Perpetual Check (10 page)

“You
think
?”

“His hand was on the mouse, and I'm thinking that I'm pretty sure he had his middle finger sticking up. But I haven't looked real closely at it yet, so I don't know for sure.”

“That'd be great.”

“Not for me it wouldn't. My first published photograph?”

“It'd be a classic.”

Randy opens the hotel room door and says, “This is it.”

“Were you … able to sleep all right?” Mrs. Mansfield asks.

“Yeah, I wasn't scared.” He says it with a “Don't baby me, Mom” tone.

“Did you sleep in both beds?” she asks, noticing that both sets of blankets and sheets are mussed.

“At the same time. Actually, I went back and forth, five minutes in one bed, five minutes in the other. It was like getting two nights’ sleep at once.”

Dina sits on the bed closer to the door and bounces a bit.

Mrs. Mansfield goes into the bathroom and closes the door. Randy sits next to Dina and starts bouncing, too.

“So, how was it last night?” Dina asks.

“Lonely,” Randy says, but his tone is teasing. He puts his arms around Dina, and they fall back, kissing. “Would have been great if you'd been along,” he whispers.

“Like we could have pulled
that
off,” Dina says with a smile.

The bathroom door opens, and they sit up with a start. Mrs. Mansfield raises her eyebrows but doesn't say anything.

“Zeke—” Randy catches himself starting to explain why the second bed was used and decides to cut his brother yet another break. “Zeke played really well this morning.”

“I'm not surprised,” Mrs. Mansfield says. “Your father made such a big deal about it all week that Zeke was probably petrified of losing.”

“That wouldn't have helped.”

“No, but it's your father's way. Make everybody so tense that they either overachieve or crack.”

“That's me,” Randy says. “Overachieving in everything.”

Mrs. Mansfield smiles. “Name one thing.”

Dina laughs. “Ever achieving in overything.”

“Never
achieving in anerything,” Randy says. “Until today, that is.” He flexes his bicep. “Mr. Chess, they'll call me. King of the Scranton frontier.”

Zeke is astonishing himself today, not because he's advanced so far in the tournament but because he's managed to hold a conversation with Jenna McNulty for nearly half an hour.

She's done most of the talking—about politics and women's professional tennis and her rigid educator parents (he's the principal of a junior high school, and she teaches American literature at Wilkes)—but he's thrown in a few self-deprecating lines about himself and a couple of jabs at Pramod.

“I can't wait to see him go down in the final,” Zeke says. “He's such an egotist.”

“So you expect to be watching?” Jenna asks.

“I didn't mean
that.”

“He's good, huh?”

“Pramod?”

“Randy.”

Zeke gives a slight scowl, but then he adds a half nod. “I can beat him.”

“You beat me.”

“Your game is sort of similar to his, so …” Zeke shrugs. “That helped, I guess.”

“Well, believe me, everybody in the tournament is hoping one of you will kick Pramod's ass.”

Zeke discovers that he and Jenna do have a few things in common. She says she sometimes wonders if her drive to excel in school and chess and other pursuits is more her parents’ need than her own.

So Zeke's feeling more confident than ever when his mother and brother and Dina walk over. “This is my mom,” he says, pointing to her, even though she's inches away.

Jenna sticks out her hand and gives her name. She smiles at Dina.

“And this is my brother's girlfriend, Dina,” Zeke says, putting his hand up and almost touching Dina's shoulder. It's the first time he's ever said her name aloud; first time he's ever smiled at her.

“I heard you're a very good chess player,” Dina says to Jenna.

“Not as good as Zeke was this morning.”

“They're both amazing at it,” Dina says. She giggles. “I watch them play against each other sometimes, and it's
so
intense. Like all of their
man
hood is on the line.”

“Do you play?”

“I know
how
to play, but Randy gets frustrated at me
because he knows it so well that he doesn't want to wait for me to figure things out for myself.”

“I'll help you,” Zeke says, making a supreme effort to be charming while Jenna's standing there. “Randy's not detached enough to be objective.”

“Oh, I'm detached,” Randy says with mock huffiness. “She just needs gumption and intimidation. That's what it's all about, right?”

As if on cue, Mr. Mansfield enters the lobby. “What are you two doing?” he asks, shifting his eyes from Randy to Zeke and ignoring everyone else.

“Hanging out,” Randy says.

“Socializing,” says Zeke.

Mr. Mansfield checks his watch. “Don't you think you're being a bit too nonchalant here?”

“We're
very
chalant, Dad,” Randy says.

“Ought to be getting ready, don't you think?”

“We
are
ready,” Zeke says.

“Come over here, you two.” He gestures toward the conference room, then turns to his wife. “Where did you park?”

“In the
parking lot,
Ernie.”

“Did you lock the doors?”

“Yes,” she says coldly.

“Might want to go out and double-check.” He walks away, and the boys follow him past the conference room, into a narrow hallway.

