The thought of an iced tea almost made Stevie feel faint. Actually, the thought of eating made him feel faint because the two bags of airline pretzels he’d eaten since breakfast were not getting it done for him anymore.
All of which gave him an idea.
“Hey, Bobby, if we aren’t going to get in the room anyway, why don’t we leave our bags with the bellman and go get something to eat too?” he said. “Then we can pick up our credentials, and by the time we get back, the room might be ready.”
“Great idea,” Kelleher said. “But Courtyards don’t have bellmen.”
“Then who’s that?” Stevie said, nodding toward the corner of the lobby, where someone was leaving his bag with a man in a hotel uniform.
“That’s odd,” Kelleher said. “Let’s give it a shot.”
“I’m going,” Tamara said, giving her husband a quick kiss. “Wish me luck.”
They wished her luck and Kelleher slung his wife’s bags over his shoulder and they headed for the corner of the lobby.
“Is this the bell desk?” Kelleher said.
“It is this week,” said the man, who wore a name tag that identified him as Lawrence Murchison, Lincoln, Nebraska. “We set it up because the hotel is so full. It isn’t just that every room is booked; we’ve got rooms with three and four people in them.”
“Yep, that’s full,” Kelleher said. “Can we leave our bags with you and come back later to check in?”
“Absolutely,” said Lawrence of Lincoln.
Five minutes and a five-dollar tip later, they were heading for a restaurant called Spencer’s. Lawrence said it had the best steaks in town and excellent hamburgers too. Stevie was in luck.
Tamara’s luck was not so good. At the very moment that Stevie and Bobby were sitting down at Spencer’s, Tamara was being seated at Spaghetti Works. She was also getting a text from Susan Carol. Just leaving hotel, it said. Be there in 10.
Susan Carol had trouble typing the words because she was striding through the lobby of the Omaha Hilton, where most of the top swimmers were staying. Not only was it practically on top of the CenturyLink Center, there was a sky bridge connecting the two buildings so swimmers didn’t have to go outside into the heat at all. Susan Carol had used the sky bridge that morning when she had gone to work out.
It was a relief to be here and about to swim at last. She’d thought things might get better when school let out—that she’d have one less thing to worry about. But she almost missed school. At least that was familiar.
She had felt good in the pool and would have liked to stay all day, but she was under orders from Ed Brennan not to do more than 2,000 meters. She had been in full taper mode for three weeks, and at this point all Ed wanted her to do was stretch out, get the feel of the water, and do some work off the blocks.
No two swimming pools had identical blocks even though they were all supposed to conform to standards established by FINA. They all felt just a little bit different and, especially in the 100 fly, being comfortable when you stepped up could be crucial.
She had taken a long shower at the pool, promised Ed for the hundredth time that she would stay out of the heat as much as possible, and headed back to the hotel. It was 11:30, and she and her father had plans to leave for their lunch date with Tamara at 12:45. She’d debated just pretending to run into Tamara at the restaurant but decided it was better to make a definite date. Her father had seemed surprised but happy enough when she said Tamara was working on a story for the Post’s Sunday magazine.
When she walked into the lobby, her dad was sitting in an armchair, waiting for her.
“I was just starting to worry,” he said.
“I took a long shower,” she said. “What’s up?”
“We need to talk before we go to lunch.”
“Okay. What about?”
“Not here,” he said.
She followed him to the elevator and was surprised when they got on and he punched the button for the eighth floor.
“Dad, we’re on twelve,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “We’re going to make a quick stop to talk to J.P. and Susie.”
“What about?” she said. “I thought they understood that I’m not doing anything here except swimming.”
The elevator had now reached the eighth floor.
“That’s exactly right,” her dad said as he walked down the hall.
Confused, she followed him. Susie opened the door almost the second he knocked.
“Hey, come on in!” she said enthusiastically. “Susan Carol, how’d the workout go? You want something to drink?”
The room was considerably bigger than hers and looked out on the new baseball stadium where the College World Series was played. She wondered how they had wangled their way into the hotel. She’d been told that the Hilton was strictly reserved for swimmers who were high seeds in their events, their families and coaches, and also for some top USA Swimming officials and sponsors. As far as she could tell, agents weren’t on that list.
“I’m fine,” she said in response to the question. J.P. was sitting in a chair near the window.
“You look great,” he said. “Ready for tomorrow?”
“I hope so,” she said. “I was going to go lie down for a few minutes before lunch.…”
“That’s what we wanted to talk about,” J.P. said, indicating with his hand that she should sit in the chair opposite him. She thought about refusing but remembered Ed’s constant reminder to stay off her feet as much as possible.
“You wanted to talk about lunch?”
“Honey, J.P. and Susie don’t think we should be having lunch with a reporter the day before you start to swim,” her dad said.
“It sets a bad precedent,” Susie said, trying to sound soothing. “We’re turning down one-on-ones unless they’re really important—you know, NBC, ESPN, or maybe Sports Illustrated.”
Susan Carol laughed. “You don’t think the Washington Post is important enough to talk to me?”
