Goldengirl

‘Thanks. I wouldn’t care to be found here without an appointment. Isn’t she supposed to be in attendance when we...?’

‘Sure.’ She let the garment fall in a small heap at her feet. ‘There’s the rest of me — and Ingrid will come if I call her.’

‘Cozy.’ He hadn’t decided whether she was simply exhibitionistic, or under orders to reduce him to a slavering wreck. Either way, he would treat this like a minefield. He knew enough about the way the training camp was run to put sex with Goldengirl right out of the question. This was strictly an information-gathering exercise. He needed to satisfy himself that she was just as committed to the project as everyone claimed. It was pure chance that the first steps in securing confidences and making a sexual conquest were identical: humor the subject.

‘Possibly Ingrid wouldn’t hear you with the shower going,’ he suggested.

‘It’s a hypothesis,’ she said, passing so close as she crossed to the shower that he felt her warmth on his face. She pulled the shower guard fully open and stepped under the jets.

Dryden returned to the stool and talked from there, watching as she scooped her hair forward to let the water penetrate the back of her scalp. ‘I was looking at the schedule on the wall — before you showed up, that is. It looks tough to me. How do you stand it?’

She tossed the hair back, with the spray cascading on her neck and breasts. ‘This is a soft week. Taking it easy for San Diego tomorrow. I had three rewards and a facial.’

‘What’s a reward?’

She grinned, half stepping out of the shower, so that it played only on her back. With a strand of blond hair, she flicked water from her nipples, pinched into prominence by the cold. ‘Do you want a straight answer to that? For me, it’s time off, an hour to do as I please.’

‘I get the picture,’ said Dryden. ‘But how do you earn the rewards?’

‘Gee, you’re a suspicious guy!’ said Goldine, turning her back to him. ‘I earn them by working hard in training, reaching objectives.’

‘And if you don’t work hard?’

She dipped forward and slapped herself sharply on the bottom. ‘No reward. But I’m smart. I don’t cop out easy. There’s generally something to work for at the end of a day — a facial, a sauna, ultra-vi. Motivation — it’s a well-tried principle. There should be a towel hanging on the wardrobe rail. Would you be so kind?’

‘Don’t you ever rebel against it?’ He found the towel and prepared to hand it to her, but she was already out of the shower and turning for him to put it around her shoulders.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Tell them you’ve had enough — you want to be taken down to L.A. to see a movie or look at department stores?’

‘But I don’t,’ answered Goldine. ‘I want to win the Olympics three times over. I can watch movies for the rest of my life.’

And buy the stores, never mind what’s in them, she might have added.

‘You’re dedicated to it, then. What do you expect to get out of it — setting aside the Wall Street Journal for once?’

‘That’s unfair!’ she chided him, and tossed her hair, flicking water in his direction. ‘It’s my right. I was born to do this. I’m a natural.’

She said it in a categorical way that made him think of the Teutonic side of her parentage, but it didn’t irritate him. She had been brought up to believe in a birthright.

‘If you have a talent, why neglect it?’ she went on, and added as a taunt, ‘What’s yours?’

‘Making money for talented people. That’s why they sent for me.’

‘Name one.’

‘Have you heard of Jim Hansenburg?’

‘The Grand Prix driver?’ She picked a small towel off the rail and made a turban for her damp hair. ‘He’s a dream! You’ve actually spoken to him?’

‘I’m his agent,’ Dryden answered. ‘How did you hear of him up here?’

‘I have a portable TV in my bedroom. I get too tired at night to watch much, but I’ve seen him on ABC news. And that gasoline commercial. Could I get to meet a guy like that, do you think?’

‘After Moscow, who knows?’ said Dryden. ‘You could be into commercials yourself.’

She finished drying herself and wound the towel round her body. ‘I’d have to work on that. I get a little uptight about PR.’

‘You handled the press-simulation session this afternoon like a pro,’ said Dryden.

‘I have to be tuned in first,’ she said. ‘Maybe Sammy will help me.’

‘Sammy?’

‘Doc Lee. My shrink. Listen, I like talking to you. I’m due for a massage now. Sit in and talk some more.’ She opened the door Ingrid had come through. ‘This doubles for massage and facials.’ She led him into a narrower room with the same pinewood finish. Ingrid was standing beside a massage table in the center, pouring Huile Clarins from a large bottle into her cupped hand. ‘Mr. Dryden is going to talk to me as you do the rubbing, Ingrid,’ Goldine told her firmly. To Dryden, she added, ‘She’s a fantastic masseuse. We have all kinds of tone-up gear in the cupboard, but Ingrid’s hands beat them all.’ She unwrapped the towel and lay face down on the table, which was spread with a yellow blanket.