Jackpot by Justin Snyder

The bus was late. As it pulled up to the station, Gretchen drummed her fingers on her bench and pulled out her pocket watch from the pocket of her sweatpants. Shielding her eyes against the glare of the morning sun, she checked the time. 8:15. It should have arrived seven minutes ago, and would leave at 8:23, stop at a rest stop on the side of 287 at 9:42, then continue on to arrive in Atlantic city around 11:31. Gretchen had long ago memorized the schedule. Pushing herself to her feet, she ambled over to the bus and took the driver’s proffered hand to help her up the steps. The inside of the bus was cool, especially compared with the quickly rising temperature outside. It smelled like a dozen bottles of different colognes with a hint of cigarette smoke thrown in for good measure. The day was shaping up to be a real scorcher after last night’s downpour, or at least that was what the weatherman had said on the news last night. Gretchen caught a glimpse of herself in the bus’s rear-view mirror. After she retired, she had started to wear less and less makeup and now she was down to practically none. She had forsaken having her hair styled and now just cut it short, having decided that the long blonde locks she had worn in her youth were far too much trouble to be bothered with now. She was well beyond caring whether anybody thought she looked nice.

Gretchen sat in her usual seat, an aisle seat about two-thirds of the way towards the back, across from a man leaning against the window fast asleep. He was a poker junkie, she guessed based on his sunglasses. They were reflective, two round lenses connected by a thin stand of wire, like two silver dollars covering his eyes. There were about a dozen or so others, scattered around the seats in little cliques exchanging tips and stratagems. The only conversation loud enough for Gretchen to overhear was between a pair of men who read book with titles like How to Crack the Vault, or Beating the Casinos at their Own Game written by people who, despite claiming to have a foolproof plan to take the house for millions, still apparently needed to supplement their incomes with a publishing deal. The bus glided down the road towards the highway and across the bridge over the big river outside of town. Gretchen remembered the afternoon she had spent once by its banks, enjoying a picnic with her friends. She remembered the waters being crystal clear and full of gentle vitality back then, but today the river was black with mud and debris from last night’s storm. Sighing, Gretchen settled down into her seat and closed her eyes for the three hour trip.

#

She dreamed, as she usually did, of happy times. This nap brought her back a good thirty summers to a day she had spent with her daughter, Irene, at an amusement park. Irene had inherited her mother’s straight blonde hair and green eyes, as well as her father’s easy laugh and overactive imagination. The kiddy rides she had adored last year were now, in her eyes, for babies. She had set her sights on more sophisticated fare, roller coasters with corkscrews and loop-de-loops. Irene, her face and T-shirt covered in melting strawberry ice cream, had begged her to let her ride an attraction, named after some monster or natural disaster which Gretchen couldn’t recall, that wasn’t too scary and she was sure was totally safe and why couldn’t she ride it if the operator said it was OK as long as she was tall enough and she was and Tommy from school said it was awesome and she wouldn’t ask for anything else today as long as she could just do this one thing please please PLEASE? Gretchen had finally relented, dreading having to deal with a nauseous and miserable little girl in over her head. But Irene was thrilled when she came out of the ride, and as they continued on through the park told Gretchen all about how much fun it had been and how scared she was at the top of the big hill and when they all went upside down twice.

As they passed the carnival games, dangling their toys and giant stuffed animals in front of passers-by like anglerfish luring helpless minnows with their shiny baubles, Irene asked if she could have some money to play. Gretchen didn’t know why Irene had backed off so easily when she had refused. Maybe she sensed that this ‘no’ was different than the roller coaster ‘no’, detecting an edge in her mother’s voice that Gretchen had tried her best to hide. As they drove home that night, Irene crashed from the afternoon’s sugar high and fell asleep while Gretchen eyed the orange “Check Engine” light with anxiety, hoping it didn’t indicate anything that that couldn’t wait until next week. Back at home, Gretchen carried Irene up the three flights of stairs to their apartment. Wiping the ice cream from her face and tossing the now-filthy clothes she had worn that day into a hamper to be dealt with later, Gretchen tucked her into bed and gently kissed her forehead before slipping out the door to go to her night job.

