“I have not mentioned it to her yet,” Jago admits. “First, I must explore the possibility with the Board of Regents. I meet with them tomorrow, in fact. I believe that I will be able to persuade them to make an exception for her. She does not have the necessary academic qualifications, but she is, after all, a member of the United States Olympic Team. That should count for something.”
“Why should they make an exception for her? Hell, I was on the Olympic Team, but I still had to get in on my grades.”
“Yes, but you had the advantage…”
“Daddy had nothing to do with it,” Jillian snaps, whirling to face Jago angrily. “I’m so goddamn sick of people thinking that Daddy got me into SMU just because he gives them so much money. I worked my ass off in high school, and I got damn good grades, and…”
“Please,” Jago interrupts soothingly, “you are being entirely too defensive. I was merely going to say that you had the advantage of having attended high school.”
Jillian is briefly puzzled, and then it hits her. “You mean…”
Jago nods. “Sunshine has never attended high school. She has no formal education of any kind, for that matter. So she has no grades, no transcripts, no standardized test scores, no recommendations from guidance counselors…”
“Jesus.”
“So it will require a special action of the Board of Regents for her to matriculate. Which, under the circumstances, I believe they will approve. Oh, and did I tell you,” he adds, shifting gears, “that Giancarlo wishes to meet with you?”
“Giancarlo D’Antani?”
“You know another Giancarlo, perhaps?”
“He’s here in the States?” Jillian smiles. “What does he want to see me about?”
“He is in New York. Or, rather,” Jago amends, glancing at his watch, “he is winging his way here ‘even as we speak,’ as you Americans are so fond of saying. I am to pick him up at DFW at noon. And he did not share with me the purpose of his visit. I assume that he wishes to determine the condition of his employer’s investment,” Jago says, nodding to indicate that Jillian is the endangered investment in question. “Falconi stock probably lost twenty points when that silly Sports Illustrated article reached Italy.”
“Not Gianni.” Jillian eases herself into the remaining empty chair in the small room. “He doesn’t give a shit about the financial stuff, you know that. He just… Do you remember…” – she interrupts herself, her eyes dancing – “…the time when he actually wanted me to ride the bike leg with a live falcon perched on my handlebars? Jesus. And when he launched all those balloons and they didn’t have enough helium in them or something, and all of a sudden there’s all these balloons floating on the lake – big yellow balloons with ‘Falconi’ written all over them – and everybody’s going crazy trying to swim through them, and they’re exploding all over the place? Do you remember that?” She giggles.
“As I recall, you did not find it so amusing at the time.”
“I didn’t know what the hell was going on. I thought somebody was shooting at me.”
“Hopefully,” Jago says, dryly, “he is not planning to do anything quite so… creative, shall we say?… at the Olympics. I am confident that the IOC would not be amused. And I’m not at all certain that the police in Qen Phon would appreciate his sense of humor, either. They are not noted for their levity.”
“Is it really as repressive over there as Akaso says it is?”
Jago looks puzzled. “Akaso…?”
“Akaso Siko. The boy who started that fight at my party? You remember – Daddy had to punch his lights out. You were there, weren’t you?”
“I did not witness the incident myself, but I have heard about it. Quite a few times. The story gets wilder each time someone relates it to me. Soon, I expect to be told that your father single-handedly foiled an invasion of suicidal terrorists armed with machine guns and grenade launchers. And frankly,” he adds, “all I know of Qen Phon is what I see on the news, the same as you.”
“But you watch the news a whole lot more than I do,” Jillian points out. “All I really know about Qen Phon is from those pamphlets that Akaso was giving out. Which, I have a hunch, might not have been exactly… impartial? Is that the word I’m looking for? Is it as bad as he says it is?”
Jago shrugs. “Qen Phon is a military dictatorship ruled by a general named Tanami. It is not a democracy, and it may well be somewhat repressive. As I recall, Tanami took control many years ago to prevent communists from coming to power. Your friend Akaso may well be a communist, for all I know.”
“So they got a military dictatorship instead of a communist dictatorship,” Jillian observes. “Not much of a difference, I guess.”
