I wove my hands together like hairy tarantulas.  I was worried I might not tell the story just right or get the answer I wanted to hear.  The secretary smiled at me as if the shine from my bald head reminded her of a camera flash.  I nodded and slouched back in my seat, wiggling my toes around in my shoes.  I didn’t have to wait long.  Dr. Reid came out wearing a suit I could never pull off and offered me his hand.

            “Hi, George, I’m Dr. Reid.”  I stood up awkwardly and pulled my wrinkled shirt back over my hips.  I wiped my hand on my side and shook his rather quickly. 

            “Hi, I’m George.”  Dr. Reid opened the door to his office and I followed him inside.  I sat on a leather couch and he in an ergonomic chair by a mammoth, mahogany desk.

            “So let’s start off by getting comfortable,” he said like I imagined a psychologist might.  I nodded.

            “Could I just tell you my story – get this over with – please?  I’d feel a lot more comfortable that way.”  Dr. Reid nodded.  He had nice teeth.

            “Go right ahead.  I’m here to listen.”

            “Okay so …” I focussed on a bookshelf behind him and began to talk.

            “I met Brad at a gaming convention in 1973; he was an up-and-coming chess star at the time – you know I bet he’d have made top five nationals.  Anyway, we were friends by the end of the event – maybe he had a soft spot for the underdog.  Turns out he worked in the same office building as me – he wrote for a newspaper and I – well … the point is – we worked in the same building.”  I took a second to breathe and collected my thoughts.  “You might ask if Brad was the kind of gamer who’d stab someone in the back.  Well, I’d say he’d stab you in the forehead.  But come ‘checkmate’ he’d have you laughing.  He was that good.”

            “Anyway, Brad had a horrible wife – they fought like demons – she was a lawyer and he was just competitive about everything.  It always worked out though because he didn’t take her temper seriously – and boy did she have a temper.  I saw her in court one time on TV and – well, geeze – you’re toast if she’s not on your side.

            “Well, there was this one time, Oh about ten years ago.  We met every Friday to play – the Last Reich, Chess – all the big ones.  So this time Brad picked me up from work.  He warned me that she was angry – Jean, that is.  He really didn’t have to – I could hear them fighting over the phone back at the booth outside the office.  Brad had hung up.  He said she’d probably take a swing at him when we got to the apartment – that I should walk a little ways down the hall behind him.  Well, no sooner had we shut the doors to the car in the parking lot outside their complex did we hear her shrill yell from six stories above us.

            ‘Brrrraad!’ she shrieked.  ‘You can eat your dinner a Hell of a ways away from me!’  And before we knew it she’d thrown something out of the window. 

            “At first it looked like a bird had dropped dead out of the sky and then the rushing, falling sound and a loud smack on the ground.  Brad had leaped out of the way and I was half-cowering behind the sedan. 

            ‘What the Hell was that?’ he asked.  Jean had disappeared inside.  I moved closer to inspect.   

            ‘That’s a steak,’ I said incredibly.  ‘She chucked a steak out of the window.’  And Brad let out a laugh.

            ‘She nearly hit me too,’ he said.  Brad picked up the steak by one end, juices dripping into an ugly puddle.

            “Walking down the hall towards their apartment, I looked uneasily at Brad and the steak.

            ‘Does she usually make gravy?’ I asked nervously.  Brad just laughed and knocked on the door.

            ‘Honey, it’s me!’ he called.  The steak juice was drawing a map on his arm, running down to his elbow.  Jean opened the door and just as he leaned in she slammed it shut.  ‘Wowee,’ he muttered, fumbling for his keys.

            ‘Hi George!’ I heard her yell at me from within.  I leaned in towards the door.

            ‘H-hi Jean,” I called back.

            ‘How are you?’ she asked.  I looked amazedly at Brad as he put his key in the lock.

            ‘George doesn’t like carrying on conversations across a wall,’ he said, opening the door.  Jean was standing there in velvet slippers and an apron with her arms crossed.

            ‘It’s a door doofus,’ she snarled.  And then she took my jacket.

            ‘That’s one way to tenderise a steak,’ commented Brad cheekily.

            ‘Throw that in the garbage, you idiot.  It was supposed to hit your head.’  Brad sighed good-naturedly and went into the kitchen.  Coming back out he lifted the phone from its cradle and looked at the two of us.

            ‘Pizza?’ he asked brightly.  Jean was setting the table.  I held my breath until she’d laid out the cutlery.

            “And there was the shortcake that splattered on the wall too, but we glued that together with Cool Whip and ate it after she’d stormed off.”  I glanced up at Dr. Reid whose pen was hovering over his notes.  Noting the sudden silence, he looked up.

            “That’s good.  That’s very interesting George.”  I smiled.  “You can continue when you’d like.”  I looked at the clock to my left and remembered I was paying him by the hour.

            “Brad didn’t like her hovering around when he had the guys over because she’d inevitably blow up.  Telling her this, though, was enough of a catalyst – she’d swear bloody murder sometimes and the guys would stare at the board, breaking into laughter or low whistles or exclamations when she was out of earshot.  They’d clap Brad on the back, scared to intervene – I heard once she sued someone for looking at her the wrong way.  I’ll bet she won too.

            “But I guess you’ve got a good idea about their situation now.  I’d better cut to where I figure in.”  Dr. Reid nodded.

            “Take it away, George,” he prompted dryly.  I swallowed a couple times and scratched my arm.

            “We were tossing greasy, battered onion rings onto the necks of empty win bottles down in the common room of Vancouver’s gaming club one afternoon when I told him I was going South to work up a better winning tally – maybe get enough confidence to go national if I did any good.  I thought it was quite far beneath him but I offered him the chance to come with me.  Now I’d venture to say it was good ol’ friendship that made him say yes, but I was sure surprised at the time.  The only hurdle was … he’d have to tell Jean he was leaving for a while – leaving for the game.  And she’d take up and down the wrong way if Einstein hadn’t already set it down in legal terms.

            “So he had me come along for moral support.  He’d tried this once before – leaving town for the game – and she’d nearly divorced him.  And that was a scary thought – he’d be sure to lose everything.  No, she’d probably leave him scratch ‘checkmate’ into his car and leave a toppled King on the dashboard – she hated that piece of garbage.

            “Well, let’s just say this time went in another direction.  But it wasn’t any more pleasant.  Brad broke the news after dinner and she went ballistic – stood up and shouted in his face till hers went blue and then backed him to the wall.  Brad went onto the balcony to escape her shouting and she followed him at a run.

            “She pushed him square in the chest, knocking the laugh out of him and sent him reeling back.  I saw his face as his back hit the balcony railing, mouth open but cheeky remark disappearing from his brain.  He closed his eyes shut and looked for the first time like he had to hide from her blows – his arms coiled up close to him and his face screwed up. 

            “And he fell.  Right over the railing.

            “Frozen there like a beaten child and then gone.  I didn’t even hear a scream.  Nothing.  Dead silence. 

            “And we all ran to look over the balcony – six floors down.

            “‘And that’s why I’m here.’  I sighed I think and Dr. Reid uncrossed his legs.

            ‘And what do you want me to help you with, George?’ he asked.  I laughed in surprise.  I thought it was obvious – from the tears, from my story – he was pushed off the damn balcony for God’s sake!  I took a shaky breath and looked at him quite seriously.

            ‘Dr. Reid, I need you to reassure me that there’s no way in Hell that woman can sue me.’