Checkmate by Patrick Sean Lee (best books to read for self development TXT) 📕

just happened to be there when I slipped.”
She answers, “Yes, I believe that.”
“Good. It’s the truth.”
“The whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
I hesitate. Why is something so simple as falling into the water turning into a courtroom drama I wonder?
“Yes.”
No. Okay, it’s tough because I have to omit the real ending, the precise reason. “Can we start all over again? My name is Matt. I write books. Sorry.”
Isabella closes the magazine she’s holding in her lap, and then leans forward, bringing her elbows to rest gently on her knees. She studies me for a second.
I’m unsure. I’m nervous.
She’s taking her sweet time. Fuck, I hate this. I smell the sweet pine of the fire and I smell her perfume and I want to stand up and go to her. Put my hand on her cheek, or her hand—or better yet, her small breast. I think she knows, too. Maybe she’s a clairvoyant. Maybe I’m screwed.
At last she decides to break the uncomfortable silence.
“You didn’t even bother to acknowledge me.”
It takes a second or two for the statement to sink in, but then I flash back to the shore of the lake. “Ah…yes. Well, you see, I was in agony, and…I was very embarrassed, I guess. Thank you. I wish I’d taken you up on the offer to help me down the mountain. I slid most of the way in the mud on my rear. Not pleasant.”
“I wondered when I saw you in the dining room how you’d managed to get back. Congratulations. How does your knee feel?”
“Terrible, thank you.” That’s two thank you’s, now. Maybe that will suffice. I find her stunning.
“Do you play chess?” she asks unexpectedly after lifting the magazine, pretending to read it.
I look over at her as if she just asked me a question about quantum physics. But I answer, “Umm…yes, I suppose so…but it’s been a while.” I remember seeing the chessboard on the table behind me, and I think hard. Pawns can sometimes move two spaces; most times one. They’re not worth much. Queens get to go all over the place. That’s women for you, I laugh inwardly. Horses jump two/one, or one/two. Yes, yes, I remember, sort of. But I rarely ever won—I guess because I tend to think on the right side of my brain, which limits me to planning only what I’m going to do at the moment. Then again, maybe it’s the left side? I can’t remember. What the hell, I’ll play her.
“I haven’t played in a very long time. Probably pretty rusty, but if you like…”
“Good! I mean, that’s okay. I’ll go easy until you warm up. I was champion of the Young Women’s Chess Club in Santa Monica a few years back. I’m probably rustier than you, though.” Isabella lays the magazine aside and rises from the sofa. She moves elegantly, smoothly, like a dancer or a floor gymnast. Her white skirt follows the movement of her body, almost in slow motion, and my eyes follow it. For a second I don’t think about the fact that within minutes I’m going to tumble into another lake—one with kings and bishops and the horse pieces, overseen by an altogether different kind of queen. Shit, I’m in trouble here. I don’t mind losing at chess, but I’m finding myself spinning.
She strides around the sofa I’m sitting on and gathers two chairs from another table. I take a deep breath, ease my leg off the cushiony surface of the ottoman, and then join her as casually as a man with only one working leg can. She doesn’t bother to pull my chair out for me, in fact seems to take no notice of my delicate condition at all. I think Isabella is already contemplating her tenth and final move. She has taken her seat on the side of the table where the white pieces stand like Napoleon’s army at Austerlitz. My black guys look good, but I believe they won’t know how to fight, driven as they will be into confusion, fear, and slaughter by General Ash. I take my seat, grimacing, but then suddenly I feel just fine. I’m probably going to get my ass kicked by the most beautiful general in all of Europe, and really, I could care less.
She looks over at me expressionless. Waiting, probably, for me to make a move. Do I go first? Black, black, black…yes, I think I move first. Should I betray my ignorance, though, and ask her, or simply—what? Move one of the pawns, or jump out with one of my horses? I have no clue, and I don’t play it safe, nor do I ask a dumb question. I grab the horse on the left side and leap into battle.
She sits for a moment in thought, and then she looks at me and smiles. She is beating me already. She has pikes and cannon and swords, but she moves on me with her eyes. Christ, take my horse. Take the castles and the bishops. Take my Queen. Just take your time so that I can enjoy the most lovely…
“You haven’t played much chess, have you Matthew Ash?”
I parry. “Don’t count your chickens before they’ve even laid any eggs.” I’m clever, I think. I wonder what was the matter, though, with opening the game with a frontal assault by one of my real warriors.
“I move first. White moves first.”
Shit.
Isabella has an impish smile on her face after that display of my brilliance. I put the horse back where he came from and keep my eyes lowered to the board. She opens by moving the pawn in front of her King out one space, so I give it some thought and forget about getting the horse out so quickly. That was probably a stupid idea anyway. I move the pawn in front of my King’s Bishop out one space. I’m not sure why I do that, but she’s smiling ever so sweetly now, and her eyes are sparkling. They’re blue, and there is a tiny black dot at the bottom of the right iris. My own eyes are darting over her cheeks, her nose, her small mouth, and I’m not thinking of chess. I love her hair. I am all of the sudden thinking of a different kind of game and a different kind of strategy.
She moves the pawn in front of her King’s Bishop out two spaces. I don’t really consider that she’s up to anything serious yet. Her eyes catch mine again.
I glance down at her less-than-stellar opener and see that I can move my left-side horse pawn guy out two and take that pawn of hers—if she doesn’t catch on to what I’m up to.
She places her right elbow onto the table and slowly raises her hand—her index finger—to her lips. I know she’s thinking about what I’m up to. Her eyes have left mine and they are locked on the board, narrowed. She stares at it. Stares more. I think I’ve got her worried. Then she looks up at me.
“Are you sure?”
I don’t want to be, but I think I am. More certain than I’ve ever been—already. Raw beauty and intelligence do that to me. Which, regarding the intelligence aspect, makes me wonder how I ever got hooked up with Allison. Oh yes. Great sex.
“Yes. I think so. Yes, I am.”
Isabella shrugs. “Okay.” She takes hold of her Queen with delicate fingers, but firmly. She lifts her across the board all the way to her right on a diagonal.
“Checkmate.”

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Text: (c) Patrick Sean Lee, 2011
Publication Date: 08-26-2011

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