column on you and the mothers of champions.”
“Forget that. I’d just like a few people up in Baltimore to know that it ain’t the rosiest life trying to get a genius ready for his destiny. I suppose somebody in south Florida knows somebody in Baltimore. That’s more than likely, ain’t it?”
“His destiny?”
“What else? In six months nobody will beat him. Nobody. Even Fischer couldn’t come out of retirement to beat him. And it’s not retirement, you know. You read Chess Review, right? And about every other month there’s a letter from him talking about this or that annotation is full of errors. Mikey spots the errors long before Fischer writes about them. Know what I mean, do ya?”
“Yes.”
“The hell you do. I got the distinct impression you don’t know squat about chess.”
“I told you I didn’t.”
“That has nothin’ to do with it. I’m talking about the Dutch Defense. What Mikey does with the Dutch will make everybody come back to it.”
“Sure.”
“You know, you’re a wise guy. But that’s okay. We still haven’t reached our agreement, have we? You’re right. Two hundred, three hundred thousand readers on the west coast of Florida don’t exactly fill my needs. See what I’m saying? So tell me how you’re gonna sweeten the deal.”
“How about a deep freeze for your cellar?”
“Ah, you’re so funny. Why don’t you laugh in the elevator on your way out?”
“Okay. Okay. A deal. A very sweet, very easy deal: two tickets to Florida in return for a simultaneous exhibition some place in Hane. Maybe the auditorium or the Y or someplace. Maybe even the big new culture center Van Shuten is building in the bay. And —this is crucial—an exclusive—features and interviews for the Hane Tribune.”
“Two tickets?”
“You want four? You have friends? I don’t think so.”
“I can’t live on a ticket.”
“Ah, a place to stay then?”
“And meals.”
“Like here? A kind of Ramada Inn in Hane, is that it?”
“Something like that.”
I think about an offer, and to cover I ask, “You mind me asking a question about this arrangement?” I point to the kitchen dining area.
“What arrangement?”
“The one here. Do you have a thing for Ramada Inns? I imagine you could rent a pretty nice apartment for what this costs.”
Vera laughs, sets her coffee down. “Sidney owns a judge in Baltimore,” she laughs again, watching me try to make a connection. “And, get this, the judge tells my lawyer ‘This is child support.’ Got it? Child support! So instead of the cash we get to live here, in this dump, with its lousy thirty percent vacancy rate, in the worst rooms in the place, so nobody will ever want them. But once, can you believe it? The schmuck management actually moved Mikey out for four days from his room into mine. Into here! They carried his chess books in here, for chrissake, so they could move in two Japanese businessmen and soak ‘em for that little hole next door. This,” she motions to the bed, the Formica nightstands, the mock wood low bureau, “this is child support. It doesn’t cost Sidney a dime, since he’s partners in this place. But I’m staying. Know why? Let me tell ya why. ‘Cause this neighborhood is changing. Ya can see it from the Holiday Inn up. Things are looking ritzier and ritzier. And the prices are going up and the little fag antique shops and the little precious boutiques. Someday even Logan Circle is gonna come back and meanwhile the rates here are gonna double, triple, and I’m gonna be here permanent, until Sidney can’t believe how much he’s losing every hour I’m in the place. And he’s gonna squeal bloody murder, and I’m gonna stick him and stick him until . . . until. Hell, he’ll probably sell the place and we’ll be back on the street. Yeah, we’ll come to Florida. Why not? Mikey likes simultaneous exhibitions. But nothing’ blindfolded. I’m with the Russians on that. Nothin’ to hurt Mikey’s head. Just a simultaneous. Maybe thirty boards. I’ll have to talk to him about it. Maybe forty. Talent can’t be much down there, right?”
“I’m one of the best around,” I say.
She laughs, “Good! We’ll go for it.”
With things going so well I move into another area. “How about some background on, on Mikey—why do you call him that?”
“Sidney calls him David. Used to call him Mikhail, the Russian. When he was in Junior High, Mikhail because he was always reading Russian chess books—just the annotations. But who can say Mikhail a lot? Mikey’s easier, and more American.”
“Nobody calls him David?”
“I said, Sidney calls him David.”
“What does he want to be called?”
“He wants to study chess books. Some days I call him Davey, especially if Sidney actually sends some cash, which from to time he does. Conscience, heard of it? You probably have, especially with her.” She motions toward the other room.
“What does that mean?”
“Such sensitivity. It don’t mean a thing. Nothin’ nothing. Don’t be so nervous. And call me Vera. And what did ya say your name was?”
“Paul Snell.”
“And that is Mrs. Snell?”
“No. Not at all.”
“I didn’t think so. Jesus, what is she on anyway?”
“On?”
“Don’t be cute with me. That, I don’t like. Just when we were getting’ to know each other, you get cute. I don’t like that, see? For business reasons I’d like to know whether you’re doing the same stuff she is, are ya?”
“You mean macramé, leather wallets, rope-soled sandals?”
“I told you not to be cute, so why don’t ya listen to me? Here we are trying to reach an agreement, and I need to have some very clear information who I’m dealing with and whether I should continue to enter these negotiations. So I’m asking a simple, direct question. I’m not taking Mikey into some place that’s drug heaven.”
I think, is Hane drug heaven? “If you’re asking whether I’m doing drugs, the question is insulting. I’m a normal American which means of course I smoke grass, snort cocaine, do hash when I can get it, and have thought about injecting stronger stuff. But I’m no hippie drug freak. I’m a reputable emerging authority on the chess world. You can testify to my expertise. In fact, I’d like to use you as a reference.”
Vera merely waves her had at me and says very quietly, “Look, there’s something wrong with her.”
“There’s something wrong with all of us.”
She
