Beth had never been what one would call a 'fan' of grocery shopping. Yes, there was something empowering about picking what fruit you wanted to eat yourself and what laundry detergent you wanted your clothes to smell like, but beyond that Beth didn't see the appeal.
Especially when she was waiting in a queue behind two women who wouldn't stop talking about what colour dress one should get for her sister's wedding, what colour her husband might like best.
Beth tried not to scoff. As if she would ever let her fashion, what clothes she put on her own body, ever be dictated by the preferences and whimsies of a man! It was absurd. Beth wore clothes that she liked, that she felt comfortable and powerful and in control in.
At least her mother, Alice, had never been like that. She'd always let Beth wear whatever she wanted, even if it was a hand-me-down. And her own clothes had certainly never been influenced by her husband.
It was probably why he had left. Her mother had been too different, too much of a radical compared to these women and their starched skirts and collars, their dresses unassuming shades of beige.
Definitely not the purple dress Beth currently now wore, waiting for them to hurry the hell up. Eventually, they realized that checkout seven wasn't the local salon, or the cashier was giving them hassled looks, for they soon quieted and paid for their dog food and peach-scented hand lotion.
Beth paid for her groceries, beginning her walk home, thoughts eddying about in cacophonous swirls. Would she have ended up like that, if her first mother hadn't died, hadn't tried to kill them both? Would she have grown up, gone to high school and attended parties, then college, after which point she'd settle down with a boring man and have boring children and be expected to spend her whole life in the kitchen, making pot roast and Mac and cheese and cutting up sandwiches into amusing shapes so that her kids would eat their vegetables? Would she have died, leaving behind a life full of regret and black and white moments, each without consequence or impact? Would she have been but another blip in the sea of the great universe?
No, she thought. She would never have done that to herself. One way or another, she had to believe that she was meant to be a chess player, that no matter what path she'd taken, the end would leave her staring at those sixty four squares. She had to.
She wouldn't sustain any alternative.
Beth shook her head, clearing the thoughts away. Instead, she redirected them to Benny and the final he was to play today. This was day four of play, and he'd seemed nonchalant on the phone last night after his semi's win, breezy and cracking jokes. But she knew he was under a lot of pressure. She could relate. Although she loved being the best, loved winning, everything was more thoroughly scrutinized at the top, the expectation that once you'd won that you'd keep on winning an unwritten yet obvious one.
Sometimes she didn't mind that, didn't mind the pressure, liked the bite if it on her heels, keeping her on her toes, making it all the more glorious when she emerged victorious. But sometimes, sometimes it wasn't. Although Benny was more respected in the chess circles than her, on account of being a man, he wasn't US Champion anymore, and he may admire her as a player, but not having that title anymore stung. Competitors could see it as a weakness, being beaten by a girl who'd been on the scene for only five years.
But it wasn't, not to Benny. And he'd prove it to them.
Beth put her key in the lock, trying not to drop her grocery bags as she shouldered her way in through the door. She deposited them on the kitchen, tins and cardboard and paper crinkling together.
It was too quiet in here.
So Beth turned on the radio, trying to get out of her head for a while. She needed to stop, needed to focus herself. She'd be leaving for San Francisco tomorrow, which was why she'd done the shopping today, getting items that would still be of use by the time she got back.
Runaround Sue began crooning from the tiny speakers.
How could she forget? Siting in the car with him, her leg resting against his, singing along, just the two of them in the car, Benny and Beth, allies against the Grandmaster. Just two people, the ice of strangers beginning to thaw into the beginnings of friendship. Just two people who thought the same and felt the same about this one thing that meant more to them than anything, that connected them more than anything, an invisible string tying them together.
She hoped he was having fun. He did like taking down the cocky ones. So did she. It didn't matter what setting it was, didn't matter if it was the orphanage or the drugstore or a chess tournament, there was always going to be people who didn't think she deserved what she had, that because she was a woman, there were demanded expectations of her, expectations she had to fill, otherwise there was no point to her. Well, like her mother had said, all those years ago, they could go right on ahead. Beth was here to stay, and if they didn't like it, well, she wouldn't try to change their minds: they weren't worth her efforts.
Beth switched off the radio with an abrupt click. Now was not the time to be thinking about Benny: now was the time to prepare. She made her way up the stairs, glancing at the door she'd mostly kept closed since the funeral. It felt strange, to know that Alma wouldn't be there, that she wouldn't go back to her hotel room and find her mother there, Gibson in hand, happy to hear Beth ramble on about her game, even if she'd witnessed it herself. It was a luxury she feared she had taken for granted, having someone who cared enough to listen about chess. At the orphanage, Jolene hadn't been interested, had had her mind on other things and didn't have time for a game played by predominantly white men, ruled by men. But Alma had. Always.
