Dryden smiled. “That was mainly for my friend’s benefit. He works on the San Diego Union. In a way, I’m upstaging him. I didn’t wish to hurt his feelings. Say, it would help a lot if you put your head round the door and told him you’re taking me to hospital for a check. I’m not asking you to tell a lie. I think it might get rid of Elmer.”
Dr. Fishback unlatched the door and spoke to Brannon, who presently came inside. Thoughtfully, Dryden was seated again.
“You’re going to the hospital?” said Elmer, wide-eyed.
“You heard it from the doc,” said Dryden. “Sorry, old pal, but there it is. You can’t take chances with your health.”
“What the hell do I do?”
“You’d better tell the others,” said Dryden with a vexed sigh. “I hope I don’t spoil the arrangements. It’s the San Diego General, is it, Dr. Fishback?”
“Er, yeah”
“Okay, Elmer? Maybe they can pick me up there in an hour or so. It’s never very quick in hospitals.”
Elmer backed out, agonizing over his dilemma. Fishback shut the door.
“I’m obliged to you,” said Dryden.
The phone rang. Fishback picked it up, listened, said “yeah” a couple of times, and put it down. “That was the stewards’ room. They’re bringing over your junkie. She just won the four hundred meters in a time two tenths outside the U.S. record.”
Chapter 9
A sound principle of merchandising practice is to exceed people’s expectations. Events in San Diego so far had slotted neatly into Dryden’s plan, but it was time to introduce another check against the predictable.
Dr. Fishback had not driven more than a few minutes along Park Boulevard in his Chrysler, with Goldine, white-faced, still in her tracksuit and clutching a bag containing her clothes, seated in the rear, when Dryden, at his side, said, “I don’t suppose the hospital would look on this as an emergency. They get a lot of casualty work Saturday evenings, I expect.”
“At the General, they keep busy most times,” said Fishback. “No need for us to trouble them in emergency, however. This is a simple analysis.”
“Do you work in the hospital, by any chance?”
Fishback shook his head. “I practice in a clinic in La Jolla,” he said with pride.
“Nice,” said Dryden. “The culture center.”
“I guess you could say that. We have the University, of course, the Museum of Art —”
“Is there a hospital out that way — to save you driving to the General? Seems to me one lab is as good as another for a test like this.”
Fishback thought about it. “We have the Salk Institute out there. They’d run a test for us. Hey, how about your friend? You told him to pick you up at the General.”
“To be truthful, it’s easier if he isn’t around,” said Dryden. “I wouldn’t want to put my exclusive at risk, if you understand me. I’ll catch up with Elmer all right. And I’ll see Miss Serafin gets back to her people after the test.”
“Suits me,” said Fishback. At the next intersection, he followed the signs for Highway 5.
The springing of a drug test, as Dryden had anticipated, had caught the consortium unprepared. After the four hundred meters, a marshal, one of the dowagers in plastic raincoats, had rushed Goldine to the medical room with Klugman in tow, but she had very firmly closed the door on him before he could catch a glimpse of Dryden. And while Klugman had raced upstairs to report to Serafin, Fishback and Dryden had whisked Goldine to the car. The marshal had collected the clothes from the dressing room and delivered them to the car at the stadium gate.
The people at the Salk Institute for Biological Studies administered the test with the minimum of fuss. Before Goldine was taken by a female analyst to pass a specimen, Dryden put his hand on her arm and told her confidentially, “This is a safeguard for you. Don’t be anxious. You’ve nothing to fear.” Having said that, the thought crept into his mind after she had gone that if Klugman or someone had taken fright at the weather conditions, they could have slipped her a Dexedrine capsule. If the test proved positive, the consequences for Goldine’s career, Serafin’s ambitions, Dryden’s future didn’t need spelling out. He was in a sweat until the analyst appeared in half an hour and said, “She’s clear.”
“How about that?” said Fishback. “Could I have that in writing? Nobody’s going to believe this.” He turned Dryden’s way. “Sorry about your exclusive, friend, but there it is. Happens Miss Serafin is just one fabulous running machine.”
