thomas Yackrell.”
Max’s hand was curled around his beer, his star tattoo as bold and bright as any jockey uniform. When he moved his beer to the other hand to shake with Thomas, she noticed veins twitch in his forearms. His skin looked tanned next to Thomas’s pink hands. “Nice to meet you,” Max said.
“And you.” His eyes quickly darted to Elise. “I found out the date for the next Podiummasters meeting. You still interested?”
She sort of wished that he would be silenced by a freak stampede. “Well actually . . .”
“Great. I’ll call you. Let’s try to get together for dinner, too. Enjoy the races.” He spun on his loafers and almost left. Almost. However, he paused to look over his shoulder. “Oh and it was a pleasure meeting you, Mike.”
“What a moron,” Elise said as soon as he was gone.
Max shrugged. “He seemed all right.”
“He’s a friend of my parents. I hardly know him.”
“You ready to bet? Or you still want to wait?” he said.
“I think I’m ready to bet.”
“I’m betting on the female jockey,” Elise said as she flipped through her little guide. “Julie Krone is her name. And I like the name of her horse. Tigermite. Screw checking the odds and all that other nonsense. I like that name, and I’ve gotta support the chick rider.”<
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Max looked at her choice, then raised an eyebrow. “That horse is the long shot. But you should go with your first instinct. Sometimes it’s lucky just to pick the names you like. And if the long shot wins, you’ll really cash in.”
Elise looked at her race program while they waited in line. There were trifectas and all kinds of things Elise had yet to understand. She sort of felt nervous. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing. What if she screwed up and held up the whole line? What if the bet-taker guy got mad at her for being a novice gambler?
When she walked up to the counter she handed the attendant two dollars and remembered everything Max had told her. Apparently, there was a sequence in betting. “I’d like to put two dollars on number seven to show.” It was a very safe bet.
The man took her money and handed her a ticket. Max was next, and his betting was much more calculated and complex. She still wasn’t certain what he had done after they left the counter. She just knew he’d bet on Ice Princess and Happy Dayz.
Even though they had paid for seats in the grandstand, they watched the first race from the lower level of the track. “This is where all the real action is,” Max said as he leaned against the railing.
She could practically reach out and touch the Spanish bugler that came out and played a little tune before the horses headed to the gate.
“Tha hawses are approaching the starting gate,” a male British accent announced. She had expected the same British man to stroll onto the green wearing plaid plants and carrying a pistol that he would shoot off before sending the horses bolting in terror. However, the British voice returned and simply said, “And away they go,” just as casually as if he were saying “Cheerio, love.”
At first she couldn’t keep track of what the Brit was saying because he was talking so fast. The starting gate was clear on the other side of the track, so she couldn’t really see. But when the horses came around the corner she could see that Tigermite was somewhere in the front. She clung to the fence.
“Tigermite taking gain over You Betcha Luck,” she heard him say in his speedy announcement. “First place Tigermite! Second place Bridesmaid. And third place Neverending Story.”
For a moment she didn’t realize she was jumping up and down and screaming like a maniac. She couldn’t help it.
“Mine won! It won!”
He smiled and rubbed her back. “I know. Lemme see your ticket.” He looked at the little square of paper. “You probably won about eighty bucks. We’ll see when we cash it in.”
“Oh my God! I love the races.” She grabbed his arm. “The next round of beer is on me.”
She made eighty-five dollars and bet four on the next race. When the races started, she watched as an ambulance circled the track. She’d been so excited during the last race that she hadn’t noticed it. “What’s the ambulance for?” she asked.
“It’s so dangerous they have to follow them.”
She had never been to something more exciting. She didn’t win every race, but found that the thrill and anticipation of watching her horse outweighed any losses. At the end of the day she and Max both walked away with a little extra cash in their wallets.
“Thank you so much,” she said as they walked back to his motorcycle. “I had so much fun.”
“Good. I’m glad. We’ll have to do it again soon. You hungry?”
She wasn’t. Butterflies had moved into her stomach and taken control since he’d picked her up, but she didn’t want the date to end. “Yes. I am.”
The Red Fox was located on the lower level of an old hotel in North Park. Like the hotel, the décor looked as if it hadn’t been updated in years. Part restaurant, part bar, it was dimly lit. It was crowded with young North Park barhoppers. But the most interesting part of the Red Fox was the entertainment. An elderly woman with a cap of snow white hair sat in the corner of the bar playing a large keyboard. In front of her, a row of retired people waited to karaoke to their favorite old hits. A man who appeared to be pushing eighty was singing “It Had to Be You” when Elise and Max slid into a booth.
The man sang with the same enthusiasm any twenty-year-old would’ve given the song, and his smile seemed to send rays of light over the bar. Elise could’ve sat in the Red Fox for hours, watching the geriatric karaoke.
She decided to splurge and order a steak dinner. Max did the same.
“So, what did you do before you opened the guitar shop?” she asked.
“Well, I went to college in San Francisco. But I quit after a couple years. My band was touring all the time, and school wasn’t working out with touring and everything.”
