Jillian whistles softly. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so enthusiastic about anything before.”
“Well, Jillian, frankly, I was quite concerned about how you were going to get back into shape in time for the Olympics. You do have a tendency to be lazy…”
“Who, me?”
“… and I was afraid that you would not make a determined commitment to do the work necessary for your complete recovery. I thought that you might use the accident as an excuse to be even lazier than usual.”
“Hey,” Jillian laughs, “you’re making me sound like a real flake! I’ve been working my ass off on those goddamn machines.”
“You certainly have,” Jago readily concedes. “And I have been most impressed. And encouraged. My main concern was that you would be unable to maintain that enthusiasm after your release from the hospital. There are so many distractions, and you are so easily distracted. But what Giancarlo has done is to inject an element of fun into your schedule, which may be just what you need to maintain your discipline.”
“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll be even more distracted out on the road?” Jillian teases. “I mean, with people hounding me for autographs, reporters lining up for interviews, all the guys hitting on me…”
“Of course,” Jago says seriously. “That was a major concern, initially. And the reason that I changed my mind is that Sunshine will accompany you. I am certain that she will motivate you to do your best. I do not feel that you will be so susceptible to distractions. I cannot imagine a better way for you to find the competition that you will need to get back into peak condition in such a short time.”
You’ve got to be kidding, Jillian thinks, as she glances over at Sunshine, who smiles nervously, as if she’s uncomfortable with the sudden attention. Sunshine? Motivate me? She doesn’t have a competitive bone in her body. I mean, the girl’s got talent, sure, but she’s a quitter, and there’s no way she’s going to be able to motivate me. If anything…
“Wait a minute,” Jillian says, suddenly suspicious. She glances back and forth from Jago to Sunshine, as if trying to ferret out some kind of plot. “Is it really that you think that Sunshine will motivate me? Or is it that you think that I’ll motivate her?”
Jago smiles smoothly. “Actually, I suspect that you each will motivate each other.”
“You don’t think I really have a chance of winning the Olympics, do you?” Jillian accuses. “You just want me to go on this tour to help Sunshine. You want me to be her rabbit.”
Jago sighs. “That is nonsense, Jillian, as you well know,” he says. “And most unworthy of you. However, I am pleased to see that the mere thought of traveling with Sunshine has already stirred your competitive juices. Although it is quite preposterous to think that I would sacrifice your performance to benefit someone else, I do not mind if you believe that if it encourages you to work harder.”
“Look, guys. Really.” Sunshine interrupts, hesitantly, seemingly surprised by the sound of her own voice. “Look, I don’t want to cause any trouble between you. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea…”
And then everyone is talking at once. Sunshine softly tries to complete her thought. Jago quietly attempts to reassure her. Jillian argues testily with Jago. D’Antani tries to get everyone to calm down. Finally, D’Antani pushes back his chair, stands up, puts two fingers in his mouth, and whistles shrilly. The effect is sudden and dramatic. Everyone at the table stops talking. Everyone at the next table stops talking. The lady with the headset stops listening to the drive-through customer’s order. The customer at the counter stops advising the counter guy that she wants a double half-caff skinny caramel macchiato. Even the cappuccino machine stops frothing.
From Jillian’s vantage point, sitting with her back to the door, looking into the coffee shop, she can see that everybody – maybe a dozen customers scattered around a few tables, a couple of people in line at the counter, and three or four Starbucks employees – everybody has turned to look at D’Antani. But, she realizes, he can’t see what’s going on behind him, so he couldn’t possibly know that he’s become the center of attention. And yet, somehow, she gets the feeling that he does know, and that he’s playing even to the crowd that he can’t see.
“Please, my friends, please,” D’Antani says, remaining on his feet. “There is no need for us to fight.” He waves magnanimously as if to give everyone permission to return to their business. “Let us not question each other’s motives,” he adds, as the normal buzz begins to return to the coffee shop. “We each have our own interests. Jillian, you want to win another gold medal. Sunshine wishes to learn from you. Coach Danziger wants to help you recover from your surgery – and, possibly, he would like to help Sunshine improve her performance as well, which is also good. And I would like to sell some sporting goods.”
