Chapter 1

       ‘Poncho’ Barnabas Woodburn stood two feet away from the eighteen-inch television screen with the lottery ticket in his hand. Usually steady as a rock, his hand bounced all over the place, making it impossible to read the numbers. Never mind that he had played the same numbers for six years, could recite them in his sleep and write them with his eyes closed, they sounded like a foreign language as the announcer slowly called them off in her clear voice.

      He slid his bifocals on and pulled his right arm snug against his flat stomach to steady the errant hand. His eyes shot up to the television screen where the numbers flashed below the tall blonde and the ball machine, then dropped back down to verify the win on the jiggling paper in his hand.

       Son of a gun if those weren’t his numbers. He laid his glasses on the top of the television and stood there for a moment to let the news sink in.

       “Yahoo.” Forgetting he was down in his back, Poncho vaulted through the living room, around the table in the attached dining area, and banged on the wall that separated his framed granddaughters from Calvin Eikner’s caged blue crowned conures. “Yo, Calvin. Get over here, man.”

       Max and Mindy squawked a response. Poncho straightened Meredith’s picture and crossed the room to wait by the door for Calvin, clutching the winning ticket to his chest.

       Calvin charged through the door, brow creased and arms raised defensively. “You okay, Ponch?” The underdressed, overweight female following Calvin stopped at the door. Poncho folded the ticket with one hand and stuffed it in the pocket of his ironed and creased jeans before he waved her in. He tried to assign an age to the girl. Her clothes said young enough to be Calvin’s daughter, yet the sour look on her face suggested somewhere near Calvin’s thirty-two.

       “I’m fine.” Poncho nodded at the girl as she stepped inside and closed the door. “Wouldn’t have bothered you if I knew you had company,” he said to Calvin.

       Calvin scanned the room, studied the old man’s face for a moment, and then reached for the girl’s hand. “This is Tonya Games. Come over here and smell her hair.”

       Poncho stepped forward, aware of the extra flex in Calvin’s already well-defined biceps and the forced drop of his voice to an alto. Close enough to satisfy Calvin’s request but still leaving a save distance between his nose and the girl’s nappy extensions, Poncho sniffed in her direction. “Strawberry?”

       Calvin beamed and raised a hand for Poncho to slap a high five. “You got it, Ponch. Tell her, what’s my favorite?”

       “Strawberry’s his favorite.” Poncho nodded at the girl, trying to keep his eyes above her neck to avoid seeing what she shouldn’t have exposed. “Fragrance and fruit. Seen him put away a strawberry shortcake yet? The boy has no shame.”

       Calvin, still dressed in the gold mechanic’s coveralls he had worn to work, hoisted up on his toes and stretched an arm around Tonya. He pulled her closer and bit his cheeks, but eventually succumbed to a boisterous, high-pitched laugh. Poncho hoped Calvin’s smile called the girl’s attention away from the greasy lenses and cracked frames of his friend’s glasses.

       “Told you I loved strawberry,” Calvin said once he caught his breath. “This must be my lucky day. A goddess with strawberry hair.”

       Poncho fingered the folded ticket in his pocket. Calvin’s luck exceeded anything the strawberry goddess might have to offer, but he wouldn’t announce it in the presence of this girl. Women used the poor kid enough as it was.

       “Come in the kitchen.” Poncho led his guests to the stove and removed the lid from a pot on the back burner. “Thought you’d want to taste this. Best soup I ever made.” He opened a drawer beside the stove and handed each of them a spoon. “Go ahead. Help yourself.”

       “Ladies first,” Calvin said, moving aside for Tonya. She skimmed off a spoonful of juice and blew on it, but offered no comment after she had tasted the soup. Calvin took his bite and nodded. “Believe you’re right, Ponch. Best bean soup I ever ate.”

       Tonya caught Calvin’s eye and flipped her strawberry-scented, two-toned head in the direction of the door. “Ponch,” Calvin said, “If that’s all you needed, we’re going back over to my place.” He took Tonya’s spoon and rinsed both hers and his under the faucet. “We have a date.”

