Chapter One        (warning: explicit language)


With a slight tremble in my hand only others with the same affliction would recognize, I am hopelessly addicted to the pretty one standing at the end of the line. She is very unassuming and only a few of us connoisseurs recognize the perfection of her tease.

As I have done every day for an hour for the past two years, I swagger up to her confidently, hoping my bravado is not Saran-wrap transparent. I try to still the anxiety that quickly twists itself around my heart and groin while I insert the first, one hundred dollar bill into her well-worn slot.  I light my first cigarette of the evening, order a glass of heavy-blood merlot and say a humble prayer for mercy.

She is a patriot; a purveyor of red, white and blue stars sprinkled with triple charms that parlay a loot of anything between twelve-hundred to eighty-thousand dollars ... the sweet stuff lies in between. That's where she's a master of promise and deception.  You don't necessarily want the lowest pot and you don't dare dream of the biggest.  In my humility, I desire what's in between ... over and over again.

I can't wait to begin the thrill.

My peripheral vision disappears as I bear into her heart and soul, eyes only for the constant twirling of the red, white and blue sevens as they spin randomly. Will she be gracious tonight or will she make me grovel as I push her buttons relentlessly?

Here they come. The first two rolls come up empty; the third spin lands on two double bars and a triple star. Wow! My darling seems to be cooperative tonight as I win my first jackpot of the evening ... and on my first one-hundred dollars no less. But I don't trust her because I've had experience with her fickle favors in the past.

As the attendant scurries to get my winnings, I hear the usual comments from the gallery clowns, the same lovers I see day after day in this Indian casino that hired my whore.

"What did you win?"

"Man, you're lucky. I just put $5,000 into her and nothing."

"Are you up? Are you down?"

"Nice to see you winning for a change."

I mumble the same niceties in return, all the while hoping they would all just disappear so I can focus more perfectly on my girl here. Regardless of what they tell you, gambling on slot machines takes extraordinary concentration. A break in the flow can cost you big time.

"Congratulations! That's a good start," says Mike the change guy who seems to know his stuff around here. "The next time is a big one. I know it!"

The smallest of comments looms as an omen in this place.

The deck is cleared and another hundred starts the roll again. Nothing.  Nothing again. The third time is the charm but the sevens are elusive as hell.

My right foot seems to jerk in rhythm to each empty roll and my eyes glaze over like a slot junkie. This whole casino thing is an acquired experience. The lights, the sounds, the colors...it's all foreplay before the elements align in place like the planets in the dawning of Aquarius. I know it's just a matter of time. I know I will win.

Shit. There goes my whole jackpot. I'm back to my original one-hundred dollar bet. Oh well, things could be worse.

This time, I put three hundred dollars in the slot, symbolic of the Holy Trinity. Can't lose now, pal, I've got God on my side. Another three hundred dollars gone in a flash. Now I'm praying my dead father is watching over me, and enlisting the support of all the saints, to make the triple stars and red seven stop in the same fucking row.

Nothing.

Okay. Time to change tactics.

Woo the whore. C'mon baby, give it to me. Love you, babe ... yours forever.  Just you and me ... give it to me!  Now!

That ain't working either.

You bitch. Give it up! I've poured my whole life into you, you ungrateful whore!

My serene face offers no hint at my internal screaming. I am well-liked at this casino because of my generosity to all those around me. They have no idea of the desperation locked behind the facade.

"Hi, Jade," I exclaim to the cocktail waitress, jumping up to hug her. I've tipped her a year's salary in the throes of my winning streaks.

She asks if I need anything and this time I want, besides the progressive jackpot, another glass of merlot...Beringer's, not the house brand. I'm moving on up, spreading the wealth around like a big shot with nothing in the barrel.

"How ya doin', honey? Did my lucky chip work?" she asked.

She was referring to the time she gave me an old, clay, casino chip for good luck.  I stuck the chip in my hip pocket, thinking she knew her stuff. Another omen gone awry. When I lost well over ten thousand dollars in my fancy pants girl, I threw that chip over my shoulder farther than I could spit.  I'm not superstitious but I'm not stupid either. I recognize the spirits in charge.

"Not bad, sweetie," I reply. "How's your family?"

I didn't give a shit about her family at this point. Please, dear God, don't have her give me another lucky charm.
I don't recall what she said as she comp'd me the drink and I returned to courting my slot machine.

The sevens rolled on. The triple stars fell in the bottom row; they landed on the top row. They cajoled me with the promise of riches and release.

