Little Lady Luck
by Alex Scott
It took three tries just to shove the card into the slot and open the hotel room door. Wilde couldn’t figure out why; he’d only had two beers. Well, two beers and a margarita. Well, plus a glass of champagne to celebrate his wins. He’d gone downstairs with five hundred dollars in his pocket, and now wobbled into his room with over twenty thousand.
“You’ve done it again!” he cried exultantly. “What would I do without you, you sweet thing?”
A voice like a piccolo—or maybe the bells on a slot machine—rang out with a dry “Oh, I’m so proud of you. Whatever did I do to deserve—”
He stepped into the bathroom to take a leak. The little lady had always been pretty prickly, and listening to her too long while he was this smashed would only give him a headache. Better to let her rant her tongue out while he was out of earshot.
She’d gone quiet by the time he was done. The curtains were open, and the neon and LEDs from the other casinos were so bright, Wilde didn’t have to turn a light on. Only four hours in Vegas and he was having the time of his life.
Wilde had traveled by car, and traveled light. Just one suitcase full of luggage and one birdcage. He’d put a cloth over it before going downstairs. The little lady’s feet still showed underneath, pacing back and forth.
“Are you done?” she said.
He pulled the cloth. “How long did it take to figure out I’d left the room?”
The tiny woman with hymenopterous wings glowered up at Wilde, her eyes a pair of violet beads. The signs outside put a harsh red outline around her face and her dress, which Wilde had pulled off a Barbie doll. “About two seconds. You sounded like you were pouring out a tall boy in there.”
“I prefer draft,” Wilde said. “Aren’t you going to ask how much I won?”
“A ton? A metric ton? A heptafreak? You don’t have to brag because I don’t care.”
“Well, who else am I going to brag to? What would I do without you, little lady?”
Her face tightened up, and she turned away. “You wouldn’t be breathing pure smog in my face, for one thing.”
“All right then, I’ll keep this short. I’m not gonna expect any surprises tomorrow, am I, Telna?”
She doubled over as if he’d struck her in the abdomen. Just as the grimoire he’d won had said, without her name, he’d have no power over her. He would never have been able to keep her in the birdcage, or improve his odds in the games downstairs, paying off beyond Wilde’s wildest imagination.
“No,” she said. “As long as you remember your limits.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Wilde began to lose his balance, so he lowered himself to his knees. “Best three out of five.” Those were the terms. Out of every five games he played, three were guaranteed wins, and they were never random. They followed a consistent pattern of nine permutations that Wilde kept written down in his pocket. That list had funded this whole trip: first in poker games with his coworkers, then a few bets on NFL games.
The losses were actually Wilde’s idea. He knew he couldn’t win everything–that’s no fun. Besides, the last thing he needed was to make the casino suspicious. The little lady did have to talk him down from nine games out of ten, though.
The trick was that after five games in a span of twelve hours, he had to quit. He’d started at the Roulette wheel at 6:40—after winning that, losing at Blackjack, getting a jackpot in slots, winning a second Blackjack game, then a quick, low-stakes game of craps for the second loss, he could not play another game until 6:40 the next morning. Not that he was planning on waking up before ten anyway.
He also had no chance of winning without the little lady nearby. It was why he’d refused to fly. He’d never be able to keep her hidden from the TSA.
Someday he would have to find that mysterious stranger who’d bet that grimoire and give him a big, tight hug.
Wilde awoke on the floor. The morning sun made the window a bright white slab, so harsh it hurt his eyes. And there, on schedule, was that headache. He lifted himself up on legs that were still shaky from the night before.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” the little lady said with all the pep and verve of Wilde’s hangover. “Ready for another night of greed and debauchery?”
“Is ‘debauchery’ the right word?” Wilde said. “Though maybe I could find a girl to hook up with.”
“No! You are not bringing anybody up here! The last thing I want to hear is you making… urgh… noises.”
“And risk blowing my secret? Nah. I’d go to her room.”
