The famed Marshall Chess Club is located along 10th Avenue only blocks north of Washington Square Park. However, August in New York means one thing, heat, heat, and more heat. The mid morning sun beamed down and baked the Conners as they walked through the park on there way north to toward the club. Ben was now really starting to rethink his decision to put on his suit and tie back in the hotel room. "They look like vagrants," Amanda commented looking over at semicircular concrete benches and chessboards lining the south end of the park. The benches were full from one end to the other with players seated at the boards. There were rings of people two and three deep encircling each board and watching the games. Bets were being taken, sums of money large and small being laid on the rims of the boards and changing hands among the crowd. The entire mass seemed tattered, dirty, and as though they'd been there for days on end. The sound of pieces moving and chess clocks being punched made a rhythmic click, clack sound that could be heard above the din of people bustling to and fro.
"Mom I betcha if I had a chance to look I could find masters or international masters in that crowd. Chess doesn't offer much in the way of making money. So people hustle in this park. Some almost never leave: you could find a money game here at 3:00AM if you wanted to." Ben explained to his mother as he wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. Ben was strolling slowly, finally looking like a man enjoying himself.
"I see that," Amanda replied ruefully. She and Roland walked arm in arm several feet behind Ben. "Nice to see him in good spirits for a change," Amanda whispered leaning her head against Roland's shoulder.
Roland regarded his wife and tried to force a smile. "I'm just tense honey, hoping Ben does well." That's at least a half-truth Roland thought to himself. He'd never tried to keep anything from his wife before. He began to wonder if he felt now like Ben felt sneaking around to see Miss Young.
The trio arrived at the stones steps to the Marshall about half an hour before the competition. Here Ben separated from his parents and hung the laminated pass around his neck. He advanced into the main playing hall, it reminded him of an old ballroom. The room was cavernous: probably about twice as long as wide, with dark Oak floorboards and a massive Walnut fireplace with hand carved detailing centered halfway down the length. Three banks of pale orange, yellow lights on antique brass fixtures lit the room. The place smelled old Ben thought: like dust and wood polish mingled with cigarette smoke.
The room wasn't crowded; in fact it was nearly vacant. Between the other forty-nine players, tournament officials, and arbiters there was maybe seventy-five people in the playing hall. The room was made to hold at least four times that amount. Ben walked over to a small card table set up near the entrance and displayed his pass to the two officials seated there. "Conner, Conner Benjamin: Seattle Washington." The officials found his name. "Chair nine son, good luck today," they said cheerfully in unison.
Ben mouthed thank you to the officials and turned his attention to the center of the room. Three long banquet tables were placed together in a "U" shape and covered by drab white tablecloths. Lining the outside edge of the tables were fifty burgundy colored, well worn leather chairs. In front of each chair were simple Ebony and Boxwood chessboards. Ben found his seat and looked over his board: cringing because he saw that he'd drawn the black pieces. This would mean Kasparov would get to move first against him. The pieces themselves were five-inch wood Stauntons: the white side was Cherry, the black side Maple. The pieces seemed to provide the only color in this huge room of black, white, and gray.
To Ben's parents and others it didn't seem like a sporting event. The Marshall Chess Club is open to the public; there were no ticket takers, food vendors, or turnstiles to pass through. Only a few ushers denoted by blue armbands controlled the traffic. It was chess so there was no cheering, roaring crowd: only a profound and incredibly tense silence. A small concourse looped around the main hall and there were numerous small anterooms along the outside of the concourse. Parents and spectators were directed to three of these rooms, which had rows of folding chairs set up. Along one wall of each room was projector screen that displayed a picture of the playing hall. Roland and Amanda found seats and were taken back to their own youth, realizing they'd be watching Ben on black and white television. Roland was particularly disappointed because there was only one camera, set at the open end of the "U". He could make out where Ben sat, but it would be impossible to see his board or the moves he made.
At 12:30PM proceedings started. Ben looked around at the other players, it was a nerdish bunch. He was the only one not wearing glasses, and he also guessed that he was the oldest of the fifty. The MC for the event was New York born International Master Josh Waitzkin. A twenty-six year old man who stood only 5'7" with short curly black hair, and a scruffy beard. Josh stood in the center of the "U" and his clear and authoritative voice began the exhibition. "Welcome to the Marshall Chess Club for Garry Kasparov Checkmates the United States. We've got fifty outstanding young players here ready to test themselves against the best. There are no formal time controls for this exhibition. Mr. Kasparov will move from one board to the next starting at board one. Alright let's meet the players."