All this labeling. Artifact monster, machine …
“I just have to accept that I made a mistake,” said Dryden. “Dr. Fishback, I’m sorry to have put you to all this trouble. There’s not much I can do to compensate you, but if anyone should suggest her performances this afternoon were upped, you may be sure I’ll publish a rebuttal giving you full credit for acting as responsibly as you did.”
“Doing my job, that’s all,” Fishback magnanimously said.
As soon as Fishback had left, Goldine turned to Dryden. “We must call a cab, get back to San Diego.”
“Easy,” murmured Dryden. “Why the panic?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Doc. He won’t know what happened. If I don’t check in quick, he’ll go crazy.”
“He’ll have heard about the test,” Dryden pointed out. “He knows these things can’t be hurried. Look, you’ve had a harrowing time. You need to unwind. We’ll walk a little. Twenty minutes more won’t make any difference.”
“Will you clear it with Doc when we get back?” she dubiously asked.
“Leave it with me. There won’t be any problem,” he promised. “They’re delighted you ran so well this afternoon. And when they hear you got a clearance on the dope test, they’ll be over the moon.”
The stress lines in the center of Goldine’s forehead began to soften.
“I’m afraid I missed the last race,” Dryden casually continued. “How did it go?” He picked up her bag and moved toward the door, and she came with him.
“The four hundred?” Her eyes were shining at the recollection. “It was a lot of fun. The sun was out by then. I just coasted through the first three hundred and then kicked for home. I had a lot left at the end — would you believe that? I never guessed it could feel so easy.”
“It’s going to get tougher.”
“Don’t I know it! I had a peek at next week’s schedule. Track, track, track. I guess it’s necessary. I have to be in condition for the Olympic Trials four weeks from now.”
“You looked fit enough today.”
“I’ll have to go faster than that, but it’s coming.”
They had come down the Institute steps and were strolling through the grounds toward the gate. Dryden nudged the conversation forward. “Goldine, I was hoping I would get a chance to speak with you like this, outside the retreat, away from Ingrid and all the others.”
She smiled. “Ingrid’s no snoop.”
“I believe you, but the meeting we had in the massage room wasn’t my idea of a relaxed conversation. I’ll be truthful. I engineered that dope test to get some time alone with you. Don’t feel threatened. I didn’t do this to trap you. I just had the feeling yesterday that it wasn’t fair to expect you to answer my questions frankly.”
She stopped and regarded him pertly. “You mean I didn’t reveal enough of myself?”
He put his hand behind her elbow and gently moved her on. “Goldine, you’re a sensational bird, but I haven’t brought you here just to chat. Can we be serious?”
“If that’s what you want,” she said flatly.
“Your father — your father by adoption — wants me to be your agent after the Olympics. When I met him first, I put him down as some kind of nut and told myself I wouldn’t touch the project. It’s a little wild to contemplate, you must admit. But underneath my cynical exterior, there’s a streak of pure greed. I’m in business and I’ve had some success. I like to think I’m still moving up. When I stop thinking that way,
I should retire. Now, that selfish streak of mine tells me you could be a winner, and I ought to take the Goldengirl commission. After this afternoon, if they asked me right now, I’d take a chance and say yes. But it’s still a chance, not just because some other superdame might steal a medal you were counting on. You see, my vocation isn’t nice. I trade in people. Successful people, celebrities, world champions. I invite combines and corporations to bid for them. They make a pile of money and I take a cut. It sounds like a good arrangement, and for some of them it is.”
“Jim Hansenburg?”
