The U.S Championship – Part 1

**ONE YEAR AFTER SEASON 1**

Word Count: 4,276

The media of chess is starting to become busy this time of year; being the U.S Championship tournament is starting to come up, being this year the tournament was held in Seattle this year. My manager at The Queen's Journal wants me to cover the whole thing and report back after the weekend. Benny told me all the details a month before we were supposed to leave. 

(**I have no idea how long the actual U.S. Chess Championship is. I'm just basing this off the Queen Gambit - the tournament lasted only three days**)

I've never been outside of the East coast, so being chosen to cover a tournament that is all the way across the country is exciting.

Benny told me before a few months back that he was planning on taking back his original title after the current World Champion, Beth Harmon, took it from in two years ago.

It also happens that George Thomason, the 'new' Beth Harmon, is seeking the title, too. I had covered him in an article before in a New York State tournament, which he had won. The only thing I remember from that boy was that he was oddly 'numb' and rarely showed any feeling other than annoyance and cocky confidence. It was the type of snobby confidence where he rubbed his winnings in a girl's face in hopes to fuck them, more in a way of 'do you know who I am?' type of way, where he was nearly flabbergasted when I asked him what his plan would be if he didn't win U.S Champion. 

I understood why people were calling him the 'new' Beth Harmon after our first interview. What I've read on Beth Harmon, and have heard from Benny, was that she didn't express openly her emotions like 'normal' people. She was private, blunt, and confident in her abilities in chess. I sometimes wonder if Beth Harmon is a role model of some sort to Mr. Thomason.

"You won't have to worry about him anymore," Benny told me in the diner, "once I've beaten him, you won't have to interview him anymore."

"I highly doubt that," I had muttered.

"You don't think I can beat him?"

"What? No, I know you can beat him. I'm just saying I highly doubt he'll just quit there. I'll probably have to keep interviewing him even if you do beat him."

Going back to the tournament, the flight booked from Seatle to New York was a solid six-hour flight with no breaks or stops, and because of our newly established rule to take separate everything, Benny was not happy about it.

"At least your flight is paid for," he c flipping through a magazine – ironically the one I worked for, "That church place was only gonna pay for mine if I talked to one of their groups or something about communism for Jesus again."

I hummed in agreement and chuckled, "Your weekends are strictly off-limits, I know."

Benny tickles me with one hand and I squeal, squirming on his "couch" of pillows.

This trip was going to be exciting for both of us, but also stressful and tight for both our jobs. This wasn't going to be a vacation, I was expected to still write and send articles back to New York for typing and publishing, and Benny was expected to bring his A-Game and beat every opponent in his path for his title of U.S Champion, and that in itself wasn't going to be an easy job.

There was just one not-so-tiny problem Benny and I would be facing throughout this trip, and it wasn't just which pawn to move or which paragraph to edit: our relationship still didn't exist to the public.

No one knew that Benny Watts, former U.S Chess Champion, and Ophelia Beaufort, a reporter for The Queen's Journal, were in love and in a secret relationship.

The Queen's Journal didn't know I was Benny Watt's secret girlfriend, and the press didn't know Benny Watts was my secret boyfriend. Therefore, our relationship was secretive and couldn't be seen in broad daylight, therefore this trip was going to be a lot harder than we expected.

One month before our trip took place, Benny and I decided to create a plan that spanned throughout the entire tournament: we'd try to do everything as separately as possible: separate cabs to and from the tournament and the hotel, separate tabs for bars or take-out, separate seats on the plan, separate everything.

"I wish I could just tell the world that you were my girlfriend than sneak around like this," he muttered one night, "It would be so much easier."

"I know," I agreed tiredly, "but you know why we can't."

When the day came for our flight to Seattle, we went along with our plan: separate cabs to the airport, stayed apart in the airport, and sat in different seats on the plane. It was my first time on a plane, but Benny sitting only a few rows in front of me made it unbearable, and the flight itself was almost an entire day, so that made it even worse. I tried to keep myself busy by editing articles and reading a few books, but from the amount of nervousness and anxiety, it was hard to focus on anything else.

"Excuse me, miss?" A flight attendant gently touches my shoulder, making me flinch in my seat. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but you're brother in the few rows ahead of you asked me to remind you to take your heartburn pills." She handed me a small piece of paper that had been folded. 

My first thought was that I didn't have a brother, but I knew who she is referring to the instead she said 'the man a few rows ahead of me'. I play along and thank her for me and open the note.

Only three more hours to go. There are a few pills in your carry-on for the nerves 🤍

I lean out of my seat and glance at the skinny man with a cowboy hat in the few rows ahead of us, reading a book about chess openings. My heart flutters a little.

