bottled water would be nice, but she shakes her head.
“Mind if I rub that rabbit’s foot?” Perk asks. “I’m going to try poker with what I got left. Maybe I’ll have enough luck to at least lose slow.”
“Sure,” Danny says.
He rubs the green rabbit’s foot between his index finger and thumb.
“Maybe one day I can do you all a good turn too,” Perk says, and disappears into the maze of machines.
When the credit line hits 700, Danny pauses to take a long drink from the beer can. The casino is warm and cigarette smoke drifts into the nonsmoking section. Lisa’s thirsty but she’s not about to leave Danny’s side until they’ve won or lost. Perk’s stool remains unoccupied. The younger guy watches Danny’s credit line instead of playing his machine.
For the next hour, the line rises and falls. It reminds Lisa of a kite in a gusting wind, rising but never quite able to hold on to the sky. When the credit line falls to 480, the Metallica fan catches Lisa’s eye, smiles smugly. So that’s what you’re waiting around for, Lisa thinks. His smile vanishes as the numbers rise again.
Perk returns, a plastic room key in his hand.
“Still ahead, I see.”
Danny nods.
“I come out three hundred ahead,” he says, and offers Lisa the key. “It’s paid for, in cash, so the minibar is on your dime.”
“You ought not have done that,” Danny says. “You don’t owe us anything.”
“Figure it a bit more luck then,” Perk says, still holding the key out to Lisa. “If you don’t use it, it’ll just go to waste, including the free breakfast.”
Lisa takes the key, thinks how if she and Danny lose the 157 dollars they came with, they can figure the money went to a night in a swanky hotel.
“Thank you,” Lisa says.
“Glad to do it,” Perk says. “If you’re ever over in Glenville, look me up.”
Lisa watches him ascend on the escalator. At the top, Perk glances back and doffs the bill of his cap, though to her and Danny or all the players she cannot tell. Lisa checks the credit line and it’s at 480, 470, 460. Two wild cherries appear on the screen and Danny saves them, pushes the button, and a third drops into the middle slot as if fallen from a tree. The machine makes its noises and 960 appears on the credit line.
“We made it,” Danny says.
His voice is like a still pond, soft and calm, as if afraid he might startle the machine and cause the numbers to rearrange.
“It’s not a thousand,” Lisa says.
“It is with the money in your handbag,” Danny answers.
“You’re not thinking about cashing in,” the young guy says. “You got to ride this kind of luck out.”
“I don’t got to do anything,” Danny says.
He’s staring at the 960, and Lisa knows there are other numbers spinning in Danny’s head, two thousand, three thousand, five. He’s thinking about a year’s rent paid up, enough money set aside to start a family, that the jerk next to them may be right. Lisa knows he’s thinking these things because she is too. She waits for him to look up at her and say it aloud.
Instead, Danny punches the cash-out button and a white slip emerges.
“Boy, you need to grow a pair,” the Metallica fan says, turns and walks away.
For a moment, Danny looks ready to go after the guy, but then his face settles into a smile. They find an exchange machine and Danny puts the white slip in and nine one-hundred-dollar bills slide out, each so new looking you could believe the machine made them on the spot, three twenties equally crisp.
“Want to head back home?” Danny asks, his tone suggesting he would.
“No, let’s stay,” Lisa says. “It’d be a shame to waste a free hotel room and breakfast. They hardly charge for food and drink, so we can celebrate and still leave with the thousand. It’ll be like a minivacation.”
“All right,” he says. “I’m hungry, so let’s get something to eat.”
They go to a restaurant and eat their fill of fried chicken and
“Mind if I rub that rabbit’s foot?” Perk asks. “I’m going to try poker with what I got left. Maybe I’ll have enough luck to at least lose slow.”
“Sure,” Danny says.
He rubs the green rabbit’s foot between his index finger and thumb.
“Maybe one day I can do you all a good turn too,” Perk says, and disappears into the maze of machines.
When the credit line hits 700, Danny pauses to take a long drink from the beer can. The casino is warm and cigarette smoke drifts into the nonsmoking section. Lisa’s thirsty but she’s not about to leave Danny’s side until they’ve won or lost. Perk’s stool remains unoccupied. The younger guy watches Danny’s credit line instead of playing his machine.
For the next hour, the line rises and falls. It reminds Lisa of a kite in a gusting wind, rising but never quite able to hold on to the sky. When the credit line falls to 480, the Metallica fan catches Lisa’s eye, smiles smugly. So that’s what you’re waiting around for, Lisa thinks. His smile vanishes as the numbers rise again.
Perk returns, a plastic room key in his hand.
“Still ahead, I see.”
Danny nods.
“I come out three hundred ahead,” he says, and offers Lisa the key. “It’s paid for, in cash, so the minibar is on your dime.”
“You ought not have done that,” Danny says. “You don’t owe us anything.”
“Figure it a bit more luck then,” Perk says, still holding the key out to Lisa. “If you don’t use it, it’ll just go to waste, including the free breakfast.”
Lisa takes the key, thinks how if she and Danny lose the 157 dollars they came with, they can figure the money went to a night in a swanky hotel.
“Thank you,” Lisa says.
“Glad to do it,” Perk says. “If you’re ever over in Glenville, look me up.”
Lisa watches him ascend on the escalator. At the top, Perk glances back and doffs the bill of his cap, though to her and Danny or all the players she cannot tell. Lisa checks the credit line and it’s at 480, 470, 460. Two wild cherries appear on the screen and Danny saves them, pushes the button, and a third drops into the middle slot as if fallen from a tree. The machine makes its noises and 960 appears on the credit line.
“We made it,” Danny says.
His voice is like a still pond, soft and calm, as if afraid he might startle the machine and cause the numbers to rearrange.
“It’s not a thousand,” Lisa says.
“It is with the money in your handbag,” Danny answers.
“You’re not thinking about cashing in,” the young guy says. “You got to ride this kind of luck out.”
“I don’t got to do anything,” Danny says.
He’s staring at the 960, and Lisa knows there are other numbers spinning in Danny’s head, two thousand, three thousand, five. He’s thinking about a year’s rent paid up, enough money set aside to start a family, that the jerk next to them may be right. Lisa knows he’s thinking these things because she is too. She waits for him to look up at her and say it aloud.
Instead, Danny punches the cash-out button and a white slip emerges.
“Boy, you need to grow a pair,” the Metallica fan says, turns and walks away.
For a moment, Danny looks ready to go after the guy, but then his face settles into a smile. They find an exchange machine and Danny puts the white slip in and nine one-hundred-dollar bills slide out, each so new looking you could believe the machine made them on the spot, three twenties equally crisp.
“Want to head back home?” Danny asks, his tone suggesting he would.
“No, let’s stay,” Lisa says. “It’d be a shame to waste a free hotel room and breakfast. They hardly charge for food and drink, so we can celebrate and still leave with the thousand. It’ll be like a minivacation.”
“All right,” he says. “I’m hungry, so let’s get something to eat.”
They go to a restaurant and eat their fill of fried chicken and
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