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“
Blanc
does
Sylvester
,
but
he
doesn
’
t
do
Donald
Duck
,
”
the
young
man
said
with
finality
.
He
turned
around
to
face
Beth
.
“
I
’
m
Tim
,
”
he
said
.
“
You
’
re
the
chess
player
.
”
Beth
let
the
smoke
out
.
“
That
’
s
right
.
”
“
You
’
re
the
U
.
S
.
Women
’
s
Champion
.
”
“
I
’
m
the
U
.
S
.
Open
Co
-
Champion
,
”
Beth
said
.
“
Sorry
.
It
must
be
a
trip
.
”
He
was
red
-
haired
and
thin
.
She
had
seen
him
sitting
in
the
middle
of
the
classroom
and
could
remember
his
soft
voice
when
they
recited
Russian
phrases
in
unison
.
“
Do
you
play
?
”
Beth
did
not
like
the
strain
in
her
voice
.
She
felt
out
of
place
.
She
should
either
go
home
or
call
Mrs
.
Wheatley
.
He
shook
his
head
.
“
Too
cerebral
.
You
want
a
beer
?
”
She
hadn
’
t
had
a
beer
since
Las
Vegas
,
a
year
before
.
“
Okay
,
”
she
said
.
She
started
to
get
up
from
the
floor
.
“
I
’
ll
get
it
.
”
He
pushed
himself
up
from
where
they
were
sitting
on
the
carpet
.
He
came
back
with
two
cans
and
handed
her
one
.
She
took
a
long
drink
.
During
the
first
hour
the
music
had
been
so
loud
that
conversation
was
impossible
,
but
when
the
last
record
ended
no
one
replaced
it
.
The
disk
on
the
hi
-
fi
against
the
far
wall
was
still
turning
,
and
she
could
see
the
little
red
lights
on
the
amplifier
.
She
hoped
no
one
would
notice
and
play
another
record
.
