by David Klass
This time Sanchez barely hesitated. He stood up and offered his hand. My dad shook it and finally smiled.
Suddenly people were applauding all around me, and my teammates were congratulating me as if I had done something extraordinary. But I was hurrying toward the doors to the tournament hall. The crowd was thick in front of me and I had to fight my way through it, so I reached the double doors just as my father walked out, carrying his score sheet. He saw me and smiled. “Hey, how about that?”
I opened my arms and we embraced. “You were … stupendous,” I told him. I felt the cold sweat all over him, and also that he was trembling. “Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Sure,” he said, and then he passed out in my arms.
22
The EMTs had gone and Dr. Chisolm had finished his own examination, and now Dad lay on his bed in our suite with his legs propped up on pillows so that his head was lower than his knees. He was taking occasional sips of bottled water, breathing in through his nostrils and exhaling from his mouth, and trying to make a joke out of the whole thing. “That’s what happens when you beat somebody over 2600,” he said. “And if you beat someone over 2700 your nose falls off your face.”
“Well, your nose is still fastened in the right place, but it wouldn’t hurt you to go to an emergency room,” Dr. Chisolm told him. “Just to be safe. They can run some tests on you that I can’t run here…”
“You checked out my heart, and the ambulance guys ran plenty of tests,” Dad told him. “I feel fine now. It was just nerves. It’s happened before. If I go to an emergency room I’m gonna sit there for half the night waiting to be seen, and then they’ll keep me for observation. I won’t be in any shape to finish the tournament tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure you should play tomorrow,” Mr. Kinney told him. “Much as I’d like to win this thing.”
“I’m playing,” Dad said softly but with determination. “I’ve come too far. I’m not backing down.” He glanced at Dr. Chisolm. “My heart’s fine, right, Sam?”
“I see no sign of arrhythmia, or any other cardiac condition,” Dr. Chisolm admitted. “You say you have a history of anxiety-related fainting. The fact that you remember seeing spots just before you collapsed is an indication of reduced blood flow to the brain, which can certainly be caused by an extreme nervous reaction. But all that being said, Morris, we need to err on the side of safety.”
“Listen to Dr. Chisolm,” I urged my father. “Be safe. To hell with the tournament. Let’s run every test, stay the night in a hospital, and then go home. That’s what Mom said we should do…”
“No way I’m spending tonight in a hospital and no way I’m going home early,” my father declared resolutely. Then he smiled at me and took my hand, and he really did look much better. “Look, Daniel, I understand that you’re worried, but I’ve had this before, and it passes. I know my own body. Let’s go do the karaoke party. What I need is to relax and sing a little Elvis.”
“Forget the karoke,” Dr. Chisolm told him. “At the very least you should stay in the hotel and rest. We can order something healthy from room service.”
Dad sat up in bed, looking and sounding a bit like a rebellious child who was refusing to take his medicine. “I don’t want hotel food. And I really need to take my mind off chess for a little while. I appreciate all your concern, but we made a plan and let’s stick to it.” He looked at Liu’s mother, who was part of the small throng of team members and concerned friends that had gathered in our hotel suite. “We have a reservation at Lucky Hana’s Hall of Karaoke for nine p.m., right?”
“I canceled that, Morris,” Liu’s mom said. “We’ll do it another time.”
“Uncancel it,” he snapped. “I want to go. This is just silly.” He stood up from the bed and looked around. “Where’s my jacket? Daniel, are you ready?”
“We’re not leaving this hotel, unless we head to a hospital,” I told him.
He looked back at me and then at the other people in the suite, and there was a long, silent impasse.
“I’ve got an idea,” Randolph finally said. “Why don’t we do the karaoke party right here at the Palace Royale? We can set it up in my suite and bring in some Japanese food.”
“Where are you going to rent a karaoke machine at this hour?” Liu’s mother asked.
“Leave that to me,” Mr. Kinney told her. “This is Manhattan. For the right price, you can get anything, day or night. What do you say, Morris?”
