The champagne was beginning to affect her speech a little. Her articles were slurring, or she was skipping right over them.

"I think even Pud could see it, but he was too drunk to be smart about it. What would you have done if he'd come back at you?"

"You kind of have to be in the moment," I said, "to know what you'd do."

"You'd have hurt him," SueSue said. "I saw it in your eyes."

"I take no pleasure in hurting someone."

"I know men, darlin'. Everybody else in my damn family knows horses. But I know men. You like to fight."

"Everybody needs a hobby," I said.

"You like to fuck too?"

"Wow," I said. "You do know men."

A little vertical frown line indented her perfect tan for a moment, between her perfect eyebrows, and went right away.

"Lotta men don't like it. They all pretend they like it, but they don't. Some of them don't want to, or they can't 'cause they a little teensy bit drunk, or they scared of a woman who wants to."

"And you're a woman who wants to."

"I like it. I like it with big men. I'd like to see how many muscles you got and where."

"Lots," I said. "Everywhere."

"I need to see for myself, darlin'."

"That'll be a problem."

"You aren't even drinking your champagne," she said. "If you don't like champagne, I got something more serious."

"No need," I said.

But SueSue wasn't all that interested in my needs.

"You married?" Sue said.

"Sort of."

"You don't wear a wedding band."

"I'm not exactly married."

"How can you be not exactly married?" she said. "You mean you got a girlfriend."

"More than that," I said.

"Good Lord, you're not gay, are you?"

"No."

"Well, whatever it is, you being loyal about it?"

"Yes."

"Oh hell," she said.

I nodded.

"Cheatin' makes it a lot more fun, darlin'," she said.

Her southern accent became more pronounced as the champagne bubbled into her system.

"Maybe it's not always about fun," I said.

"Well, what in the hell else would it be about?"

"Could be about love," I said.

"Love?" She laughed. The sound was unpleasant.

"Only some big dangerous gun-totin' Yankee would come around talking 'bout love. My God-love!"

"I heard it makes the world go round," I said.

"Money makes the world go round, darlin'. And sex makes the trip worthwhile. Sex and money, darlin'. Money and sex."

"Both are nice," I said.

She picked up the champagne bottle. It was empty. She put it back onto the table.

"Damn," she said, and half disappeared into her big straw handbag and came out with a bottle of Jack Daniel's. She handed it to me to open.

"Nice." She laughed the unpleasant laugh again. "There isn't anything nice down here, darlin'. Nothing nice about the Clives."

I put the open bottle of Jack Daniel's on the table beside the champagne bucket. SueSue took some ice out of the bucket and put it in the cup from which she had been drinking champagne. She picked up the Jack Daniel's bottle and poured some over the rocks. Holding the bottle, she looked at me. I shook my head. The champagne left in my plastic cup was warm. I put the cup down on the table.

"Nothing?" I said.

SueSue drank some Jack Daniel's. She neither sipped it nor slugged it. She drank it as she had drunk champagne, in an accomplished manner, doing something she was used to doing.

"Well," she said, "we're all good-looking, and mostly we have good manners, 'cept me. I tend maybe to be a little bit too direct for good manners."

"Direct," I said, and smiled at her hunkishly. "What's wrong with your family?"

"The hell with them," she said. "Are you going to come on to me or not?"

"Let's talk a little," I said.

She got cagey. "Only if you'll have little drink with me," she said.

I wanted to hear what she had to say. I picked up my cup and took it to the bathroom and emptied the remaining champagne into the sink. Then I came back, put some ice in my plastic cup and poured some whiskey over it.

"Now drink some," SueSue said.

I felt like a freshman girl on her first date with a senior. We drank together in silence for a minute or so. I was betting that SueSue couldn't tolerate silence. I was right.

"What was it you were asking me about, darlin'?"

"You," I said. "Tell me about you."

More than one way to ask a question.

"I'm a Clive," she said.

"Is that complicated?"

She shook her head sadly.

"I think one of our ancestors must have stolen something from a tomb," she said.

"Family curse?"

"We're all corrupt," she said. "Drunks, liars, fornicators."

"You too?" I said.

"Me especially," she said. "Hell, why do you think I'm married to Fred Flintstone?"

"Love?" I said.

She made a nasty sound, which might have been a contemptuous laugh.

"There you go again," she said. "Daddy wanted his girls married. He wanted them out of the clubs and off their backs and in a marriage. He wanted sons-in-law to inherit the business. Pud was what there was."

"Stonie too?"

"Don't get me started on Stonie and Cord."

"Why not?"

"Don't get me started," she said.

"Okay."

SueSue had a drink of whiskey.

"How about Penny?" I said. "She's not married."

"Little Penelope," SueSue said. She struggled to say "Penelope." "Sometimes I think she was switched at birth."

"She's different?"

"She stands up to Daddy."

"And?"

"And he thinks it's cute. He trusts her with everything. Hell, she knows the business better than he does."

"So she doesn't have to get married?"

"Not now, but she better, she wants to inherit anything."

"Really?"

"Man's gotta be in charge," SueSue said. "Can't have a woman ruining the business."

"Even though she halfway runs it now."

"Daddy still in charge."

Talking was getting harder for her as the Jack Daniel's went in. I needed to get what I could before talking became too hard.

"What's wrong with Stonie and Cord?" I said.

"Stonie so frustrated she rubbing up doorknobs," SueSue said.

Her syntax was deteriorating fast.

"How come?"

Her smile was dreamy without ceasing to be nasty.

"Little boys," she said.

"Cord likes little boys?" I said.

Her eyes closed and her head lolled back against the chair cushion.

She said, "Un-huh."

And then she fell asleep.

NINE

I WAS HAVING breakfast with Billy Rice off the back of a commissary truck parked under some high pines at the edge of the Three Fillies training track.

"Donuts put a nice foundation under your morning," Rice said.

"Go good with coffee too," I said.

Across from us the track was empty, except for Hugger Mugger. We could hear him breathing in the short heavy way that horses breathe. His chest was huge. His legs were positively dainty, the odd, beautiful result of endless selectivity. A half-ton heart-lung machine on legs smaller than mine. His only function was to run a mile or so, in two minutes or so. Rice watched him all the time while we ate our donuts.