He pauses to survey his audience. Jillian, vaguely hostile, stares at him through slightly narrowed eyelids, as if daring him to convince her. He smiles at her brightly. She does not respond.
“Just because our interests are different,” D’Antani continues, “does not mean that they are in conflict. In fact, our goals are in harmony.” He holds up his hands and intertwines his fingers as a visual aid. “We each want the best for ourselves, and we each want the best for each other – at least, I would like to think that we do – and we can help each other and help ourselves at the same time. There is no treachery here. Quite the opposite: It is a wonderful opportunity for us all. Let us not spoil it by distrusting each other.” His presentation complete, D’Antani scans the faces at the table once more and, apparently satisfied, returns to his seat.
“Sunshine, what do you think about all this?” Sunshine starts as if she’s been pinched. Jillian suppresses a laugh. Hell, Jillian wonders, why I am asking her what she thinks? She’s not going to say anything to offend anybody. She probably doesn’t even have an opinion.
Unless, of course, she’s already discussed it with Nathan. And he’s had a chance to tell her how she feels about it.
For a moment, Jillian doesn’t think that Sunshine is going to say anything at all. Instead, she screws up her face as if she’s deep in thought, as if she were preparing to make an announcement of great importance and she has to be certain that every word is perfect.
“I am pleased,” Sunshine finally says, carefully, “to have the opportunity to work with someone as talented as you are, Jill. You’re the best in the world at what you do. I know that I can learn a great deal from you. And if it’s true that I can actually help you achieve one of your goals…, well, all I can say is that I appreciate the chance to be of some small service to you.”
Shit, Jillian thinks, it sounds like she wants me to be her triathlon guru. She’ll study at my feet – maybe even kiss them from time to time – while I dispense words of wisdom to my wide-eyed disciple.
“That is most perceptive,” D’Antani interjects. “And may I add that I am certain that it will be a… symbiotic? Is that the word? A symbiotic relationship? One that is mutually beneficial? Yes,” he continues, nodding, “a symbiotic relationship. You will be good for each other. Sunshine, not only will you help Jillian to achieve her goals, but she will most definitely help you to achieve your goals as well.”
“But I have no goals,” Sunshine points out. She shakes her head firmly, as if the very thought distresses her. “I mean, I do want to improve my performance, because I want to make sure that I’m doing the best that I possibly can. But that’s more of a process than a goal. I mean, I’m not trying to win a gold medal or anything like that. Not that there’s anything wrong with wanting to win a gold medal,” she adds quickly, “it’s just not my thing, if you know what I mean. I’m racing purely for the joy of it, not to try to do better than anyone else.”
“But you would not turn down the gold medal if you won it, now would you?” D’Antani asks with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “You may not be striving for it, but you would accept it if you earned it, yes?”
Sunsh
ine frowns as she mulls over what she obviously takes to be a serious question. “I’d have to think about that,” she says earnestly. “I suppose that if it happens, it happens. But there’s something about standing up on that victory stand, letting them drape a medal around my neck, looking down at everybody…”
Jesus, Jillian thinks, she makes it sound about as appealing as catching the plague.
“I don’t know why they have to give out medals, anyway.” A note of annoyance has crept into Sunshine’s voice, as if this is one of her pet peeves. “What’s the point of designating somebody as being better than somebody else? Does that mean that some people are not as good as other people? I just don’t understand that kind of attitude.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, I’d have to talk it over with Nathan before I could accept a gold medal.”
“Now, don’t you worry about a thing, Sunshine,” Jillian says brightly, patting Sunshine’s arm. “I promise to do whatever I can to make sure that you don’t have that problem.”
