Goldengirl

Ingrid was sitting alone in a TV lounge adjoining the student common room on the University campus. Dr. Serafin had told her to keep well away from the stadium after she had carried out his instructions. Her steps had taken her through the deserted campus. She had passed the common room, noticed that it was open, and looked inside. It was all right to go in there; Goldine had taken her there for a coffee after the massage. So she had walked through to this empty room, with comfortable chairs and a TV. ‘Be inconspicuous,’ Serafin had said.

On NBC, they were showing the Trials.

‘...took the bar off with her heels,’ the commentator was saying as the screen showed a high-jumper in slow motion upended inelegantly on the air cushion. ‘Dani won’t be pleased with that. You really can’t afford to leave your legs trailing in this style. That’s reduced it to three, then: the two Crown Cities girls and Janis Nelson.’

A switch of cameras brought a close-up of shapely buttocks encased in gold stretch-nylon.

Ingrid frowned.

‘The girls are testing their blocks prior to the 200-metres Final, which gives us a chance to take another look at this tall, attractive blonde they’re already calling the greatest find in years, Goldine Serafin, winner of the 100 metres, now seeking to add to her tally with the first of two appearances in finals this afternoon. In Monday’s Quarter-Final, Goldine destroyed a brilliant field and set a new U.S. record for this event with twenty-two point seventy-two seconds, and although her Semi-Final earlier this afternoon was a little slower at just outside twenty-three, I can’t see anyone threatening her, can you, Herb?’

‘No, Dave. She’s the girl in form. She looks unbeatable. I just hope she can hold this form till one month from now in Moscow, because she’s going to give Ursula Krüll one hell of a shock if she runs anything like she has this week in Eugene.’

‘Thanks, Herb. Let’s take a look at the rest of the line-up as they go to their positions. That’s Jean Shadick, one of the two white girls in this Final, and the youngest in the race, at seventeen. Fifth in the 100-metre dash. A good run here might clinch a place for Jean in the relay squad. Debbie Jackson, the girl in green, disappointed a little in the hundred, but came through with a second place in the Semi-Final this afternoon. Number two ten is Shelley Wilson, the fastest qualifier, with a twenty-two point ninety-three, and candidly, the one girl in this event who looks remotely, capable of matching Goldine Serafin. Second in the hundred, she regards the two hundred as her strong event. In your picture now, Jo Carroll, a sophomore at Tennessee State, unlucky not to make the Final in the shorter of the two dash events, eager to join that relay squad if she can. One seventy-eight, the familiar figure of Mary-Lou Devine, undefeated last season, finding it tougher this Olympic year, but already assured of her place in the one hundred line-up for Moscow. But no question who the favorite for this event must be: the Runaway Blonde, Goldine Serafin. She has the outside lane this time, so I don’t think she’ll be seeing too much of the opposition. How do you dig those gold pants?’

She was shown in close-up, lifting her feet to check that her spikes were clear of mud, then tossing back her hair, almost white in the low-angled sunlight.

‘The sort of girl you only see in commercials,’ said the commentator’s sidekick. ‘Each time she comes in focus, I expect to hear violins playing.’

‘On your marks,’ said the starter’s voice.

‘In lane order, then,’ came in the commentator. ‘Number 181, Shadick; 182, Jackson; 210, Wilson; 176, Carroll; 178, Devine; 188, Serafin. The 200 metres Final.’

‘Set.’

A long shot of the six girls in the hunkered regimentation of the start.

The shot.

‘Away first time, and Serafin gets another bullet start Wilson looks good in lane three, but it’s the Bakersfield blonde who’s running clean away again. Coming off the bend, the rest are making no impression on the stagger. Into the stretch, it’s Serafin out alone. But Shelley Wilson’s moving up with a late run. She’s cutting back the lead. It’s going to be close. Here she comes! On the line, Serafin! Snatching it on the dip. Wow, that was closer than she expected, I’ll bet. Devine third, Jackson fourth. The time, Herb?’

‘Just outside twenty-three seconds.’

‘Confirming what we saw for ourselves, that Shelley Wilson was running close to her best, but Goldine Serafin isn’t quite the runner we saw earlier in the week. She was tying up in that last fifty metres, understandably showing the strain of a very active week. This must raise doubts of her ability to hold off Janie Canute in the four hundred, but now let’s take a look at that finish in slow motion.’

Ingrid switched to Tom and Jerry.

‘You okay, chick?’ asked Debbie Jackson. ‘You don’t look so good.’