After the plane lands at the airport, Benny hesitates at the door before heading off outside to signal a taxi. My manager had already booked me a hotel room for the weekend, and when asked if I was bringing a plus one, it took every bone in my body to lie and say no. Benny had booked his own hotel room, as to not cause suspicion from any other chess players.

I feel completely exhausted once I reach my hotel room, purposely on the same floor as Benny's requested room. The room itself is wide and comfortable with one big luxurious bed fitted with red silky sheets, a TV against the wall, a lavishing bathroom, and a small table writing articles or practicing chess games.

I drop my suitcase and bag on the bed and collapse on the fluffy mattress, tiredness, and jet lag finally taking over from our extended flight. Seattle was three hours behind Eastern time so it felt as if we had traveled back in time to this morning (but it was only three in the afternoon, being it was six at night back home). 

Knock. Knock.

In my hazy tiredness, I rush to the door and check the peephole, finding a tall skinny man wearing a cowboy hat and trench coat.

I quickly swing open the door and grin at Benny, "Do you have an interview?"

"I think I'm under your four-twenty slot," Benny quickly steps through the door and kicks it shut, scooping me up into his arms and kissing me strongly. "God, I missed you."

"I saw you three days ago."

"Three days too long," Benny pulls me flush against his chest and presses loving kisses on my cheeks, chuckling at my attempts to squirm out of his grip. "You're plan is working so far, angel, let's just hope it stays like this for the weekend."

"I wish we didn't have to do this," I slide down his chest and pluck at the buttons on his shirt.

"We don't have to," Benny slowly rubs my arms and gives me that raised suggested look. "What's so wrong with me dating a chess reporter?"

"Because people will think you're just sleeping your way to the top," I remind him, "which I know you wouldn't but people create all kinds of bullshit to get their way. Trust me, I know."

Benny sighs and releases me to drop his bag on the other side of the bed, "Well, at least we can see each other every night. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't see my angel every day."

"You've survived before." Benny had taken multiple trips to different states for tournaments. It was hard to stay separated, but if we could survive a week without seeing one another, we could survive a few more. At least the nightly telephone calls lasted us until we saw one another again.

"It's not the same. This is just torture," Benny plops down on the bed and groans to the ceiling, "My angel, only a few feet away and I can't so much as say smile to her. My own girlfriend!"

"Maybe someday we can tell people and you won't have to hide me anymore," I suggested jokingly, plopping down next to him.

"Maybe," Benny agreed. "Alright, the first tournament is tomorrow. They're letting us just settle in before we actually start playing tomorrow. You wanna get a bite to eat?"

"After all the work we put into getting here?" I protest, my bones aching from the plane and from sneaking into the hotel, "Why don't we just order room service?"

Benny sits up from the pillows and drops his hat over my face, "Won't they be suspicious if you order two meals?"

"Not if you order yours and say it's from your room."

The cowboy raises a brow and I stick out my tongue from underneath his hat. "Fine. I guess I'll be right back then," he takes his hat back and heads out of the room.

Reporters were told to sign in to the tournament with the staff so they know which magazines were present for the championship. My gut told me to head down to the ballroom and sign in while I waited for room service. My manager gave me a small 'pep-talk' before I left for Seattle; what to expect and what I was there to do. One of those things was to interview each player before the tournament tomorrow. 

It was only three o'clock in the afternoon here, but my body is still used to eastern time. Gotta be professional, Lia. C'mon. I slowly pull myself out of bed and stand up, changing slowly out of my jeans and t-shirt to a more stylish pencil skirt and silk blouse. 

"Where are you going?" Benny comes back into the room, "I thought we were gonna have dinner."

"I forgot I have to interview players before tomorrow," I brush the few knots from my hair and tie it into a messy bun on my head, fixing my glasses with it. "You can go ahead without me, I'll have dinner later."

"Really? Jet-lagged and all?"

"That's what my manager told me I had to do." I grab my journal and shove my pencil into my bun. "The grand life of a chess reporter. Don't practice too much, eat something first."

Benny scoffs and fixes his hat again as I grab my heels and jacket. He watches me walk around the room, that thoughtful frown in his eyes as I grab the reporter pass from my luggage. "Okay. New game-plan: you go do your interviews, I go around and talk to some people so they know I'm there, then meet back here with our dinner and lay around a while." he comes up to me and wraps his arms around my waist.

I ponder the new change, biting my lip from saying something stupid, and sigh, "I dunno, cowboy, the interviews might take a while, and I still have to interview you, ya know."

"Then we'll just do the interview when we get back."

"But won't people get suspicious you weren't down to do the interviews?"

Benny shrugs and grabs the extra hotel key from the nightstand, stuffing it safely in his pocket, "I'll just make something up; that you caught me at the bar or in my hotel room."

