Chapter 9

           “Givemeatequilasunrise,”shesaid.Theclockoverthebarpointedtotwelve-thirty,andtherewasagroupoffourAmericanwomenatoneofthetablesatthefarendoftheroomeatinglunch.Bethhadnoteatenbreakfast,butshedidnotwantlunch.

           “Conmuchogusto,”thebartendersaid.

           Theawardsceremonywasattwo-thirty.Shedrankthroughitinthebar.Shewouldbefourthplace,ormaybefifth.Thetwowhohaddoneagrandmasterdrawtogetherwouldbeaheadofherwithfiveandahalfpointseach.Borgovhadsix.Herscorewasfive.Shehadthreetequilasunrises,atetwohard-boiledeggsandshiftedtobeer.DosEquis.Ittookfourofthemtomakethepaininherstomachgoaway,toblurthefuryandshame.Evenwhenitbegantoease,shecouldstillseeBorgov’sdark,heavyfaceandcouldfeelthefrustrationshehadfeltduringtheirmatch.Shehadplayedlikeanovice,likeapassive,embarrassedfool.

           Shedrankalot,butshedidnotgetdizzy,andherspeechdidnotslurwhensheordered.Thereseemedtobeakindofinsulationaroundherthatkepteverythingatadistance.Shesatatatableatoneendofthecocktailloungewithherglassofbeer,andshedidnotgetdrunk.

           Atthreeo’clocktwoplayersfromthetournamentcameintothebar,talkingquietly.Bethgotupandwentstraighttoherroom.

           Mrs.Wheatleywaslyinginbed.Shehadahandonherheadwiththefingersdugintoherhairasthoughshehadaheadache.Bethwalkedovertothebed.Mrs.Wheatleydidnotlookright.Bethreachedoutandtookherbythearm.Mrs.Wheatleywasdead.