I lost my stash. Time to call in my marker. Whew. Five thousand dollars I don't have to pay back for thirty days. Cheap credit.

Ding. Ding. That can only mean someone is about to win the big one. My head whipped around at the sound coming from another machine, but I didn't hear the blessed, third ding. It's my soul mate, Riley, camped out behind me. His eyes, too, have that familiar glaze but he stops a moment to speak to me.

"You've got casino ears,"  he says.  "This bitch is ready to pop." But I know he's only dreaming. I've watched him lose thousands of dreams over the past two years.

Intelligence takes over and I decide to abandon my girl in favor of another one across the aisle. I've had a casual flirtation with this one. I only have five hundred dollars left and I sure as hell better make my wager count.

Once again, three hundred dollars in the slot. Another two. It's inarguably as good as a donation onto the church plate on a Sunday morning service, one that I'm usually too wiped out to attend. But God knows my soul. Given the opportunity, He knows I'd share my wealth.

The sevens just won't align and all the triple stars are streaking across the universe but certainly not landing in a row on my new machine. God forbid, perhaps this is not my night after all.

A newcomer walks up to my abandoned slot machine and checks her out.

"Do you mind if I try this one?" he politely asks me.

"Not at all," I reply.

He sees my jacket still draped over the back of the chair.

"Do you want your jacket?"

"That's okay," I say.  "Just leave it there. May it be lucky for you."

My heart is now heavy with the realization my seed money is gone. I'm tapped out and I can't play anymore. My favorite machine is taken and my new love is uncooperative. I have no chance to win my money back,  or make my new fortune.

I'm fucked. But tomorrow is another day.

I've smoked my last cigarette of the evening.

My casino ears perk up as I hear Ding, Ding, Ding. Somebody won the big one.

"God, can you believe it? Wow!" says the newcomer, firmly in love with my red, white and blue whore. His affair has just begun.  "Isn't that forty thousand dollars?"

Yes, indeed, pal. Your name is George? Great...no sour grapes here, George.  Wasn't meant for me. God bless you and your good fortune.

I licked my wounds for the evening.  As I headed out the door, I passed by George and his new-found love.

I swear I saw her wink. Or was it just my imagination?

Or was it an omen?



Chapter Two

George dumped my girl immediately after the payoff. Apparently satiated, he disengaged himself with not so much as a backward glance, smirking all the way out of the high-limit lounge of the casino.  I saw him tap his pocket, feeling for the forty-thousand dollar check folded neatly inside. That check was almost a sure thing. In any case, it was a stronger antidote to temptation than a squirming stack of hundred dollar bills squeezed together with rubber bands.

I slowly walked away with longing as my favorite slut leered at me knowingly out of the corner of her triple-star eyes. She knows I can't quit her.

Just before I got to the double exit doors close to valet parking, the premonition hit me like a wave of money-scented perfume; the allure was intoxicating. It twirled up through my nostrils and exploded inside my brain. I shook my head, took a deep breath and opened my mind to new possibilities.

"Come back," the voice whispered. "I'll be good to you."

Before my sense of survival had a chance to filter the danger, my body was turning, my legs were walking and I just followed myself back to the bitch.

With renewed hope, I began to calculate the resources I had left. Let's see, the marker's gone ... the cash is gone ... one credit card filled to the brim.  On the plus side, I still had some savings left and a lone, empty credit card stashed away for just such emergencies. Bingo. I'm back in.

I sauntered up to the cashier's cage and plopped down my magic card. It only took them about five minutes to verify the cash advance and pay out my stake, but to me it felt like an eternity. My left palm was itching, another good sign.

"Hey, thought you were leaving?" greeted Carl as I walked back into the winners' circle. He's the other change guy on shift tonight, the one who's usually lucky for me. My optimism grew.

"Nah, just taking a break," I said with panache, hoping no one witnessed my near exodus, thereby exposing me as a liar to boot. I can't afford any more vices.

"Did you leave like I told you to last night? Man, you just kept hittin' 'em. What was that last one, twelve thousand?"

"Can you believe it?" My heart started to purr just thinking about last night's roll. I didn't elaborate more about my balance sheet. Like false advertising, I only talk about my winnings, never my losses.

Pleasantries said and quickly set aside, I head towards my red, white and blue whore. I almost sat down, thrilled to continue the chase. Before I could pop some money into her, something caught my eye; some peculiar force pulled my attention the other way.