But there was no use in dwelling on the past, in things not in her power to change or fix. So Beth sorted through her wardrobe, picking out what she wanted to wear so she wouldn't have to do it later. She thought, inexplicably, of Jolene, who would have had such a laugh raiding her closet, trying on all the bright colours, at complete odds with their designated Methuen attire. Never again would Beth live her life in shades of brown and grey.
After that, there wasn't much else to do, so Beth fixed a simple dinner, sitting on the couch, surfing through the channels. She checked the clock: it was almost six. He'd of probably won by now.
Beth got up from the couch, glass in one hand and plate in the other, listening to the radio as she washed up. Then she went around tidying things she knew were straight, picking up chess pieces and setting them back down.
It was gone ten.
She went back to the book she was reading but her mind couldn't seem to focus on the words.
Beth Harmon had never waited for anyone. She had never waited for her father to come back, had never waited to be adopted like one of the other girls, had not waited for someone to save her after Alma died.
But she did wait for Benny Watts to pick up the phone.
He didn't.
Benny sat in the bar of a hotel he'd instantly forgotten the name of, trying to decide on what sounded the least appetizing -the baked Alaska or the pickled Herring- a glass of untouched Coke beside him, when Cleo breezed into the seat beside him, purring our a breathy "Hello, Benny darling," as she placed her purse on the seat beside her.
Benny tried not to grimace.
Whilst Beth had been vague on the phone after Borgov beat her at the Paris Invitationals, he'd surmised the gist of what had happened that night with Cleo. And although it had ultimately been Beth's decision to go out, to have more than one drink, he still couldn't shake the unease at knowing Cleo had a hand in it.
"Cleo," Benny began, "it's nice to see you."
Cleo arched a brow. "Now why do I not believe that, Benny? Is this about Paris? Feeling jealous that I like the redhead more than the pirate?"
"Not at all. I think it's just great."
Cleo waved a hand. "Liar. Be grateful that you are a professional chess player rather than a poker one: you can't hide a single thing on that face of yours."
"My poker face is just fine, Cleo," Benny said defensively, leaning an elbow on the bar.
"As you say. Now, tell me, how is the lovely Beth?" Cleo asked, quietly murmuring her order to the bartender.
"She's fine, she's playing in San Francisco this week."
"Too much traffic for me," she said, taking a sip of her drink, ice clinking.
Benny raised a brow. "And New York's what? A walk through a deserted jungle?"
"There is a difference between 'busy' and 'bustling,' Benny: one involves mundanity, the other implies charming chaos."
"Right. Now how about you say whatever it is you came to say, Cleo; you were never one for subtlety, or small talk, for that matter."
"The French do not do subtle. We are a people of takers. And I only came to see how Beth was doing: we haven't talked since Paris, and I can imagine she was upset about losing?"
"'Losing?'" Benny barked hoarsely. "The kid was fucking annihilated. She could have won. She should have won."
"And why didn't she?"
Benny gave her a hard look. "You know damn well why she lost."
Cleo shrugged a shoulder. "She is young, Benny. She will grow out of it."
"Addiction isn't something you grow out of. Winter coats and matching your socks and not stepping on cracks in the sidewalk you grow out of, but not addiction."
"And you are such an expert now?" Cleo queried.
Benny spun a bracelet around his finger, watching as the beads caught the light. "I'm not talking about this with you," he ground out, drinking his Coke in what he hoped was a clear message of 'I'm really getting tired of this.'
"Fine. Have dinner with me, to celebrate your win."
Benny raised a brow. "I'm surprised you even knew."
"Don't be silly, I do have ears, Benny dear. It's the least I can do."
He looked up at the clock hanging over the bar: it was barely seven. Plenty if time to placate Cleo and then call Beth as he'd said he would.
Benny sighed. "Fine. But none of that prissy French crap; I want to be able to eat without having to think about which fork I should be using on whether or not that grey thing is a snail or a mushroom."
"I know just the place."
As a model, it was Cleo's job to be able to read men. One might not expect such a qualification necessary, might think you just had to sit and not sneeze on the camera, but modelling was about anticipation, anticipating what the photographer wanted, what the audience wanted, all from a simple glance.
So Cleo could tell, as she sat across from him as he dug into his steak and potatoes, that something with Benny Watts was different.
And she had a feeling she knew what it was.
After they'd finished dinner, Cleo leaned a fist under her chin, spoon exploring the recesses of her bowl of gelato when she asked bluntly, "Is it true you've been staying with Beth?"
Benny almost choked on his spoon. He cleared his throat, setting his spoon down with exaggerated care. "Who said that?" he replied evasively.
"Hilton and Arthur may have let it slip to a certain little birdy."