“We don’t think newspapers matter very much anymore,” J.P. said. “But that’s not really the point here. Your life is going to be very hectic from now until the end of the Olympics. You’re going to have to make choices or, more specifically, we’re going to have to make choices for you.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” Susan Carol said.
J.P. looked at her dad. Clearly he wanted him to answer that question.
“Honey, it means that for a few weeks, you have to think of Tamara and Bobby and even Stevie as members of the media first and your friends second.”
“You can’t be running off to McDonald’s with them the way you did in Charlotte,” J.P. said.
“Or having lunch with one of them the day before the Olympic Trials start,” Susie added.
“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” Susan Carol said.
She was angry, really angry.
“Susan Carol …,” her dad started.
She held up her hand. “I’m sorry, Dad. But this is going too far. I’ve done everything I’ve been asked to do until now. But I’m not going to just cut my friends out of my life. Stevie’s been my rock through all of this. And now you want me to see less of him?”
“I appreciate your loyalty,” her dad said. “I’ve explained to J.P. and Susie how close you guys are. But they do have a point: This is about fairness. Other reporters will see you with Stevie and Bobby and Tamara and think they’re being given favorable treatment.”
“Other reporters know they’re my friends.”
“We need to treat everyone the same,” J.P. put in.
“Except for NBC, ESPN, and maybe Sports Illustrated,” Susan Carol said.
She decided she was done talking to the Lightning Fast people. She turned to her father.
“I’m meeting my longtime friend and mentor Tamara for lunch as we planned. I’d really like you to come too, Dad. Please.”
Her dad shook his head. “No, honey, I’m sorry. We’re paying J.P. and Susi
e to tell us how best to handle all this and I think we need to listen to them. They’re the pros here.”
“Can you hear yourself? We’re paying them to help manage my career, not to decide who I can be friends with or talk to.”
There was so much more she wanted to say, but the need to get out of there was even stronger. She practically ran to the door.
By the time she reached the elevators, she was crying. How could this happen? Her dad was the best, most honest person she knew. But he seemed to have substituted the agents’ judgments for his own. She barely recognized him.
When she got back to her room, it was almost one o’clock. She changed quickly and sent Tamara the text while striding out the door.
“Where’s your dad?” Tamara asked as Susan Carol slid into the booth opposite her.
“Lost,” Susan Carol answered. “He’s completely lost.”
12: THE TRIAL BEFORE THE TRIALS
Stevie and Bobby had finished eating and were walking to the arena to pick up their credentials when Bobby’s cell phone began playing what Stevie recognized as the Army fight song.
“I thought you were unbiased when it came to Army and Navy,” Stevie said as Bobby answered the phone.
“Can I help it if the Army song is better?” Bobby said, then, into the phone, “What’s up?”
He listened for a minute and nodded. “Okay. Order some dessert and we’ll be there in a few minutes.”
He hung up, looking concerned.
“What is it?” Stevie asked.
“Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you while we’re waiting for our credentials.”
Actually, there was no waiting. With the first final scheduled for the next night, most of the media had apparently not arrived yet.
“You’re one of the first, actually,” said the cheerful young woman whose name tag said Alexis Verdon. She had one of those flat midwestern accents that reminded Stevie of a tennis player he had written about named Evelyn Rubin. She didn’t say “actually”; she said “aack-chew-uh-ly.”
Bobby and Stevie showed their IDs, and she handed them credentials and booklets that said SCHEDULE and HEAT SHEETS. When Kelleher asked for Tamara’s credential too, Alexis Verdon frowned.
“I think Mike Unger was going to leave a note that I was picking her stuff up,” Kelleher said.
Alexis had been looking through the list of names in front of her. “You’re right,” she said. “There’s a note right here.”
She handed Bobby the credential for Tamara and asked him to sign in the space next to her name.
“Just in case you don’t see her and she thinks she’s supposed to pick it up here,” she said.
“I’m pretty sure I’ll see her,” Kelleher said as he signed. “She’s my wife.”
“Oh!” Alexis said. “Funny, I never thought of sportswriters being married to one another.”
“Well, someone has to marry us, I guess,” Kelleher said, smiling.
“If this picture is accurate (“aack-curate”), it looks like you did just fine.”
“He did better than fine,” Stevie said.
“Well, I’ll bet your girlfriend is very pretty too,” Alexis Verdon said.
“You’ve got that right,” Kelleher said. “His girlfriend is Susan Carol Anderson.”
Alexis Verdon’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
Stevie thought she looked a bit wobbly.
“Thanks,” Kelleher said to her as they walked away.
“Did you have to do that?” Stevie hissed as the blast furnace hit them again walking out the door.
“It was worth it to see the look on her face.”
“Yeah, you think it’s funny people are shocked she’d date me, but somehow I don’t.”
“That’s not—”
“Moving on. Will you please tell me what the call from Tamara was about?”
“Reverend Anderson wouldn’t come to lunch. Susan Carol is really upset. She says her father is ‘lost.’ ”
“Looks like we need another plan,” Stevie said.
“Well, you’re the boyfriend,” Kelleher said. “Time for you to mount that white horse and ride to the rescue.” He was grinning from ear to ear.
