The Manny. Holly Peterson
him classically handsome, but he was definitely attractive.
‘Didn’t Charlie tell you any key strategies? Can’t believe he calls himself a teacher! First the pawns in front of the queen, not the ones at the ends.’ The kids, laughing and joking now, moved back into their lines and the soldiers in front of each queen took two steps forward.
Two giggly teenage girls standing nearby, but not on the chequerboard, sidestepped closer to him. I noticed one of them patting her chest and secretly batting her eyes at Directorman. One leaned over and whispered in the other’s ear, then pushed her towards him. This guy was radiating light and they wanted some of it.
‘What’s next, kids?’
A tiny boy with a huge papier mâché horse head covering his entire upper body raised his hand. ‘Me, me!’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
The other horse shot up his arm.
‘You! In the red hat. Alex, right?’
‘I know! Because you want your knights out early to control the centre and attack the other team.’
‘Yessssss!’ the director yelled. He reached into his pocket and threw a tiny chocolate bar at the kid. ‘And do you only want the knights out early?’
Four kids screamed, ‘No!’
‘Then who else?!’
‘Bishops!’ shrieked an eager kid. ‘Get the knights and bishops out of the way so you can castle early and protect the king!’ Mr Director took a handful of candy from a bag and threw it in the air at the boy. The kids piled on each other trying to grab the pieces from the ground.
‘OK,’ I thought. ‘This guy is obviously knowledgeable about the game. I’m not crazy about all the candy, but he’s tough without being a prick, just maybe …’ I stepped up beside him and waited for a momentary break, when I could get his attention. Finally, he stopped issuing orders to give the kids a moment to figure out the next move on their own.
‘May I ask you a question?’
‘Sure.’ He turned to me and smiled briefly, but his eyes instantly went back to the game.
‘What are you doing?’
‘It’s a chess game. A human chess game.’
‘I got that far …’
‘Excuse me. What ARE you thinking, dude?’
He trotted over to a kid and picked him up by his shoulders and placed him in an adjacent square. ‘No candy for you!’ He yanked the lolly out of the kid’s mouth and threw it high over his shoulder. The others all hooted and laughed.
‘Soooo …’ I began again when he returned ‘… are you part of a school?’
He ignored me. ‘Jason, is that your name, kid? What are you doing over there?’
‘I mean, are these kids …?’
‘You move the bishop like that and it’s game over, buddy. You’re crazy! Think again.’
OK. He was preoccupied. I waited two minutes then tried again. ‘So. Sorry to bother you, but I’m just so curious. Is this for a school?’
This time he looked directly at me. ‘You really interested?’
‘I am.’
‘It’s not a school. This is a group from a summer camp for kids with special needs or special situations.’
‘Serious situations?’
‘Some very awful situations. Yes.’
‘Why chess?’
‘Because it’s hard, I guess. Must make ’em feel smart. Do you know anything about chess and kids?’
‘I have a son who’s nine.’
‘Does he play?’
‘They do it at school, but he hasn’t gotten hooked.’
‘Well, maybe you should get him hooked.’ He smiled. Major-kilowatt smile.
Bingo.
‘Are you also a teacher?’ I was so excited. I knew this was my guy. ‘Are you working at a steady job in this field?’
‘I’m not a teacher at all.’
Shit. I thought he was a professional. Maybe he wasn’t my guy.
‘I’m taking a break while I figure out some plans.’
He waved to the kids. ‘OK. You in the white shirt.’ He pinged a bubble gum at the girl’s head. ‘You, with the goofy smile, you’re in charge of the whites and Walter is going to do the blacks. You can argue with their moves, but they get the final say!’ When he saw that I wasn’t leaving, he stopped and rested his arm on the park gate and looked me in the eye.
‘I’m just subbing for a pal. He’s my roommate who’s a teacher in the public school system and a counsellor in the summer. I’m not an expert with kids like him.’ He picked up a pile of cloth on the ground and smiled. ‘Excuse me, if you don’t mind …’ Still. He was really good with them.
One of the kids had stepped off the chessboard, and turned his back to the game. His shoulders were hunched up around his ears. Mr Director tried to drape the cloth on the kid’s shoulders, but he shrugged it away. He stuffed some candy down the back of his shirt, but the kid didn’t laugh. He threw the cloth on the ground and got down to business with the distressed kid, dragging him a few feet away to talk to him privately.
I couldn’t help but notice how his worn-out khakis traced the lines of his impossibly hard ass. I put down my tote bag full of newspapers and waited.
Mr Director flicked the kid’s baseball cap up. ‘Darren, c’mon.’ He held the kid’s shoulders and tried to manoeuvre him back into the group. Darren just slowly shook his head and then pushed the brim of his hat further down. Mr Director smacked the cap off the kid’s head. Darren didn’t think it was funny. He put it back on and pulled it down real hard. Something was wrong.
The Mr Director bent his knees and looked up under the kid’s hat, and then sucked hard on a lollipop as if it helped him focus.
‘Talk to me, man.’
Darren shook his head.
‘Russell! Take over.’ Russell, an older kid on the sidelines, waved back.
Mr Director put one arm around Darren’s shoulder and another on his arm and led him over to a park bench about thirty feet away. Darren, who seemed about eleven years old, wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. I was riveted. A few minutes passed and he seemed to be breaking through, gesticulating wildly. The kid started to laugh and this cute guy knocked his baseball cap off again – this time they both laughed – and Darren raced back and took his place again on the board.
All right, I thought. He doesn’t look like a psychopath. He doesn’t smell like a psychopath. Obviously, the kids like him. Let’s try this again.
‘Sorry …’
His expression was direct and polite. I was sure he wasn’t a native New Yorker.
‘You again?’ He smiled at me.
‘Yes, me again. I have a question.’
‘Want to get into the game?’ He cocked an eyebrow.
‘No … I mean, yes. My kid might.’
‘I’m afraid the group is pretty tight-knit. They’ve been together the whole summer …’
‘No, no, not that. I just was wondering,’ I asked, ‘do you have a full-time job?’
‘Yeah, I’m CFO of Citigroup. This is the