Dryden thought, and nodded. “He’ll do for an example. Jim’s a natural competitor. Give him any kind of test, from high school grades to Grand Prix racing, and he’ll do his damnedest to finish on top. I had him playing with a toy the other day, a miniature racing circuit, and I asked him to make sure he didn’t win — we were pitching for a contract, and I wanted our potential customer in a good frame of mind. Do you know, Jim raced that five-inch car as if he was on the Nurburgring, got ahead, and wouldn’t give way for eighty laps? Then he drove it off the track, to my incredulous relief, but I’m sure he only did that because he’d proved to himself he was morally the winner. That’s Jim Hansenburg, a nice guy, sexy — women adore him — but with this fixation to win. He knows exactly what he wants from life. Yes, he enjoys his money, girls, travel, but he only comes alive on the Grand Prix circuits. Give him five more years, when his reactions slow up a little, and that man will cease to live, Goldine. Literally, he may kill himself trying to keep up with younger, sharper drivers — plenty do — but if he does survive, it will be an empty old age, forever striving for success at pool, poker, ten-pin bowling. He knows. I’ve discussed it with him. It isn’t in his nature to do anything different. My guess is that he’ll be dead ten years from now, but it won’t be on my conscience. Does that sound brutal?”
“I can understand,” she said, lowering her eyelids. “Are you saying the same thing could happen to me?”
He shook his head. “I’m telling you I’m a money-grabbing bastard who’ll push anyone who’s a winner and take my cut.”
“But you like to give them a rundown first on their prospects?”
“For my peace of mind, yes. There’s a glimmer of conscience in there somewhere.”
She stopped to perch herself on the concrete edging around a palm, one hand playing with her hair in a consciously feminine posture. “Go ahead, then. Tell me about the fate in store for me, Mr. Dryden.”
“That’s the catch. I can’t.”
“Come again.”
“I understand Jim Hansenburg. Goldine Serafin, I don’t.”
“Why should that be?” she asked. “I’m a simple American girl who aims to win three gold medals.”
“Why?”
“How do you mean?”
“To use a well-worn phrase, What motivates you, Goldine?”
She frowned, bewildered. “Is that important?”
“To me this evening, yes.”
“I can only answer in another cliché: it’s my life-style.”
He watched her absently shredding a piece of palm bark. He was balked again. She looked ready to talk, but the defenses had been built too high, too strong. “How about a drink? The place over there looks okay.”
“Thanks, but no. Verboten. I’d rather walk along the shore.”
They followed the road down to the beach.
“You speak German, then?” Dryden knew how it was to be a laboratory rat; as one way through was barred, another opened.
“Very little. I had some from my tutor.”
“Did your mother —”
“She brought me up to speak English,” Goldine quickly said.
“May I ask about her?”
She frowned and thought a moment, studying his face as she made up her mind. Then she said, “I can’t tell you much. I was very young. She was an air stewardess, born in Germany during the war. Her mother brought her to California after my grandfather was killed.”
“Is that her picture in your quarters?”
“Uhuh. She was pretty.”
“I thought so, too,” said Dryden. “Strange, though. I couldn’t recognize much of you in the face.”
“That’s not surprising. There isn’t much of me left.”
“I don’t follow you, Goldine.”
“Didn’t they tell you about my rhinoplasty?”
“Your what?”
She touched her nose. “Cosmetic surgery. A nose job. Eighteen months back, I could have passed you in the street. Mousy hair, flat nose, pouchy eyes and saggy breasts. All I had was my six foot two. Doc sent me to a plastic surgeon. He remodeled my nose, removed the pouches from my eyes and gave some shape to my bustline. And they decided I should go blond. You thought I was natural?” She giggled a little. “I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s a masculine delusion that you can tell a peroxide blonde as soon as she strips. There’s a great little product called Creme Bleach a girl can safely use anyplace from her eyebrows to her crotch.”
“And that’s how Goldengirl was created?”
“Most of her. Do you want to hear the rest? You’ve been honest with me, and I appreciate that. Nobody ever told me before that he was in this for the money. It’s always like they recognize my talent or they want to see me fulfilled or we’re doing it for America. You’re smiling, but that’s what Sammy Lee has started telling me.”
“He’s a smart psychologist,” said Dryden. “Loyalty is a strong motivating force. You’ll run harder for America than you would for yourself. It’s one of the oldest principles in sports that you go better if you represent something: college, club or country. You’ve been prepared for Moscow as a loner, but by the time of the Olympics, he’ll have you blubbing at the sight of the Stars and Stripes.”
