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into my little apartment in Fal…mouth…I kept it in the top drawer of my bedside table； along with a couple of bs； my two sets of cufflinks； and an old political button that said BILL CLINTON； THE SAFE SAX PRESIDENT…but then it came up missing。 And when the telephone rang a day or two later； I knew why Mrs。 McCurdy was crying。 It was the bad news I'd never quite stopped expecting； fun is fun and done is done。
When the funeral was over； and the wake； and the seemingly endless line of mourners had finally e to its end； I went back to the little house in Harlow where my mother had spent her final few years； smoking and eating powdered doughnuts。 It had been Jean and Alan Parker against the world； now it was just me。
I went through her personal effects； putting aside the few papers that would have to be dealt with later； boxing up the things I'd want to keep on one side of the room and the things I'd want to give away to the Goodwill on the other。 Near the end of the job I got down on my knees and looked under her bed and there it was； what I'd been looking for all along without quite admitting it to myself： a dusty button reading I RODE THE BULLET AT THRILL VILLAGE； LACONIA。 I curled my fist tight around it。 The pin dug into my flesh and I squeezed my hand even tighter； taking a bitter pleasure in the pain。 When I rolled my fingers open again； my eyes had filled with tears and the words on the button had doubled； overlaying each other in a shimmer。 It was like looking at a 3…D movie without the glasses。
'Are you satisfied？' I asked the silent room。 'Is it enough？' There was no answer； of course。 'Why did you even bother？ What was the goddam point？'
Still no answer； and why would there be？ You wait in line； that's all。 You wait in line beneath the moon and make your wishes by its infected light。 You wait in line and listen to them screaming…they pay to be terrified； and on the Bullet they always get their money's worth。 Maybe when it's your turn you ride； maybe you run。 Either way it es to the same； I think。 There ought to be more to it； but there's really not…fun is fun and done is done。
Take your button and get out of here。
LUCKEY QUARTER
In the fall of 1996； I crossed the United States from Maine to California on my Harley…Davidson motorcycle； stopping at independent bookstores to promote a novel called Insomnia。 It was a great trip。 The high point was probably sitting on the stoop of an abandoned general store in Kansas； watching the sun go down in the west as the full moon rose in the east。 I thought of a scene in Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides where the same thing happens； and an enraptured child cries out； 'Oh； Mama； do it again！' Later； in Nevada； I stayed in a ramshackle hotel where the turn…down maids left two…dollar slots chips on the pillow。 Beside each chip was a little card that said something like； 'Hi； I'm Marie； Good Luck！' This story came to mind。 I wrote it longhand； on hotel stationery。
'Oh you cheap son of a bitch！' she cried in the empty hotel room； more in surprise than in anger。
Then…it was the way she was built…Darlene Pullen started to laugh。 She sat down in the chair beside the rumpled； abandoned bed with the quarter in one hand and the envelope it had fallen out of in the other； looking back and forth between them and laughing until tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks。 Patsy； her older kid； needed braces。 Darlene had absolutely no idea how she was going to pay for them； she had been worried about it all week； and if this wasn't the final straw； what was？ And if you couldn't laugh； what could you do？ Find a gun and shoot yourself？
Different girls had different places to leave the all…important envelope； which they called 'the honeypot。' Gerda； the Swede who'd been a downtown corner…girl before finding Jesus the previous summer at a revival meeting in Tahoe； propped hers up against one of the bathroom glasses； Melissa put hers under the TV controller。 Darlene always leaned hers against the telephone； and when she came in this morning and found 322's on the pillow instead； she had known he'd left something for her。
Yes； he certainly had。 A little copper sandwich； one quarter…dollar； In God We Trust。
Her laughter； which had been tapering off to giggles； broke out in full spate again。
There was printed matter on the front of the honeypot； plus the hotel's logo： the silhouettes of a horse and rider on top of a bluff； enclosed in a diamond shape。
Wele to Carson City； the friendliest town in Nevada！ ＇said the words below the logo＇。 And wele to The Rancher's Hotel； the friendliest lodging in Carson City！ Your room was made up by Darlene。 If anything's wrong； please dial 0 and we'll put it right 'pronto。' This envelope is provided should you find everything right and care to leave a little 'extra something' for this chambermaid。
Once again； wele to Carson； and wele to the Rancher's。
William Avery
Trail…Boss
Quite often the honeypot was empty…she had found envelopes torn up in the wastebasket； crumpled up in the corner （as if the idea of tipping the chambermaid actually infuriated some guests）； floating in the toilet bowl…but sometimes there was a nice little surprise in there； especially if the slot machines or the gaming tables had been kind to a guest。 And 322 had certainly used his； he'd left her a quarter； by God！ That would take care of Patsy's braces and get that Sega game system Paul wanted with all his heart。 He wouldn't even have to wait until Christmas； he could have it as a 。 。 。 a 。 。 。
'A Thanksgiving present；' she said。 'Sure； why not？ And I'll pay off the cable people； so we won't have to give it up after all； we'll even add the Disney Channel； and I can finally go see a doctor about my back 。 。 。 shit； I'm rich。 If I could find you； mister； I'd drop down on my knees and kiss your fucking feet。'
No chance of that； 322 was long gone。 The Rancher's probably was the best lodging in Carson City； but the trade was still almost entirely transient。 When Darlene came in the back door at seven A。M。； they were getting up； shaving； taking their showers； in some cases medicating their hangovers； while she was in Housekeeping with Gerda； Melissa； and Jane （the head housekeeper； she of the formidable gunshell tits and set； red…painted mouth）； first drinking coffee； then filling her cart and getting ready for the day； the truckers and cowboys and salesmen were checking out； their honeypot envelopes either filled or unfilled。
322； that gent； had dropped a quarter in his。 And probably left her a little something on his sheets as well； not to mention a souvenir or two in the unflushed toilet。 Because some people couldn't seem to stop giving。 It was just their nature。
Darlene sighed； wiped her wet cheeks with the hem of her apron； and squeezed open the envelope…322 had actually gone to the trouble of sealing it； and she'd ripped off the end in her eagerness to see what was inside。 She meant to drop the quarter back into it； then saw there was something inside： a scrawled note written on a sheet from the desk…pad。 She fis