#

Gretchen was reawakened by the driver’s announcement over the loud speaker that they were about to arrive. The passengers gathered up the canes and walkers and the change of clothing many of them had brought for the weekend and slowly dismounted the bus into the overcast afternoon. They walked by row after row of lit torches, meant to contribute to the pseudo-roman theme of the building’s exterior. Crossing the threshold, they were struck by a wave of flashing lights and the desperate chirping of a thousand machines competing for their attention. A girl wearing a toga welcomed them to the casino with smile that, to an untrained eye, could easily be mistaken as genuine. The pack began to fracture as individuals began to peel off to head for favorite games or lucky tables. They passed a grove of plants, all fake of course; the fluorescent lights overhead lacked some essential element and real plants would have withered away under them. Natural light had no place here, the better to help the gamblers forget the world they had come from and what they had or didn’t have to go back to.

Gretchen remembered her first few trips, when she had tried to figure out what sort of charm she should bring or ritual she should perform to make the inscrutable machines to drop a few extra treats into the payout slot. She had vivid fantasies where she’d win everything; lights would go off, confetti and balloons falling from the ceiling as she was escorted up to the front of the casino. In front of all the cameras, an interviewer would want to know who she was, where she was from, and most importantly, what was she going to do now? The fantasy would usually end on that question. After three years without so much as seeing anybody win, though, such fantasies became less frequent. She eventually internalized the idea that the machine had little interest in her, and made its choices based on cold, hard, mathematics that she probably wouldn’t understand, though she did know they were weighted against her. On her way over to the quarter slots she passed an open door to an amphitheatre, where a Rolling Stones tribute band, whose members looked as though they had been clad in diapers when their inspiration began touring, reminded the audience that if they tried sometimes, they just might find they’d get what they need. Gretchen arrived at her final destination, settling into a seat and feeding the machine her Player Points card, hoping to earn enough credit for a room upgrade tonight. A big soft bed would be good for her back, better than a bus seat, certainly. Reaching into her purse, she was surprised to realize her heart was racing as removed a hundred dollar bill and fed it into the machine. Sighing with relief, she began to play.

#

Gretchen remembered vividly a fight she’d had with Irene, years earlier. Irene’s boyfriend, an air force pilot, had proposed a few days before, and after giddily accepting, her first call was to her mother. Gretchen liked the boy, but after the initial wave of joy she shared with her daughter she was filled with dread at the prospect of her marrying and moving away. What kind of life was this guy going to be able to provide? Would they really be able to settle down, or would his job keep them hopping between houses every year? She was afraid of seeing her daughter cut off and isolated, moving around too quickly to put down any real roots. She’d missed so many opportunities in the past, so many things Gretchen couldn’t provide for her, things they had both suffered without. Gretchen wondered if her daughter was moving on to something better, or just running away from her.

Gretchen confronted Irene about her worries over dinner the next night, and the resulting screaming match had gone on into the early hours of the morning. Each time she thought back to that night, Gretchen wondered what, exactly, had set each of them off. She was sure it had been somehow her fault. She loved her daughter, so how was it possible that they’d built up so much anger and hostility towards each other? They had shared the dark times together, and even during the worst of it when Gretchen had missed school plays or forgotten to return home until well after the baby sitter had passed out on the couch Irene had always forgiven her, or at least seemed to forgive her. That night, Irene accused her of being selfish, said that she was always so selfish and never thought about anybody but herself and drove people away. Gretchen countered that she had done her best, that nobody had warned her how hard it would be. How, in the end, she made the right choice and gotten the help she needed and shouldn’t that count for something? She tried to tell Irene that she’d saved her, but Irene wouldn’t hear it. She wouldn’t be held back any longer. Accusations and recriminations flew back and forth like knives. Finally, exhausted and miserable, Irene went for the jugular:

“Just because dad left you doesn’t mean that Rodney will leave me.”

Gretchen was stricken momentarily speechless. She couldn’t remember the last time Irene had talked about her father. Irene had never even met him. Tears flowed freely from her bloodshot eyes as she turned away, emotionally spent, and left slamming the door behind her before Gretchen could gather her thoughts for any sort of rebuttal.

