The line was already stretching out the door by the time the red Mustang pulled into the parking lot of the Seven-Eleven. Although calling it a line was something of a misnomer; it was more of a clump.

Audrey Westin whistled in surprise, looking away from the spectacle long enough to park in a space that had been vacated only a minute before.

"Wow, this jackpot's really drawing them in," she remarked.

"Like tuna in a net," Chance concurred from the passenger seat with a sour look. "Westin, do you really want to stand in that...mess...for what might be hours?"

"For three hundred million dollars, you'd better believe I do," Audrey confirmed. She turned a sly look in his direction. "Besides, I figure with you along, there's a chance your luck might rub off on me."

Chance shook his head. "Careful what you wish, for, Westin," he warned.

The blonde waved a dismissive hand in his direction. Her left hand drifted down to release her seatbelt, then she opened the door of the Mustang and climbed out.

"You coming?" she asked.

"Do I have a choice?" he retorted.

The expression on her face answered his question better than anything she could have said. With a reluctant sigh, the photographer pulled open his own door and stepped out of the car.

By the time they reached the end of the line, it was already several people longer than it had been when they pulled into the parking lot.

"We're going to be here forever," Chance grumbled. He was shifting from one foot to another, a wary expression in his eyes. "That is, if the place doesn't get held up at gunpoint first."

"Chance, stop worrying," Audrey hissed. "You've been here plenty of times before when the place didn't get robbed."

"Never for this long," he retorted.

"Relax," she chided. "Or do something useful."

"Want me to fill up your car?" the photographer suggested.

Westin considered for a moment before shaking her head. "You, my car, and combustibles? No, I don't think that would be a good combination."

An hour later...

"You know, technically buying more tickets does not increase your odds of winning," Chance commented in a low voice. His eyes studied the man in front of them in line who was hunched over the counter, feverishly scribbling numbers on a thick stack of tickets.

Audrey nodded. "How many do you think he has?" she wondered.

"I think the guy counted out a hundred and fifty."

"Wow. He's going to need that jackpot just to pay for the tickets."

The photographer chuckled. "So, how many are you buying, Westin?"

"One. I'm not that crazy." She smiled.

With a deep sigh of relief, the man straightened up and rubbed a hand over his sweat-soaked forehead. He smiled sheepishly at the clerk, who just looked annoyed and gestured for him to move on. The man nodded and scurried away.

"Good luck," Audrey called to him as he passed them.

The sheepish smile reappeared. "Thanks."

Chance just looked at her. Westin shrugged. "What? Can't I be a good sport?"

The photographer just shrugged and shook his head with a lopsided grin. "Whatever."

"How many tickets, Lady?" the clerk growled.

The blonde pasted on an obviously false smile and lifted her purse onto the counter. "Just one."

The man behind the counter grunted and pulled out a pale green and white printed ticket. "Numbers?" he asked.

Audrey planted her elbows on the counter and stared thoughtfully at the "California Lottery" poster in the window behind the clerk. A pensive hand came up to frame her lips. "Twenty-nine, four, sixty-three..." She rolled her head to one side and looked expectantly at Chance.

"What?" he asked.

His editor just raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Chance sighed. "Eight, I guess."

"Eight? Why?"

He shrugged.

Audrey turned back to the clerk. "Eight," she repeated, then rattled off the rest of the numbers. The ticket was pushed across the counter to her, and she pulled out her wallet.
"Can you break a twenty?"

The man behind the counter shook his head. "Unless you want nineteen dollars in quarters," he told her sourly. "Between change and multiple purchases, I'm all out of small bills."

Westin swore. "Damn. Chance, can I borrow a dollar?"

"What makes you think I have a dollar?"

"Because I paid you yesterday," she retorted, sticking out a hand. "I'll buy you lunch," she coaxed.

Chance grudgingly pulled a wrinkled dollar from the pocket of his coat. Westin flashed him a smile as she accepted it, ready to hand it over to the clerk.

Impatient, the clerk took the money from Chance's hand and replaced it with a ticket.

Westin gave him a look as he put the orange slip of paper into her hands.  "What?" he asked.

"You paid for the ticket," she said.

"Your money," he pointed out quickly, jamming his hands into his pockets and pushing through the crowd.

"This is the kind of thing people fight over after they win."

"Westin," he said with a wry grin.  "You're not going to win."

She looked at him with eyes that seemed to pierce him for a long moment, but he refused to look away.  Then she looked down at the ticket, inspecting the numbers.  29, 4, 63...

"And eight," the perfectly coiffed woman on the television finished reading from the white ping pong balls lined up.

Audrey's mouth was dry and she just stared at the ticket in her hand as the announcer read back the numbers.  She was sitting in the Blue Plate Diner, at the counter next to Chance, who hadn't even glanced up from his dinner.

"So, didja win?" he asked, teasing her.

Very slowly, she nodded.

Site © Copyright 2000 by Azar

NECESSARY DISCLAIMERS: Strange Luck and any and all characters from the series portrayed herein, are the property of Twentieth Century FOX, New World Entertainment, Unreality, Inc. and Karl Schaefer. No copyright infringement is intended, but if it offends anyone at FOX, fine--YOU give us a second season of the show!