Last Gambit

She Was the Kind Of Girl you dream about. Not too tall, well-rounded and ripe, and with soft brown hair resting lightly about her shoulders. She had a little pout of a smile, and high, full breasts, and a most delicate arrangement of convexities and concavities in the subtle convergence of her abdomen and thighs. And within this perfect physical creature was a vitality, a cleverness, an intelligent awareness that redoubled her desirability. She was of that select few who excel at every grace, sport or project in which they engage. And particularly, she excelled at chess. This is where Edgar came in.

Indeed, this is only where Edgar could have come in. For as the girl was all curves and thighs, Edgar was angles and elbows. Tall and rather awkward, he wasn't really bad looking, but he kept both face and personality carefully hidden behind a pair of horn-rimmed refracting lenses. Edgar was a philosophy major. Edgar was also a master at the game of chess.

Actually, he didn't play very often. He was too retiring to take on actual opponents in the game. Instead, he played in his head: he stood for long hours in the oak-paneled Student Game Room watching others manipulate the pieces, and he beat each of them with moves made only in his mind.

It was a Thursday afternoon, in the late spring. He was standing behind a player involved in a puzzling checkmate, he had just mentally projected himself into the game, brilliantly extricated his King and trammelled his opponent, when she stepped into focus.

In a millisecond, the crusty walls of his celibacy crumbled, dissolved and were washed away by a tide of emotion. He could not explain it--he didn't try. He was simply lost.

She seated herself at one of the chess tables with a young man Edgar recognized vaguely as a Game Room regular and prepared her pieces for play. What followed was delightful. To Edgar's utter amazement, this incredible, beautiful creature whipped her not unskilled opponent in a most thorough and expert manner. And in the afternoons that followed, she beat the best of those who played there. She lost but seldom and then always reversed the defeat with a startling aggressiveness in the next game.

Edgar was there each afternoon, standing unseen beside her table. He was lost in the crowd of admirers that quickly grew about her each time she played, and he marvelled at her skill, and at her beauty, and at the naked animal desires she had awakened in him.

The girl took great pride in her game and Edgar enjoyed each victory with her, but he had no difficulty staying a jump or two ahead of her in his mind, predicting her next move and countering it on his own imaginary board. It was during a complicated gambit in which she had put her opponent in check and Edgar, in turn, had mentally maneuvered out of the position and checked her, that an idea began to take shape--an incredible idea by which Edgar might actually physically possess, if only for a brief time, this most desirable of all creatures.

He was never certain, in looking back upon it afterwards, if the plan had been fully formed before that particular Saturday morning or if it had taken shape as it progressed. He wandered into the Student Game Room after an early class and she was sitting there alone, reading. If there had been anyone near enough to overhear, he probably would never have found the courage to speak. He introduced himself with shy formality, explaining that he was trying to master the game of chess, and had observed her skill. He wondered if she might play him a game or two and he mixed enough flattery into the request to make it impossible to decline.

They sat across from one another preparing the inlaid board of the polished wooden table, and Edgar trembled with anticipation at what lay ahead. Without preliminary discussion, they plunged into the game. Edgar played well, but let himself be led into her first poorly disguised design, which he was certain would soon check him. He was right: he lost, and smiled a smile with many meanings.

Despite her victory, the girl sensed somehow that this lean adversary held an unusual understanding of the game and she reset the pieces with a curious apprehension. They immediately began the second game. Her play was cautious ...a simple attack, which he reversed immediately. Another stratagem was also stopped cold. She was intense, soaking up pleasure from the contest. Edgar, encouraged by her obvious involvement, took the liberty of a weak attack. She met it, and began a devious tack of her own. At this point, Edgar knew he must not be too hard or too easy. He mumbled to himself, moved as he knew she wished he would, and somehow achieved the most difficult. He won, as if by accident.

She had not expected his victory, but it did add savor to the battle. She knew she would win the third. Her delicate features fixed themselves in concentration as once again the opening moves were made. Edgar had reached a crucial point in his scheme. He realized that should she suspect his superiority at the game, he could not hope to accomplish the final part of his daring plan. Yet, if she won there might not be enough incentive to continue the contest under the particular circumstances required.

At this point, quite deliberately, Edgar complained about the crowd that had been building about them since shortly after the beginning of the second game.

He bumbled and staggered his men. He lost a Bishop and cursed himself aloud for his incompetence. She tried to fix herself for the kill, but so complex was the disorganization of his pieces, she was unable to find a secure approach. He allowed his Queen to be apprehended. She snatched the piece from the board in a swoop of triumph. The moves (continued on page 70)Last Gambit(continued from page 53) followed rapidly and soon the game seemed completely out of control. Suddenly, it was over. Again, by what was meant to appear fantastic luck, he won.

Their table was now completely surrounded by onlookers and Edgar hunched his back in a shiver of distaste. He could not continue here, he said, the crowd was too unnerving. He began gathering up the pieces and she was obviously upset at the prospect of leaving the contest with such an unsatisfactory (for her) conclusion. She wondered whether they couldn't continue playing somewhere else. Edgar rose, waited for her to gather her things, and together they walked out into the bright sunshine.