One by one the fifty were introduced and stood up. "Player nine: Benjamin Conner, age eighteen, playing out of Seattle, Washington, current USCF rating is 1935." Josh waved his introduction card toward a standing Ben Conner. After the players were introduced it was time for the champion to make his entrance. "Introducing Grand Master, World Champion, and the highest rated chess player every in history. He is the only human player ever to achieve a rating above 2800. Currently ranked second in the world with a FIDE and USCF chess rating of 2795, Garry Kasparov!"
The Armenian made his way through the concourse and into the playing hall. He was an imposing man: 6'2" with a slight but muscular build, short curly salt and pepper hair, and teal eyes with a raging thunderstorm behind them. The hall went dead silent, tock, Garry moved a pawn on board one: it begins.
For Kasparov it was an athletic event. He ran around the inside of the "u" from one board to the next, and when he made a move he slammed the piece down. When he came in front of Ben, Kasparov moved the "d" pawn (the pawn in front of the queen) out two squares. It took less than three minutes for Kasparov to reappear in front of Ben. The youngest Conner was so transfixed by Kasparov's intensity he forgot to make a move. "Move, move," Kasparov shouted knocking on the table with his right hand. Shocked into action Ben moved his kingside knight in front of his kingside bishop and pawn (Nf6 in chess notation).
Play proceeded quickly, in the anteroom Roland and several other spectators had long since stood up and started pacing. The only clue he had to how his son was fairing was the fact that Kasparov was taking almost no time at any one board. Only minutes passed before the first few of the wooden wars ended. First one, then three, and then six players toppled their kings and shook the champion's hand, Kasparov had beaten them. Ben Conner was not among the victims he was still playing. Roland was biting his nails and trying to discern what was happening from his son's body language. On the screen the black and white Ben held the top of his head in his hands, elbows resting on the table. Roland's attention turned away from Ben when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a late arriving spectator.
He'd only seen her briefly, but Roland knew it was Miss Young. He excused himself from Amanda and ducked outside the room. Miss Young turned to see Roland approaching behind her. "So you decided to come." Roland tried to be gracious and shake her hand.
She wouldn't take it: "For the record, this is a bad idea. But I care for Ben and I can't just turn that off." It was the intimidating Miss Young. She turned around and followed Roland back into the anteroom. Amanda immediately noticed and rose from her seat to join her husband. "Mrs. Connor I…" Miss Young tried to speak to Ben's mother.
"Excuse us a moment." Amanda interrupted through her teeth. She grabbed her husband by the ear and dog walked him outside the building. "Exactly what is going on here, that is the, the creature that harmed our son."
"I think Ben would disagree with you about that. He doesn't feel damaged or harmed, just unresolved. I know it's not logical but I think it might help." Roland looked at the ground.
"Not logical, right at this moment I'm wondering what my ex-husband is going to do for the rest of his life, in a New York insane asylum," Amanda screamed in Roland's ear. He tried to interject but was cut off. "So that's where Ben's plane ticket and hotel room went: to, to, to her. You told me you gave them to Ben's brother." She wagged an accusing finger in Roland's face and her whole body shook with rage. "You know what forget the asylum, enjoy the rest of your life Roland Conner, all two minutes of it."
After the lecture was over the pair went back inside the anteroom. Miss Young was standing at the back of the room her eyes locked on black and white television Ben. He wasn't hard to spot, by now over an hour had passed and there were only ten players left. "So how's he doing?" Roland like a lot of men wasn't able to help himself. Amanda threw her hands in the air and walked away in disgust, Miss Young whipped her head around and gave Roland a cross glance. 'Sports, they just consume men.'
"Well, he's still playing." Miss Young held her hands in front of her palms toward the screen and shook her head: there's nothing else anyone can get out of that crummy picture. Miss Young was wrong. Roland noticed almost immediately that Kasparov had slowed down considerably. When he came in front of Ben's board again Roland looked at his watch. Kasparov stood in front of Ben for a full four minutes before moving. Ben actually had him thinking, hard!
One by one the players continued to dwindle: five, three, two. With only two players remaining Kasparov had to allow the players the same fair opportunity to think that the rules granted him. So there was no running now, no demands of an immediate response from the players. He would make a move and then go chat with Josh while they thought. The camera wasn't picking up what the masters were saying, but clear as day Kasparov pointed a thumb over his shoulder toward Ben. "Oh my god, Ben, they're talking about Ben." Roland realized out loud. He frantically looked around for Amanda. What happen next nearly made Roland pass out.
