ay, and Oliver continued to watch the table.
_They're not getting my money. _ The resolve came out of nowhere, clear
and absolute. A woman left the table. He took her place, bent over, and
placed a $5 chip on the pass line. An older man in a baseball cap threw
the dice low and hard. They bounced off the far end of the table and
skittered back to the center. A two, snake eyes. Most of the players
groaned. Oliver's chip was raked in. He bet again to pass. The next
player threw a six. There was a flurry of bets. A four. Another flurry
of bets. The player reached down with one hand and arranged the pair of
dice so that threes showed on top. He was overweight, red faced with a
closely trimmed white beard. He tossed the dice gently up into the air
so that they stayed together until they hit the felt. They bounced to a
four. "Yes!" Cheers and clapping. The players who had bet that a four
would be rolled before a seven had won. No one had lost. The start of a
good run. Burl Ives / Colonel Sanders arranged the dice again and threw
a six--the point. Uproar. All were winners but those few who had bet
"no pass." Oliver had his chips back.

He stepped away. He had won, and he had lost. He wandered over to a
roulette table. Two Asian women, middle-aged sisters perhaps, or
cousins, or lovers, sat side by side betting large sums on every spin
of the wheel. Their hair was long and lustrous, elaborately wound and
held by jade. Light disappeared into the blackness of their hair and
re-emerged at different points as they tilted their heads toward each
other and toward the whirling ball. They bet on lucky numbers,
sometimes winning big, often losing all. They were indifferent to loss
and satisfied when they won. Their faces were masks--beautiful and
timeless.

Oliver bet $10 on red, a gesture after losing himself in admiration of
the women. The steel ball whirred around the rim and bounced down into
a red numbered slot. Everybody won. He picked up his winnings and
nodded to the pair. They scarcely noticed.

Oliver was ten dollars ahead and hungry. He left the casino and found a
coffee shop where he ate a turkey club sandwich and relaxed. So far, so
good.

As he neared the crap tables again, a bar hostess with long legs in
black mesh stockings asked if he wanted a drink. "Diet Pepsi, please."
She came back a few minutes later with the drink. "Thanks." He put a
dollar tip on her tray.

He moved to a place at the ten dollar craps table.