Oliver woke up late in the morning. He cashed in all but fifty dollars of his chips and ate a large breakfast. He walked along the beach to the Taj Mahal casino and found that it was much the same as Bally's. He returned to the hotel and checked out. Before he left, he placed a fifty dollar bet on pass. He would leave seventy dollars ahead or a hundred and seventy dollars ahead, a winner either way. My kind of bet, he said to himself. He won. Yesterday's pit boss was not there. Oliver imagined himself nodding to him—superior, free, out of there. It didn't matter. He could tell Jacky.
Finding the Delaware Bridge was the next challenge. Two hours later, Oliver was in Maryland easing around a curve on a gravel driveway. Stones crunched under his wheels as he stopped in front of a white colonial. Jacky came out to meet him. She was wearing a Red Sox T-shirt and a wrap-around cotton skirt.
"Well, well," she said looking at his suit and holding her arms open.
"What have we here?"
"A player," Oliver said, coming close. Her arms drew him against her.
He smelled honeysuckle, and his hands found their familiar places.
"Mmm," she said, "I'll bet you're hungry."
"You win."
Jacky stepped back. "Good. I'm going to show off. I've been practicing my crab cakes."
"Yumm."
"I thought we'd eat home, relax, maybe go out later . . . I'll give you the Bay Tour tomorrow."
"Finest kind," Oliver said. "Nice house. That T-shirt isn't going to make you any friends."