"I live in a quiet room," he said, "and I've a chess set there." There was not a sliver of impropriety in his voice or manner and if there had been, she was thinking too much about chess to have noticed.

It was a white frame house standing just off the campus. The lobby was very dark coming out of the sunlight, but Edgar was afraid to touch her soft arm in guiding her up the narrow flight of stairs. The slightest jarring note, he thought, might plunge him back to reality, might shatter the incredible miracle that was occurring. His room was small and rather sparsely furnished: a cot, a bureau, a table and two chairs; that was all.

In a slanting grid of light from the dormer, they set their pieces on the board and contemplated opening gambits. It was a game for Edgar to lose, and he did so, but with a fanciful flourish that had kept the end in doubt. The girl beamed and then Edgar rose and, with exaggerated gallantry, removed the ring from his slender hand and placed it on the table before her as an acknowledgment of his loss.

He sat, and they began another game. It followed quickly, a hodge-podge of a game, a flurry of thrusts and counter-thrusts, brought swiftly to a conclusion by Edgar according to the plan. He lost, and removed his tie in another gesture of defeat. She accepted it with a confident smile.

The next game was extremely brief. He employed an unusual offense of his own invention and she fell hopelessly beneath it. She was captivated by the variety and rhythm of his play, then, observing the checkmate, she rose exactly as Edgar had planned she would, and with motions imitating his, removed a slender, silver bracelet and placed it on the table before him. He had estimated her fierce pride correctly: once having accepted the terms of the game, fulfilling this obligation became a matter of honor.

Edgar lost again, and removed his jacket. She lost, and gave to him one unbelievably small slipper. Afternoon slid imperceptibly into evening. They nibbled at some cake and nuts he had in his bureau. The games had slightly favored Edgar, who seemed continually more astounded at his luck. She had caught the challenge he had offered: his apparently untutored exactness against her intuition and experience. And there was the other challenge too, that had been offered so gallantly. Edgar was shirtless. She had given her shoes and stockings, her ring and belt. Her smile was gone, her forehead lined in thought. What was that fault in his playing (a fault which Edgar had carefully developed then concealed)? This game was too fast! His thin hands hovered mystically over the table as he moved, and called. He stood up and said apologetically that perhaps they had better stop. She glared at the hopeless checkmate before her, not understanding where she had first lost the game. Then she flushed, stood up and defiantly pulled her dress over her head and handed it to Edgar. His eyes soaked in the beauty of the girl. She wore a white slip that started at her waist, and a white halter arrangement that seemed to do only part of its intended job. Her skin glowed golden under the one dim overhead light.

She lost again. He fingered the fresh softness of the slip as she studied the pieces lined up for another match. She began.

And lost. And began again and lost again. The chessmen slipped clumsily from Edgar's fingers as he prepared the board for the last gambit. Her lips were thin and tensed, there was no brightness in her eyes as she stepped out of the final gauzy garment. Edgar looked straight at her and tried very hard to control his muddled emotions. Her face was flushed; he thought she might cry. He wanted to speak, but knew that one incorrect word, one flicker of desire, might cost him everything. He placed the final pieces in position. He had paraded his supposed weaknesses before her. He was sure that she had taken heart. He felt that in her degradation, she was confident she could win, and now every outraged sense in her body demanded it.

"What more have I to play for?" she asked. They looked at one another for a long, meaningful moment; then she seated herself before the board and selected the piece for her first move.

It was a long game. The obvious ploys broke down quickly. Edgar was playing with inexorable precision, but no easy victory was his, for his opponent was playing with a new brilliancy born of desperation. Somehow some super natural instinct drew her out of his tactical advantage time after time. Edgar knew that he must fight to win. The room was hot and there was no sound except their breathing. Her struggles against his inflexible onslaught began to weaken. One by one her powerful pieces succumbed, and then the Queen. The chessmen seemed to be perspiring, wet from the dampness of hot hands. He saw the end of the game: just five moves away. Then three. One. Edgar's hand trembled. He looked at her and suddenly buried his head in the crook of his arm and tried to think. He wiped damp hair away from his eyes with a sweating wrist. One move to take the game, to fulfill the plan, win the prize...but conscience was chewing at him, shame at the tawdry trick he was playing. What kind of a man was he if he could only have this girl in such a devious, dishonest way? With the win at his fingertips, the sustaining spirit of competition collapsed. He sighed heavily, cursed his meddling morality, and moved: not the move to check and win--the move to lose. And once done, Edgar fell back loosely in his chair, waiting for the inevitable return which would check his King, and his plan as well.

She looked at the array of pieces between them. It was simplicity--a beginner's move. Through half-closed (concluded on next page) eyes, Edgar watched her reach out, lift the piece, place it softly down again.

He stiffened, his eyes widening in disbelief. He sat up. about to stutter a protest, for not even a novice could make a mistake like that. In one move, she had effectively destroyed any chance of winning.

Edgar looked up from the board. She was smiling that wonderful pouting smile.

Knight

Bishop