Dad seemed inclined to argue, but then he sat back down on his bed. “Deal,” he said. “Just make sure you get a good sound system.”
I went into my own bedroom and called Mom again. I knew she was standing by, and sure enough she answered at the first ring. “He seems much better,” I told her.
“Let the hospital decide that,” she said.
“He refuses to go to a hospital.”
“Refuse to let him refuse,” she ordered.
“Mom, I can’t force him. He’s walking around and he seems to have an appetite. He’s agreed to rest. We’re going to have dinner here in the hotel. If Dr. Chisolm thought there was any danger of a real health emergency, he wouldn’t let Dad do this.”
Mom didn’t sound convinced—she sounded angry. “Put your father on.”
I walked into Dad’s bedroom and offered him the phone. He knew from my face who was on the line. “Hi, Ruth,” he said. “I guess you heard that I had a little hiccup, but I’m fine and there’s no need to be concerned…”
That was all he got to say. After that he just listened, and I could hear her raised voice crackling over the phone and the word “hospital” repeated several times. Finally, Mom ran out of words.
“Okay, Ruth, I’ll think about it and call you later,” Dad told her. “Try not to worry. Love you.” Before she could respond and give him another earful, he hung up and handed me back the phone. “You’re just worrying her for nothing.” Then he turned to Mr. Kinney. “When you order the food, can you get me some edamame? They’re Japanese green soybeans…”
“I know what edamame are,” Brad’s dad told him. “Leave the ordering to me. You just take care of yourself.”
23
Lights flashed and music thumped—the Kinneys’ suite had been transformed into party central. Not only had Randolph rented an impressive karaoke machine with a monitor that showed the lyrics of the songs, but he must have paid Lucky Hana’s to throw in some decorations. There were paper dragons taped to the walls and rainbow streamers fluttering down from the ceiling. A disco ball dangled from a light fixture in the center of the room and cast whirling reflections on the white walls.
“Now, this is the way to take your mind off chess,” my father said with a smile as we walked in through the door. “Thanks for going to all the trouble, Randolph.”
“No trouble at all,” our host said. “I had Hana’s deliver the stuff and some guys from the hotel set it up. They said since we’re at the end of a hallway we can get pretty loud without bothering other rooms. There are two big bowls of edamame over there on the table, Grandmaster,” he told my dad. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better. Are you sure you ordered enough sushi?” my father asked him with a grin. “I think there must be one or two kinds of fish you left out.”
“I doubt it,” Mr. Kinney said. “I told them to bring the whole menu. Don’t be polite, guys. Dig in.”
A buffet of sushi had been arranged on a fleet of miniature wooden boats on the tables. I followed my father to the food, and just as I reached out for a salmon roll I heard a loud guitar riff, and then a deep voice boomed out: “I can’t get no … satisfaction.”
The karaoke machine sat on an end table in a corner of the room, with two lamps pointing at it for improvised spotlights. Brad stood with the microphone in his hand, belting out a surprisingly good rendition of “Satisfaction.” He might not have been Mick Jagger, but in addition to being a swimming champion, a chess master, and a lady-killer, he could carry a tune and he
even had the prancing, cocksure dance moves of a rock star.
He paused after the first verse and pointed at my dad. “Yo, undefeated Grandmaster, this one’s for you and the rest of the dads—from the Dark Ages of rock and roll, when you guys were young and cool and had some hair.”
“I was young and I had some hair but I was never cool,” Dad responded, but Brad drowned him out with another burst of “I can’t get no satisfaction.” He strutted forward, did a few pelvic grinds, and stuck his chin out like a bad-boy rock idol.
Britney sat on a chair a few feet away, watching Brad’s every hair flip and hip gyration. She was wearing short shorts and a halter top, and when he finished his song she jumped up and clapped. “That was great!”
“I’m just getting warmed up,” he told her. “Hey, Danny boy. It turns out you play chess a little better than we thought. Do you sing?”
“Like a frog,” I told him.
“Go ahead and try,” Britney encouraged me.