“And?”
“Well, I played music for about ten years. Finally realized I couldn’t take it anymore, and opened up my shop.”
“What couldn’t you take?” she before dipping a steak fry in ketchup.
“I’m sure you understand what it’s like. It’s like any other industry where you’re creating your own product. You never know where you’re going to be. I wanted more stability.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“We were signed by a big label when I was playing music, but our album never took off. I had a lot of money from my advance though, so I quit the band and cashed in.”
“Good for you. If I had money to buy a place, I would in a heartbeat. Sometimes I feel like it’s pointless to even save. By the time I do have enough money, condos will be a million dollars.”
“You’ll get in there.”
She could’ve sat there talking to him all night about life. They ate steaks and drank red wine, and Elise watched women who probably belonged to her grandmother’s gin club belt out songs like “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
He drove her home, and she could feel that awkward part of the evening approaching. The part where she didn’t know if he would kiss her, or maybe even ask to come in. What she really hoped is that he’d make plans to see her again soon. Or would he politely say he had a good time and disappear into the starry night, never to be heard from again, which had happened to Elise a couple times.
He put his hand on the small of her back as they walked to the front door. “I had a great time with you today,” he said.
“I did, too. Thanks for everything.”
“We’ll have to do it again.” She sensed he meant it and wondered if he would kiss her on the cheek, the lips, or would he just go for a nice hug? These all meant different things. She hoped her breath smelled okay and tried to catch a whiff of it while she searched for her keys.
“I had so much fun,” she said.
“I did, too. Let’s—”
The staccato sound of rapid heels came running up behind them.
“Open the door!” a voice screeched.
Elise whipped around to face Iris, Megan, and a fellow she’d never met before holding a gigantic, life-sized poster. Elise wasn’t sure what was more interesting, the fact that they were sprinting full speed down Mission Boulevard dressed as hookers and a pimp or the half-naked men featured on the poster that flapped in front of them as they sped toward the apartment.
“Elise! Open the fucking door! Quick!” Megan shouted, her eyes wide from terror. “We’ll be arrested!”
Elise fumbled with her keys, while their feather boas flapped up around their necks. As soon as she pushed their door open, they ran through like fugitives. “Close the door! Close the damn door!” their friend shouted as he dove onto their staircase.
“Holy shit! That was close!” Iris yelled.
“Oh my God!” Megan said.
Elise looked at Megan’s fishnet tights and leather skirt. “What happened?”
They burst into laughter and didn’t stop for a good minute.
“You’ll never believe!” Megan finally managed to say.
“We were coming back from a pimp and ho party,” Iris explained, “when Megan here noticed this poster at a bus stop bench.” Their friend held up a poster of several men with huge muscles and the same hairstyles as
Fabio. Their weenies bulged from black Speedos like sacks of potatoes, and bow ties clung to their necks. Thunder Down Under at the Pala Indian Reservation was boldly advertised on top. “It’s a poster for a strip club!” Megan exclaimed. “I told Iris and Joe that I wanted it, and the next thing I knew, Joe had broken into the poster’s holder and ripped it out. We were all looking at it when a flashlight came toward us, and it was this stupid security guard on a bike. We just fled.”
“With the poster!” Iris yelled.
“I can’t believe we made it,” Joe sighed. “That was such a close call.”
“That poster is going to look fantastic in our living room! Aren’t you excited, Elise?”
Thrilled. Just what they needed: a six-foot poster of gay male dancers whose privates were as big as her face.
Max chuckled. “I ripped off a poster for that movie Natural Born Killers when I was in college. We had Woody Harelson’s gigantic head in our apartment forever.”
“It’s the coolest ever!” Megan yelled as a run spread down her tights.
“We’re keeping it for the rest of our lives,” Iris said.
“Well, hey,” Max said. “I gotta open up early tomorrow, so I should get going.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Elise said.
“No!” Megan shouted. “Don’t draw any attention to our apartment.”
He patted her shoulder. “I’ll call you. Let’s hang out this week.”
She knew she wasn’t going to get a kiss with an audience there and sort of felt like kicking a hole through their Chippendales poster. For tonight, she’d just have to settle for a pat on the shoulder.
18. Thieves
The next morning she woke up bright and early at eight a.m. She’d usually sleep a good hour longer, but she was too excited. Going to the horse races was enough to put her in a good mood for a decade. She could not only see herself becoming a chronic gambler but also falling head over heels in love with Max.
As she opened her bedroom window, she decided that the ocean air smelled a little bit better, the sun shined a little bit brighter. Bella propped her paws on the ledge, and Elise decided that they were going for a walk. It was rare that she was up at this time, and she decided to take advantage of the morning hours. Bella began to run in circles when she noticed Elise pull the leash from her desk drawer. She jumped on the bed, skidded across, and then looped around the bedroom twice, knocking over the waste-basket. Walking Bella in City Heights had been out of the question. It had been a long time since she had seen her leash.
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