The Quad

Gary knew something was wrong the moment he entered his apartment. A chill permeated the living room. They kept the thermostat at 68 degrees to save money, and it was an unusually cool spring in New Jersey, but this was more than temperature. Waves of cold fury flowed from Ellen as she sat cross-legged on the couch.

She snapped off her headphones and briskly tapped the spacebar on her laptop, pausing a show. "Where were you?"

Gary froze. The elation he'd felt from winning suddenly evaporated. His mouth went dry. He absently clicked the deadbolt in place. "I went to a chess tournament. What's going on? You look pissed."

"Did you take twenty dollars from my wallet?"

He'd left before she was awake. He could picture her empty wallet and the twenty-dollar bill in his hand. I'd better text her when I get to the YMCA, he'd thought at the time. But with checking in and his anxiety over the tournament, he'd forgotten. Why am I always forgetting stuff like that?

"Um, yeah, sorry about that. I needed it for the entry fee. But look," he said, pulling three folded twenty-dollar bills from his back pocket, "I won my quad!"

"Great," she said, body rigid, arms crossed under her breasts. "You know how I found out? When I went to pay at Starbucks. The barista was holding my pistachio latte, 'Ellen' written on the side in magic marker, with a suspicious look on her face. Can you imagine how humiliating that was?"

He crossed the room and sat in the recliner. The furniture was gray, Aspen Charcoal, he was told, and covered in polyester upholstery. They had bought the sofa and recliner at an estate sale from an elderly couple moving to Florida. Ellen had gotten them to take a hundred dollars for both when she pointed out the cigarette burns in the armrest.

"Hey, I'm really sorry," he said, rocking gently in the recliner. He could picture her tired, pre-caffeinated face at the Starbucks counter. Half-lidded eyes, not thinking about money, or anything really, just wanting her latte. Then the look of horror, combined with a weird, guilty feeling. An awkward smile followed by a slow walk out. She would've felt the barista's eyes burning into the back of her head.

"I wanted to die," she said, shaking her head. Then she looked up quickly. "Wait, what do you mean by entry fee? You stole my last twenty dollars to gamble? You know how broke we are!"

The reason they were so broke was that she refused to return to waiting tables. He understood when COVID shut everything down, but that was more than a year ago. She wouldn't work despite having an N95 mask. He'd managed to finagle one of the specialized masks from their neighbor, who worked as a transporter at the hospital. Unfortunately, her fastidiousness had morphed into germophobic lethargy. Each dollop of hand sanitizer adds a tiny new chip to the scale. However, Gary keenly felt his position of moral inferiority, so he didn't bring up her employment status.

"Look, you're right, I shouldn't have taken the money, but please just give me a minute to explain," he said. "The thing is, I won the tournament, or at least my quad. It's true I had to put up twenty dollars..."

"The twenty dollars you stole from my wallet," she said, interrupting.

Gary closed his eyes and sighed through a smile, then continued, "Yes, sorry, your twenty dollars. But will you please let me tell you about it?"

She paused. "Fine."

He got up, moved to the opposite side of the couch, and curled his legs under him. Smiling, he said, "Okay, the tournament was at the YMCA in Westfield. The place was packed because it wasn't just chess players. There were tons of people exercising. Because the chess players aren't members of the YMCA, you have to check in at the front desk. I was going to jump the line, doing that thing I do, you know, but I didn't bother."

"I hate when you do that," she said.

"I know, I know. Anyway, I didn't do it. So I eventually made it up to the tournament hall on the second floor. The room had around forty tables with two chessboards on each. People were milling around the player sheets taped to the walls. There was this buzz in the air. It was kind of cool, actually."

"Sounds really great," she said tersely.

"Okay, okay," he said, holding his hands up as if to say I'm guilty, "but please just listen. My first game was against this Asian guy with glasses and a funny cowlick on the crown of his head. He looked confident sitting at the board, even cocky. But as soon as I sat down, he sort of shrank into himself. 'How old are you?' he asked me. I said twenty-six. 'How long have you been playing chess?' I told him since COVID started, so a little over a year."

Ellen sighed. "Listen, did you win the game or what?"

Gary watched her for a second, noticing the crease on her forehead that appeared when she was angry. He loved the way her dirty blond hair fell over her shoulders when she was hanging out at home. And how she loved wearing his oversized Rutgers sweatshirt, not caring about the frayed cuffs or bleach stains. Perhaps self-conscious about his look, she pulled the sweatshirt over her knees and down to her ankles. He caught a flash of lime green spandex shorts tightly binding her bottom and upper thighs. A subtle longing surged deep inside his groin, like a firefly flickering in the woods on a summer evening.

