woman in white took my arm and guided me to the sidewalk. Now that I got a good look at her, it was hard to judge her age. I guessed that she might be in her late fifties, but her spinsterish attire made her look older.
“You’re very lucky, young lady,” she informed me. “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”
“No,” I told her. “Besides, I have to meet my husband in the clubhouse for lunch.”
“I was about to take lunch myself, while Charles walks the flying lady,” the woman explained. “It would be my distinct pleasure if you would join me for lunch in my private viewing box.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” I declared.
“Please, I insist,” the woman said. “I’ll have a page sent to the clubhouse to intercept your husband.”
“That’s very kind of you. Are you sure it’s no bother?”
“No bother at all. Besides, I enjoy the company of young people.”
And with that, our lunch plans had been changed, hopefully for the better. Meanwhile, Charles stood by looking confused as to what he should be doing.
“Go walk the dog,” the woman in white commanded. “And this time mind her lead.”
Charles scowled and then skulked off without speaking a word.
“My name is Miss Elizabeth Hightower,” the woman in white said, extending a gloved hand.
“Chloe Boston,” I replied, accepting it.
“What a cute name,” she observed.
The woman and I walked slowly, not because Miss Hightower was infirm, but because of her concern for my wellbeing. I appreciated her concern but was a little frustrated by our slow pace since I felt fine. Of this I couldn’t convince her. We took the elevator instead of the stairs to the private boxes. All the while Miss Hightower maintained a running monologue regarding the history of the track.
“You know that Rancho Downs Park and the associated equine club were established in 1932. Since that time it has been one of the most prestigious organizations in the country and the home of some of racing’s most famous horses. A Hightower has been on the board of directors since the track was first opened.”
Miss Hightower named a string of horses, jockeys, trainers, breeders, and owners of which I’d never heard. She told me of the great races she’d attended at this very track, beginning in her youth. She boasted of the admittedly beautiful décor and the wonderful food that I had yet to sample. In a short time my head was spinning trying to retain all the esoteric facts she related. By the time we made it to her box, I was starving.
“Please, have a seat,” Miss Hightower offered.
I took a seat in a comfortable leather swivel chair positioned before an elegant wood table that afforded an amazing view through a wall of glass upon the track far below. Miss Hightower lowered herself gracefully into a chair opposite mine.
“I’m sorry if I bored you with all my talk of racing on the way here,” she apologized.
“Oh no,” I assured her. “I find everything related to these beautiful animals and the racing to be fascinating. Tell me, did any of your horses race today?”
“Oh yes. Perhaps you saw one in particular, See Captain?”
“Did I see him? I won three thousand bucks on that race!” I blurted, and then covered my mouth in horror.
“Smart girl,” Miss Hightower observed with a smile. “It was his first win—the first of many I assure you.”
“I like horses, but I also like dogs,” I stammered. “What about Flying Miss Lady? What’s her background?” I asked to cover my excessive boisterousness.
“Flying Miss Lady was a great racer herself, winning twelve races during her career. She’s now in retirement as my personal pet.”
“How wonderful.”
“She is indeed a wonderful dog. And she’s a stablemate and best friend of my current winner, a stallion named Soft Spoken Hal. In fact, Soft Spoken Hal will be trying to break her record on this very track this weekend.”
“Lucky thirteen,” I quipped.
“How’s
“You’re very lucky, young lady,” she informed me. “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”
“No,” I told her. “Besides, I have to meet my husband in the clubhouse for lunch.”
“I was about to take lunch myself, while Charles walks the flying lady,” the woman explained. “It would be my distinct pleasure if you would join me for lunch in my private viewing box.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” I declared.
“Please, I insist,” the woman said. “I’ll have a page sent to the clubhouse to intercept your husband.”
“That’s very kind of you. Are you sure it’s no bother?”
“No bother at all. Besides, I enjoy the company of young people.”
And with that, our lunch plans had been changed, hopefully for the better. Meanwhile, Charles stood by looking confused as to what he should be doing.
“Go walk the dog,” the woman in white commanded. “And this time mind her lead.”
Charles scowled and then skulked off without speaking a word.
“My name is Miss Elizabeth Hightower,” the woman in white said, extending a gloved hand.
“Chloe Boston,” I replied, accepting it.
“What a cute name,” she observed.
The woman and I walked slowly, not because Miss Hightower was infirm, but because of her concern for my wellbeing. I appreciated her concern but was a little frustrated by our slow pace since I felt fine. Of this I couldn’t convince her. We took the elevator instead of the stairs to the private boxes. All the while Miss Hightower maintained a running monologue regarding the history of the track.
“You know that Rancho Downs Park and the associated equine club were established in 1932. Since that time it has been one of the most prestigious organizations in the country and the home of some of racing’s most famous horses. A Hightower has been on the board of directors since the track was first opened.”
Miss Hightower named a string of horses, jockeys, trainers, breeders, and owners of which I’d never heard. She told me of the great races she’d attended at this very track, beginning in her youth. She boasted of the admittedly beautiful décor and the wonderful food that I had yet to sample. In a short time my head was spinning trying to retain all the esoteric facts she related. By the time we made it to her box, I was starving.
“Please, have a seat,” Miss Hightower offered.
I took a seat in a comfortable leather swivel chair positioned before an elegant wood table that afforded an amazing view through a wall of glass upon the track far below. Miss Hightower lowered herself gracefully into a chair opposite mine.
“I’m sorry if I bored you with all my talk of racing on the way here,” she apologized.
“Oh no,” I assured her. “I find everything related to these beautiful animals and the racing to be fascinating. Tell me, did any of your horses race today?”
“Oh yes. Perhaps you saw one in particular, See Captain?”
“Did I see him? I won three thousand bucks on that race!” I blurted, and then covered my mouth in horror.
“Smart girl,” Miss Hightower observed with a smile. “It was his first win—the first of many I assure you.”
“I like horses, but I also like dogs,” I stammered. “What about Flying Miss Lady? What’s her background?” I asked to cover my excessive boisterousness.
“Flying Miss Lady was a great racer herself, winning twelve races during her career. She’s now in retirement as my personal pet.”
“How wonderful.”
“She is indeed a wonderful dog. And she’s a stablemate and best friend of my current winner, a stallion named Soft Spoken Hal. In fact, Soft Spoken Hal will be trying to break her record on this very track this weekend.”
“Lucky thirteen,” I quipped.
“How’s
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