Lucky Number

y last ten dollars. . . which number. . . which number, I agonised. The croupier spun the wheel. There was a large crowd. A lot of money riding on number seven. Should I go with it? It had always been our lucky number, and maybe it would be lucky again, just one more time. We'd met on the seventh, married on the seventh, and both our birthdays were on the seventh. Then again, I'd been losing on seven all night. I put my money on eight.

It hadn't been a good evening. I had entered the casino with a sense of foreboding which deepened during the night, as I gambled away my meagre savings. It was the first time I'd been back after the disaster of 'ninety-three, when I'd lost Estelle's money as well as my own. Worse than that, I lost her respect. That was a big lesson for me to learn. Money could be lost and won easily. The respect of your beloved could be lost easily, but was not easily won back.

I thought she would leave me. I begged her to stay. I pleaded with her. I threw myself on her mercy. I made promises - big promises.

She stayed. I kept my promises. I joined gamblers' anonymous. I stayed away from the racecourse. I wouldn't even buy a raffle ticket from the boy scouts. I handed her the purse- strings, which she handled very well. I was pleasantly surprised at how well you could live on a modest wage when you didn't waste it gambling.

I thought I was cured. Estelle never referred to that night, but she had never forgotten it either and I could feel its presence, like a small dark cloud on the horizon of our otherwise sunny existence.

So why was I here? I wouldn't have been, unless it was absolutely necessary, believe me. The simple fact was that I had crashed Estelle's car that morning. It was extensively damaged.

A not so simple fact was that Estelle's car was not just any old car - it was a beautiful yellow MGB that had belonged to her father. She never allowed me to drive it. I wanted to impress a client and had foolishly seized the opportunity to 'borrow' it while she was out of town for the day. Everything would have been fine but for the proverbial lamp post that leapt onto the street on my way home.

Another not so simple fact was that at the moment of impact I suddenly remembered that I hadn't posted off the insurance premium due last week. It was still in my briefcase. The small dark cloud was rapidly becoming a black thunderhead, flickering with lightning.

My only resource was a couple of hundred dollars I'd saved by skipping lunches and cutting down on smokes. A man should always have a little something in reserve. For a rainy day. Like today.

I really had no alternative. I took the money, gritted my teeth, said a prayer, and headed for the casino. I soon found that my luck had not deserted me - my bad luck, that is. You'd think that after an absence of almost three years I would be due some beginner's luck. But no sirree! Everywhere I turned, everything I tried, I lost.

And here we were, playing with my last ten dollars. The last throw of the dice. I looked up from the spinning roulette wheel and caught the croupier's stony gaze. I watched him as he scanned the eager crowd. His eyes met mine and there was a hint of contempt in the smile that brushed his lips. How many fortunes had he seen won and lost at his table? How many lives ruined?

"Yes, mate," I felt like saying, "here's another sucker whose entire life depends on the throw of a dice." I understood his contempt. In the last three years I had watched others go down the road I had shunned. I saw their glee turn to despair. I saw the desperation in their demeanour as they slunk into the den of iniquity. I shuddered to think that I had been one of them. Estelle had saved me and I stood proudly invincible, untouched by triumph or tragedy.

Until today. No wonder the croupier had contempt for me. I had contempt for myself.

I dropped my gaze. The roulette was still spinning crazily, as if it was never going to stop. A hundred eyes focused on it. It started to slow. The crowd pressed forward. The man beside me squared his shoulders and seemed to hold his breath. Further along the table I could see a woman's hand clenched into a fist, the knuckles white. Something, perhaps the woman's wristwatch, reminded me of Estelle, and I turned away in shame. I promised myself that win or lose, I would never return. Never again would I compromise the purity of our relationship!

When the croupier's voice announced the winning number my stomach sank. It was seven. All was lost. A woman squealed in delight, so like my own dear Estelle that it stabbed me to the heart. I saw the previously white-knuckled fist jab the air in joyous victory. The movement was so sudden, almost violent, that the wristwatch clasp broke and the watch sailed into the air, landing on the plush carpet, not far from my feet.

All eyes, however, were on the woman. She had flung herself into the arms of her ostentatiously wealthy male companion, squawking in an unnatural high pitched voice, "Ken! Ken! We've done it! We've won!" She began to laugh uncontrollably. She hooted. She cackled, screeched and whooped. She slapped her thigh. She danced a jig. The crowd watched in envious amusement.

But I was not amused. I didn't need to pick up the watch to know that it was inscribed "To Estelle from her grateful husband."