"Yes, babe, I won. Before we started, I sensed the guy's nervousness and decided to play the Scotch Gambit. It's a hyper-aggressive opening that can get you into trouble but can also lead to easy wins. By the tenth move, he was down a pawn, and by the fifteenth, he was busted. He struggled on a little longer and then I checkmated him. He couldn't even look me in the eye when we shook hands. And I have to say, as I headed over to the scorer's table, I was walking on air. My face and arms had this weird buzzing sensation."

Ellen grinned. The temperature rose the tiniest bit for the first time since he'd returned. A lock of hair drifted down across her cheek. He wanted to brush it back behind her ear with a finger, but it was too soon.

"Sounds like you really crushed him," she said. "I wish you could be like that at work. I've been telling you to get Mr. Williams to give you a raise. Why can't you be the aggressive chess guy with him?"

He looked down at his hands. They were folded in his lap. He knew she was right, but it's not that easy, he wanted to say. He responded softly, "Yeah, maybe I'll talk to him tomorrow." Then, regaining his footing, he continued, "Anyway, I won my first game quickly, so I had time for lunch. I went out to the car and ate a bagel with cream cheese. That reminds me—I took the last bagel."

Ellen smirked. "Seriously? What else did you take?"

He gave a sheepish fake smile. "Um, yeah, sorry, but I didn't take anything else, I promise. I was in a hurry, so I just kind of grabbed it on the way out. I have to say, it's awesome of you to be so forgiving." He patted her hand affectionately.

"Nice try," she said, pulling her hand away. But she smiled a little, so he knew he was gaining ground.

"Anyway, I have to say it was kind of weird playing over-the-board chess."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, up until now, every game I've played has been online, on my laptop. This was the first time I had to move the pieces and work the clock with my hand. It wasn't tough, but it took some time to get used to. By the end of the first game, though, I was fine."

Ellen wrapped her arms around her legs. She jostled her laptop toward the edge of the couch, so she moved it to the coffee table. "Okay, what happened after you ate?"

"It's funny, as I re-entered the tournament hall, my heart started racing. My palms were sweaty and my mouth a little dry, probably because I started thinking I could actually win! I had to take a deep breath and just chill out," he said. "My opponent was this skinny girl, kind of mousy, with brown skin and straight black hair. She was already sitting at the board. This low-energy cloud surrounded her. She literally didn't say a word before, during, or after the game."

Ellen listened closely. She leaned forward, resting her chin on the tops of her knees.

"I had the black pieces this time. My opponent played D4, so I responded with the QGD, the Queen's Gambit Declined."

"The Queen's Gambit? Like the show?" she asked.

Gary chuckled. "Yeah, like the show, but without all the drugs and fashion. Anyway, it's a defense that's generally safe for both sides. But I hit her with the Cambridge Springs variation, which can be very tricky if you're unfamiliar with it."

"Wait," she said, "what's the Cambridge thingy?"

He could feel the mood changing. "Um, they come up with names because there are so many different openings. It would be impossible to talk about them without some unique identifier. Many are named for where they were played. For example, this variation was first played in a tournament in Cambridge Springs, Pennsylvania, around 1900."

She responded with a thoughtful grunt.

"There's this trap in the Cambridge Springs, which is kind of well-known, but, as it turned out, not by her. I won her bishop by move eight." He grinned, remembering her look of surprise. "I could suddenly feel my heart pounding in my ears, you know, because I've set the trap a million times online, but it's never worked before. Anyway, she battled on, refusing to quit. Honestly, I have to give her props. She was really good, probably better than me, and I doubt I would've won without the trap. It took me another forty moves to beat her."

Gary's eyes were distant as he relived the moment. His body swelled, and he sat up straighter.

Ellen's mouth opened a little as she watched him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her tongue lightly tap the side of her lip. She pulled the sweatshirt off. Underneath, she wore a loose-fitting tank top. Gary noticed the swell of her breasts and her plump thighs. He reached over and caressed her calf.

"Calm down," she said, gently pushing his hand away, smiling. "Finish the story. So you won the first two games—what next?"

Gary pulled back and sat against the armrest. He adjusted his crotch because of the discomfort of a semi-erection. Ellen pretended not to notice. Then he looked at the ceiling and said, "Okay, so I checked the standings before the third game. My opponent was this blond-haired guy who'd also won his first two games. That meant whoever won our game would win the quad."

"Hold on, babe," said Ellen. She jumped off the couch and scampered into the kitchen, lightly brushing his shoulder with two fingers as she passed. "Let me get my tea, it's been sitting for a while." When she got back, she sat closer to Gary and curled her legs beneath her bottom. He felt the pleasant touch of her knee against his thigh.

