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nexus” and “a militant Christian Endeavor.” She looked up from the paper
at Mrs. Blocker, who was sitting with her knees pressing together, looking
around the room with a subdued dislike. “I’m a chess player,” Beth said
quietly.
“Of course you are, my dear,” Mrs. Blocker said. “And you’re a
Christian.”
“I’m not sure of that.”
Mrs. Blocker stared at her.
“Look,” Beth said, “I have no intention of saying things like this.”
Mrs. Blocker leaned forward and took the statement. “Christian Crusade
has already invested a good deal of money…” There was a glint in her eye
that Beth had seen before.
Beth stood up. “I’ll give it back.” She walked to the desk and found her
checkbook. For a moment she felt like a prig and a fool. It was money for
her air fare and Benny’s and for the woman from the Federation as an
escort. It would pay her hotel bill and incidental expenses on the trip. But at
the bottom of the check they had sent her a month ago, in the place where
you normally wrote “rent” or “light bill” to say what the money was for,
someone—probably Mrs. Blocker—had written “For Christian Service.”
Beth made out a check for four thousand dollars to Christian Crusade, and
in the space at the bottom she wrote “Full refund.”
Miss Dodge’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “I hope you know what
you’re doing, dear.” She looked genuinely concerned.
“I hope so too,” Beth said. Her plane for Moscow left in five weeks.
***
She got Benny on the phone at the first try. “You’re crazy,” he said when
she told him.
“Anyway, I did it,” Beth said. “It’s too late to undo it.”
“Are the tickets paid for?”
“No,” Beth said. “Nothing’s paid for.”
“You have to pay Intourist for the hotel in advance.”
“I know that.” Beth did not like Benny’s tone. “I’ve got two thousand in
my bank account. It would be more, but I’ve been keeping up this house.
It’s going to take three thousand more to do it. At least that.”
“I don’t have it,” Benny said.
“What do you mean? You’ve got money.”
“I don’t have it.” There was a long silence. “You can call the Federation.
Or the State Department.”
“The Federation doesn’t like me,” Beth said. “They think I haven’t done
as much for chess as I could have.”
“You should have gone on Tonight and Phil Donahue.”
“God damn it, Benny,” Beth said. “Come off it.”
“You’re crazy,” Benny said. “What do you care what those dummies
believe? What are you trying to prove?”
“Benny. I don’t want to go to Russia alone.”
Benny’s voice suddenly became loud. “You asshole,” he shouted. “You
crazy fucking asshole!”
“Benny…”
“First you don’t come back to New York and then you pull this crap. You
can fucking well go alone.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have done it.” She was beginning to feel a chill
inside. “Maybe I didn’t have to give them back the check.”
“‘Maybe’ is a loser’s word.” Benny’s voice was like ice.
“Benny, I’m sorry.”
“I’m hanging up,” Benny said. “You were a pain in the ass when I first
met you, and you’re a pain in the ass right now. I don’t want to talk to you
anymore.” The phone in her hand went click. She put it back in the cradle.
She had blown it. She had lost Benny.
She called the Federation and had to wait on hold for ten minutes before
the director came on the line. He was pleasant with her and sympathetic and
wished her well in Moscow but said there was no money to be had. “What
we have comes mostly from the magazine. The four hundred dollars is all
we can possibly spare.”
It wasn’t until the next morning that she got her call returned from
Washington. It was somebody named O’Malley, from Cultural Affairs.
When she told him the problem, he went on about how excited they were,
there at State, over her “giving the Russians a jolt at their own game.” He
asked her how he could help.
“I need three thousand dollars right away.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” O’Malley said. “I’ll get back to you in an hour.”
But it was four hours later that he called back. She paced around the
kitchen and the garden and made a quick call to Anne Reardon, who was to
be the chaperone required by Christian Crusade. Anne Reardon had a
woman’s rating of 1900 or so and at least knew the game. Beth had wiped
her out once somewhere out West, practically blasting her pieces off the
board. No one answered the phone. Beth made herself coffee and leafed
through some copies of Deutsche Schachzeitung, waiting for the call. She
felt almost nauseated at the way she had let the Christian Crusade money
go. Four thousand dollars—for a gesture. Finally the phone rang.
It was O’Malley again. No dice. He was terribly sorry, but there was no
way government funds could be handed out to her without more time and
approval. “We’ll be sending one of our men with you, though.”
“Don’t you have petty cash or something?” Beth asked. “I don’t need
funds to undermine the government in Moscow. I just need to take some
people to help me.”
“I’m sorry,” O’Malley said. “I’m really sorry.”
After hanging up, she went back out into the garden. She would send the
check to the Washington office of Intourist in the morning. She would go
alone, or with whomever the State Department found to send with her. She
had studied Russian, and she would not be totally at a loss. The Russian
players would speak English, anyway. She could do her own training. She
had been training alone for months. She finished off the last of her coffee.
She had been training alone for most of her life.
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