“You would not say that,” Jago says, icily, “if you had ever had the misfortune to live under a communist dictatorship.”
“Oh, Jesus, Jago, I’m sorry,” Jillian says, contritely. She touches him lightly on his arm. Before he looks away, she sees a flash of anger in his eyes. Damn, she thinks, why did I have to go and say that? I know how sensitive he is about the communists. God knows I’ve listened to enough of his stories about the things they did to him in Czechoslovakia.
And they’re sitting silently in the awkward moment that follows Jillian’s hurried apology, and she’s trying to think of what she can say to ease the tension when the door to her room opens slowly to admit the attendant who, to Jillian’s dismay, wheels in the ungainly instrument of torture that Jillian knows as a rowing machine.
3.2.12: Frisco
“I have devised an absolutely brilliant plan,” Giancarlo D’Antani says. He holds out his hands with a flourish, as if he’s already accepting the accolades that his announcement is certain to evoke.
Jillian rolls her eyes, but she grins in spite of herself. Gianni is so much more flamboyant than anyone else she knows that sometimes she thinks that he’s not just from another country but an entirely different planet. She knows that he’s waiting for her to beg him to reveal the details of his “absolutely brilliant plan,” but she also knows that feigning indifference is the best way to speed the process along.
“It is exceptionally clever,” D’Antani adds, and Jillian can tell that he’s wounded that she hasn’t nibbled on the bait. “Even for me.”
Jillian wonders if she should order another latte – that would be a lot of coffee for this late in the day – but after all that terrible hospital coffee, another Starbucks skinny latte is an irresistible idea. And the thought of letting Gianni dangle for a couple of minutes is kind of fun, too. “Hold that thought,” she says, as she pushes back her chair…
But Jago motions for her to remain seated. “I will get it for you,” he says. “Although I must question the wisdom of ingesting so much caffeine so late in the day. Sunshine?” He glances across the table at the fourth member of the group. “More tea?”
“No thank you, Coach Danziger, that’s very thoughtful of you, but…”
“Please,” D’Antani says, waving away the conversation. “G.W. Kendal will arrive to… to retrieve, is that the word? I believe so, Jillian’s father will arrive to retrieve his daughter quite soon, and then Miss O’Malley and I must leave for the airport, all of which gives us little time to discuss the details of the promotional tour that Falconi Internazionale, in the person of Giancarlo D’Antani” – he pats himself on the chest for identification, or perhaps for emphasis – “has arranged for you to undertake.”
“You mean after the Olympics? Sort of my gold-medal victory tour?” Jillian grins. “Shouldn’t you oughta wait until after the race? I mean, who knows, somebody might slash my tires again…”
But D’Antani is shaking his head. “No, no, you misunderstand. I do not mean after the Olympics. I mean before the Olympics. Right now. Today.”
“Today! Are you for real? I’ve been out of the hospital for what, an hour? And besides…”
“Forgive me, I spoke – how do you say – metaphorically. Is that the word?”
Me
taphorically? Jillian shakes her head in amazement. Sometimes Gianni seems to struggle for an English word, but every once in a while he unleashes a corker that makes her wonder if his occasional language impairment is just part of his act, something to make him come across as more… well, more foreign. More mysterious.
“According to the plan,” D’Antani says, consulting a phone that he withdraws from a jacket pocket, “you are not actually scheduled to leave on the tour until…” – he scrolls the schedule back and forth with a forefinger, studying it as intently as if it were some kind of mathematical table that he can interpret only with great concentration, then he smiles and looks up at Jillian, his eyes sparkling – “…tomorrow.”
“Gianni, for God’s sake, be serious.”
“Ah, but I am serious Jillian. You leave for Atlanta tomorrow. See?” He holds up his phone and points to a line of text on the screen, which, from Jillian’s distance, is entirely unintelligible. “But please, allow me to explain.”
“Jago? Is he for real?”
“In his own unique way, Jillian,” Jago confirms, as he hands her a fresh latte and assumes his seat, “I’m afraid that Giancarlo is telling you the truth.”