I want to snap at him and say his plan wasn't exactly "fool-proof" and anyone could say they saw Benny Watts with a reporter. "I have to interview all the players before the tournament, what if you and I go down to the bar and do the interview there?"

"In public?" he echoes,

"Well in this case it's . . . kinda required," I slip past him and lock the hotel door behind us, making sure no one is down the carpeted hallway to witness us leaving the same room. "If I don't interview you today, people will get suspicious. So, I'll just say you preferred to meet at the bar than the ballroom." I lean in close and lower my tone to a whisper, "Than we can . . . enjoy a drink together. Just the two of us."

Benny purses his lips and runs a hand over his mustache. His brows furrowed in thought and one raised in tease. "Fine. But don't blame me if I can't control myself."

I watch his back turn the opposite way to the stairwell around the elevators, tipping his hat and playfully blowing me a kiss, "Until tonight, angel."

*

For the rest of the afternoon, I'm stuck downstairs in the ballroom interviewing all the chess players, including the bluntly overconfident George Thomason, who only spent the entire forty minutes doubting my own questions and answering them with hardly any filter; even observing that I had unbuttoned my blouse slightly in my plan to 'seduce the players into submissive truth' (when in reality I just thought it was Benny entering for his interview).

I'm almost relieved that I could finally make my way to the hotel's bar to interview Benny. My nerves are still aflame at the thought of being with him in public. Normally, it's the one thing I try to avoid in risks of chess photographers or gossip magazines getting the scoop of Benny Watt's secret reporter girlfriend. I wouldn't know how bad it would damage his reputation. 

I had decided earlier to go up to the hotel room to freshen up after a long day interviewing other players. After a shower and slipping into something comfortable and clean, I made my way down to the bar and entered through its glassy doors. 

The bar is similar to The Ladybird back home: glossy tiles, dim lights around the bar, and round polished stools. A few couples are at the bar, drinking cocktails and gossiping about the latest tournament and events taking place in this part of town. It's not hard to notice the cowboy-looking chess player at the corner of the bar, talking to three other men dressed in sweaters and slacks, obvious chess scholars wanting to know the latest chess opening or tactic to take down your opponent's pawns.

I take a few steps into the bar and plan to take a seat at the opposite end, but I've already caught the chess player's eyes. He excuses himself without so much as taking his eyes off mine, sliding through the crowd and approaching me with that soft love-struck look in his eyes.

"Hello, Mr. Watts," I put my Journalist hat on and offer my hand. Something about being so formal with Benny, a man I've slept with and loved, makes every nerve in my body bend a certain way. It feels just plain wrong but at the same time hilarious. 

Benny seems shocked that I came out so forwardly. I guess it snaps him back into the reality of this not being a date and nods curtly. "Ms, Beaufort," he copies me and shakes my hand. "I hope you don't mind, but I've changed our reservation and had us have a table. If that doesn't bother you?"

My fingers curl into my palms for wanting to smack him, "No, not at all."

"Good." His brows wiggle and he guides me through the bar to a quieter corner where not so many couples lingered. We sit in the corner with a single lit candle and creamy white tablecloths. 

"Thank you," I sit down across from him and whip out my journal, hoping to get this done and over with so that I could scold him later in the safety of our hotel room. "So, you've decided to take back the title of U.S. Champion after two years. How does that feel?"

Benny settles himself on the chair across from me and hangs his hat on the small hook attached to the booth, "Good. Red or white?" 

My pen stops halfway across the page. I look back up at him thinking he's joking. "Red."

He flags a waiter and puts in the order of red wine, "and I'll just have an apple juice, and if you could put it in a glass that would be great," he turns back to me and says with a low tone, "I wanna be sober for this." (**I'm sorry. I had to take the opportunity. If ykyk**)

I fight the urge now growing inside my gut to hit him. I let off steam by smiling at the waiter while simultaneously giving Benny a side-glare.

"How do you feel about the chess games ahead, you haven't been in the tournament in a long time." I slightly wince at the questions given to me, but bite my guilt down and raise my pencil ready.

"Well, Ms. Beaufort, I feel ready to take back my title, and I know it will be challenging to get to it. It wasn't easy the first time, almost lost a few games and nearly lost to a draw at the end, but won with a check with my knight and cornering his king." Benny fiddles with his ring, the signet one he's always won and never explained why, "and yeah, I haven't been to a national tournament in a while, but I have played along the east coast and a few in Vegas, but there was this one game I had two years ago where I met this girl,"

My pen freezes on the paper and I give him a look. 

"So, Mr. Watts," I continue, "Being the famous chess player that you are, what are some pointers that you could give to your chess community?"

Benny sips his juice and shrugs, "I'd tell them to read my book, everything you need to know is in there." I scribble it down and nearly break the pen when he adds, "And that the trick is to have a lucky charm at your tournaments so. It's not my fault my lucky charm is the best of them all."

