Work Text:
January 1982
Walter considers himself a patient man. He has had a long career working with—and against—all kinds of people from all walks of life. Some may be more pleasant than others, but that’s part of the job.
Freddie, however, has been testing him for years. It seems he isn’t planning on changing that any time soon.
“You seriously expect me to work with these people?” he demands, gesticulating wildly. Walter hired him for these theatrics, but he wishes Freddie would wait for the camera to pull them out. “Who even are they? They’re fresh out of college? What have any of them ever accomplished?”
Walter takes a deep breath, and very deliberately does not reach for the nearest heavy object capable of inflicting blunt force trauma.
“They’re filming a documentary special. You’re going to watch them work and learn the process,” he says.
“About wrestling! This has nothing to do with chess,” Freddie huffs.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Freddie, but there are things other than chess that are worth reporting on,” Walter says firmly. “Wrestling or chess—it’s all sports journalism. I think you’ll be better able to learn the basics when you aren’t as well-versed in the topic.”
“The basics—" Freddie starts, and Walter thinks he might be about to have a heart attack. “I’m a household name. I’m a public figure! You can’t send me to fucking Minnesota and tell me to learn the basics!” He starts pacing. “And you’re barely paying me for it!”
Walter almost laughs, but he manages to hold it in. “You can’t really expect the same kind of money you’d get from winning a world championship at a job like this,” he said. “I know this is a difficult adjustment, but I offered you a job and you accepted it. As long as you work here, I’m in charge of you, not the other way around. I hope you’ll stick with it, because I think you could have a bright future here, and I think in the long-term, you could end up making a good amount of money. But first, you have to learn the ropes. That means starting from the bottom.”
“Starting from the bottom,” Freddie repeats, mocking, but at least he’s stopped shouting. “This is so—I’ve devoted my whole life to chess. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand that chess is important to you, and that devoting your life to it landed you here,” Walter says. “Go with the documentary crew. Learn how to tell a good story. Then we can talk about chess.”
It isn’t the last complaint he hears from Freddie before the trip, but Freddie goes, leaving Walter blissfully Freddie-free for three weeks. When he comes back, he’s quieter in his resentment.
Then, Walter starts taking Freddie with him on jobs. He assigns him scripts to write, and gives him feedback. When Freddie gets the hang of that, Walters puts him on a radio show, gives him only a few written guidelines, and lets him go wild. He sends Freddie to games of golf, poker, baseball, and finally chess, to sit silently with the commentators in the booth and learn from them. He can tell Freddie found it challenging, but he’s motivated—not by the games or the skills themselves, but on where they can take him. Slowly, Walter sees improvement.
Walter could have easily left Freddie to stew alone after Merano, only picking him up at the last moment to cause havoc in Bangkok. It would have made quite a spectacle, to be sure. But Walter was thinking big-picture. There would be more tournaments after Bangkok, and more money to be made from them. Why not invest in continuous spectacles for years to come?
Their flights and hotels in Bangkok have been booked, and advertising is ramping up in preparation for the big event. So, Walter is given the all-clear to unleash Freddie on the world. He starts giving him TV slots, letting him pick his destinations, his guests. He gives Freddie a film crew if he asks nicely. Walter has to hand it to him—he catches on quick.
Back in his office, Walter watches some unedited footage in order to direct the editors on what to keep and what to cut. This is what he likes best, really—he’s always preferred directing to being in front of the camera. It’s the US Open, just wrapping up, and before that evening Walter didn’t know there was a difference between the Open and the US Championship.
Even through the footage, Walter catches on to an interesting dynamic—usually, top level chess players would ignore TV reporters. But this isn’t just any TV reporter. Everyone there knows Freddie, by sight even if they haven’t personally met him. Players are starstruck. Freddie talks to anyone he pleases, asks questions while playing games, and usually manages to crush his opponents while getting them to say things they never would have said on camera otherwise. Walter marks down some timestamps to pull clips of some of those games to intersperse between interviews.
The best part, by far, is the gossip.
"How do you think you’re going to do in the last few rounds?” Freddie asks a short, stubby man with a very competitive score. “Anyone in particular you’re worried about?”
“Well…” the man hesitates.
“Come on, you can tell me. This won’t air until after the competition is over,” Freddie says, flashing a winning grin.
The chess player laughs, and gives him some names.
“Miller? No way. He’s pretty good, but his midgame is absolute garbage,” Freddie says. “You can take him.”
The man looks hopeful. “You think?”
“I’m shocked he even made it this far,” Freddie says. “Hey, if I’m right, you have to buy me a drink, okay?”
It just goes on like that. Somehow, Freddie has gone from being lambasted by the press for his inflammatory remarks to being able to say whatever he wants with no repercussions. The viewers love it—his numbers are only rising, bringing in a large audience of people who have never even looked at a chessboard before. His brash personality hasn’t changed, but the focus of the piece has.
None of that means he won’t blow up in Bangkok—that will be when Freddie becomes a complete wild card. Walter doesn’t have a guess as to what will happen, but he knows he’s going to get it all on camera.