“Oh. I’m so relieved. Just try not to stay out too long. I may hate you, but I also hate getting bored.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
Wilde took a shower, got dressed, and headed downstairs to start his day. The casino floor hardly seemed any different from the night before. All the same music was blaring, the same jackpots were chiming, the same cards were shuffling. The whole building seemed to be altogether suspended in time.
The problem was, so was Wilde. According to his phone, it was now 10:45. He was well past the point when he could safely start playing, but if he did, it’d be close to midnight before he could play again. Obviously it would be better to delay any games until sometime in the afternoon. Wilde wanted to check out a show anyway. That meant several hours in Vegas with no way to gamble.
For now, he was going to go check out the restaurant down at the end of the block, see what they had for breakfast.
It was just after he placed an order for an omelette with jalapeños that he heard a familiar voice.
“Dad?”
And there in the corner booth was a young boy swinging his hand in Wilde’s direction.
For a moment Wilde didn’t move. This had to be some kind of mistake. That couldn’t be his son, not all the way out here in Nevada. He had to be some other kid. But the more Wilde looked, the more he shifted from some boy into his boy, Walter.
So then of course, his mother Siena was craning her head around, as surprised to see her ex-husband as he was to see her. Somehow, Wilde knew there’d be a catch to this trip. What better place to run into the woman who’d left him because of his gambling?
As if against her better judgment, Siena beckoned for him to come on over.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she said. “You’re an awfully long way from Soldotna.”
“Well, it’s February. We could all use some sunlight. What brings you here?”
“Mom’s got a conference at the MGM,” Walter announced.
“Right,” she said. “And I thought Walter would like to see some of the robotics.”
“They’ve got an artificial arm that runs on water! Looks just like the real thing. It’s creepy, but it’s so cool.”
“If I’d known you were going to be here, I’d have arranged to meet up.” Siena gave Wilde a look that said I should have known you’d wind up here, you degenerate.
“Of course,” Wilde said. “Just like one of our old vacations, isn’t it?”
At her invitation, he joined them in the booth. His son and ex-wife were already well into lunch, having of course gotten up bright and early like human beings who did not guzzle alcohol until the wee hours.
“Come to think of it,” Wilde said, “you did tell me about that conference. I guess I forgot it was in Vegas. And that it was this weekend.”
“And you never told me you were going out of town at all,” Siena said. “You here with anybody?”
“No, it’s just a solo trip.” Wilde wasn’t quite sure whether or not the little lady counted as “anybody.” More of an accessory. “How about you, Walter? Having fun so far?”
“Sure am,” Walter said. “Me and Mom are going to a magic show later.”
“Has Walter shown you any of his tricks?” Siena said. “He’s gotten pretty good.”
Wilde hadn’t even realized Walter had taken an interest, and now, as he watched Walter make a napkin disappear, he wondered how he’d failed to notice. It had only been, what, three weeks since they last spent time together? “That was great. How’d you do that?”
“Dad, you know better than to ask that!”
“Of course. What was I thinking?” With what Wilde was keeping in his hotel room, he knew all about magic and secrets. At this point, he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Walter’s trick was magic. “When’s the show? I was thinking of going to one anyway.”
“It starts at eight,” Walter said. “You should come with us. I heard this magician has a trick where he saws his own arms off.”
“Walter, that’s okay,” Siena said. “Don’t worry about it, Wilson. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of any of your important plans.” She narrowed her eyes into blades aimed at Wilde. This was not her being polite.
Wilde said, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, it doesn’t exactly take—” She shut her mouth and switched to a friendly smile as the waitress brought over Wilde’s omelette.
He watched her watching him take his first bite.
“Awfully late for breakfast, don’t you think?” Siena said.
“I had a late night.”
Siena’s look soured. “Anything you can talk about in front of your son?”
Walter sank his head down, and began to let himself slide below the table. And just when Wilde was giving him a nice moment with both his parents together for once. Why would Siena want to ruin that? “Is what I do to have fun on vacation any of your business?”
“That depends. Will it interfere with child support?”
“I’ve been keeping up.”
“And you and I both know how easy it is to wreck everything.”
