Perpetual Check (11 page)

“Yes, I know that. And you appeared to be trying to coach them both.”

“I wasn't coaching anybody.”

“You gave direction to both players. Rather fervently the second time.”

“Like hell I did,” Mr. Mansfield says. “Besides, they're my
kids.”

“Dad,” Randy says, “can you tone it down?”

“Shut
up,
Randy!” he shouts. “I'll handle this.”

“Leave him alone, Dad,” Zeke says. “It's our game, let
us
handle it.”

“You wanna handle it? Fine. Let's see you handle it.”

“I was winning the frickin’ match, Dad.”

“You better have.”

The Regional Director turns in such a way that he and his assistant and Randy and Zeke form a sort of circle, with Mr. Mansfield on the outside. “What do you boys think about this?” he asks.

“I think we should just finish the game,” Zeke says.

Randy nods in agreement. “So do I.”

The assistant sticks his thumbnail between his top front teeth and makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “Normally, there would be a disqualification.”

“You guys already said that,” Zeke says.

“You can't disqualify them both!” Mr. Mansfield says.

“Yes, we can. The question is, should we?”

“This is bullshit.”

“The rules are very clear.”

“Rules, my ass.”

Zeke puts his hand firmly on his father's chest. “You're not helping,” he says.

“Fine.” Mr. Mansfield throws his hands into the air and walks away. “You geniuses figure it out.” They all watch as he walks toward the entrance, lighting a cigarette before he goes out.

The Director shakes his head and forces a smile. “I'd be willing to abort that game and have you boys start over. But if there's another incident, we'll have to disqualify you both.”

“We didn't do anything!” Zeke says, his voice rising.

“That's true,” says the Director. “But the integrity of the tournament demands that we follow the protocol. And we're definitely bending it if we continue.”

Zeke lets out a sigh and directs his next comment to Randy. “I was winning.”

Randy knows that it's true. But it isn't his fault that their father is out of control.

Zeke shrugs and actually starts to laugh. “Let's start over then.”

“It's the best decision under the circumstances,” the Director says.

“The only fair way,” says his assistant.

Mrs. Mansfield comes quietly out of the conference room. “Is everything all right?” she asks.

“Fine,” Zeke says. “Dad just cost me the tournament, that's all.”

“Where is he?” Her tone suggests that she's ready to rip him to shreds.

“He went outside. Do us all a favor and make sure he doesn't come back, please.”

“You can count on it.”

Dina has come out to the lobby, too. She follows Randy and Zeke. “Did you really go back and forth to two different beds last night?” she asks.

“Just one,” Randy says. “I let a homeless guy use the other.”

“That's nice.” Dina giggles again.

Zeke stops at the conference room door. “Can we get ten minutes?” he asks the Regional Director.

“Considering the circumstances, why don't you take fifteen?”

“I'm going to my room,” Zeke says, heading for the elevator.

“Me too,” says Randy.

Dina starts to follow, then flops down on the leather couch.

“Can you believe this shit?” Zeke says after pushing the 3 on the elevator panel.

Randy thinks it over, scrunches up his face, and says, “Yes.”

They hustle down the hallway. Randy turns on the TV and sits on the edge of his bed, watching a Syracuse-Providence college basketball game. Within seconds, there's a knock on the door.

It's Zeke. “Forgot my key again,” he says. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Considering the circumstances, come on in.”

“I was this close to punching that bastard.”

“The Director?”

“Dad,”
Zeke says sharply. “What an idiot.”

“He'd deck you right there.”

“He could
try.”
Zeke's face is red, and he wipes at his eye with his thumb.

“Come on,” Randy says. The idea of his father and Zeke in a fistfight turns Randy's stomach. There's always been tension—a growing tension in every relationship in the house—but this is the first real threat that one of those relationships would burst like a pimple full of pus. And the domino effect would be immediate—Mom would get Dad kicked out of the house. The resentment on all sides would explode.

“Calm down,” Randy says. “You just have to put up with the guy for a few more months.”

“As soon as I graduate, I'm out of there.”

“Yeah, but think about
me
for once. I've got three and a half years of high school left.”

“And you want him around the whole time?” Zeke asks. “He's a dick.”

“Not completely.”

“Pretty close… Do you actually think it would be better to keep things the way they are? Total denial?”

“Not denial,” Randy says. “Just a balance.”

“That's like perpetual check.”

“Isn't that better than losing?”

“Not the way I play.”

Randy thinks this over for a second. Zeke takes risks and they rarely pay off. But maybe when one does, it makes the bigger payoff worth it. Randy doesn't have enough confidence to test that theory himself. “Life's not a game,” he says.

“Bull
shit
it isn't. And take a look around, brother. Every person you know is playing by different rules.”