“But I have to get in shape for the Olympics, Jago!” Suddenly, nothing makes sense. It’s like she’s back in the hospital, struggling into consciousness from an anesthetic haze. “I can’t go traipsing all around the country on some kind of publicity tour with the race… Oh, I get it.” She flings herself back in her chair. Her eyes flash with sudden anger. “You don’t think I have a chance of winning, so you’re sending me on some dumb tour just to give me something to do.”
“Jillian, you are being overly dramatic.” D’Antani leans forward and cocks an eyebrow. “Please, leave the dramatics to me. I have had so much more practice with them than you, and I do them so much more effectively.”
“But, Gianni…”
He waves her objection aside. “I have every confidence that you are going to compete, and – with all due respect to Miss O’Malley – I will not be at all surprised if you win. In fact, I fully expect you and Miss O’Malley to return with the gold and silver medals, although I will leave it to the two of you to decide who wins which medal. Now, if I may be allowed to continue…?”
Jillian sighs, not at all convinced. “Be my guest,” she grumbles.
“Thank you so much. It would take the better part of the afternoon to explain all of the intricate details of my plan so that you could fully appreciate its genius, but I can provide an overview in less than a minute. First of all, Miss O’Malley has graciously consented to join you as a spokesperson for Falconi, so we now have the distinction of…”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Let me get this straight.” Jillian shakes her head as if trying to clear it. Is this really happening? “Sunshine? You signed on with Falconi?”
“Yes, I did, Jill.” Sunshine nods earnestly and looks back and forth anxiously from Jillian to D’Antani. “It’s okay, isn’t it? Mister D’Antani said…”
“Gianni, please. No one calls me ‘Mr. D’Antani.’ My friends call me Giancarlo. My special friends, like Jillian and yourself, just call me Gianni.”
“Gianni said that you wouldn’t mind if…”
“Oh, of course I don’t mind, Sunshine. It just took me by surprise. It’s just kinda sudden, is all.”
“To me, too,” Sunshine says, with a weak attempt at a smile. “I’d never even met Mr. D’An… – Gianni – until yesterday, and here I already am a spokesperson.” She pronounces the word with special emphasis, as if it’s a tremendous honor, and more than a little intimidating. “I can hardly believe it myself. It’s like…”
“So,” D’Antani interrupts, “you and Miss O’Malley will represent Falconi at several events between tomorrow and the middle of next month – let me see…” – he glances down at his phone – “… beginning with Atlanta, as I said, then up to Columbus Ohio, then over to Wilmington Delaware, then several more events of no importance…” – he waves them away, as if to emphasize their insignificance – “and finally, on to Hartford Connecticut. And we may sprinkle in some additional appearances as opportunities present themselves. It is not an especially heavy schedule, as you see.”
“What are we going to have to do at these… events? And what kind of ‘events’ are we talking about here? Triathlons?”
“They are sporting events of one kind or another, obviously. I believe that two of them are triathlons. In fact, I seem to recall that you were to have participated in one of them yourself. Coach Danziger?”
“That is correct,” Jago confirms. “Jillian was scheduled to compete in the Tri-State in Wilmington.”
“That does sound a little familiar,” she concedes.
She follows D’Antani’s arm as he raises his coffee cup over his head. He’s trying to make some kind of point, she thinks. Something corny about how this experience will be… uplifting? Is that the word? But then she realizes that he only wants a refill, that he actually expects a waiter to stroll by and ask if he wants more coffee. Gianni, we’re not in Italy, she’s about to say… but then someone in a green apron materializes right behind him, it says “Duane” on his nametag, and he’s asking D’Antani if he’d like another cup of coffee. Si, D’Antani says, without even bothering to look back over his shoulder. Grazie.
“At any rate,” he continues, as if nothing unusual has happened, “I will provide you with full details of all of these events shortly. But basically, they will simply be personal appearances. You will sign autographs, answer questions, meet with the local press, say a few words at the start of the race, smile at your loyal fans and shake their hands, perhaps award trophies to the winners. Nothing that will make you break a sweat.”
