Anyone in Dryden’s line got into the way of talking of clients as commodities, but it jarred to hear a man discuss his daughter like furniture. And he objected to being put down as if he were some oaf in Queen Victoria’s court. “I think there’s something you should understand, Dr. Serafin. I’m aware that I’m your guest up here, but respect is something I don’t believe I owe you. The girl performed well under questioning, and I commented on that. If each remark I make —”
“Then perhaps I spoke prematurely,” Serafin cut in. “You will find I am not a man to trifle with. I have no sense of humor. If you took offense at anything I said, I withdraw it.” He folded his arms and looked challengingly at Dryden. Deciding apparently that what he had said had been taken for an apology, he continued, “As to Goldengirl’s facility in answering questions, I should make it clear that her answers are not rehearsed. She has a number of response phrases ready to introduce in her own way when certain key topics arise. The greater part of what you heard this afternoon was as fresh to my ears as it was to yours.”
“If she’s as good as that, why bother with trigger words at all?” asked Dryden acidly enough to show he was not ignoring the outburst.
“Ah!” Serafin nodded as if acknowledging a better-than-average question from a student. “They help her over difficult areas of questioning. The point you took up — the influence of commerce on the Olympics — is still a snare. Although it is common knowledge that people like Killy and Spitz made millions out of their Olympic victories, it wouldn’t do for Goldengirl to admit she expects to make even more. So she is triggered — to use your expression — to say she doesn’t read the Wall Street Journal, or something of the sort. It gets a laugh, which provides the bridge to another question.”
“Neat. And you’re confident she can do it in front of several hundred pressmen?”
“Certain. In fact, there is actually a delay between question and response in an Olympic press conference while the question is translated into other languages. That is a feature we deliberately excluded from our simulation sessions to sharpen her reactions. TV studio interviews require immediate responses, so we cannot have her getting lazy habits. Did you notice anything about her manner?”
“She actually enjoyed the experience, if I’m any judge,” answered Dryden. “I’d put it more strongly, in fact. She appeared to be exhilarated.”
“It came over, then,” said Serafin, looking pleased. “There are three obvious elements in the process of psychological reinforcement: the noticeable stimulus, the response, and the palpable consequence. The latter cannot be overestimated. In its most basic form it consists of reward or punishment. Lee has developed this quite brilliantly in terms of personality dynamics. As you observed, a correct response induces exhilaration in Goldengirl. She is motivated to derive pleasure from the press conference.”
“It was apparent as soon as she appeared in the room,” said Dryden.
“Splendid! You see, Lee’s work with her has marshaled the motivating forces of her personality in the cause of our enterprise. For Goldengirl, the press conference is a situation in which she is involved — how shall I put it? —”
“Sensually?” suggested Dryden.
Serafin paused before answering. “You could say so.”
“That was my impression. Is that good for her, Dr. Serafin?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not a psychologist, but if Lee conditions her to be turned on by flashbulbs and tape recorders, what effect will it have on her personality?”
“I don’t think you understand,” said Serafin. “She is going to become a goddess overnight, worshiped by millions. What effect will that have on her personality if she is not prepared? It will annihilate her. My duty is to prepare her, so far as I can, for life as a public figure, Dryden. If Lee can help her project facets of her private persona into her public appearances, he is giving her a lifeline.”
“What you are saying, in effect, is that her private life is sacrificed on the altar of this goddess.”
“I prefer the image of a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis,” said Serafin without rancor. “An apparently dramatic transformation which has actually been in preparation unobserved for many weeks.”
“Dr. Lee is an accredited psychologist, is he?” Dryden asked.
“But of course. He would be working for the government if they were not ultrasensitive about security. His early training was in Peking, and that has dogged his career ever since, even though he defected as long ago as 1966, the period of the Cultural Revolution. He has no affiliations or sympathy with Red China. Finding his Chinese qualifications were unacceptable here, he joined Columbia as a mature student, graduated and went on to take a doctorate. Then he moved West and obtained a lecturing post at Berkeley, which gives some indication of his caliber. Things went well for him for a time there, but you know what Berkeley is like. An imbecilic group of students calling themselves Maoists raked up his story from somewhere and proceeded to hound him as if they were Red Guards in Peking. They made it impossible for him to continue. He resigned his post and joined the psychiatric team at Los Angeles County General Hospital, which is where I met him four years ago on a public health committee. We found an instant rapport existed between us. As our acquaintance developed, we exchanged more confidences, and when he told me one evening of his experiences in China and at Berkeley, I realized what trust the man was reposing in me, for there are people in the medical world, just as there are in the academic, who delight in destroying reputations. When I needed the help of a psychologist here, it seemed quite natural to approach Lee. He listened to my account of Goldine and agreed to join us as soon as he had worked a month’s notice at the hospital.”
“Is he in the consortium?” Dryden asked.
“No. Lee is staff. He receives a good salary. I see to that. The only members of the consortium you have met so far are Armitage, Valenti and myself.”
“Not Klugman?”