“If he’s a frog, then he’s a frog,” Brad said dismissively. “I’m gonna sing another one. Hey, Brit, grab me one of those inside-out rolls.”
“You better not be a frog,” Liu told me, walking up, “because we’re on for a duet later and I don’t partner with amphibians.” She also looked hot, in dark stretch leggings, a long black T-shirt, and a gold chain belt.
“Can you sing?” I asked her.
“What do you think, Jersey boy?”
“Better than you can play chess?” I probed.
She flashed me a flirtatious smile. “You’ll find out before the evening is over.”
“I like your outfit,” Britney told Liu. “That’s a really cool belt.”
Liu looked back at her a little puzzled, as if she wanted to dislike Britney but couldn’t find a reason to do it. “Thanks. Where did you get those shorts?”
“At a boutique in the Village today. They have lots of great stuff. I can give you the address.”
The room filled up as Liu’s mother, Dr. Chisolm, and Eric arrived, and everyone began eating and taking turns singing. Last to show up was Britney’s mom, Mariel, resplendent in a red silk sleeveless dress and wearing a necklace with a large pendant of diamonds that flashed as brightly as the disco ball. She made a grand entrance, swishing in with a room service waiter right behind her who wheeled a cart with several bottles of champagne on ice.
While the waiter opened the champagne, Mariel took the microphone from Eric, who was in the middle of a song. He surrendered the mic without a struggle, and the music shut off. “Don’t stop the party for me,” she announced, while completely stopping the party. “But I just wanted to say how much it means to Britney and me that you included us in your little soiree. Men haven’t always treated me so nicely—” Mariel broke off for a second, just standing there smiling her thousand-watt smile.
“Mom,” Britney said, and the one word was a warning and a not-so-gentle nudge to stay on message.
Mariel nodded to her daughter. “So we’ve brought some bubbly—just a taste for the kiddos and a little more for the grownups. Let’s start things off the right way.” The waiter had a dozen long-stemmed glasses on his cart, and he quickly poured for everyone. “Randolph, as our host, please give the toast,” Mariel requested.
Randolph considered for a minute and then looked at my father. “Grandmaster Pratzer, you’re the man tonight. What are we drinking to?”
My dad raised his glass. Given his team prayer, I expected him to say something like “family love” or “parents and kids,” but instead he raised his champagne glass said in a loud voice that was almost warlike: “Ladies and gentlemen, confusion to the enemy!”
I raised my half glass of champagne and turned to Liu. “Confusion to the enemy, Catwoman.”
“Kanpai, Mind Crippler, and son of Super Mind Crippler,” she said back.
24
I was exhausted from the three chess games in one day and the added stress of worrying about my dad. The party in the Kinneys’ suite seemed to whirl and flash around me like the disco ball overhead. Every once in a while the people in the room would snap back into sharp focus and I would glimpse a few seconds of strange behavior or notice a memorable karaoke performance.
Mariel floated through the suite like a beautiful red butterfly, alighting here and there, at one point touching my shoulder and saying: “I hear you won two games, Daniel. Britney is your number one fan.” Then Mariel winked at me and whispered conspiratorially: “Just between us, your friend in black over there is absolutely stunning.”
I blinked and Mariel was clear on the other side of the room, hand-feeding Mr. Kinney an eel-and-avocado roll and laughing at something he said. A minute later I glimpsed her on the throw-rug “stage” all alone, singing a haunting solo of “Hey Jude” in a husky whisper, her luminous blue eyes fixed on the suite’s wide windows that looked down on the lights of Manhattan and the dark band of Hudson River that twisted away into blackness.
The room whirled and righted and I spotted my dad snacking on edamame and sipping his glass of champagne. “Careful, Morris,” I heard Dr. Chisolm warn. “Those pills you took to relax shouldn’t be mixed with alcohol.”
“You also said I should have fun,” Dad reminded him.
“I’ll keep a close eye on the Grandmaster,” Mabel promised Dr. Chisolm. “That’s still his first glass.”