Zeke goes into the bathroom. Randy can hear him blowing his nose. He steps over to the window and looks out at Scran-ton, the blond-brick university buildings to the right, some seedy bars and deteriorating storefronts to the left. Just below, in the hotel parking lot, he can see his parents standing next to his father's car. Actually, his dad is leaning against the car, his arms folded and his expression dark as Mrs. Mansfield gives him hell. She's got a finger in his face, and her own face looks puffy and mean.

Mr. Mansfield swats the finger away from his chin and stands up straighter, arguing back.

Randy feels his shoulders sag and he shudders, sniffing hard as his eyes start to water.

“What are you looking at?” Zeke asks.

Randy just shakes his head. Zeke joins him at the window and sighs.

“We're in the middle of a tournament,” Zeke says. “In the middle of the most important match of our lives, and we have to put up with this again? Like we're supposed to concentrate on
chess
?”

Randy lets out his breath and sits on the bed again.

“This is ridiculous,” Zeke says, sitting next to Randy.

They watch the basketball game for several minutes,
not paying attention at all. Zeke mentions a couple of ways he might have told his father off. “Go give yourself a pep talk” or “Find a mirror and stare yourself down.” He laughs bitterly the first time, but with some actual humor the second.

Randy can feel Zeke's anger subsiding, and he starts to feel slightly more at ease. He clears his throat. “I suppose if one of us wins the tournament, there'll be a huge parade back in Sturbridge.”

“Absolutely,” Zeke says, cracking a smile. “In Dad's honor, mostly.”

“Of course. He's the whole reason for our success.”

“I'd like to ride on a huge float and toss candy to all the children lining Main Street. And have the entire cheer-leading squad on the float with me and the marching band behind us.”

“Well,” Randy says, “if I win, I want to be in one of those old-time fire engines pulled by six horses. With fireworks going off in the sky and some really huge rock band coming in for the occasion.”

“It'll be the biggest event in Sturbridge history. Because chess is
huge,
as you know.”

“Everybody's into it.”

“I can't think of anything bigger,” Zeke says.

“Which is what makes us so special.”

Zeke points at the television, where a Syracuse player has just dunked the ball and is running up the court. “You and Dina want to go to a game on Tuesday?”

“What game? With
you
?”

“Sturbridge at Scranton Prep.”

“Wait a minute. You want me and Dina to come all the way back over here, with
you,
for a basketball game?”

“Why not?”

“Because you can't stand either one of us.”

“Yes I can.”

Randy thinks this over. Obviously, Jenna must have said something about being at the game. Obviously, Jenna feels comfortable around Randy, so obviously, he could help smooth the way for Zeke. “Just brotherly love, huh?”

Zeke frowns, but his face is brighter. “You're not so bad. And, yeah, it would make a better impression. She's kind of …”

Randy flicks up his eyebrows. “Above us?”

“No. Just mature. More like an adult.”

“Well, maybe she has role models.”

“Unlike us.”

“Exactly.”

When they get back to the lobby, Pramod is standing by the elevator. “Make it quick, boys,” he says. “I'll be waiting in my room to be summoned.”

“Don't hold your breath,” Zeke says. “This may take a while.”

“Tell you what,” Pramod says. “Skip the semifinal. Set up two tables and I'll beat you both at the same time.”

“Sure you will,” Randy says. “Get over yourself, Pramod.”

“Up yours,” Pramod says. “I'll be taking a nap.”

They start walking toward the conference room, but Zeke grabs Randy's arm and they stop. “You think maybe you could help me with something this winter?”

“Like what?” Randy asks.

“I was lifting weights the other day at the Y. Julie asked me if I'd coach in the indoor soccer league and I said I didn't think so, but now I'm thinking it might not be a bad idea.”

“What age?”

“Kindergarten and first graders. Two afternoons a week.”

Randy looks questioningly at Zeke, but he doesn't see any of the usual guile or derisiveness. “I think I could do that,” he says. “I think that might be fun.”

“I'll call her Monday. We'll make
sure
it's fun, believe me.”

Mrs. Mansfield is sitting with Dina on the sofa, managing to look both annoyed and embarrassed. The boys’ dad is not around. The four of them walk single file into the conference room with Zeke leading the way.

“Maybe Dad should adopt Pramod,” Randy says as they take their seats.

“That would make him very happy,” Zeke says. “He'd have a son to be proud of.”

Serena Leung, who'd been sitting by the window with a scowl, steps over to the table.

“He cut you down, huh?” Randy asks.

“Yeah, well, I got
distracted.”

“Sorry about that.”

Serena shakes her head slowly with a smile of resignation. “These children who can't control their parents.”

“We suck.”

“Well,” Serena says, “kick his ass, whichever one of you gets the chance. I'm leaving.”

“I will,” Zeke says.

“No,” Randy says, “I will.” But he does feel genuinely bad
for Zeke, who was outplaying him in the first game and probably deserved to win. Randy would never throw a game, and he knows that disruptions are a part of any competition. But he keeps glancing at the door and hoping that his father won't open it and come in.

TEN
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