I stop writing altogether and glance back up at Benny, who has an equally teasing glare. When a waiter and couple pass by the table, I quickly whisper, "Benny, I need you to be serious with this, please. C'mon,"

Benny playfully rolls his eyes and finally stiffens up, "Fine. The trick is to understand your opponent and to be always three steps ahead, know their moves, know what openings and tactics they favor. It's all in the pawns." He becomes more stubborn than stiff and avoids my eye. 

I drop my pencil and cross my arms, "Benny, I need a real answer."

"That was my answer. If that's all you care about right now, that's all you're getting." Benny takes his glass and sips his juice again, probably wishing it were brandy or a beer right now.

"Benny, what's wrong?" I push my untouched wine to the side so I can see Benny in the clear. His face is scrunched and he avoids my gaze at all costs. "Is it . . . about the funeral?"

"No, it isn't about the fucking  funeral." he snaps, "I'm annoyed that my own - " A waiter walks by with a couple and he lowers his tone to a sneer, "I'm annoyed that my own girlfriend doesn't want to spend time with me."

"Because I have to interview you for my job." I spit back, "I don't get why you're bringing this up now and not back in the hotel room. We can do this interview later - "

"What I want is to spend time with you, in public, and not be scared to do so." Benny bites his lip and groans into his hands, leaving his glass of juice to the side. 

I look around the bar, hoping that no one has decided to stare or approach the table to ask Benny about personal tactics and openings. I shut my journal and push it far away, knowing well that this isn't a moment for Journalist-mode. "I want to spend time with you, too, you know that. I just . . . think it's a little risky. It's best if we just stay in the hotel room and not be together in public - "

"That's more than half the trip, Lia. I can't stay in a crappy hotel room all weekend long." Benny swallows thick, his Adam's apple bouncing in the process. The table is silent for several heartbeats, and when I open my mouth to suggest going outside the city for quality time, Benny suggests the worst thing for our relationship. "Why don't we just finally fess up and tell people we're together? It'll make everything easier - "

"You know why we can't," I lower my voice as another waiter comes by, I pretend to write something in my journal after they pass. "Benny, it'll ruin your career. People will think you're sleeping your way to fame."

"I would never - !"

"I know that," I interrupt, "I work in the media. I'm grateful that the magazine I work for doesn't create rumors and destroy people's careers with just a photo. If people knew you've been dating, much less fucking a chess reporter, people will start to get suspicious and think you're using me."

"I don't care if people think that. Once I tell them that I love you, they'll leave us alone - "

" - I'll lose my job."  Benny freezes in the booth, his eyes fall and his face softens. "I'll lose my dream job, Benny. I'll be ruined."

Reality hits and I realize that we're sitting in public and had a very couple-argument. I quickly compose myself and write something stupid in my journal, as to pretend I'm writing a question. Benny is frozen across from me, staring at me with utter shock and a look of, god I hope not, betrayal in his brown eyes.

"Lia, I - "

"I think I have what I need for my article, Mr. Watts," I quickly gather my journal and place some cash on the table, "For the wine and for your troubles."

"Lia, wait - "

I get up from the booth and make a B-line for the elevator, my heart pounding and a clawing suffocating feeling spreading throughout my chest. I pray that Benny is chasing me as I punch the elevator button and slip inside, racing back to our hotel room and heaving on the floor. 

It makes sense to keep our relationship a secret. That's what we decided when we first started this fiasco filled with diner dates and late nights. It was safer that way; a high-rated chess player like Benny can't afford to have his reputation ruined by a chess reporter. If the media, much less the gossip press, got their hands on the rumor of Benny Watts sleeping his way to the top, his career would be ruined, his ratings would fall, and he'd lose the title of U.S. Champion. If The Queen Journal knew that one of their top reporters was sleeping with one of the most famous chess players, I would for sure be scolded and possibly fired for having sexual relations with one of our clients.

People finding out about our relationship was like opening a can of worms, there was never going to be a happy end where Benny keeps his ratings and I keep my job and live happily ever after in New York City. This was either going to end in tears, flying fists, or both of our lives spiraling back out of control. 

It's only a matter of time before it all starts . . .

and the King gets cornered.

*~* Ending it with a cliffhanger and angst. 🤩🤩Oooh I'm so excited for this little mini-series I'm making: not really sure how long it's gonna be, but expect at least three parts. I got carried away with this one, a little longer than the others but worth it! *~*

*~* As for Tale of Absinthe, TBH I haven't touched it much I've been working on this 😓. But I will be able to get a few chapters done if I can manage to pull myself away from writing these little shorts. 😅😅 It's addictive! *~*