The second to last player toppled his king, Ben was the only one left. On the black and white screen Kasparov made a move and extended his hand toward Ben. The youngest Conner rose from his seat and accepted the handshake. "What's happening?" Amanda asked her husband and her mortal enemy.
Roland batted his eyes at the screen, "A draw, Kasparov just offered Ben a draw!"
As if on queue one of the tournament officials announced, "draw agreed." So it ended, two hours and twenty-four minutes after it had begun. The spectators were held in the anterooms until Kasparov had a chance to leave the hall, then they were allowed in. A small sea of handshakes and well wishes suddenly beset Ben Conner. He stood on tiptoes looking for his parents. They had only to look in the center of the crowd to find him. Ben sort half hugged, half collapsed into his parents waiting arms. He was mentally and physically exhausted. The crowd eventually thinned, both Garry Kasparov and Josh Waitzkin returned and shook hands with Ben's family. When it was finally all over, Roland pulled Ben aside. "I ahh, invited someone here to New York to see you Ben. Outside on the front steps." Roland nodded toward the entrance. Ben was suddenly energized, thinking it was his brother waiting outside. He ran out of the building.
One of Monica Young's favorite movies is The Wizard of Oz. She thought of that as Ben hurriedly appeared on the front steps of the Marshall. Her first images of him in nearly three years had come from that black and white projection screen. Suddenly, pop, Ben was in color, just like the movie. He'd grown taller, and filled out like he'd wanted. He also looked devastatingly handsome dressed up, black suit coat and trousers, white dress shirt, and bright red tie all caught in the warm afternoon breeze. Ben didn't immediately see her because he wasn't looking for her. The sound her heels made as she ascended the steps is what drew his attention. Ben froze as though he'd seen a ghost. Monica wore a dark blue and grey pinstripe business suit with knee length skirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and Ben noticed she had a Colorado Buffalos stickpin in the collar midway down the neckline. She hadn't changed in his eyes: flowing brunette hair, those pink, full, eminently kissable lips, and those two emeralds she called eyes. Monica took a drag from her cigarette and stood next to Ben, careful not let their eyes meet. Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and studied her. "So you're not a secret smoker anymore," he broke the ice.
Her eyes darted right and left searching for something besides Ben to focus on. "Ben that was great, what you just did in there." Monica tried to change the subject. The things both really wanted to talk about were too hard.
"I couldn't tell you how I did it, I just did." Ben was trying to breath through his mouth so he wouldn't smell her perfume. "What are you doing here, and for that matter how did you get here? I assumed you were still in Denver."
"Not Denver anymore, I'm an English teaching assistant at UC Boulder. Working on my masters degree there." Monica nodded approvingly as she laid out her life since Seattle.
She's still awfully proud of herself, Ben thought.
"I start college at the end of this month. Still don't know what I want to major in though." Ben felt the need to defend his own future. "You never answered the second part of my question, how'd you get here?"
"Your dad invited me, he gave me the plane ticket and money the chess club meant for you."
"He told me he offered those to my brother" Ben remembered. "It's hard to believe he gave them to you, but here you are." Ben held his palms out to Monica. She stepped away, not wanting to touch him.
"Your father loves you Ben. Embrace that, my mom and I have been ten thousand miles apart in the same room. Where I have a parent, you have a dad. He only wants to see you happy." This was the voice of teacher Monica, even toned, with just a hint of self-centeredness and superiority.
"Then why'd he bring you here?" Ben closed his eyes and cocked his head toward the sky. The phrase had slipped out before he had a chance to stop it. "I didn't mean that," he said to the sun.
Monica took a moment to repress the wave of anger that washed through her. "He asked me to come because you still have some unresolved issues with me. Not that I blame you." Miss Young's turn to regret what she said. She just wasn't always able to check her playful side. Ben eyes went from the sky to the steps; this conversation was going nowhere as long as they kept dancing around the real issues.
"Ben the only thing I can do is tell you to is to move on. You've got your whole life in front of you. Your young and so handsome." Unable to help herself Monica stepped back toward Ben and ran her fingers through his hair. "Don't get hung up on something that should never have happened in the first place. You deserve better than that. So live your life and find a way to be happy Ben Conner and I will too." Her last lecture to Ben given, Monica's heels clicked down the steps and she disappeared. From the entrance of the Marshall above them Amanda had watched the exchange with Roland hanging on to her shoulders to keep her from intervening.
"I can't, part of what I need to be happy keeps disappearing," Ben whispered to thin air.