Five

Soft jazz music played in the background when I was ushered into the oval office twenty minutes later.

I wandered around the room, finally stopping to admire a painting of George Washington that hung next to an antique grandfather clock.

"I'm very sorry to hear about your wife," said the Jack.

I turned around, and there he was, standing next to his desk. He looked for all the world like a friend at a funeral, not really knowing what to say at all.

"Thanks," I said quietly.

There was an awkward pause, and then the Jack moved firmly to the cabinet on the opposite side of room, pulling out a chess board.

"Do you play?" he asked.

"Sure," I said. We set up the board without a word. He took white.

"I liked your little slogan," he said.

I didn't answer.

"You ever write before?" he asked.

"Not really," I said, moving my bishop.

"Hmm," he responded, enigmatically.

He leaned over the board, and with the soft clunk of wood on wood, he shifted his attack slightly.

I hung a pawn, hoping he would get back on the right track, but he missed the cue. I liked games that played out neatly, efficiently, but he seemed insistent on forcing himself upon the wrong side of my board.

As I kept playing, he became increasingly aggressive with his attacks.

A good player would have rolled with it, of course, but I was still fixed on steering him in the right direction. In the end, I sacrificed too many pieces trying to correct the game that he was able to mate me easily.

He stood up. "Good game," he said, sticking out his hand, "I'll see you Monday."

And with a firm handshake, my fate was decided.