“Klugman, like Lee, is staff,” said Serafin. “You assumed he was on the board? I asked him to meet you in the lounge out of courtesy, as one of the senior staff. Lee would have been there too, but he was working with Goldengirl. The schedule has priority over everything here.”
“Could I see it?”
“The schedule?” Serafin took a half step backward and his face shaped into a refusal, but unexpectedly altered. “Why not? You are entitled to know how far we are committed to this project. Yes, you can see it. Come to the lounge.”
If it was displayed in there, it was surprising he had not noticed it before.
“So Lee is in charge of the girl’s psychological conditioning, and Klugman the physical?” Dryden said as they headed toward the built-up end of the camp.
“Broadly speaking yes. Klugman has two assistants: Brannon and Makepeace, both former athletes and coaches of some experience. And I am involved as well, of course, physiology being my specialty.”
“How did you come to recruit Klugman?” Dryden ventured, making the most of this communicative mood. “He doesn’t look to me like a Chinese defector.”
Serafin drew in a sharp breath and stood still. “Mr. Dryden, I appeal to you for your own sake not to be facetious here. Klugman, since you ask, came here because I wanted a coach of Olympic class with the intelligence to bring Goldine to the necessary standard. He is one of the new generation of track clinicians. The day of the vulgarian trainer reeking of embrocation and incapable of using a knife and fork has passed. Klugman is eminent in his field, and commands the same respect from me as Lee. He came because I offered him double the salary his college was paying. Like Lee, he has no family ties, which was a factor I took into account in engaging him.”
“Does he work in collaboration with Lee?”
“We are a team,” said Serafin, making shapes with his hands and stepping forward again. “As you will see from the schedule, we have built in regular sessions for staff co-ordination. I am no autocrat. I believ
e participation in decision-making achieves the best results.”
“You won’t mind me asking, in that case, whether Goldine participates in the decisions?” said Dryden.
“Each phase of the program is fully discussed with her,” Serafin evenly replied. “She does not attend staff co-ordination sessions, if that is what you mean, but her views, when she expresses them, are paramount in our discussions. In actual fact, she is not given to commenting much on the schedule.”
“I’m surprised,” Dryden said, matching Serafin’s blandness. “I formed the impression this afternoon that she could put her point of view over pretty strongly.”
“Has it not occurred to you that she might be perfectly satisfied with what is arranged?” said Serafin.
“Not having met the young lady, I couldn’t say,” answered Dryden.
Serafin nodded. “I take the point. You shall be given an opportunity of conversing with her this evening, after her workout in the gym.”
“A private conversation?”
“Why not? That is to say, she has a personal companion, who must be present — a chaperon, so to speak. Yes, it sounds démodé, but in a community such as this, with a dozen men living in close proximity to her, I think you must agree that it is a necessary precaution. It is an inviolable rule that nobody except her companion is ever alone with Goldengirl in her quarters. Rest assured that you may speak with perfect frankness about any aspect of the project. The companion is not likely to betray confidences.”
“Does Miss Fryer have a chaperon, too?” asked Dryden casually.
“No, Mr. Dryden, she does not. If Melody regarded herself as unprovided for in that respect, I should certainly engage one.” Serafin peered over his glasses. “She has not raised the matter yet.”
In the lounge, Valenti was practicing shots at the pool table, too engrossed to acknowledge the others’ arrival. Serafin crossed the room to a framed Playmate dressed only in white suede boots, and touched a concealed switch in the gilt molding. A back projection displaced the girl for a blond without boots, varnishing her toes. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Serafin pressed the switch again. This time a small, immaculately hand-drawn grid appeared in the frame.
“Examine it at your leisure,” he told Dryden. “If you would like coffee or tea, there is a dispenser in the next room. In an hour, I should like you to come with Mr. Valenti to the gym. I’ll pick you up at four.”
Dryden traced his finger along the grid to 1600 on Friday. “Ergogenics,” he read aloud. “That’s new to me. I’ll be there.”
Before Dryden had finished inspecting the schedule, Serafin withdrew, or he would certainly have been asked questions. Some entries were self-explanatory and might have appeared on any athlete’s training schedule. Others took a few moments’ application to interpret. He soon realized that the letters below each activity represented the location and the staff required to be present. CR was the conference room; SKR stood for Serafin, Klugman and Robb. But what such jargon as REACTION TG and ERGOGENICS meant in human terms he was interested to discover.
Some things he now knew for certain. Project Goldengirl was a fact. Thousands of dollars were invested in plant and personnel. As a business proposition it was still bizarre in the extreme, but the possibility that it was a hoax could be dismissed.
Goldengirl herself had impressed him. He had no idea if she was capable of realizing Serafin’s dream of three gold medals, but her exhilaration in the stimulation session had been riveting. It had definite commercial possibilities. If she wanted work on television he could fix it, never mind her six foot two.
