“That’s Hollywood Park.”

“What would I do if I wanted to bet on a horse?”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you need to know which one. Or how many. And if you wanna bet on one to win, place, or show.”

“I know that means first, second, and third place.”

“That’s right.”

“Which horse you betting on?”

“These two right here,” he says, and shows me the ones he’s circled: “Moneychaser” and “Imflyin.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Good luck,” he says. “And if you’re gonna bet on this race, you’ve got three minutes to do it.”

“Shit,” I say to Shanice. “I mean, shoot. Sorry, baby. Reach in Granny’s purse and hand me my wallet.”

She do, and I run over to the window where you place your bets, and when they ask me which horse, I hear myself say, “I wanna put five dollars on all of ’em to win, place, or show.”

The man just looks at me like I’m crazy. “That’s fifteen dollars each.”

“It is? I mean, I knew that.” But hell if I did. This just sucked up almost all my little check, but for some reason I don’t even understand myself right now, I don’t really give a damn. Maybe this is how Cecil been feeling all these years.

“That was for all of them?”

“That’s right.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, and hands me my tickets.

I hold ’em in my hand real tight and order me and Shanice a Shirley Temple, and when that race starts my heart is pounding so fast, and I hear people screaming and hollering, getting louder and louder as the horses get closer to the finish line, and then a whole bunch of moaning and groaning when the race is over. All except me. My horses won. I sit and wait and then don’t know what the hell I’m looking at when all them numbers start scrambling up and down like they do at a train station, so I walk back over to that same man and ask him how much did I win? He just look at my tickets and start laughing and shaking his head at the same time. “Beginner’s luck,” he says.

“How much?” I ask.

“Wait a minute,” he says. “Watch that screen over there. It’ll tell us in a minute. But you won some money today, sweetness, that you did.”

I just stand there holding Shanice’s hand real tight, and then, when I see the numbers finally stop, I look back at the man and ask him again: “How much did I win?”

“Well,” he says, going through my slips, “somewhere in the neighborhood of about eight or nine hundred dollars.”

“I know you lying,” I say.

“Go on over to the cashier, and they’ll tell you,” he says, “and congratulations. You wanna be my bookie?”

I just laugh and take my tickets over there, and, sure enough, they count out $898 and they put it all in my hand and I can’t hardly control myself all the way outside. When that valet boy brings me my car I give him a five-dollar tip, and when we get in I give Shanice a brand-new crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. We laugh all the way home.