Mark was there, celebrating another executive placement.
"Chemical sales. Houston, poor bastard."
"You ever go to Atlantic City?"
"Sure, man." Mark snapped his fingers. "_Down on the boardwalk . . .
boardwalk._"
"Where did you stay?"
"Bally's, most of the time."
"What was it like?"
"Bally's?"
"No, I mean the whole thing," Oliver said.
"Good time--if you don't get into it too deep. Have a few drinks, check
out the ladies. Lot of money flying around. They have these hard-nosed
dudes called 'pit bosses' that keep an eye on things, head off trouble
. . . I usually go on a travel package for a couple of nights. They're
a good deal; the casinos subsidize them. I take all the money I feel
like blowing off and one credit card in case I get stuck or something.
You going?"
"I was thinking about it," Oliver said. "I've been learning how to play
craps."
"Yeah, craps, the best. _Down on the boardwalk_ . . ."
Oliver made a reservation at Bally's and considered what to wear. A
plaid shirt and jeans weren't going to do it; there was something
significant and ceremonial about this trip. He had a summer linen suit
that he'd worn to his sister's wedding, years ago.
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