But that was evading the real issue. He must soon decide what his objections were to the project. One that didn’t trouble him was the English obsession with fair play. He would never have climbed the business ladder if he hadn’t abandoned that at the outset. He wasn’t wasting his sympathy on athletes disadvantaged by Serafin’s planning. Nor was he troubled by the spirit of Baron Pierre de Coubertin, the founder of the modern Olympic movement. As anyone but the members of the IOC would admit if they studied the development of the Olympics, the ideals that launched the Games in 1896 had been sold out to commerce by 1900, when the second Olympics formed part of a trade fair. If the show had been handed over to businessmen then for perpetuity, it might not have been a bad thing. Unhappily, the politicians had jumped on board. Eighty years later, every team that would march its banner around the Lenin Stadium on August 10 had been nurtured for months on government funds, with the object of wresting national prestige from the Baron’s brainchild. Why shouldn’t private enterprise take them on?
If the real winners in the Olympic Games were governments and corporations, the losers were the athletes, persuaded or compelled by the prospect of gold and glory to sacrifice years of their lives to something they started out believing was sport. Slaves of the stopwatch, bloated by steroids, boosted with blood transfusions, vitaminized, immunized, screened and sponsored, they drove themselves to the point of agony training, lifting weights, endlessly lapping tracks and baring their lives to the scrutiny of the media. With what result? In most cases, to be beaten by millimeters or microseconds, robbed of victory because someone else’s masters had developed a new refinement — an undetectable drug, an unimaginable technique, a more torturous form of training, a new argument to resolve the medical and legalistic objections attendant on any real improvement in performance.
Dryden was not so hypocritical as to question the manipulation of an individual athlete for profit. From what he had seen of the Goldengirl enterprise, it was simply an intensification of processes widely adopted in training for the Olympics. No doubt there were girls in Russia and East Germany being subjected to regimens just as demanding.
His objection wasn’t on ethical or humanitarian grounds; it was business logic. Serafin couldn’t guarantee gold medals, nor could oriental psychologists, Olympic coaches or ergogenics.
“What does it mean?” he asked Serafin, when he returned to show them the way to the gym. “Ergogenics?”
“You’re still mystified?” said Serafin. “It is the science of increasing the capacity of physical and mental effort. How is it achieved? By eliminating fatigue symptoms. You will see.”
By standards elsewhere in the “retreat,” the gym was simple in construction, a functional timber building like a barn, furnished with enough gymnastic apparatus to stiffen an army’s sinews. Lee, white-coated, and Klugman, in a black warm-up suit, were waiting beside a piece of equipment Dryden didn’t recognize. There was a raised platform with a broad rubber strip along its center. At one end were an electric motor, hand controls and an instrument panel.
“Our treadmill,” Serafin announced. He touched a button and the rubber moved smoothly over unseen rollers. “Don’t look so scandalized, gentlemen. This isn’t an instrument of torture. The treadmill is standard equipment in physiological labs. It is a reliable means of regulating experiments involving forward motion. It controls the leg cadence, you see. We use it here to analyze the movement of running, and additionally as a training device.” He turned off the power. “This is the part of the schedule set aside for what we call ergogenics. This afternoon you will see how it is possible to raise the quality of a training session. Goldengirl will shortly give a demonstration of the principle in action. Dr. Lee and Mr. Klugman must take all the credit for discovering its application to our program, so I shall leave the explanation to them.”
Klugman, his face set grimly for anyone about to communicate a principle, indicated that he was not the vocal side of the presentation by unzipping the top of his warm-ups to reveal a whistle on a cord nestling in the growth of black hair there. He jerked it to his lips and blew a short blast.
From a door at the end Goldengirl came running. She was wearing her gold leotard and white gym shoes; from the fluent movement of her breasts, nothing else. She stopped a yard from Klugman and stood erect, her eyes dipping a fraction to look into his. Her radiance during the press conference
had given way to the expression of elegant insouciance Dryden remembered from the film.
Klugman issued instructions: “You are to demonstrate your ability to run at a speed of four hundred meters per minute. When I tell you, step on the treadmill and keep striding for as long as you can. I shall call out twenty-second intervals, so you will know how you are doing. Okay?”
Goldengirl fractionally inclined her head.
An Accusplit electronic stopwatch with a digital display was pressed into Dryden’s hand by Serafin. Lee and Valenti were given them too.
Lee started the treadmill. Goldengirl had mounted the platform and was waiting for the order to step on the moving belt.
“There’s a delay while we get up to the required speed,” Klugman explained. “Don’t start your watches before Dr. Lee gives the word.” He put out a finger and tapped Goldengirl’s calf. “Okay.”
She stepped on, and began the unproductive exercise of running without forward movement, building speed in response to the motor’s acceleration.
“Now,” said Lee.
They touched off the timers.
She had whipped up her stride to a little below sprinting pace, compelled by the mechanism to drive her leading leg well forward to sustain the rate.
Lee turned his back on her and began speaking. “This is a simple demonstration of a phenomenon first noted sixty years ago by an American physiologist named Nicholson. He used a piece of apparatus called a Mosso ergograph which is obsolete now, but he obtained results which have been borne out by investigations since.”
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