Goldengirl

‘When are you leaving, Mr. Dryden?’ Lee asked. Two tables had been pushed together to accommodate everyone. Lee was diagonally opposite, so the question was heard all round.

‘Probably tomorrow,’ Dryden answered. ‘I’ll be calling Mahlon Sweet Airport this afternoon to make a reservation.’

‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ Serafin airily said. ‘Melody can fix it. Now that she’s through transcribing notes on the Trials, she’s looking for something to occupy her again, aren’t you, my dear?’

A look of laser intensity passed between Melody and her employer.

‘If you’d mentioned it to me, I would have stopped over,’ said Valenti, winking archly.

Melody selected a breadroll of the long variety from the basket and wrung it savagely in half.

Sternberg laughed. ‘What do you say to that, Gino, apart from “ouch”?’

‘I have no trouble making it with girls,’ said Valenti, unamused.

Armitage cued in Dryden. They had conferred over a pre-lunch drink. ‘Look, I’m leaving right after this. Is there anything else to settle?’

‘I think not,’ Serafin started to say.

‘Really?’ said Dryden. ‘You cleared up the mystery over Goldine’s physical condition?’

‘What’s that?’ said Cobb at once.

‘You heard about that?’ said Serafin, eyeing Dryden nervously.

‘Observed it,’ Dryden smoothly answered. ‘I mean, it was obvious she wasn’t totally fit yesterday. I take it you’ve established the cause. A muscle strain, perhaps?’

Serafin hesitated, as if deciding whether a quick affirmation might get by, but the pause itself defeated him. ‘We’re not entirely sure. She complained of some sluggishness in the limbs after the Semi-Final of the 400 metres, and it seems to have affected her performance yesterday. Fortunately, she did enough to qualify, but you are right — she was not at her best. I have no explanation to offer yet. I simply assure you, gentlemen, I shall investigate this at the first opportunity.’

‘When will that be?’ asked Dryden.

‘Tomorrow, when we arrive at the new training camp.’

‘Why not before?’ asked Cobb, quick to pick up the point. ‘If there’s anything the matter, it should be looked at now.’

‘Let’s not get this out of proportion,’ said Serafin, taking off his glasses to polish them. ‘She ran slightly below our expectation, but she still did all that was necessary. All athletes occasionally run below form. The human body is not an automobile; it has a complex metabolism. There could be scores of possible explanations. Something in the diet, perhaps. The onset of a cold. Some mild infection. Things that wouldn’t disturb you or me in the least can take the edge off the running of a top-class athlete.’

Lee at once took up the thread: ‘The physical sensations could be psychosomatic. Goldengirl is unaccustomed to the strain of competition. In six days there’s quite a buildup of tension.’

‘Okay,’ said Cobb in his easygoing way. ‘Maybe it’s physical, maybe not. You’re the people who can tell. I’m not making an issue out of this, but it seems to me if there was something wrong with the girl yesterday, there’s no sense waiting forty-eight hours before you check it out. Why the holdup?’

‘I should have thought that was obvious,’ Serafin peevishly replied. ‘Goldengirl is getting a lot of attention from the press just now. We don’t want stories circulating that she is having medical attention. That wouldn’t help Mr. Dryden’s campaign one bit.’

‘You’re right there,’ admitted Dryden. ‘But does this have to be done in a way that alerts the press? You’re her father. You have the right to visit her and spend some time alone with her. The press are constantly juggling schedules. I’m sure we can slot the physical in without creating undue interest.’

‘If you really think so,’ said Serafin dubiously.

‘I’m with Mr. Cobb on this,’ Dryden went on. ‘I think the important thing is to establish the reason why Goldine ran below her best yesterday. If it was something in her food, or a virus, surely your chance of locating it is better today than tomorrow? I’d like to think she’s going to Moscow without the possibility of a sudden loss of form. What happens there matters more than all the publicity here.’

‘Very well,’ said Serafin, replacing his glasses. ‘I’ll visit her after this.’

The conversation shifted to the arrangements for the day Goldine was to spend in Los Angeles meeting the press and touring TV studios. Valenti had ideas to secure maximum attention: a presidential-style welcome, with a band and majorettes. He wasn’t pleased when it was pointed out that a publicity backup on that scale didn’t square with the amateur image. ‘So what does an amateur athlete rate?’ He demanded hotly, ‘— the Mormon Tabernacle Choir?’

Sternberg, too, favored something spectacular. ‘To go over big, you need an angle,’ he said. ‘Like, for instance, she meets that dame you told us about, won all the medals in Los Angeles. That Babe. They meet by chance on the plane and come down the steps together. Two golden girls. How about that?’

‘Babe Didrikson died in 1956,’ said Serafin flatly.