Mother's Day, and she's one of the ash blondes on the bus to the casino, clutching her coupon for the buffet and her roll of give-back quarters. Atlantic City's not Vegas, and it's not what it was fifty years ago. Neither is she. But they both look good enough in the right light. So here she is in her red linen suit with a pink shell, wearing red strapped sandals, headed down the shore. Besides her straw handbag, Joan carries a plastic bag from Shop Rite.

When she gets into the casino, she makes her way straight to the ladies room and sets the bags down on the granite counter. She takes out a clear plastic box and opens it carefully. There's a Cattaleya orchid, the purple kind that gives the color orchid its name. It has a stiff bow made of shiny pink ribbon. The corsage sits in a white nest of what could pass for leftover Easter grass.

Joan takes the orchid and carefully pins it to her suit jacket, the pink pearl teardrop on the end of the pin peeking out from under the ribbon.

"What a lovely corsage!" says the woman next to her, who has a corsage of pink roses pinned to a white blouse.

"Yours is lovely, too,"

"Yes, it is," the woman says, touching her corsage. "It's from my daughter and her husband. We're so lucky." She nods at Joan when she says this.

"That we are," Joan says, preening at the image in the mirror. She opens her purse and takes out a pink lipstick, and runs it over her lips. She sucks her lips between her teeth and rubs them together. "Very lucky, indeed." She bares her teeth and leans forward to check. She never has lipstick on her teeth.

"Well," says the woman, "I guess we'll find out how lucky we are when we get to the slots. My cousin won $250 last week." She hesitates and looks in the mirror, touches the roses again. "Well, maybe I don't need to win at the machines. I ought to be grateful for the good luck I have with my son-in-law."

"I know just what you mean," Joan answers. "You can never tell who they'll bring home, can you?"

"Not these days. This is my daughter's second marriage. I have three grandchildren. And you?"

"None yet," says Joan. "I don't believe in pushing. You can't push that way. When a woman's ready to have children she will."

The woman laughs. "When we were young we were expected to get married and have kids right on schedule."

Joan nods.

The woman goes on, "And it was the odd duck who didn't marry! And our parents! How many times did they ask about when we were going to make them grandparents. Today, who knows. Some of these girls will end up alone. We're so lucky."

Joan looks at her watch, smiles at the other woman in the mirror. Yesterday she had gone to Shop Rite, and the refrigerator case with flowers caught her eye. " Special," the sign said. " Orchid Corsages for Mother's Day $10." The case was filled with clear plastic boxes, each with an orchid, some white, some purple, each cradled in a nest of grass, the white in purple grass, the purple, in white.

Joan had taken one of each, had stood for a long time staring into the boxes as though they were crystal balls. She had always hated making choices. "Yes," she answers. "We are lucky, very lucky indeed."

She puts the empty box in the plastic bag and drops them in the trash, then heads out to the smoky floor where lights flash and bells ring from across the room. She takes the roll of quarters from her purse and holds it in her hand. Maybe she¹ll watch some blackjack or find a craps table where she can stand among the crowd. The dealers and croupiers manage their tables well, and the players are as good a show as any on tv. It doesn't matter, really, where she goes first. She is in no rush. The bus won't leave for hours, and, after all, even then, she will have the whole day to herself.