Neither of them ever completely forgave the other for that night. Irene married her air force beau, and moved out west. They still visited one another, flying across the country for major holidays and birthdays. Gradually, though, it got easier and easier to find excuses not to make the trip, and eventually even the phone calls and letters dried up. The last contact Gretchen had with her daughter was a birthday card she’d sent her 14 months ago.

#

Gretchen was jostled back to the present by a drunk stumbling into a glancing collision with her shoulder. She was surprised to see that she had lost three hours. More importantly, she was up eighteen dollars so far. Gretchen wiled away the evening hours without leaving the slot machine for dinner. The casino was fully operational around the clock, she’d told herself, and there would surely be somewhere to eat once she was finished. In the middle her third hundred dollar bill a little after one in the morning, after the seventh time that evening she swore to herself that this was her last pull of the night the alarm went off. The wailing of the klaxon and flashing lights from her machine roused her from her trance, and her first thought was that either the casino was burning down or she was about to be arrested for something. Then her eyes settled on the reels; three sevens.

Before Gretchen could stop gaping, she was tapped on the shoulder by a large man in a black suit and sunglasses, asking her to come with him. Walking through the aisles of the casino escorted by a security guard twice her size, Gretchen tried to take in the otherworldly sensation of being rich. The constant sounds of the casino were unable to penetrate the fog around her mind. All she noticed were the glare of the other gamblers, ranging from jealous to resentful to downright furious that someone else was taking their winnings. The thought suddenly penetrated her consciousness that she was about to be three hundred thousand dollars richer, and she tried to think of what she could do with all that money. There were plenty of debts to pay off, money borrowed from friends that could finally be reimbursed, but that would still leave her with plenty of money to do anything she wanted to. She never needed to come back to a casino again, a prospect that she was surprised to find disheartened her. She had, for all intents and purposes, won at slots. There wasn’t any reason to keep coming back anymore. Travel was always an option, but who would she go with? Would Irene agree to come along if she offered a trip somewhere tropical? Irene. She should call her. Did she even have a current phone number or address? It had been so long since they last talked. Last she had heard, the couple had been trying to get pregnant. For all she knew she could have grandkids by now. Surely, Irene would have called her if she did. Gretchen inhaled sharply as she realized that she wasn’t so sure that she would. Gretchen and the security guard walked through a door behind a screen that led to the mundane elements of the day to day operation of a casino. Gretchen entered a small, dingy office. It was cluttered with fast food bags and wrappers that gave the atmosphere an unpleasantly thick and uncirculated feeling. For lighting there was only a small desk lamp and a flickering fluorescent bulb holding back the shadows that lurked in the corners. The security guard wordlessly turned and left, shutting the door behind him. The man behind the desk introduced himself as the night manager, a balding and overweight man whose eyes suggested annoyance at this women’s audacity to actually win at one of the casino’s games. He explained that a check would be written for the full amount in the morning. As he rambled on about the legal niceties of the transfer and the impact it would have on her tax filing next year, Gretchen’s attention wavered as she reflected on how different she had hoped this would be, how she had expected joy and celebration, not melancholy and a lecture in a miserable little office like this. She snapped back to attention just in time to hear the manager ask her a question.

“Any idea what you’re going to do with the cash?”

Gretchen opened her mouth for a moment, hoping an answer would spring forth from her subconscious, give her some clue as to what she could change with her new windfall. But nothing did. She closed her mouth and gave a small shrug which the manager echoed. He stood and shook Gretchen’s hand as he explained that she would be put up in a special winner’s suite for the night, where she would find a congratulatory gift bag and several meal vouchers as a gift from the casino on her lucky weekend. He handed her a room key on her way out and closed the door behind her. She walked back out of the control center and onto the casino floor on her way to the elevator. She passed the slot machine players who had glared angrily at her a few minutes before, who now were entirely engaged with pulling the levers and pressing button having apparently forgotten all about her. She pressed the call button and the elevator doors immediately slid open, apparently waiting for her. She slid her new key through a magnetic reader, and the elevator gave a friendly chirp in recognition of her newfound status. As the doors closed to bring her up to the wonderful penthouse suite, Gretchen felt herself begin to cry.