He shook his head, hair falling in his eyes. "Damn snoops. Acting like five year olds on the playground rather than chess talents. It's none of their fucking business!" he murmured angrily, stabbing his spoon, practically cracking the glass.
"I'll take that as a yes, then?" Cleo said, taking a sip of her wine.
Benny hadn't ordered any.
Despite his cocksure, impenetrable facade, Benny could be such a romantic.
"Yes."
"And?" she promoted.
"And what? Beth and I have been occupying the same space for a while. We did in New York, it's nothing new."
"It is," Cleo insisted.
Benny snapped his fingers, his habit he rarely let show, unless in comfortable company. "And you think this why?"
Cleo arched a brow at him over the rim of her glass. "Because, Benny dear, you weren't blushing at Beth in New York the way you are now. Romantically indignant is a good colour for you."
The former US Champion shook his head. "It's not like that, Cleo."
"No? So, what, you'd drop everything, spend all your money, and move in with me at the drop of your cowboy hat?"
"Firstly, it's an Akubra, and no, not if you were being a pain in my ass, which you are now, by the way," Benny said with an annoyed glare.
Cleo waved a hand. "I know you; if I don't ask, you won't think about it, if you don't think about it, you won't act until it is too late."
"Too late for what?"
"To tell Beth how you feel about her, you stupid pirate."
"Oi, enough poking holes at my getup. I don't see anyone else complaining."
"That is because they are too busy laughing at you behind your back. Now, be honest, do you love her?" Cleo asked, deadly serious, all lightness and humour gone from her face.
"No, Cleo, I don't. I haven't loved anyone since I was fifteen, and I'm not about to start now just because some redhead from Lexington, Kentucky can play chess like me."
Cleo smiled. "What did I say about your poker face. Does she love you?"
At this, Benny actually snorted. "Cleo, you're delusional. The fumes from all those dark rooms must be getting to you. I'd recommend going to a doctor."
"And I'd recommend you going to one too, see if they can do anything about you being as blind as a bat to your own damn feelings. Benny, this one is different."
"Cleo, come off it," Benny pleaded. "You're seeing things that aren't there."
"Oh, am I?" she asked, voice rising. Men. So stupid sometimes. "If she borrowed your toothbrush, what would you do?"
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. What would you do?"
Benny looked at her as if she'd grown another head but replied, "It would be gross, but if it was an accident, I wouldn't blow a fuse about it."
Cleo grinned, sensing an upper hand. "What about if she sat on your hat? Broke your favourite mug? Drank the last of your good coffee?"
"What's with the twenty questions, Cleo? I was invited for food, not an interrogation."
"I'm just guessing how deep you are," she said with an unassuming shrug. "These are standard questions, if you ever sat through a romantic comedy without falling asleep."
"That was one time! I can't help it if they make these things boring on purpose!" Benny said petulantly. "And besides, Beth would never sit on my hat; she'd too observant to," he said with a smile.
There.
Cleo had seen that smile before. She saw it on the street, with old couples holding hands, lost in being with each other. In the joys of new love, secret smiles shinhg and new. It was the smile of someone following the brightest star in the sky, marvelling at something so tragically beautiful.
And Benny Watts had it now.
So, she threw Benny a little truth. "In Paris, I told Beth that you could never love anyone but yourself. Now, before you throw a cat-fit, I just want to say that you had given me no evidence to the contrary, and Beth readily agreed with me. But she had a look in her eyes, a look I do not think she meant to portray, as if this revelation had killed some quiet hope of her's, some flickering ember she had cultivated in her heart. But she'd changed you, Benny. And I'm not surprised. It's been so long since you had a partner, an equal, someone to share this world of yours with. But, I am glad that it is her. At least she'll remind you to cut your hair every once in a while."
Benny didn't say a word, a look of complete shock etched into his features.
"If, and I mean if, what you say is true, what would you suggest I do?" Benny asked lightly, as if the thought wasn't eating him up.
Cleo swirled her wine. "If it was me? Buy a thousand roses and lay them at her feet, begging her to aacept your meagre attentions whilst waxing poetic about her many talents and attributes and how she completes your sorry life."
Benny looked like he wanted to punch her. Or possibly through her wine at her face. After a moment, he said, "How about just the one rose?"
Unfortunately, the paparazzi lying in wait outside the restaurant caught Benny with that smile on his face as he held the door open for Cleo at the end of dinner. It was gone ten.
And that was the picture the gossip magazines printed, the photo even making an appearance in a chess magazine. And that was the picture that greeted Beth when she got home from San Francisco.
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for your patience, I've had a really bad case of writer's block with this chapter and my tablet hasn't been working great to boot. But it's here! What do you think? Are you excited? I'm excited. It's all about to go down.
Beth and Benny will reunite in the next chapter!
Until then!
All my love to you all, Temperance Cain