D’Antani laughs – although perhaps not as heartily as he hoped to – but it seems to take Sunshine a few seconds to grasp Jillian’s meaning. Then, when it hits her, her lips twitch in what might be an attempt at a smile.
“Thank you,” she says.
From anyone else, Jillian thinks, I would assume that was sarcastic. But since it’s Sunshine, she probably means it.
“You’re welcome,” she says, simply.
D’Antani clears his throat. “So,” he says, “if this exchange of pleasantries is concluded, I suggest that we start going over the schedule in detail, yes? I have done as much of the advance work as possible, but…”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Jillian holds up her hands; everything is moving a little too quickly for her. “Has anybody run this past Daddy? Do any of you know what Daddy thinks about this?”
And she doesn’t understand why everyone is suddenly grinning at her, even Sunshine, who hardly ever cracks a smile. What did she say that was so funny? And then she feels the rough hands on her shoulders…
“What your Daddy thinks,” G.W. says, “is that you better hop in the car and let me drive on home, little lady. It’s time for you to pack.”
3.2.13: Falconi Internazionale Tour of Champions, Day 1
“So, how’s your knee?” Sunshine asks for the zillionth time this morning. Her voice, as ever, is full of concern.
It would feel a hell of a lot better if you stopped asking me about it every ten seconds, Jillian thinks. But what she says is, “Just fine,” which is exactly what she said last time and the time before that and the time before that. And this time she adds, “Let’s pick up the pace a little, okay? We’re running so slow that it’s putting more of a strain on my knee than if…”
“Jill, it’s your first time out,” Sunshine admonishes, as Jillian knew she would. “You haven’t run in over a week, and you’ve just had surgery. You have to give your body time to heal.”
“And my doctor said that I shouldn’t push it on my first day out,” Jillian reminds Sunshine with a grin.
“And your doctor said that you shouldn’t push it on your first day out,” Sunshine agrees, rewarding Jillian with a rare smile.
Jillian waves as they wind past an aid station, still in the preliminary stages of setting up for the race that will not start for more than an hour. The volunteers – who look considerably fresher than the way Jillian is used to seeing them in the confusion of a race – wave and shout back.
“Go on, wave to them,” Jillian urges.
Sunshine reluctantly complies. “I feel so foolish doing that,” she says. “Like I’m pretending to be a star, or something.”
“You are a star,” Jillian insists. “You’re on the U.S. Olympic team. Some of these guys would give their right nut to be half as good as you are, Sunshine. Believe me, you waving to them made their day. They’ll be talking about it for a week.”
“Well, I guess there’s no harm in it,” Sunshine says, not entirely convinced.
They run the last mile in silence, up a short but steep grade, around a hairpin turn, and into the final straightaway. Two workers are standing on ladders, hanging a banner over the finish line, it bears the words Marietta Marathon in enormous red block letters. Jillian quickens her pace, hoping to draw Sunshine into a sprint to the finish, but Sunshine doesn’t bite. Feeling the silent reproach burning into her back, Jillian obediently slows down and waits for Sunshine to catch up.
“This can’t be much of a workout for you,” Jillian points out, as Sunshine draws up beside her. “I mean, I appreciate you running with me, and all that, but you’ve got to stay in shape yourself, lady, and running five miles – trotting five miles, really,” she clarifies, disparagingly, “is not gonna do the trick.”
“You’re right about that,” Sunshine concedes, regretfully. “And according to my training schedule, I’m supposed to run another ten miles this afternoon. Alone,” she adds, with special emphasis. “Actually,” she admits, “I almost wish it was you instead of me. I’m not really that crazy about running.” She makes this last point shyly, as if it were some kind of embarrassing confession, although it’s not exactly news to Jillian.
“Then let’s swap schedules,” Jillian teases, as she leans into an imaginary tape at the finish line and slows to a halt. “I’ll do your running and you do my swimming.”
