Everything's Eventual

muster in such quantities. 'He's, like, choking on it. I thought maybe you'd want to take him to the Doc in the Box.'

   Paul looked at her silently from his watering, patient eyes. His nose was as red as the stripe on a candy cane. They were in the lobby; there were no guests checking in currently, and Mr. Avery (Tex to the maids, who unanimously hated the little prick) was away from the desk. Probably back in the office, choking his chicken. If he could find it.

   Darlene put her palm on Paul's forehead, felt the warmth simmering there, and sighed. 'Suppose you're right,' she said. 'How are you feeling, Paul?'

   'Ogay,' Paul said in a distant, foghorning voice.

   Even Patsy looked depressed. 'He'll probably be dead by the time he's sixteen,' she said. 'The only case of, like, spontaneous AIDS in the history of the world.'

   'You shut your dirty little mouth!' Darlene said, much more sharply than she had intended, but Paul was the one who looked wounded—he winced and looked away from her.

   'He's a baby, too,' Patsy said hopelessly. 'I mean, really.'

   'No, he's not. He's sensitive, that's all. And his resistance is low.' She fished in her uniform pocket. 'Paul? Want this?'

   He looked back at her, saw the quarter, and smiled a little.

   'What are you going to do with it, Paul?' Patsy asked him as he took it. 'Take Deirdre McCausland out on a date?' She snickered.

   'I'll thing of subething,' Paul said.

   'Leave him alone,' Darlene said. 'Don't bug him for a little while, could you do that?'

   'Yeah, but what do I get?' Patsy asked her. 'I walked him over here safe, I always walk him safe, so what do I get?'

   Braces, Darlene thought, if I can ever afford them. And she was suddenly overwhelmed by unhappiness, by a sense of life as some vast cold junkpile—deluminum slag, if you liked—that was always looming over you, always waiting to fall, cutting you to screaming ribbons even before it crushed the life out of you. Luck was a joke. Even good luck was just bad luck with its hair combed.

   'Mom? Mommy?' Patsy sounded suddenly concerned. 'I don't want anything, I was just kidding around, you know.'

   'I've got a Sassy for you, if you want,' Darlene said. 'I found it in one of my rooms and put it in my locker.'

   'This month's?' Patsy sounded suspicious.

   'Actually this month's. Come on.'

   They were halfway across the room when they heard the drop of the coin and the unmistakable ratchet of the handle and whir of the drums as Paul pulled the handle of the slot machine beside the desk and then let it go.

   'Oh you dumb hoser, you're in trouble now!' Patsy cried. She did not sound exactly unhappy about it. 'How many times has Mom told you not to throw your money away on stuff like that? Slots're for the tourists!'

   But Darlene didn't even turn around. She stood looking at the door that led back to the maid's country, where the cheap cloth coats from Ames and Wal-Mart hung in a row like dreams that have grown seedy and been discarded, where the time-clock ticked, where the air always smelled of Melissa's perfume and Jane's Ben-Gay. She stood listening to the drums whir, she stood waiting for the rattle of coins into the tray, and by the time they began to fall she was already thinking about how she could ask Melissa to watch the kids while she went down to the casino. It wouldn't take long.

   Luckey me, she thought, and closed her eyes. In the darkness behind her lids, the sound of the falling coins seemed very loud. It sounded like metal slag falling on top of a coffin.

   It was all going to happen just the way she had imagined, she was somehow sure that it was, and yet that image of life as a huge slagheap, a pile of alien metal, remained. It was like an indelible stain that you know will never come out of some favorite piece of clothing.

   Yet Patsy needed braces, Paul needed to see a doctor about his constantly running nose and constantly watering eyes, he needed a Sega system the way Patsy needed some colorful underwear that would make her feel funny and sexy, and she needed . . . what? What did she need? Deke back?

   Sure, Deke back, she thought, almost laughing. I need him back like I need puberty back, or labor pains. I need . . . well . . .

   (nothing)

   Yes, that was right. Nothing at all, zero, empty, adios. Black days, empty nights, and laughing all the way.

   I don't need anything because I'm luckey, she thought, her eyes still closed. Tears, squeezing out from beneath her closed lids, while behind her Patsy was screaming at the top of her lungs. 'Oh shit! Oh shit-a-booger, you hit the jackpot, Paulie! You hit the damned jackpot!'

Luckey, Darlene thought. So luckey, oh luckey me.