Goldengirl

‘This has been good for me,’ she continued. ‘Out on that track, I was coming to terms with myself. There was a moment in that four hundred when I realised the first two girls had got away, and I was fighting for the last place on the team. I was in desperate trouble, but I had a fantastic sensation of power. Not in my legs; they were dragging. In my head. For the first time in my life, I controlled my own destiny. And other people’s. There was nothing Doc, Pete, Sammy or anyone but me with my two stupid tired legs could do to get that place. If I chose, I could ease up a little and settle for fourth and they would have to watch helpless while all their plans, all that cash, fizzled in front of their eyes. There’s no money at all to speak of in an Olympic double. It’s been done so many times. The triple is the only one that counts. So there I was with this marvelous feeling of self-determination. It was as good as adrenalin. And when I got it, I knew I wanted more, so I had to get that third place.’

‘Just for yourself,’ said Dryden.

‘You bet. It’s something I’d never experienced, never even thought about before, carrying people’s hopes. Jack, I like it. I like the feeling that I could get to the Finals in Moscow with the whole of America watching me and if I chose, I could win, but just as easily I could’ — she paused, considering, then laughed — ‘I could stop running and pee on the track to show how much I care about gold medals.’

‘What an idea!’ said Dryden, trying to treat it casually. ‘Look, you’re undermining my confidence.’

‘That’s why I’m saying it. Nobody can take Goldengirl for granted any more. She’s not an automaton. She’s an independent human spirit. You think I’m feverish? I’ll tell you another thing. Coming up the home stretch I knew I could beat Janie Canute. I can take anyone on a dip finish. All I had to do was stay close up. She’s a Jesus Freak — I suppose you know. Real charitable. I talked to her earlier in the week. You wouldn’t meet a more generous-hearted girl. Really, there’s nothing to dislike in her unless you have a hangup about religious people. But in that final 100 metres of the race I felt quite savage toward her. A cat-and-mouse thing, letting her steal a few inches ahead, knowing all the time I was dominant. When you run shoulder to shoulder with someone there’s a special kind of intimacy between you. And if you’re the one with the whip hand, hmm, that’s fabulous. Ugly, maybe, but an experience I savored. Relished, even. Now you know the kind of person I am. I’m discovering myself as I go on with this.’

‘You’re sure it is yourself?’

‘What do you mean?’

He chose his words judiciously. ‘You seem to be suggesting that this experience revealed your true nature. I’m not sure that this is so. It could be the first chance you’ve had to release some inner tensions.’

Scornfully, she snapped back, ‘Don’t talk like Sammy. It doesn’t carry conviction. Are you telling me I’m basically a sweet little girl, not mean at all?’

He answered with a generalization. ‘In top-class sports it’s unusual to be friendly with your rivals. You can make a show of it, shake hands with them before the race, but inside you’re hoping they drop dead on the track.’

‘I know. The killer instinct,’ she said in a bored voice. ‘Now tell me that’s just something you put on, like track shoes.’

Dryden shook his head. ‘I know plenty of sports stars, remember. As personalities, they differ a lot. They have one thing in common: when they’re down to the wire, they are ruthless, Goldine, ruthless. It takes an experience like the one you had yesterday to discover that.’

She laughed. ‘You’re a smart talker, Jack. What am I supposed to do — shout Eureka, I have the essential quality of a champion? You don’t have to preach to me. I’ve had a bellyful of therapy. I’m on another trip now. Self-discovery. I’ll let you know how it works out.’

Seventeen

Pan Am Flight 164 was three hours into its five-and-a-half-hour schedule between Los Angeles and New York. From his pile of papers in the First Class bay of the Boeing 747, Dryden picked up a copy of Sportscene that had caught his eye on the bookstand at L.A. International Airport. It was dated August 1. Instead of the usual baseball player, the cover photo featured the shapelier back view of a girl athlete, her face turned to glance over her shoulder, a bright-eyed, confident look, framed in soft brown hair. She was in the blue-and-white strip-costume of East Germany. The picture was artfully cut off at the thighs to focus attention on the tightly stretched white shorts. The creases on view were not in the fabric. The caption read: URSULA KRÜLL: ‘MOSCOW IS MINE.’

He turned to the cover story.