She looked impressed. “You know, I think you could help me, Mr. Dryden. What you just said is the kind of thing I need to understand.”
The rainclouds were an unlikely memory as they strolled along the sand of La Jolla Beach, close to the waterline. She took off her shoes and linked her free arm in his as she talked. “You know, I’d like to answer that question of yours about why I want to win in Moscow. And let’s be clear. I do want to win. That’s me speaking, not Doc or Sammy or Pete Klugman.”
“Or Goldengirl?” said Dryden.
“You got it. Not Goldengirl. Dean. I Dean Hofmann, mean to win those three gold medals. I’ll try to tell you why, but you must understand some more about the way I was raised. They told you about that?”
“Not much. You had a private education.”
“Tutors. I learned to read and write, and I made some progress, I guess. I wouldn’t make UCLA, but I have the basics. From quite early on, the physical side of my development was paramount. By that, I mean I had my own little gym before I was out of diapers. It had a swing, ropes, parallel bars. I had to work out every day, morning and afternoon. I didn’t mind that too much, but there was physiotherapy too, and that could be painful. Doc had a theory about oxygen intake which involved expanding my rib cage. So once a day I was put into something like an old-time corset, except it didn’t compress you, it fastened under your ribs and pulled you out. I hated it. I hated the injections, too.”
“Injections. What were they?”
“Iron, I guess. To supplement my strength. Once a week, right up to when I was sixteen. And my diet had to be regulated to my physique. No candy — I really do have my own beautiful teeth — and no jam or iced cakes.”
“What could you eat?”
“Whole-wheat bread, skim milk or buttermilk, grapes, oranges, honey, raisins, liver, beef and meat extract — by the spoonful.”
“That’s a lot of vitamins. Did Serafin measure your progress physically?”
“Each Monday morning. He still does. A full physical. Everything goes into the records.”
“And Mrs. Serafin,” ventured Dryden. “What part did she play in your life?”
Goldine smiled wanly and
shook her head. “She slipped me a chocolate bar sometimes. She wasn’t a dominant personality. If I was ill, she took over. That was nice. Don’t get me wrong — I’m not bitching about my childhood. I couldn’t be a champion if they hadn’t taken care of my body. I have a very good cardiovascular system.” She picked up a piece of driftwood and made as if to fling it far out to sea, then let it fall in the sand. “Did you know that Jean Serafin left him? That really surprised me. I never dreamed she had anything going with another man. She took off to the West Indies the fall before last.”
“You didn’t think of going with her?”
“Mr. Dryden —”
“Jack.”
“Jack, you’ll find this hard to credit, but I never really got to know Jean. She was younger than Doc, and maybe that made it hard for me to relate to her as a mother figure. I didn’t make it easy for her. If you put together all the stereotypes you’ve ever seen of adopted kids rejecting their surrogate parents, I was it. Doc I could accept: I had no father, so he wasn’t ousting anyone. But Jean I hated. In time, I tolerated her, but we never grew close. It’s only since she left that I realize she had a part in my life.”
“What was that?”
“I figure she was a moderating influence on Doc so far as my upbringing was concerned. I never heard them discuss it. I just see how things have gone through the past year and a half since Jean took off. Doc focused totally on me, and he’s a determined man. He found some backers and had the training camp built. Since we’ve been up there, everything is stepped up. That’s okay — I expect it, to be sure of winning the Olympics. Jack, I know I can win in Moscow. It would be a betrayal not to make sure I do, by training hard. A betrayal of myself, I mean. You see, winning is my way of making sense of my life so far. If I gave up, walked off right now to join a commune somewhere — I’ve thought about it — that’s as good as saying all these years were wasted. I don’t want that. I want to get my golds and give some meaning to my life so far. Then I can draw a line underneath” — she stopped and made a mark in the wet sand with her toe, and stepped over it — “and begin to find out who I really am.”
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