Liu was standing next to me, also watching them. “It’s weird,” she whispered so that only I could hear, “but I think my mom likes your dad.”
I wouldn’t have said it out loud, but I couldn’t deny it. “Truly weird,” I admitted. “Where’s your dad?”
“Dead,” Liu replied in a hard, flat voice. “Heart attack. Three years ago. He died at his desk at work.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered back.
She shrugged. “Don’t let anyone tell you that things happen for a reason. Life just sucks sometimes.”
“It must have been really hard,” I said softly.
She didn’t say anything, but she turned away from me and I thought that maybe I now understood a little bit of where her tough exterior came from.
I didn’t know what else to say or do so I put my hand lightly on her back and whispered: “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Liu.”
She turned back and I saw that her black eyes had teared up, and then they drew closer and suddenly she had leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Thanks.” She breathed. “Jersey boy.” I felt the dampness of her tears on my cheek. We stayed close for a few seconds, and then Liu followed my eyes to our parents and said: “Don’t look so worried, Daniel—my mom knows your father’s married. She’s just having a little fun.”
The music thumped and the disco ball spun and suddenly I was eating sushi and listening to Mr. Kinney and Dr. Chisolm sing a raucous disco duet. They were showing off all kinds of corny moves from years past, as if trying to win the award for number one cheeseball act at the party.
Brad and Eric didn’t seem to want to watch their dads sing. I noticed them vanish into one of the suite’s bedrooms. I wasn’t sure why till Brad came over a few minutes later to tell Liu and me that we were singing next. “You’re on deck, Patzer-face. Try not to croak too much.”
We watched him saunter away, and he nearly tripped over a chair.
“Looks like he’s having trouble navigating,” Liu said.
“I bet he and Eric have a bottle stashed in his bedroom.” Her lip wrinkled as if she had just tasted something unpleasant. “I don’t like the way he treats that girl.”
Brad had grabbed Britney for a slow dance. He looked enormous swaying with her, his thick arms wrapped around her back. He half dragged her in a slow circle, and then suddenly demanded: “What the hell kind of music is this?”
My father was “onstage” with Mabel, doing his hammy rendition of “Heartbreak Hotel” while she danced and sang backup and looped a couple of Hawaiian leis around his neck. Dad was a little better at singing and moving his h
ips than he was at wiggling his ears. It was good to see him forgetting about chess for a few moments, but it was also a little weird—I had never seen him flirt with a woman besides my mom before. Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure if I had ever seen him flirt with her either.
I understood it was harmless, but watching them laugh together made me wonder for the first time if my parents were really happy together, or if they were just going through the motions and responsibilities of keeping a house and raising kids. Had Dad settled into a safe life and routine, and was this strange tournament weekend knocking down all his defenses and barriers?
They finished and high-fived each other, and Brad motioned me up to the stage. “Next, for your listening pleasure, the princess who kissed the frog,” he said.
Liu took my hand. “Ready?”
“I really hope you can sing,” I whispered back.
“Remember when I told you I was mad at my mom for making me come to this tournament, because I was supposed to go to a concert with my friends?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well, it wasn’t a concert I was going to listen to,” Liu said. “It was a concert I was singing at. My friends and I have a band, and I do the vocals. Let’s nail this.”
We walked onto the “stage” and I had a moment to think how surreal this was—I was getting ready to perform a duet with a girl I hadn’t known two days ago, who had just kissed me. Her mother and my father were standing together watching us.
A week ago I had thought my dad was a dull accountant and a distant father. Now we had grown much closer and everyone called him Grandmaster and admired his brilliance. Meanwhile, the two coolest seniors at the Loon Lake Academy were whistling, stomping, and shouting, “Go for it, Patzer-face, show us what you got!”
Liu took a mic and handed me the other one. “I get the feeling you don’t sing karaoke a lot?”
“That would be never,” I admitted.
“Watch the words light up on the monitor and just come in on the choruses. I’ll cue you. Here we go.”