       “A date?” Poncho clicked his tongue. “I don’t want to interfere with anybody’s date.” He walked them to the door. “Nice to meet you, Tonya.”

       She rushed out ahead of Calvin. Poncho caught him before he got away. “Come back over later,” he whispered. “When you’re alone.”

       Disappointed at having to keep the news to himself, Poncho returned to the kitchen, confident he wouldn’t have to wait long. Calvin met all his women at the garage and brought them home on a promise to fix their car without charging labor. He had probably already done that, and it wouldn’t take her long to talk him out of is rent money and be gone. It never took long for Calvin to get his wallet emptied and his heart broken.

       Since Calvin was the one who drove up to Thornton’s at the last minute to buy the ticket, he deserved to hear the news before anyone else. He’d wait as long as it took.

       Poncho extinguished the flame under the pot and ladled soup into a serving bowl. He crumbled in a wedge of cornbread, added six drops of Tabasco and some salt, and grasped the rim of the bowl with both hands. When he lifted the bowl off the counter, the pinch returned in his lower back, warning him not to attempt the walk to the table.

       He eased the bowl back on the counter, opened the drawer to get a spoon, and ate his soup standing there, with his winning lottery ticket in his pocket and his mind racing. In the next few hours, he would change at least a dozen lives. He had been a lucky man in many ways, even if others didn’t see it that way. Most people felt sorry for him because Mary died so young, but he knew he was lucky to have her for even one day, let alone four whole years. And she had given him Leonard, and Leonard brought Meredith and Priscilla into his life. Goodness, what more could any man ask for?

       He sipped his water and smiled. And now, he held an opportunity to make every resident in the Unlucky Horseshoe Condominium complex happy at one time. This old man was going to die with a smile on his face.

       As he scooped out the last spoonful of soup from the bowl, squeals penetrated the adjoining wall and nagged at his already tingling spine. He couldn’t tell if they came from the birds, Tonya, or Calvin himself, only knew he didn’t want to hear them. He quickly rinsed the bowl and headed for the living room to increase the volume on the television and wait for whatever was going on over there to end.

       A little after midnight, Calvin knocked on the door and woke Poncho. “I’m coming,” he called as he rolled to the side and pushed himself off the couch, bending his back as little as possible. Fearful it had been a dream, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the lottery ticket before he opened the door.

       “Sorry I took so long,” Calvin said sheepishly.

       “Bet she isn’t,” Poncho answered. He stepped aside and let him in. “You ought to be sorry. Wait until you find out what you put off.” A grin spread across his face when he saw Calvin’s big eyes widen behind the dirty lenses. “Sit down, Calvin. You can’t hear this standing up.”

       Calvin scampered over to the couch and flopped on a sagging cushion. “What, Poncho?”

       “Our numbers came up tonight.”

       Calvin frowned. “What do you mean?”

       “The lottery. Our numbers. They pulled our numbers tonight.” Calvin still looked confused. “We won the lottery,” Poncho said.

       “You’re shitting, right?”

       Poncho laughed. “I’d be in the john if I was doing that.” He held the ticket up. “Here it is. We won.”

       Calvin jumped off the couch and grabbed the ticket from Poncho. “Let me see.”

       “You don’t know what numbers they called,” Poncho said, taking it back. “Trust me. We won.”

       “Did you tell everybody?”

       “No. I thought you should know first. I didn’t want to tell you in front of your date. Now it’s too late to tell the others.” Poncho ran his long fingers through the side of his hair, stopping where the rubber band held the silver ponytail together at the collar of his tee shirt. “We’ll have to wait until morning, now.”

       “I don’t think so,” Calvin said. “I don’t even think the grouchy ones will care if we make noise tonight. They’ll be happy to know they won the lottery.”

       Poncho thought it over a minute. “This is about the only time we could catch everybody at once.” He looked at the clock. “Soon as Bill comes in from the lounge, everybody will be home. If we wait until morning, we’ll still have to wake someone up.”

       “Let’s do it,” Calvin said.

       Poncho looked down at his wrinkled tee shirt. “Let me change, and we’ll watch for Bill. When he comes in, you go down one side and I’ll go down the other. We’ll wake them all up and tell them tonight.”

