Goldengirl

Melody was at his shoulder. ‘With cream?’

‘Thanks.’

‘Make mine black,’ said Valenti, in case he was not asked.

The coffee was waiting on a hotplate, fresh enough to underline the precision of the schedule.

‘You like it?’ said Serafin, seating himself near Dryden. ‘We decided a few comforts were justifiable with staff working up here for weeks on end. I expect you wonder about the power supply. We have our own generating plant working on gasoline. You need heat at this altitude, even in midsummer.’

‘That’s for sure,’ chimed in Melody, handing him a mug of coffee. ‘I couldn’t survive without my electric blanket.’

‘You’d find a way,’ Valenti dryly informed her.

Before she could produce an adequate reply, the door behind them opened.

‘Ah, Peter,’ said Serafin. ‘Do come and meet our guests. Peter Klugman is Goldengirl’s principal coach,’ he told Dryden.

The newcomer approached at a brisk step, heavy on the carpet. He was wearing a Cornell blazer with gray flannels pressed to a razor crease. Large in build, he manifested fastidiousness in a series of precisely defined lines — hair parting, sideburns, blazer edging, the diagonal stripes on his tie, and the set of his mouth.

‘Peter D. Klugman,’ he said unnecessarily as he gripped Dryden’s hand.

‘Peter was a track coach on the last U.S. Olympic team,’ said Serafin.

‘Sprints and relays,’ Klugman confirmed.

‘You’re a Cornell man, I see,’ said Dryden.

‘That’s so. Class of sixty-five. I was captain of track.’

‘He should have made the Olympic team,’ said Melody, linking her arm in Klugman’s. ‘Tell Mr. Dryden about your bad luck, Pete.’

Klugman made a show of reluctance by shaking his head, then went on to say, ‘I was an AAU finalist three years in a row. In sixty-eight I was clocking forty-four regular, but I turned my ankle in the heats of the final Olympic Tryout. Achilles tendon. Zapped me. That was the year the U.S. took gold, silver and bronze in Mexico City.’

‘Tough,’ said Valenti without a trace of sympathy. ‘So you got into coaching.’ He held out a hand to Klugman. ‘Myself, I’m in pharmaceuticals. Gino Valenti.’

Before the rundown could begin on the U.S. drug industry, Serafin left them, saying he had arrangements to make. He would leave them in Miss Fryer’s capable hands.

Valenti took over. ‘Sit down,’ he told the coach. ‘Tell us how Goldengirl is making out. Get Mr. Klugman a coffee, Melody, and top mine up while you’re about it. What do you say, Klugman? Are you satisfied with the kid?’

‘She’s still mobile,’ said Klugman guardedly.

Valenti wasn’t settling for that. ‘Let’s lay it out, shall we? Does she have the gold-medal look? That’s what Dryden here needs to know. Serafin gives a great account of her pedigree, but you’re the guy in the know. What it comes down to is, can she run good?’

‘She ought to hold up,’ said Klugman.

‘Christ, she’d better!’ rapped out Valenti. ‘I got seventy-five grand on this already.’

‘Cool it,’ cautioned Melody. ‘If Pete says she’ll hold up, that’s fine. He isn’t given to exaggeration.’

‘You can check her out yourself at San Diego tomorrow,’ Klugman pointed out.

‘You bet I will,’ said Valenti. ‘I like a pretty story as well as the next guy, but on the day it’s the fastest dame who grabs the gold.’

‘Don’t underrate the story line,’ Melody said, handing Valenti his coffee. ‘Goldengirl won’t make it big just by running fast. You need an angle, don’t you, Mr. Dryden?’

He was glad the point had come up. It gave him the chance to sow doubts which could usefully surface later. ‘You’re so right. The news value of a good piece of running is practically nil. Okay, she’s a pretty girl, and that helps a little. She does something extraordinary — wins three gold medals. Great, but in twenty-four hours that story is dead unless something is there to sustain it.’

‘A backup,’ said Melody with a pointed smile at Valenti.

‘Okay, okay, so Serafin pitches in with his line on Goldengirl’s background,’ said Valenti. ‘In-depth analysis. Grandmother with her gold medal. Mother’s tragic accident. Great copy. They’ll love it.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Dryden. ‘What counts commercially, of course, is that the story matches up to the American dream. You don’t want adverse publicity. To be frank, I’m not completely confident of the value of Goldengirl’s story in promotional terms.’

‘Her unmarried mother, you mean?’ Melody inquired.

Valenti laughed derisively. ‘That’s immaterial,’ he crooned. ‘These days people don’t give a monkey’s whether your parents did it legitimate. That couldn’t hurt Goldengirl.’ He turned to Dryden. ‘What’s bugging you, then?’