Goldengirl

‘From the amount I’ve talked since I got here, I wouldn’t have thought anyone in this room could doubt it.’

‘Do you feel strongly about women’s rights, Goldine?’

‘Not so strongly as I feel about men’s wrongs. You’re asking me if I’m a feminist. Some years back, a famous woman sprinter was asked something like that. They wanted to know why she wore a bra under her trackshirt if she believed in women’s lib. You know what she answered? Because I don’t want two black eyes. I like that story. Do you have another question?’

‘Yes.’ Dryden did. For some minutes he had speculated on the way Goldengirl dealt with questions. This was a long shot, but worth trying. ‘Do you think commercialism is destroying the spirit of the Olympic Games?’

‘The spirit of the Olympic Games?’ repeated Goldine. ‘You mean the ideas of that little French guy who set them up? Isn’t that something like the important thing is taking part, not winning?’

Dryden pressed his question. ‘Is commerce a threat to those ideals?’

‘I can’t say I know much about commerce,’ answered Goldine. ‘If it means reading the Wall Street—’ She stopped. The elation in her expression was supplanted first by a frown, then unmistakable fear. For a moment it looked as if she might flee the platform, but Serafin put his hand firmly over her wrist.

‘She has given her answer. She knows nothing about these things, Mr. Dryden, but we thank you for your question. Do we have another now?’

‘Do you have a special diet?’ the machine faithfully chanted.

Serafin turned to Goldine with a paternal smile. She let her breath out slowly as if a crisis was past. The confidence seeped back. ‘Nothing most Americans would call special, though I guess what we eat is different from caviar and things. I like to have a balanced intake of food, and I take vitamins occasionally like everyone else, but I don’t have fads, like living only on wheat germ.’

‘Another,’ ordered Serafin. This conference was going on till she had delivered enough good responses to erase the breakdown on Dryden’s question.

‘Do you have any message for the people back home in America?’ Dr. Lee’s finger was keeping strictly to the easy end of the controls.

‘Gee, I’m not used to speaking to America at large. Just say I’m happy if my running pleased them. Does anyone else have a question?’

‘Yeah. What are your plans for this evening, Goldengirl?’

‘This evening?’ For a second the repetition suggested she had been thrown again, but it wasn’t so. She was fully in command, as she demonstrated by raising an eyebrow, smiling, getting to her feet and putting a hand up to shield her eyes as she peered into the limbo beyond the lights. ‘I’ve nothing arranged. Get yourself stilts, mister, and you might have a date.’

It was a smart payoff, relished by all but one of the audience. Goldine could not have known the question came from the shortest man in the room: Gino Valenti.

Six

In the highly charged last minutes of the simulation session Dryden had been so absorbed watching Goldengirl that Melody had to tap him twice on the arm to get a response. The conference had been rounded off with the meticulous observance of detail that had characterised it from the start: Lee had formally thanked Serafin and Goldine for appearing, they had posed briefly in the flashlights, and their exit had cued in the press in full chorus.

‘Show’s over,’ Melody pointed out. ‘No second show.’

Dryden offered her a cigarette. ‘Is this a regular thing?’

‘She’s done a few before. Wasn’t that obvious? It’s the first I’ve watched in weeks. Her technique’s right on, I’d say, but she flubbed that second question of yours. They won’t like that one bit.’

‘You mean I fouled it up?’ Dryden innocently said.

‘It’s not important,’ Melody assured him. ‘They’ll work on it with Goldengirl. Seems you located a fault. They should be grateful. She won’t, but she doesn’t know it came from you, so it shouldn’t downgrade you. I see you liked her.’

And Dryden saw that Melody wasn’t pleased. He drew thoughtfully on his cigarette. ‘I admired her style, but I got the impression it was slightly out of character, almost as if she was high on something. Would that be an accurate reading?’

‘Couldn’t say, lover boy. They said Marilyn Monroe was a dumb broad till she got in front of a camera. It could be that flashbulbs are Goldengirl’s turn-on.’

‘They wouldn’t do anything for me,’ commented Dryden. ‘I go for soft lights and music every time. What’s next on the program?’

‘Nothing for an hour,’ said Melody. ‘I was thinking maybe you and I—’ She stopped.

Serafin had approached from behind and placed his hands on their shoulders. ‘I hate to break this up, but I thought you might welcome an opportunity to take a stroll in the fresh air, Mr. Dryden. I should be interested to have your impressions of what you have just observed — if you will forgive us, Melody.’

She gave a forced smile. ‘Why not?’