 *** 

       At a quarter past midnight, Poncho and Calvin surrendered the air-conditioned comfort of unit eight and stepped into the muggy July air to go wait for Bill. Poncho took the inside position on the sidewalk until they passed his living room windows, hoping that would save him having to wash Calvin’s handprints off the glass later.

       A swarm of gnats greeted the men as they rounded the corner of the building and entered the void that might have been unit seven, had it not been reserved to access the parking area and house the mailboxes. The breezeway, or more specifically the wasted number seven, had almost kept Bill Quick from renting unit thirteen from Poncho.

       “There are only twelve units,” Bill had argued. “Why stick me with an unlucky number when it isn’t necessary?”

       Poncho sympathized. The twelve units formed a horseshoe. Numbers one through four faced east. Ten through thirteen faced west. Five and nine sat in the corners, adjoining north-facing six and eight, with the breezeway between them, wasting number seven. Poncho pled the case for Bill’s superstition but got nowhere with the other owners. No way would they change numbers. Without thirteen, the name would make no sense, and if they changed the name, they would have to buy new signs. Bill would have to get over it.

       Poncho knocked fifty dollars off the rent and Bill signed the lease under duress. He had submitted a written request for the number change with each of his sixty-three rent checks since.

       “Suppose we could have waited a few minutes longer before coming out,” Poncho said, easing onto the wooden bench across from the mailboxes. “Never known Bill to run off schedule. He comes in at twelve twenty-two.”

       “Guitar in his left hand, keys in the right,” Calvin said. “Think he’ll move out when he gets his share of the lottery money?”

       “Hope not.” Poncho straightened his legs and raised them, waiting for his back to pop before he went on. “I’d hate to lose Bill. The man’s dependable. He pays his rent at eleven seventeen on the first of every month, and he never causes trouble.”

       “You can get massages with your money,” Calvin said. “Or a hot tub. Or one of those heated recliner chairs.”

       “I just hope winning puts everybody in a nicer mood. Maybe they’ll feel lucky, and give up the name.”

       Calvin removed his glasses and wiped them on the front of his coveralls. “I might get contact lenses with my money.” He shoved the glasses back on and bobbed his head at the road. “Here he comes.”

       “Right on schedule.” Poncho pressed a fist on either side of his legs and rocked forward. Calvin grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up.

       Bill parked his Mustang and shut off the headlights. Both doors and the trunk popped open. “Utoh,” Calvin said. “Wednesday. Girlfriend night.”

       Poncho paced a few steps and stretched while Bill got his guitar from the trunk. “Nothing we can do about it now. We’ll stick to the plan.”

       Guitar and keys predictably arranged, Bill led the Wednesday night date into the breezeway. Without stopping, he smiled and said, “How are you?” to his neighbors.

       “We’re great.” Calvin grinned but Bill didn’t look.

       Poncho eased into step beside Bill and walked with him toward the courtyard. “Need a few minutes of your time. If you could put your guitar up and come to my place, it’ll only take a minute.”

       “Sure.” Bill’s eyes betrayed his courteous tone. Poncho fell back and watched Bill and his date walk on to unit thirteen.

       “He’ll cheer up,” Poncho said. He nodded at Calvin’s side of the courtyard. “Knock on the doors and tell them to come to my place. Don’t tell them why. I want everyone to hear the news at the same time.”

       Poncho finished his six units and was back inside before Calvin returned from knocking on his three doors. While waiting, Poncho took the lottery ticket into the bathroom and hid it in a box of dryer sheets in the linen closet. He flushed the toilet and came out when he heard Calvin enter the apartment.

       “Laila didn’t want to wake up,” Calvin reported. “Said she drank sleeping tea and it would be wasted. But I talked her into coming. Haley has to get dressed.”

       Felix arrived almost immediately, fully dressed in gray pleated slacks and a collared shirt with the cuffs rolled up, looking like he was ready to teach a class or sell some furniture. His slippers offered the only hint someone had disturbed him after hours. Bill followed Felix, and came in without his date. Sheila showed up without her roommate, Rodrigo, grumbling about being hustled out of bed in the middle of the night.