Walter had opened up the bag by his side, inserted a pair of earbuds, and turned on a Nintendo Switch. Wilde had seen this a thousand times before, when he and Siena were together. No kid wants to listen to his parents fight, and Walter had every right to tune the two of them out. On the other hand, now they could speak freely.
“Look,” Wilde said, “you’re right. I’ve been gambling. And last night I got a little bit drunk. But I assure you, it’s under control.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“I mean it. I’m limiting myself to five games today. Only five.”
She looked puzzled, and of course she would. The last straw for her had been a casino trip that he’d sworn was a visit to a sick friend. He’d lost $18,000. “That doesn’t sound like very much,” she said.
“No, it isn’t. I know my limits now. And it’s paying off. Would you believe I made $20,000 last night?”
That really got her eyes spreading. Child support wouldn’t even remotely be an issue with that kind of money.
“And really,” he said, “how do you expect a bachelor like me to not live like a bachelor?”
“I expect you to live like an adult.” Siena let out a sigh of irritation. “Fine. As long as you’re not blowing it all on some poor girl at a brothel who’s probably been trafficked and does drugs all the time to cope with it.”
Siena had a much wilder imagination than Wilde.
She tapped Walter on the shoulder and gave him a moment to pause and remove an earphone. “Sweetie, it’s okay. We’re not fighting. It was just a misunderstanding.”
“You sure?” Walter sent his father a sidelong glance. “It sounded like he was gambling again.”
It was never a good feeling for Wilde to get shamed by his own son.
“It’s all right,” Siena said. “He sounds like he has it under control. Don’t you, Wilson?”
Wilde answered, “Of course. It’s purely for fun now.” He hoped Walter believed it. “Trust me, you mean way more to me than a bunch of silly slot machines.”
“Now that that’s settled.” Siena slid out of the booth. “I need to use the restroom, so why don’t I let you boys hang out for a minute? Be right back.”
As she left, Wilde still felt as if he were in too awkward a position, but Walter grinned as if he was genuinely happy to see his dad. Wilde craned his head to see what Walter was playing.
“So you’re into old Street Fighter now?” Wilde said. “I used to play that in arcades when I was your age.”
“Who’s your favorite character?” Walter said. “Mine’s Chun-Li.”
Of course she was. Wilde had a thing for her himself back when he was Walter’s age. It was a tough choice between her and Sonya Blade. But his honest answer was “E. Honda.”
“Oh yeah, he’s cool, too.” Walter thrust his arm out, imitating a Hundred-Hand Slap. Walter held the Switch out to Wilde. “You wanna play?”
“Sure.” Wilde reset the game and selected Honda. He won the first round against Zangief as Siena returned. Walter was leaning on Wilde’s arm, offering commentary and reactions and advice Wilde didn’t need, but didn’t try to stop.
“Well, now I am glad we ran into you,” Siena said. “It’s nice to see him using that thing to socialize instead of shutting everything out.”
“Just too bad we don’t have an extra controller,” Walter said. “I left it in the hotel room. But you’re doing great, Dad!”
But sadly, after handy victories against Zangief and Ken, Wilde lost to Guile. That made it Walter’s turn, and he got through Guile and Dhalsim, but lost to Blanka. Wilde must have been rusty, because he had trouble, too. And before Walter could take over, Siena told them to find a good stopping point. It was time for her and Walter to go to a panel at their conference.
“Now that I think about it,” she said, “why don’t you join us for the magic show after all? You’ll probably need a chance to decompress by then.”
“You’re right,” Wilde said. “I can hardly wait.”
They arranged a meetup at 7:30, paid for their meals, and went their separate ways.
Wilde headed back up to his hotel room. According to the alarm, it had just passed noon. Now instead of a harsh, overbearing light, the window gave him a pleasant view of a vibrant desert city. He could see the MGM Grand from here, and he imagined his boy looking back this way, somewhere inside.
The little lady was sitting in the middle of her cage, picking at her toenails. “Have fun?”
“I’d say so. You won’t believe who I ran into, all the way down here.”