My eyes follow the space between the two rows of slot machines where I usually play and  I see a new, solitary harlot standing there in all of her glory ... right in the center of the room. Funny, I never noticed her before.

A strange glow swirls around the top of her head in some kind of hazy, green light. Just beneath the light,  a plaque reads the progressive jackpot amount. It's $3,333,333.33.

That can't be. I shake my head imperceptibly, close my eyes for a second and refocus. There it is it again. Three million, three hundred and thirty-three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three dollars and thirty-three cents.

My hands start to get clammy as my memory takes a stroll on the interior contours of my skull. I remember my dad as he lay dying, hovering in the temporary space between his living family and the spirits beyond.

After a fitful night, when I knew he finally recognized the futility of his struggle, my dad woke peacefully. He was so calm. I was at his side when he looked up towards the skylight in my family room and said, "Look, thirty-three horses and thirty-three wagons are coming to get me."

That comment has haunted me for the last two years. I've spent months trying to decipher his last words, hoping beyond hope they were a sign, a hint of where he was going. At times, I think it was only the morphine and yet, there's a corner of my soul that insists it was a message.

Whenever I look at a clock and it reads 3:33, or when the gas pump stops at exactly $33.33, I know it's my dad talking to me.

Play this one, daughter. Right here. Right now. It's time. So, that's what he was talking about. Wow. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. This one's for you, Daddy-o.

With reverence, I twist the chair around, ready to embrace my destiny when I notice an old woman playing the machine. How the hell did she get there so fast? I looked closer and struggled to breathe.

It was my mother - my frail, white-haired, eighty-year old mother, dressed in black from head to toe.

That was impossible. She doesn't drive; my dad drove her around for fifty-five years, the entire time they were married. I looked around for my sister. Maybe she drove her here but no, my mom was completely alone. She played that slot machine with a fervor matched only by her incessant smoking and drinking. She downed more wine in those few seconds than I could have done in a whole evening.

Wait a minute. Just wait one hell minute there, buddy. That's not my mom. She doesn't gamble ... or smoke ... or drink. Son of a bitch. I must be hallucinating.

What on God's green earth is she doing here? And why doesn't she see me?

I slowly get up from my chair and as I begin to walk towards her, the outline of her bent form starts to get fuzzy. I scrunch up my eyes and rub them with my fingers, swearing at the quality of my contact lenses. They're always going out of focus, and always when I need them most.

It's not my contact lenses this time as I watch the density of my mother go lighter, lighter, then translucent and then ... she just disappeared.

Something's wrong. There's something very wrong going on here. Maybe I'm losing my friggin' mind.

For the second time this evening, I prepare to leave the casino. Even the promise of a few, extra thousand dollars isn't worth a trip to the loony bin. Well, on second thought ... no, time to get out of here.

"What's your hurry, hon?" asks Carl. "You haven't played your machine at all. In fact, you haven't moved a muscle. Is everything all right?"

I can't tell him I just saw my little, old mother banging away at that machine in the center of the aisle. He'd call security in a flash and I'll never play in this place again.

"I just lost the feeling. You know how it goes. Catch you tomorrow, Carl."

Dazed, I walk through the casino towards the exit doors once again. I look like a loser from the outside, but inside, I'm worried. Maybe there's something wrong with my mother; maybe she needs help and can't get to the phone. Maybe her apparition was an omen.

My dread at losing my sanity competes with my fear of losing my mother and I continue to stumble like a drunken sailor towards the door. The lure of all the minor whores on slot boulevard doesn't detract me this time.  But just as I am ready to bolt through the doors, like a bad curse, I spot 'ole George, the guy with a forty -thousand dollar check in his pocket. He was standing next to a machine that was lit up like a firecracker in the fourth of July sky.

He sees me and starts waving wildly. "Hey, you! Can you believe this? I'm on fire!"

Dismayed that my curiosity over-powered my self-disgust, I walk towards him to see the amount of his win. When I get there, I see triple ... literally. He just landed triple stars straight across her pretty, little face, making it a progressive hit for eighty-thousand dollars. Lady luck certainly did French-kiss this guy tonight.

"So, how'd you do on that new machine?" lucky George asks.

"What machine?" I reply cautiously.

"You know, that one in the middle. The one with all those green lights and all."

"I wasn't playing that machine, George."  I'm thinking all that green stuff has gotten to his brain.

"Hey, lady, I saw you with my own, two eyes. That was you pushing those buttons."

Then he licked his lips and I noticed the tip of his little, forked tongue.