“Do you think the Knicks stand around with a bunch of girls a few minutes before a play-off game?” he asks. “You think the Giants hang out with the cheerleaders at halftime?”

Zeke leans against the wall and scowls. Randy looks down at his shoes.

“It's ten minutes to one,” Mr. Mansfield says. “The party's over. I suggest you get in there and prepare yourselves for battle.”

NINE
Pinned to the Bishop

Randy swallows hard as he enters the conference room. The folding chairs for spectators have been rearranged in a semicircle facing the two tables, so he'll definitely be in the spotlight now.

The Regional Director is in the seat farthest from the entrance, shuffling through some papers. He nods to the boys as they enter the room. “Did you get some lunch?” he asks. “Why don't you two take this table”—the one on the left—”and we'll get started in a few minutes.”

Randy sits. He feels small and young suddenly, about to be a victim of the intimidation factor he's been joking about all morning. He looks at his brother, who's staring out the
window. Zeke's been decent to him over the past hour or so, but that can't last, and Randy knows it.

There's too much on the line for that.

Serena is the next one to enter the room. She takes the seat on the same side of her board as Randy is on his. “Nervous?” she asks.

“Some.”

“You look it.”

“How so?”

“I don't know,” Serena says. “Pale. How do you describe when a person looks scared? Maybe you just feel it.”

“You don't look scared.”

She shrugs. “Maybe I learned how to hide it.”

Randy takes off his corduroy shirt and hangs it over the back of his chair. He notices that a bruise is starting to develop on his bicep, where his father jabbed him with his thumb earlier.

“This guy I'm playing against is a prick,” Serena says.

Randy would usually say the same thing about his brother. Something between them seems to have shifted since yesterday, though. Not much, but a little. “One of us is going to knock him out,” Randy says.

“Literally,
if I had the chance,” Serena says, smiling wickedly. “But if I can just bump his sorry ass out of the tournament, I'll be happy.”

The audience now consists of the Mansfield parents, Dina, the Regional Director and his assistant, Lucy Ahada, Jenna McNulty, and Jenna's parents, who arrived minutes before,
expecting to watch their daughter in the semifinals and the final.

Randy, playing white, opens by moving the pawn in front of his king two spaces forward to e4. Zeke brings the pawn in front of his queenside bishop forward just one space and stares across the board until Randy finally meets his eyes.

Randy knows that Zeke will often make a seemingly careless move early in the game. The strategy is to leave the opponent with a
He must know something I don't know
bewilderment.

Randy continues on a traditional course and moves a second pawn to the center, one space to the left of his first. Zeke then moves a pawn two spaces forward, setting up a situation where Randy can take that pawn and Zeke would follow by taking Randy's.

Randy decides that the exchange of pawns won't hurt him, so he takes the bait.

The brothers move quickly, exchanging a fair amount of material and working the edges of the board more than most experts would recommend. Ten minutes into the game, Randy snares a pawn with one of his knights, then grimaces and fights back a feeling of dread when he realizes that he's about to lose his queen.

As a defensive ploy, Randy looks casually at another of his pawns, which has been left under attack by the shifting of the knight. Zeke can safely take the pawn with a rook. Randy winces slightly, hoping Zeke will follow his gaze and fail to notice that the bishop can take the white queen.

But Zeke puts a finger atop the bishop. A familiar, distinct whisper breaks the silence. “That's the one.”

All eyes turn to Mr. Mansfield, who keeps his gaze firmly focused on the board. Pramod smiles and shakes his head slowly while Serena glares over.

Zeke frowns as he moves the bishop and takes Randy's queen. The Regional Director tips his head toward his assistant, and they exchange a few barely audible words. Zeke smacks the button on the clock and faces Randy with a sour look.

Mr. Mansfield's coaching would have had no effect. Zeke had already touched the bishop, so he had to move it anyway. And both boys are far better players than their father, so neither would pay him any attention.

Randy spends longer than usual pondering his move, since Zeke now has a clear advantage. Randy's been in stickier situations against Zeke and worked his way out, but never with so much on the line.

Zeke slows the pace as well, but his next several moves are steady and tactical, increasing the likelihood that he'll win.

Randy's remaining rook is being attacked and is pinned to his bishop, so he knows that he'll be losing another piece. He considers his options for the coming moves, then reaches for the rook.

“No.”

Randy lets out his breath in a huff and looks straight up at the ceiling. This time Pramod laughs loud enough for everyone to hear. The Regional Director and his assistant rise from their chairs and walk over to the Mansfield boys.

Dr. Kerrigan reaches for the clock and stops it.

Mr. Mansfield has also stood up and has his arms folded tightly. “What's the problem?” he barks.

The Director turns to Pramod and Serena and says, “Please continue your game.” He motions with his fingers for the three Mansfields to follow him into the hallway.

“Normally, this would be clear grounds for disqualification,” he says.

“What would be?” Mr. Mansfield says. “They're
both
my sons.”