       “Granted, twelve-thirty is late for social call,” Felix said. “But it hardly constitutes being hustled out of bed in the middle of the night.”

       “It qualifies for the few of us who actually work around here.” Sheila pushed past the men and took a seat on the couch. “What’s this all about, Poncho. Why couldn’t it wait until morning?”

       “He wants everybody to hear it together,” Calvin said.

       “Can it, snickerdoodle. I asked Poncho the question.” Sheila raised her eyebrows at Poncho.

       Graham Balentry breezed through the open door. He smiled as he passed the other men, and stopped in front of Sheila. “Peace, Sheila.” He crossed his spindly legs, dropped gracefully into a yoga position on the floor, and patted her knee with a paint-stained hand. “Negative energy won’t help a thing.”

       “Notice the men are all here?” Felix asked. “We must be easier to wake.”

       “Or less concerned with appearances,” Sheila said. “You forgot to comb over, Dolittle. Your roots are showing.” She shook her head. “You guys sleep in your under drawers, with last night’s clothes on the floor beside the bed. Easier for you to get up and out, than it is for someone who has to find a clean outfit and change out of pajamas. Imagine if you brushed your teeth.”

       “Point taken.” Felix ran his tongue over his teeth.

       Bill pulled his lips into a tight circle and sucked a whistling breath. “Maybe I should check on Marcelle and Olivia.”

       “Marcelle was up when I left,” Felix said. “Practicing her show tunes. Her voice carries down to my place, so I can only imagine the patience Graham must possess, living next to her.”

       Graham smiled. “Fortunately, I have the ability to appreciate her show tunes and your jazz, even mixed together the way I get them. I give to others the freedom I expect for myself.”

       “Oh shit.” Sheila stomped her foot on the floor. “Felix, did you have to get him started? I’m out of here in three minutes, Poncho. Better get this show on the road.”

       Bill stepped out the door. Haley, Corina, and Laila entered. Corina and Laila both wore robes, Corina’s silk and Laila’s brushed cotton, and house shoes. Haley wore a green and purple striped beach towel, spiked heels, and last night’s make-up smeared to all the wrong places.

       “Calvin said it was important. I didn’t have time to get ready.” Haley’s words slurred and her tongue jewelry clinked against her teeth. She opened the towel to readjust it, exposing a gallery of body art and several more piercings. Laila jumped in front of her.

       Corina walked away from both of them and sat on the floor beside Graham. “We tried to take her inside and find her some clothes, but she insisted Poncho needed her right away. Then we saw the scary guy passed out on her couch and said forget it.”

       “Why bother?” Sheila asked. “We’ve already seen everything our resident Lady Godiva has anyway.”

       Haley giggled. “Sheila, fashions are different now than when you were young.”

       “Morals aren’t.” Sheila looked at the clock. “One minute down.”

       Bill brought Olivia and Marcelle through the door. “Anita’s right behind us,” Marcelle said. “Probably touching up her lipstick.”

       “Or sharpening her claws,” Sheila said. “Ninety seconds.”

       Poncho rolled his computer chair in from the spare bedroom. “Grab the chairs from the kitchenette and get comfortable,” he told Laila and Olivia. “We’ll start as soon as Anita comes in.”

       “One minute left,” Sheila announced as everyone took their places and prepared.

       Anita joined them on the last second of Sheila’s ultimatum. She closed the door behind her and looked around the room. “I can’t sit on the floor in this suit. I gave four hundred dollars for it, on sale.”

       Sheila sighed. “Get over it, Cinderella. Sit down and shut up.” Anita grabbed the computer chair.

       Poncho stood in front of the television, his heart pounding with excitement. The moment he had been waiting for, finally here. He opened his mouth to speak and noticed wet eyes behind the smeared lenses beside from him. “Calvin? I think I’ll let you make the announcement.”

       Calvin pulled his glasses off and tucked them in the pocket of his coveralls. He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. “Everybody, Poncho went and won the lottery for us. He always promised he would.”