“The wife and kid?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?” Wilde thought about it, then pressed his hand to the top of the cage. “How did you know? Did you have something to do with this?”
“You give me too much credit. I just happened to see the gossamer threads between the three of you converging on this city in the preceding weeks.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“It wasn’t part of the deal. But now you know. How’d it go?”
“Pretty good. Got to spend quality time with my son, and assure my wife that I have control over my situation. We’re going to a show later.”
“Congratulations. I wouldn’t mind seeing my family sometime. Twenty brothers and sisters, all wondering where I am. They don’t even know what Las Vegas is. Such a shame.”
“I know, it breaks my heart,” Wilde said. “Twenty-one siblings, huh? Your whole family’s a Blackjack game.”
“That means the world to me, you have no idea. Speaking of which, when do you start gambling again?” She wore a peculiar grin. For once she actually sounded interested in what he was doing. Too interested.
Or maybe she was just ready for him to leave. Wilde went with that.
“A little later,” Wilde said. “I could use a nap right now.”
So he crawled fully-clothed into bed, with the middle of the day still shining in. The little lady started singing a song in her pixie language, clearly intending to annoy him. But he still dozed off and slept soundly.
A little too soundly. He didn’t wake up until close to 4:00. But that worked out well. He could get his gambling done, grab dinner, then meet up with Siena and Walter for the show. By then he ought to have a solid college fund for the boy. That’d show Siena who had the real gambling problem.
He started by betting everything on the Roulette wheel. With $5,000 on 21 (he was thinking of the little lady’s family), he was suddenly the proud owner of a hundred seventy-five thousand dollars. Child support? A pittance. Alimony? What’s that? Even his student loans were no longer a problem with this kind of money. He could cash out now and live comfortably for years. Siena might even realize what a mistake she’d made leaving him. A man can dream.
But he still had two more wins and two more losses remaining for the day. Without reaching the end of the cycle, he couldn’t say he’d truly quit while he was ahead.
He took what he had and sat at the Poker table between a Texan with a beard down to his waist and a middle-aged woman with her hair frosted pink at the tips. The dealer started him off with a jack of hearts and a two of diamonds. Not great, but not insurmountable. He just had to do better than the others. The lady with the pink hair beat him with a straight flush. Wilde didn’t even get a pair. She now had $20,000 of his money.
That couldn’t have been right. Wilde checked his cheat sheet to make sure as he wandered the casino floor. That should have been a win. The loss wasn’t supposed to be until the next game. So how did he lose?
He returned to the Roulette wheel and bet $50,000 on 13. Next thing he knew, he no longer had $50,000.
The slots didn’t pay out. The Blackjack table gave him a 22. And another return trip for Roulette brought him down to eighty thousand.
Five losses in a row? Now he knew something was wrong. He had to luck out at least once—that was the deal! The lady had never reneged before. Why start now? He’d stuck to his part of the bargain. Hadn’t he given her plenty to eat? Good clothes and a nice, cozy cage? Warmth and shelter? So why was he losing?
He kept playing game after game, and losing again and again, draining more and more money, well past what he’d thought were the limits of the cycle. Luck had to look kindly on him at some point. Sooner or later. Any minute now.
By the time he finished his sixth game of Roulette, he only had thirty-two dollars to his name. Enough for one meal and maybe a cab to the airport. He’d have to skip the show. Spoil plans with Walter. Prove Siena right.
He felt the elevator pressing him down the whole ride up. Had he played an extra game earlier, then forgotten? No, he couldn’t have. It wouldn’t have fit with the cycle.
He burst into his room. “What’s going on?”
But he didn’t hear a reply, not the slightest note of high-pitched sarcasm.
She wasn’t in her cage, either. Oh, now Wilde really had a problem.
Laughter jingled from above the bed.
The little lady was sitting on the headboard, her wings spread like fresh flower petals in springtime, her legs kicking as if in a pond.
“Telna!” Wilde said. “How’d you get out? What’s happening? I’ve lost everything! You’ve got to help me!”