“What does Falconi get out of all this?” Jillian demands. “What do you want us to do, give unsolicited testimonials about how we owe all of our success to Falconi or something like that?”
D’Antani looks wounded. “Please, Jillian, we are in business to sell sporting goods, yes, but we are not so gauche as all that. You will not be required to say even one word about Falconi. Of course, that is not to say that should you feel an irrepressible urge to sing our praises…” He shrugs. “But seriously, all we expect you to do is to dress in the Falconi sportswear that we will provide, just as you do now, and ride in on Falconi bicycles, and generally maximize your visibility. The sight of champions such as yourselves using our products…”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Jillian interrupts, impatiently. “But how am I going to work out? I mean, don’t forget that I’ve got an injury to recover from, and Dr. Patel’s going to want me here in Dallas so he can put me on some kind of exercise schedule, and I’m going to need access to my equipment, and…” She frowns. “Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Gianni, but winning that race is my top priority right now. I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize my chances.”
D’Antani throws up his hands. “Jillian, Jillian, you disappoint me,” he clucks, shaking his head. “Do you not realize that I want you to win the race just as much as you do? Would I do anything to…” He stops, momentarily flustered. “I did not mean to imply that I favor one of you against the other, you understand,” he says, glancing back and forth from Jillian to Sunshine. “I would like nothing better than for both of you to win, if that were possible, but…”
“No, please,” Sunshine interrupts. “You don’t have to apologize to me. You’ve known Jill for a long time, and you’ve only known me since yesterday, so it’s natural that you would think of her first. I’m not offended, really I’m not. I’ll be just as pleased as you if Jill wins.”
D’Antani sighs. “Thank you, my dear, for your understanding and compassion. You are truly a rare and remarkable human being, and I know that I speak for the entire Falconi organization when I say that it will be a privilege, an absolute honor, to have you representing our…”
Jago leans forward in his chair. “Signore D’Antani,” h
e says, politely but with some force. “Might I point out that time is short? And you have yet to address Jillian’s concerns about her conditioning.”
D’Antani glances at his watch and makes a show of being surprised at the time. He clears his throat. “As I was saying, I have not confined myself to scheduling your personal appearances. This schedule…” – he taps his phone – “… this schedule details your exercise… regimen? Is that the word? Yes, your exercise regimen for every day from now until you leave for Qen Phon. Every day. It was meticulously crafted by Coach Danziger and Dr. Patel while you slept. I have thought of everything.” He waves grandly and smiles broadly.
“But…”
“Every day,” he repeats. “Right here on this calendar. How far you run. How far you swim. How quickly you devour the open road with your sleek, powerful Falconi racing machine. And not only for what distance and at what speed, but when and where. And when I say ‘where,’ I do not just mean ‘in which city’; I have exact courses laid out, I have indoor swimming pools reserved for the eventuality of inclement weather, I have located weight rooms and gyms that are available for your use. As I said, I have thought of everything.”
“But, Gianni…” Jillian is overwhelmed. “Jago, does this plan make any sense? I mean, doesn’t Dr. Patel want me to stay in town so he can keep an eye on me?”
“To be frank,” Jago says, “when Giancarlo first presented the plan to me yesterday, I was somewhat concerned, but…”
“Please,” D’Antani interrupts, “there is no need to be so polite. We are all friends here.” He accepts a fresh cup of coffee from Duane, nods a thank you, takes a sip, executes a quick mini-shrug that says that the coffee is okay, but barely. “The truth,” he tells Jillian, “is that Coach Danziger believed that I had gone stark, raving mad. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was trying to decide if I was a few spokes short of a full wheel, as I believe you Americans say.”
Jago laughs. “I was skeptical, yes. As was Dr. Patel. But once Giancarlo had familiarized us with the details of his plan, we began to see its merits. And while I hesitate to stroke his already inflated ego, I am forced to admit that Giancarlo’s plan is quite creative, very well thought out. It furthers your aims while furthering the aims of his company at the same time. It has my unqualified recommendation. And while I do not wish to speak for Dr. Patel, I am certain that he feels the same way.”
Transition Page 49