Уолтер Тевис - The Queen's Gambit

At first Beth didn’t recognize her. The woman who came toward her table in what looked like a Coco Chanel suit and a full, bushy Afro was so tall that Beth could not believe it was Jolene. She looked like a movie star, or a rock-and-roll princess—fuller in the figure than Diana Ross and as cool as Lena Horne. But when Beth saw that it was in fact Jolene, that the smile and the eyes were the Jolene she remembered, she stood up awkwardly, and they embraced. Jolene’s perfume was strong. Beth felt self-conscious. Jolene patted her back while they hugged, and said, “Beth Harmon. Old Beth.”

They sat down and looked at each other awkwardly. Beth decided she had to have a drink to see her through this. But when the waiter came, blessedly breaking the silence, Jolene ordered a club soda and Beth had him bring her another Coke.

Jolene was carrying something in a manila envelope, which she set on the table in front of Beth. Beth picked it up. It was a book, and she knew immediately what it was. She slipped off the envelope. Modern Chess Openings . Her old, nearly worn-out copy.

“Me all the time,” Jolene said. “Pissed at you for being adopted.”

Beth grimaced, opening the book to the title page where the childish handwriting read “Elizabeth Harmon, Methuen Home.” “What about for being white?”

“Who could forget?” Jolene said.

Beth looked at Jolene’s good, beautiful face with all the remarkable hair and the long black eyelashes and the full lips, and the self-consciousness dropped away from her with a relief that was physical in its simplicity. She smiled broadly. “It’s good to see you.” What she wanted to say was, “I love you.”

During the first half of the meal Jolene talked about Methuen—about sleeping through chapel and hating the food and about Mr. Schell, Miss Graham and the Saturday Christian movies. She was hilarious on the subject of Mrs. Deardorff, imitating her tight voice and her way of tossing her head. She ate slowly and laughed a lot, and Beth found herself laughing with her. It had been a long time since Beth had laughed, and she had never felt so easy with anyone—not even with Mrs. Wheatley. Jolene ordered a glass of white wine with her veal and Beth hesitated before asking the waiter for ice water.

“You not old enough?” Jolene said.

“That’s not it. I’m eighteen.”

Jolene raised her eyebrows and went back to her veal. After a few moments she started talking again. “When you went off to your happy home, I started doing serious volleyball. I graduated when I was eighteen and the University gave me a scholarship in Phys. Ed.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s all right,” Jolene said, a bit fast. And then, “No, it isn’t. It’s a shuck is what it is. I don’t want to be a gym coach.”

“You could do something else.”

Jolene shook her head. “It wasn’t till I got my bachelor’s last year that I really caught on.” She had been talking with her mouth full. Now she swallowed and leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “I should have been in law or government. These are the right days for what I’ve got, and I blew it on learning the side straddle hop and the major muscles of the abdomen.” Her voice got lower and stronger. “I’m a black woman. I’m an orphan . I ought to be at Harvard. I ought to be getting my picture in Time magazine like you.”

“You’d look great with Barbara Walters,” Beth said. “You could talk about the emotional deprivation of orphans.”

“Could I ever,” Jolene said. “I’d like to tell about Helen Deardorff and her goddamn tranquilizers.”

Beth hesitated a moment. Then she said, “Do you still take tranquilizers?”

“No,” Jolene said. “Hell, no.” She laughed. “Never forget you ripping off that whole jarful. Right there in the Multi-Purpose Room in front of the whole fucking orphanage , with Old Helen ready to turn into a pillar of salt and the rest of us with our jaws hanging slack.” She laughed again. “Made you a hero, it did. I told the new ones about it after you was gone.” Jolene had finished her meal; she sat back from the table now and pushed the plate toward the center. Then she leaned back, took a package of Kents from her jacket pocket and looked at it for a moment. “When your picture came out in Life , I was the one put it on the bulletin board in the library. Still there as far as I know.” She lit a cigarette, using a little black lighter, and inhaled deeply. “‘A Girl Mozart Startles the World of Chess.’ My, my.”

“I still take tranquilizers,” Beth said. “Too many of them.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Jolene said wryly, looking at her cigarette.

Beth was quiet for a while. The silence between them was palpable. Then she said, “Let’s have dessert.”

“Chocolate mousse,” Jolene said. During dessert she stopped eating and looked across the table. “You don’t look good , Beth,” she said. “You’re puffy.” Beth nodded and finished her mousse.

Jolene drove her home in her silver VW. When they got to Jan-well, Beth said, “I’d like you to come in for a while, Jolene. I want you to see my house.”

“Sure,” Jolene said. Beth showed her where to pull over, and when they got out of the car Jolene said, “That whole house belong to you?” and Beth said, “Yes.”

Jolene laughed. “You’re no orphan,” she said. “Not anymore.”

But when they came into the little entryway inside the front door, the stale, fruity smell was a shock. Beth had not noticed it before. There was an embarrassed silence while she turned on the lamps in the living room and looked around. She had not seen the dust on the TV screen or the stains on the cobbler’s bench. At the corner of the living room ceiling near the staircase was a dense cobweb. The whole place was dark and musty.

Jolene walked around the room, looking. “You been doing more than pills, honey,” she said.

“I’ve been drinking wine.”

“I believe it.”

Beth made them coffee in the kitchen. At least the floor in there was clean. She opened the window out into the garden to let fresh air in.

Her chessboard was still set up on the table and Jolene picked up the white queen and held it for a moment. “I get tired of games,” she said. “Never did learn this one.”

“Want me to teach you?”

Jolene laughed. “It’d be something to tell about.” She set the queen back on the board. “They’ve instructed me in handball, racquetball and paddleball. I play tennis, golf, dodgeball, and I wrestle. Don’t need chess. What I want to hear about is all this wine.”

Beth handed her a mug of coffee.

Jolene set it down and got out a cigarette. Sitting in the drab kitchen with her bright-navy suit and her Afro, she was like a new center in the room.

“It start with the pills?” Jolene asked.

“I used to love them,” Beth said. “Really love them.”

Jolene shook her head twice, from side to side.

“I haven’t had anything to drink today,” Beth said abruptly. “I’m supposed to play in Russia next year.”

“Luchenko,” Jolene said. “Borgov.”

Beth was surprised that she knew the names. “I’m scared of it.”

“Then don’t go.”

“If I don’t, there’s nothing else for me to do. I’ll just drink.”

“Looks like you do that, anyway.”

“I just need to quit drinking and quit those pills and fix this place up. Look at the grease on that stove.” She pointed to it. “I’ve got to study chess eight hours a day, and I’ve got to do some tournaments. They want me to play in San Francisco, and they want me on the Tonight Show . I should do all that.”

Jolene studied her.