Alice Fantastic Read Free

you think you’re a nice guy but there’s nothing nice about coming around when I’ve repeatedly asked you not to. It’s borderline stalking.”
    More silence.
    â€œI need my peace and quiet.”
    More silence. Then, after several minutes: “You don’t like the way I touch you anymore?”
    â€œThere’s more to life than touching.”
    â€œUh,” said Clayton. “I wouldn’t know since you won’t ever let me do anything with you other than come over and fuck you.”
    Clayton had never said fuck before. Clayton had been raised in some sort of religious household.
    â€œMy life is nothing, Clayton, I go to the racetrack. I make my bets and take my notes and chain-smoke to keep from vomiting out of fear. I talk to some of the other horse-players. I go home and cook dinner or I go to the taco place. I walk my dog. That’s it. There’s nothing to my life, Clayton, nothing to see.”
    â€œSo let me come with you.”
    â€œCome with me where?”
    â€œTo the racetrack.”
    â€œI’m asking you to never call me again and get out of my life. Why would I want to take you to the racetrack?”
    â€œJust let me see a little piece of your life. I deserve it. Think of it as alimony.”
    I couldn’t see why I should do anything for him. But I agreed anyway. At least it got him off the phone.
    I took Candy with me to the taco place. Came home and ate my dinner, giving half to the dog.
    I’d told Clayton to meet me the next morning at 11:00 and we’d take the subway. He offered to drive but I didn’t trust that monstrous van of his not to break down en route. He rang the bell and I came downstairs to find him looking full of hope. Like seeing each other in daylight hours meant marriage and babies were imminent. Not that he’d asked for anything like that but he was that kind of guy, the kind of guy I seem to attract all too often, the want-to-snuggle- up-and-breed kind of guy. There are allegedly millions of women out there looking for these guys so I’m not sure why they all come knocking on my door. I guess they like a challenge. That’s why they’re men.
    â€œHi, Alice,” he beamed, “you look fantastic.”
    â€œThanks,” I said. I had pulled myself together, was wearing a tight black knee-length skirt and a soft black sweater that showed some shoulder—if I ever took my coat off, which I wasn’t planning to do as I figured any glimpse of my flesh might give Clayton ideas.
    â€œI’m just doing this cause you asked,” I said as we started walking to the G train, “but you have to realize this is my job and you can’t interfere or ask a lot of questions.” I was staring straight forward so I didn’t have to see any indications of hurt in his eyes because this was one of his ruses, the hurt look, the kicked-puppy look, and I was damn well sick of it.
    â€œRight,” said Clayton.
    We went down into the station and waited forever as one invariably does for the G train and all the while Clayton stared at me so hard I was pretty sure he would turn me to stone.
    Eventually, the train came and got us to the Hoyt-Schermerhorn stop in Brooklyn where we switched to the far more efficient A train. I felt relief at being on my way to Aqueduct. Not many people truly love Aqueduct, but I do. Belmont is gorgeous and spacious and Saratoga is grand if you can stand the crowds, but I love Aqueduct. Aqueduct is where you see down-on-their-luck trainers slumping on benches, degenerates, droolcases, and drunks swapping tips, and a few seasoned pro gamblers stoically going about their business. My kind of place.
    Thirty minutes later, the train sighed into the stop at Aqueduct and we got off. It was me and Clayton, a bunch of hunched middle-aged white men, a few slightly younger Rasta guys, and one well-dressed man who was an owner or wanted to pretend to be one.
    â€œOh,