The Winners Circle by Christopher Klim Page A

of patience for this crowd. He used to practice those skills with Chelsea, and now the silence at home was killing him.
    Tom Veris lingered by the pastry tray, a dusting of powdered sugar on his lips. His sweater bulged at his waistline. “Try the Linzer Tort.”
    “ No, thanks.”
    “ Donut?”
    “ I’m okay.”
    “ You never eat the donuts, man. It’s un-American.”
    “ I used to bake on Sundays.”
    Tom dangled a jellyroll slice in the air, stopping mid-chew. “You did?”
    “ I don’t have the patience for the measuring anymore.” Jerry listened to his own words. A man’s typical excuse for being impatient was a lack of time, but for Jerry, time piled up at home like old newspapers, yet he didn’t seem to have the patience for making even a simple meal.
    A crumb tumbled from Tom’s mouth and caught on the shelf of his protruding gut. “That’s the beauty of baking. You measure, and it comes out just right every time.”
    “ And if you don’t concentrate, you screw up. Tablespoons look like teaspoons, and so on.”
    Dick turned from the circle. “Are you men joining us?”
    Tom and Jerry returned to their chairs.
    Dick checked his notes for an opening quote. He liked American Indian logic. He used to recite the Prayer of Saint Francis—something about giving yourself up to God and the will of things—but people asked Dick to stop. One woman admitted that she had enough money to buy and sell free will.
    “ We are all poor because we are all honest,” Dick said. “That was Red Dog, an Oglala Sioux.”
    During the minute of silence, Jerry considered the quote. Dick was proud of it. Jerry thought Dick was full of horse manure—stacked higher and deeper than any mound Jerry had plied with a pitchfork.
    “ Who wants to start?” Dick searched their faces.
    Arlene spoke first. She was a mutable woman with a permanent tan. She smoked Virginia Slims halfway down and stubbed them out with her heel. “Before the lottery, my biggest pay increase came from the Tooth Fairy.”
    “ Good place to start,” Dick said. “Expectations.”
    “ I went from a quarter to a dollar per tooth in one year. That’s a 400 percent increase.”
    Dick held a notepad and pencil at the ready. He wanted to return to the therapy business so bad that he nearly salivated in anticipation of a genuine problem. “How did that make you feel?”
    “ Euphoric.”
    “ As good as winning the lottery?”
    Jerry shut his ears from the conversation. He studied the posters from birthing class upon the wall. The stages of delivery plodded across the yellow plaster in cartoon replication. He imagined how his child with Chelsea might have arrived. Blonde hair and blue eyes, he hoped. His thoughts danced around that place in his mind where he’d promised to never go again.
    “ Jerry?” Dick called. “Do you have a comment about that?”
    Jerry saw the others staring. How long had he been daydreaming?
    “ Why don’t you join the conversation?” Dick had been fighting for weeks to get Jerry involved.
    Jerry frowned. Wasn’t showing up enough? He laughed and nodded with the others. He made small talk. Chelsea would be proud. He’d made friends on his own, sort of, if that’s what you called a ragtag group of Richie Rich’s who groped for affirmation and apologizes. “What would you like me to say?”
    “ Arlene thinks that the money is a spiritual endowment to the truly deserving.”
    Jerry balked at Dick’s conclusion. When did Arlene reach Zen oneness with a pile of cash? She’d been discussing the Tooth Fairy. “You think so?”
    “ Look at the odds.” Arlene beamed. “It’s amazing anyone wins.”
    “ I guess so.”
    “ Don’t you agree? You have a better chance of getting struck by lighting.”
    “ Does that mean we’re going to be hit by lighting next?” Jerry heard a few members laugh. He hadn’t meant to be funny.
    “ No.” Arlene’s brown glow sank into her styrofoam cup. She lit up another cigarette.
    “