“I wish we could,” Sunshine responds earnestly. “But I need to concentrate on my running the most because I like it the least. Which is the same reason that you need to work on your swimming.”
“Thanks, coach.” Jesus, Jillian thinks, she’s starting to sound just like Jago. “Can we do some cycling now?”
“Not until tomorrow,” Sunshine explains, like a patient mother to a demanding child. “You know that, Jill. You know the schedule as well as I do.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.”
“So, how’s your knee?” Sunshine asks, as they stroll toward the van with the enormous falcon’s head emblazoned on its side.
“Just fine,” Jillian sighs. “It’s just fine.”
3.2.14: Falconi Internazionale Tour of Champions, Day 9
“Just say a few words,” the race director urges. “You know, how thrilled you are to be here, what a great day it is for a race, what a wonderful crowd you all are, how much you’re looking forward to representing the good old U. S. of A. in the Olympics, that kind of stuff. Then fire the pistol. And that’s it.”
They’re standing at the foot of a wooden staircase that leads up to some kind of platform where, Jillian supposes, she’s expected to deliver her short speech and start the race. A banner hangs from a railing, it says:
Third Annual Columbus Carnation Festival and Bike-Athon
Columbus, she thinks. So that’s where we are.
The race director tries to hand the pistol to Jillian, but she shakes her head and whispers hoarsely, “I can’t. I’m losing my voice. Let Sunshine do it.”
Sunshine gasps. “You’ve got to be kidding!” she says, wide-eyed. “I can’t do that!”
“Sure you can,” the director reassures her. “One of you’s gotta do it, and if Jill can’t talk, it looks like you’ve been volunteered.” He presses the pistol into Sunshine’s hands, smiles fleetingly, and turns and trots up the steps to the platform.
“Oh, Jill,” Sunshine says. She looks sideways at the gun resting loosely in her hands. She’s holding it gingerly, Jillian thinks, like it’s a live grenade. “I can’t do this.”
Jillian points to her throat and shrugs. What can I do?
“I don’t believe in using guns,” Sunshine says, desperately.
Jillian rolls her eyes. “It’s not a real gun, Sunshine,” she points out in a hoarse whisper. “It’s a starter’s pistol. It fires blanks. You’re not going to kill anybody. You’re just going to start a goddamn bicycle race.”
Sunshine sighs. “Will you stand on the platform with me?”
“Of course,” Jillian says, in a voice that seems t
o have miraculously regained its strength. “They’re going to want to introduce both of us to our adoring public, anyway.”
And that’s how Sunshine finds herself perched on the reviewing stand, a makeshift ten-foot-high wooden platform that offers a wide panorama of the Ohio State Fairgrounds in general and the starting line of the Columbus Bike-Athon in particular. She and Jillian are introduced to wild applause. The director turns the microphone over to her. She takes a tentative step up to the microphone. She stares out over the crowd.
“Keep it short,” Jillian whispers. But at that point, her main concern isn’t really with the length of Sunshine’s speech, but whether Sunshine will actually be able to say anything at all.
Finally, after a few long seconds, Sunshine leans in toward the mic and says: “It’s a beautiful day for a race, isn’t it?” The sound of her amplified voice booming over the loudspeakers seems to rattle her, and she backs away in dismay. The crowd, in a holiday mood, responds with a raucous cheer, which only seems to unnerve Sunshine even more.
Standing a few feet behind Sunshine, Jillian is observing her carefully, curious as to what Sunshine is going to say next. But to Jillian’s surprise, Sunshine doesn’t actually say anything. Instead, her right hand jerks straight up, she squeezes the trigger, and she fires the pistol.
The gun makes a loud but surprisingly dull thud.
As Jillian watches in dismay, the sounds of celebration begin to mingle with the sounds of bicycles crashing into each other, riders cursing and yelling, bicycles and riders tumbling to the ground.
Apparently, some of the riders in the back of the pack heard Sunshine fire the pistol, but it appears that some of the riders in the front of the pack did not.
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