of the exhibition, Mikey hops off his stool and goes directly to Board #1. He holds out his fists and wins the white pieces, makes a move and quickly turns to Board #2.
Waldo says, “You have to have strong legs for these kinds of things.”
Pam smiles in a lewd way, as if sharing knowledge of his leg strength, a little joke that I find annoying, but which seems to amuse Waldo greatly.
“When did you get here?” I ask.
“I never miss an opening,” Waldo answers. “I don’t suppose I upset him very much, did I?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He may be better, stronger, than he seems,” Waldo says.
Mikey has made one circle already and pauses back at the first board. In rapid fire he and his opponent, a slightly balding, red-haired fellow in a bright blue, swan-studded nylon shirt trade moves furiously for about a minute. Then the red-haired fellow tips his chair back, shoves it away from the board and indicates that Mikey should go on. All the prepared moves are over. Has Mikey thrown him a surprise, or did he somehow get off the pattern? Chair pulled back in closer again, the red-haired fellow grips his temples and frowns over the situation. Mikey merely smiles to Pam and mouths silent a rather clear, “No sweat.” He bounds along the circle, once or twice getting onto a stool as if to survey the little landscape of his domination. Vera, on the outside of the lineup, follows along, checking the notations and apparently worrying only about one difficulty on either board 17 or 18, I can’t quite tell.
In the far corner of the meeting hall there is an alcove of electronic games and a small, low bowling platform table with weighted metal discs for sliding. I try to get Pam interested, but she prefers first to stand by the circle, as if to offer Gatorade or encouragement to Mikey as he makes his periodic revolution and then, apparently tiring of that service role, Pam slips into one of the folding chairs.
After a while Waldo sits next to her and says loud enough for me to hear. “I can see why there are no spectators. This has got to be the boringest thing imaginable. Snelly!” Waldo shouts at me (I am about half way to the bowling/sliding game). “Snelly, why don’t you do some commentary so we can avoid falling asleep?”
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