“Bobby,” Stevie said. “I mean this with all due respect.”
“Let me guess,” Kelleher said.
“Yeah,” Stevie said. “Shut up.”
They were both grinning as they headed for the Spaghetti Factory.
There weren’t any smiles once they got to the restaurant. Susan Carol was spooning some chocolate ice cream, and Tamara was drinking iced tea. It looked to Stevie as if Susan Carol had been crying.
Kelleher sat next to his wife, and Stevie slid in next to Susan Carol. Kelleher ordered coffee and Stevie got a Coke.
“You don’t want anything to drink?” Stevie asked.
Susan Carol shook her head. “I promised Ed no caffeine until the Olympics are over.”
They sat in silence until the waitress came back with the drinks. Then Tamara took a deep breath and said, “Well, boys, to quote Tom Hanks, ‘Houston, we’ve got a problem.’ ”
At Kelleher’s urging, Susan Carol walked them through her morning. She had tears in her eyes again by the time she finished.
Kelleher sighed.
“Look, Susan Carol, I know why you feel the way you do. Let me try to cheer you up just a little: Your dad is not a pushy stage parent or a gold digger. And lots of athletes’ parents are. He’s a good man who has been swept off his feet by these people.”
“That doesn’t make this any easier for Susan Carol,” Tamara said.
“I know,” Bobby said. “But I think it’s important to remember that you’re right in saying your dad is a little bit lost. There are worse scenarios. And his condition is probably only temporary.”
“But how do we fix it if he won’t talk to anyone but those people?” Susan Carol asked.
“I’ve got half an idea,” Stevie said.
They all looked at him, but got distracted by a commotion in the restaurant.
Pushing their way noisily between tables were three men. Stevie recognized the one leading the way—it was Trevor James, the USA Swimming guy who had been such a pain in Charlotte until Chuck Wielgus had reined him in. Stevie didn’t know the other two men, but they were quite large and didn’t look friendly.
James marched up to their table. Several customers who had been all but shoved aside as the trio made their way back to the booth were staring, trying to see what the commotion was about.
“Bobby Kelleher, I presume?” James said, almost in the tone of a TV cop about to make an arrest.
Kelleher took a long sip of his coffee before answering.
“Is there something we can do for you, Mr. James?”
“You can explain why I shouldn’t strip you and your friends of your credentials for unauthorized contact with a participant in the trials.”
“What?” Kelleher said. “What in the world are you babbling about?”
“I understand you picked up your credentials a little while ago,” James said. “I would suggest you look on the back and read what it says about trying to interview athletes outside the official media areas of the arena.”
“No one is interviewing me,” Susan Carol said. “Do you see a notebook or a tape recorder anywhere? These are my friends.”
“Not here, they aren’t,” James said. “They’re here to cover the trials and you’re here to swim. That makes them media and you an athlete.”
“But not human beings, I guess,” Stevie said.
James gave him a withering glare. “Make all the smart remarks you want, but we’re going to take Ms. Anderson back to her hotel now.” He nodded at the goons. “Mark and Ted are part of our security team. They’ll make sure she gets there without being harassed any further.”
Kelleher had taken his credential from his pocket and was actually reading the back of it, which surprised Stevie.
“I’m sorry, James, but you and Mike
and Ike won’t be taking Ms. Anderson anyplace. And if you aren’t out of here in about fifteen seconds, I’m going to ask the management to remove you, and if they have to call the cops, that’s fine too.”
“I told you the rules, Kelleher—”
“You said I should read the back of my credential. Let me read it to you. ‘There is to be no unauthorized contact between media and athletes outside the official media areas of the arena once the meet begins. Any violation of this policy may result in the loss of media privileges and access.’ ”
“What part of that do you not understand?” James said, sneering triumphantly.
“When does the meet begin? Did the schedule change? Or does it start at ten o’clock tomorrow morning?”
The look on James’s face changed in an instant.
“See,” Kelleher said, holding the credential up so James could see it. “ ‘Once the meet begins.’ What part of that don’t you understand? Now, are you going or am I having you thrown out?”
James’s face was bright red.
“Your time is going to come, Kelleher, I promise,” he said.
Kelleher laughed. “Yeah, you’re really scary, James. Next time show up without the goons and we’ll see how tough you are.”
One of the goons seemed offended. “Hey, pal, I’m not a goon, I’m a security consultant,” he said.
The manager had finally arrived to see what was going on.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“No problem,” Kelleher said. “These gentlemen were just leaving.”
The manager was about to say something when he saw Susan Carol.
“Susan Carol Anderson!” he gasped. “I didn’t know you were in here. Is there anything at all I can do for you?”
“Yes,” Susan Carol said, The Smile turned up to full wattage. “These men are bothering me. It would be great if they would leave.”
The manager turned to James. “I will ask you to go nicely once. After that I call the cops.”
James and the goons/security consultants headed for the door.
The manager turned back to the table. “I’m so sorry about this,” he said. “Your lunch is on me.”
Rush for the Gold: Mystery at the Olympics Page 9