“No, I don’t,” the little lady said. Even the use of her name didn’t faze her. “The spell’s broken. The deal doesn’t apply anymore. Not one bit. What do you think of that, slave-driver?”
“Broken? I’ll say it’s broken! I’ve lost everything! That wasn’t how this was supposed to work!”
“Yes, it is.” The little lady swung one leg over the other. “You knew from the beginning that there were rules. As long as you keep your end, I keep mine. Remember?”
“What are you talking about? I only played one game today, and then I immediately went on a losing streak! That’s you backing out!”
“No, it isn’t,” the little lady sang. “Think very carefully. What was the actual first game you played today?”
“Roulette, right after I took my nap.”
“Are you sure? You didn’t play anything else today? Something maybe with lower stakes?”
“Just taking turns with—” Suddenly Wilson Wilde’s soul plunged through thin ice into wintery Fairbanks water. “No.”
The little lady giggled. “Oh yes.”
“With my son?!”
“You’re getting it.”
“Street Fighter counts?!”
“It’s a game, isn’t it?”
“I only played it once—no, twice!”
“Two wins, two losses, plus the Roulette wheel. That’s five. You know I keep track.”
“That’s not how Street Fighter works!”
“How’s it any different from counting rounds in poker?”
“I… Wh… This is insane!” Wilde realized he was speaking to a six-inch-tall woman. “Video games were never supposed to count!”
“Not even video poker?”
“That’s at least a form of gambling. That’s all it was ever supposed to be.”
“Well, I remember very clearly, when we made our deal. You never said anything about just wanting to gamble. You said, and I quote, I want to know exactly when I’m going to win or lose a game.” She had sounded exactly like Wilde, as if she’d recorded his voice. “Those were our terms.”
“I thought I made it clear. I only meant gambling. You’re telling me if I’d done so much as a single crossword, that would have counted, too?”
The little lady fluttered her wings, dropped herself off the headboard, and hovered so close to Wilde that he had to cross his eyes to look at her. “I’m telling you a coin toss would have counted.”
“But… But that wasn’t the point.”
“Too bad. There’s no room in a contract for ‘the spirit of the law.’ Especially when a spirit is part of the contract.” The little lady punched him in the forehead, with the impact of a paper clip from a slingshot. “There’s also something you don’t know about gossamer. It doesn’t take much to give it a little tug.”
“What do you mean by—” Could she have been that powerful? “You brought them here? My wife and kid?”
“Like I said.” She crooked her finger. “Just a little tug.”
“But there’s no way you could have known…”
“Isn’t there? Buddy, the word ‘fairy’ is directly related to the word ‘fate.’ And the tie that was binding me to you made your fates very easy to see.”
“But…” Wilde wiped sweat from his hairline. “But it’s not fair.” He lowered himself onto the mattress, burying his face in the blanket. “It’s not fair.”
“Oh, now you care about fair play.”
“I promised Walter…”
“What’s that? I can’t hear you when your voice is muffled like that.”
Wilde lifted his head and shouted it at her, sending her flying across the room. “I told him and Siena I’d go to a show with them. Now I can’t even afford a ticket.”
“So sad,” the little lady said. “I’ll be sure to tell all twenty of my brothers and sisters. I’m sure they’ll sympathize.”
“You don’t understand. This was my chance to show them I was responsible. That I’ve changed. Not a deadbeat anymore. To salvage one breadcrumb of respect from my own flesh and blood.”
“By cheating at a casino.”
“By providing for my family! I already ruined that once. I’d thought maybe, with our deal, I could use it to fix things.”
The little lady landed with the daintiest touch of her feet next to the birdcage. “So you were trying to cheat at that, too. Figures.”
“Just… Just try to have mercy. If Siena finds out, she might never let me see my son again.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Oh, have a heart. You have to help me. You just have to!”
“Or else what?” The little lady stood defiantly on the table, her arms crossed.
“Or else…” Wilde dropped to his knees, laid his hands and head flat on the floor, and sobbed. “Nothing. I’ve got nothing. I don’t even have enough for the water bill. You might as well just kill me.”
