Eddie Whittaker sat at the army surplus desk in his cramped office and tapped one pudgy index finger against the smooth, white lottery ticket. He was grinning so broadly that the cavities in his rear molars were visible. It was his lucky day, no doubt about it.
Nineteen million dollars. That’s how much he was worth now. Eddie couldn’t believe it. The jackpot was thirty-eight million, and there were only two winning tickets. Eddie had one. It really didn’t matter who had the other. All he had to know was that half of it was his. He still couldn’t believe it. It was enough for a new office. Maybe something with some nice plants, and a secretary to water them.
He pushed the lottery ticket around on his desk a little. It was the key to freedom, and, in truth, he was a little frightened by the thought. He giggled. Three stories below, he could hear the rumble of midday traffic, like rolling thunder from the ground.Maybe he wouldn’t work at all. Get a little place on the beach and watch as the world went by. No more divorce cases. No standing outside a motel room window, pointing a camera with a low-light lens, clicking away and hating himself for it. He could get his teeth fixed, stop using matchsticks to pick between them after meals. Maybe buy a hairpiece, or get plugs. He could stop worrying about rent. He could buy a new car. A world of possibility opened before him. Maybe money couldn’t buy happiness. But it could buy an awful lot.
Allen wasn’t the only big winner in the family anymore. Allen was the one with the big downtown CPA firm. He was the one who had it all – the big house, the Mercedes, the pretty wife. He had it all, and that was just another assurance to Eddie that nice guys really did finish last. Little brother Eddie had always taken a backseat. Until now. Now, there was nothing holding Eddie back. He didn’t have the money yet. But he would. He looked at the grimy office, with its warped filing cabinet and dusty baseboards. He deserved better.
Good news travels slowly. Eddie sat in his office and called everyone he knew. There was a seemingly endless procession of busy signals and phones that just went on ringing. He tried his parents. He tried Allen. He tried ex-girlfriends. There was no one to listen. He tapped a matchstick against his front teeth and thought about it for a little while. There was always Rita.
Eddie took his overcoat down from the hanger on the back of his office door and slipped into it. He picked up the lottery ticket and put it into his wallet. When he put the wallet back into his pants pocket, it didn’t feel right. He pulled it out and put it into a side pocket of the overcoat, where it was easy to his hand. He locked the door to his office and went outside.
He couldn’t wait for the elevator. His feet tapped and his legs shook. Finally, he took the stairs two at a time down to street level. By the time he was on the sidewalk, his pulse was pounding in his temples, and the blood rush had caused a dull roar in his ears. A fine sheen of sweat appeared on Eddie’s brow, and he wiped it away with an ancient, yellowed handkerchief. He tried to get himself under control, but it was no use. His heart galloped on, like a horse without a rider. He walked two blocks to Hannigan’s, a little bar he frequented, and went inside.
It was quiet in the lush darkness of the bar. Above the bar, glasses hung suspended from a ceiling rack, their globes catching the ambient light like an alcoholic’s chandelier. The bar itself was an oversized horseshoe scarred with old cigarette burns. The rush didn’t start until after five-thirty, when the yuppies came in to down a few before going on to their quiet lives in the suburbs. A few hardcore drinkers sat at the bar, nursing their drinks. Eddie avoided them. There was really only one person he cared to see at Hannigan’s. Eddie seated himself at a small table near the door and waited for Rita.
He didn’t wait long. She swept over as soon as she saw him, her strong teeth chomping down on a wad of Juicy Fruit gum. Her hair was red and teased, and there were laugh lines at the corners of both her eyes. Her tight white tee-shirt glowed in the murky darkness of the bar.