"I could tell he was nervous, you know, he couldn't look me in the eye, and he gave me this dead fish handshake. We drew lots to see who would have the white pieces and who would have the black. Honestly, I was like, black or white, doesn't matter, I knew I was going to win. I mean, I felt invincible."

Ellen smiled.

"So wait, there was a really weird moment before the game. My opponent put on this conical hat covered in rainbow colors with one of those elastic straps under the chin. I immediately thought of this chess hustler story. The guy had a wooden leg, and he would take a penknife and jam it into his prosthesis when he was in a losing position, to psych out his opponent."

"I thought that guy was a pool hustler, not a chess hustler," said Ellen.

"Whatever, the point is that he was playing mind games, trying to get inside my head. But I didn't let him. I just kept my eyes on the board and played chess."

"Okay, cool," said Ellen, "then what?"

"He was a little tentative out of the opening, so I set a trap which he fell into. And then it happened." Gary paused, remembering the quiet buzz in the room, the click of players tapping their clocks, the gentle susurration of chess pieces moving over dozens of boards. "There's a moment in every game when a player realizes they're cooked. Usually, there's a blunder, a really bad move, and you get this kind of sick feeling in your stomach. I watched as my opponent recognized his mistake. His eyes slowly tilted up from the board to me and back to the board. I managed to keep myself from smiling. He just sat back in his chair and stared blankly for a couple of minutes." He pictured the clock ticking mercilessly.

Ellen reached out and held Gary's hand. "I almost feel bad for your opponent," she said. "Almost."

"I know, right? We played a few more moves and then he resigned. He pulled off the silly hat, shook my hand, and kind of slunk away. I went to the tournament director to get my money."

She laughed and hugged him. "That's awesome, babe. I'm still kind of pissed about the money, but that was pretty cool." He could feel her firm breasts against his chest. A whiff of perfume, faint but tantalizing, washed over him as she leaned forward.

Gary sat back and said, "But okay, check this out. As I was leaving, I saw my opponent from the third game. He was literally sitting in his mom's lap, crying. And as I went past, I saw his dad standing up against the wall. He was really upset. 'What the hell, man,' he whispered to me kind of out of the side of his mouth, 'couldn't you just let him win?'

"I was caught off guard, obviously, but it didn't register until I was further down the hall. I just thought, whatever, and kept going. And that's it, I drove home."

Ellen looked at him, frowning. "Wait a second, how old was your opponent?"

"How old was he?"

"Yeah, how old, like what was his age?"

Gary pursed his lips and looked up, then said, "Well, I got a better look at the conical hat my third opponent wore during the game. He took it off after losing. Anyway, it said 'Happy 7th Birthday!', so I guess he was seven. The other two were probably a year younger."

Ellen sat with a half-smile frozen on her face. Then her expression changed rapidly. First, there was shocked stupefaction, then thunder clouds rolled in as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "Let me get this straight, you just beat up a bunch of first graders, including one who was celebrating his birthday?"

"No," said Gary. How can she be so obtuse, he wondered, and why is she so angry? "You have to understand, these kids are killers. They've got dead eyes, you know, like a tiger shark. You give them the tiniest opening, and they'll put their boot on your throat. Trust me, I wouldn't be doing them any favors by taking it easy."

She jerked back to the other side of the couch, now with a look of horror etched on her face. As she put her sweatshirt back on, she swallowed and said, "Is this what you'll teach our children? To kill or be killed? What the hell, Gary, I mean, it was the kid's birthday!"

Suddenly, everything was upside down. The possibility of sex was gone, totally gone. Well, at least until tonight, he thought, ever hopeful. She'll cool off by then. What if she doesn't? He pushed that uncomfortable thought aside. Wait, what if she's having her period? He felt uneasy. He knew everything changed with her menstrual cycle. Should I ask her about it? No. Not a good idea. Totally unsure of himself, but knowing he had to say something, he blurted, "I had to think about the points."

"What points?" she asked, eyebrows forming a fierce V shape.

"It was a US Chess Federation-sponsored tournament. If I lose a game, I lose rating points. Plus, the money, you know, sixty bucks is sixty bucks," said Gary, shaking his head. "Yeah, no way I could afford to let them win."

Ellen looked down, reached for her laptop, and said, "The points? Are you kidding me? They're kids, for God's sake! Come on, Gary." She waved her hands in the air, shaking her head, and grabbed her laptop off the coffee table. "I'm going to watch reruns of Outlander," she said as she placed her earphones over her head.

Gary sighed and left the room. I'll never understand her, he thought, exasperated. As he entered the spare bedroom, which doubled as his office, he decided to input his games into the computer. It suddenly occurred to him that he now had time to prepare for next week.