As tiny as she was, Wilde could hear her toes tip-tapping toward the edge of the desk. “You realize if I help you, what we have is no longer a deal, but a debt.”
Wilde kept his head on the floor. “I know.”
“Look at me.”
Wilde lifted himself upright, gazing up at the little lady with her insectoid wings stretched out, and her ethereal hair rippling in the breeze from the air conditioning. She lifted one hand, and from there lifted one finger, which she then pulled back as if plucking a string.
“There,” she said. “Now here’s how you get out of the hole.”
He listened, and he got up, and he brushed himself off, and he went downstairs. Her instructions were very precise. If he deviated even slightly, she’d call him on his debt. And then he’d find out what he owed her.
The noise of the casino—all the bells and buzzes and voices and music—blurred together into a cloud of static. The gamblers and pleasure-seekers laughing and crowing and screaming and weeping were as real to Wilde right now as a movie screen. All he knew now was his mission.
He pulled twenty dollars from an ATM and had an employee break it. The machine the little lady had described was at the far end of the aisle. It branded itself “FAIRY GOLD” and promised a jackpot of $3500. The pixie in the artwork above the slots was a cutesy cartoon girl with butterfly wings. Not a thing like the real deal.
Wilde took a seat in front of the machine. A light urged him to put in some money. He inserted a five dollar bill.
He pulled the lever.
The slots started rolling.
The first landed on a seven. So far so good.
The second landed on a seven as well. The top and bottom rows matched as well, with cherries and blueberries lining up.
The third slot continued for a second that might as well have been a millennium. This would have been the perfect moment for the little lady to pull a last fast one, tug an invisible string, steer the slot to land on a lemon, and ensure Wilde only had twenty-seven dollars to show for himself, and would lose contact with his only son.
But she didn’t. The third wheel stopped. Every row matched. A bell rang. The machine spat out a ticket worth the full thirty-five hundred.
Then he was spared. He could cash it all in and go to the show with a clear conscience.
But then, as he stood up, and saw all the other slot machines, promising even grander totals, he began to wonder… He still had time, didn’t he? He had plenty of money on this ticket. And he’d fulfilled all the little lady’s conditions, as far as he could tell.
What was the harm in another game or two? He could finally play fair for once.
His phone rumbled in his pocket. The ID said it was from Siena. Now what did she want?
“Dad?” Walter’s voice came as a welcome surprise. “Just wanted to double-check on the show tonight. You still coming?”
“Sure, of course I am.” Wilde turned the ticket around in his fingers. “I’m looking forward to it.”
He looked up, and there was the little lady sitting on top of the machine. The ticket fell out of his hand.
“Great!” Walter said. “Don’t be late! Mom got me this awesome remote-control thingy I wanna show you.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He and his son closed the call, after which he asked the little lady, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was just on my way home and thought I’d say goodbye. I see you’ve followed my instructions so far.”
“So far?
She took flight off the machine. “What did I say to do after you won the jackpot?”
Could anybody else see her? The only other person nearby was a retiree in a Florida Gators ballcap, and he was too hypnotized to see anything other than the slots in front of him. “I don’t remember you saying anything.”
“That’s right,” the little lady said. “I told you to play the one game. Nothing else.” She flapped around his head. “A debt is a contract, Wilson Wilde. Remember what I said about contracts.”
With a twirl, she launched herself at the wall, and disappeared into it as if diving into a pool.
Wilde bent down and picked up the ticket. The violent reds and blues and purples of the machines around him blared in the corners of his eyes. All Wilde had to do was cash it in, deposit it in his bank account, call it a weekend, and join his son for some stage magic. Then the little lady would have no excuse to do anything. He’d never have to see her again.
And yet, the gambler in him couldn’t stop wondering one thing.
What if she was bluffing?
_______________
Alex Scott is a writer, artist, and Orthodox Christian from Chattanooga. He is the author of Feast of the Sisters from Park End Books, and his work has appeared in Factor Four Magazine and the Dragon Gems anthology series.