‘That’s speculation,’ said Dryden. ‘It hasn’t happened, I’m glad to report. Can you imagine telling a two-hundred-pound soprano from the Metropolitan Opera to knock off the romance?’
Goldine laughed, and flopped back on the sand. ‘We’d better not lose any time, then.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Tomorrow you make your decision, right? You sign me up, or walk right out of my life. From what you say, the upshot is the same so far as romance is concerned. If I want you, I must make it now. You said you like me.’
This wasn’t scheduled. Till now, everything had gone as per plan, with the characteristic smoothness of any Dryden operation. He had explanations to cover everything: his ‘accident,’ the dope test, the change of route, the delay at the Salk Institute. He was ready to admit to the consortium that he’d used the time to have a conversation with Goldengirl. Laying her on La Jolla Beach was another matter.
‘When I said I like you, I meant it, but—’
‘Kiss me, then.’ She parted her lips and confidently waited.
He leaned over her, keeping one hand on the breakwater, the other in the sand. ‘You must understand that this doesn’t mean...’
She snatched at the kiss in a way that betrayed inexperience.
‘Take it easy,’ he told her. ‘More like this.’ He showed her how to touch with the lips and gently increase pressure.
‘I’m not much good,’ she said.
‘That was better. Like everything else, it’s practice. I’m useless at crouch starts.’
She pressed her hip against his leg. ‘Hold me.’
He shook his head. ‘Better not. I’m liable to take advantage.’
With wide eyes she said, ‘But I want you to.’
Time for the only ploy he could think of. ‘I’m... er... not equipped. Too risky for you.’
‘That’s okay,’ she said with a sweet smile. ‘I’m on the pill.’
‘Not a chance,’ said Dryden. She had told him some weird things, but that beat everything. ‘In that case, what’s Ingrid doing on the payroll?’
‘Silly,’ she said, running the tip of her finger down the bridge of his nose. ‘Don’t you know girl athletes have to regulate their periods? The pill is obligatory for Goldengirl. Hell, I’m not in high school, you know. Because Doc and the others treat me like a kid, it doesn’t mean I’m untouchable.’
‘It’s getting late.’ He was beginning to talk like a school kid. ‘Your father must be going crazy.’
‘We’ll think of something to tell him,’ she said. ‘Jack, I want you. Christ, you’re not refusing me, are you? Am I so grotesque?’
She was fumbling with the front of his trousers. This was becoming ridiculous: rape in reverse. He unlocked the arm that was around his neck and drew away from her, kneeling in the sand. ‘Goldine, this isn’t the way.’
She had pulled open the zip of her jeans. White cotton showed in the cleft. Practical and unalluring, it epitomised her situation in a way that touched his sympathy. Kept by the consortium, shaped to their specifications, trained to the breaking point, physically and psychologically abused, deprived of any feminine indulgence unless it suited their plans, here she lay on the sand in her plain cotton underwear, appealing for confirmation that she existed as a woman. He couldn’t deny her that.
He moved close and whispered a lie. ‘Goldine, you’re too persuasive.’
As he expected, it wasn’t ecstatic lovemaking. Melody Fryer’s soft carnality was imprinted too clearly on his memory as he coaxed Goldine to relax her iron grip and let him perform the essential movements.
It was presently obvious that this was a pioneering effort so far as she was concerned, but she urged him on and accepted the discomfort like lifting weights. He closed his eyes and remembered her in the flashlights, parading the sexuality Dr. Lee had harnessed for her appearances before the press. At a cost now becoming apparent. He caressed her breasts and murmured endearments, but it was obvious he was not going to bring her to orgasm. After he had reached his climax he remained holding her and said, ‘Nice. You okay?’
She gave him a light kiss. ‘Thanks. I’m a beginner, as you must have noticed.’
‘After the first time, it gets better,’ he promised her.
‘I hope it did something for you.’
More than she knew. It had brought him to a decision. He would agree to Serafin’s terms and go in with the consortium.
Ten
BLONDE DASHER: METRO CLUB MYSTERY
By Grantland Davis
SAN DIEGO, June 15 — Officials of the Metro Track Club were last night at a loss to account for the sensational running of a mystery blonde who mopped up three titles with Olympic qualifying performances in their San Diego meet yesterday. The tall, attractive girl, who gave her name as Goldine Serafin, is unknown to track specialists. Yet she posted times of 11.08 (100 metres), 22.85 (200 metres) and 50.52 (400 metres) to rank her among the world’s top dashers in this Olympic season. Track nuts in Los Angeles on hearing of these clockings were inclined to put them down to faulty equipment, but Meet Director Vince Sapperstein stated, ‘We had the electronic timing mechanism checked by the Longines people Wednesday, and it’s accurate to within a hundredth of a second. Besides, several observers clocked her independently. Believe me, those times were right.”
Dope Test
The mystery of blond Goldine was complicated after her last event, the 400 metres, when an official escorted her from the arena, refusing press interviews. Later it was learned that Meet Physician Julius Fishback had called for a dope test. Said Dr. Fishback last night: ‘When I heard about those timings, I thought it proper to authorize a routine test on Miss Serafin. It was carried out at the Salk Institute and the result was negative. Her performances were definitely not assisted by drugs.”
Burned Off
The girls who suffered crushing defeats in the wake of galloping Goldine included San Jose Cindergal Debbie Jackson, 21, who earlier this season ran 11 flat for 100 metres. ‘She took two metres off me in the first 30,’ said Debbie. ‘And that was into a wind. She’d have burned anyone off today. No, I didn’t recognize her, but then I saw more of her back than her face. If this chick goes, the Olympic Tryouts next month should be a gas, a real gas.”
No Trace
Late last night reporters were unable to trace Goldine Serafin. Her entry form listed her address as a Bakersfield P.O. Box number. A Dr. William Serafin and his wife Jean are known to have resided in Bakersfield until two years ago, but neighbours remember their only daughter as dark-haired and quite unlike the pictures taken yesterday of blond Goldine (above). The Serafins are believed to have separated in 1978. Their present addresses are not known. Goldine was listed in the meet program as ‘unattached,’ meaning she has no track club affiliation.
Wild Theory
The possibility that the blond runner was a top-rank athlete from Europe over here to soak up some California sunshine, and using another name to disguise her from rivals in the forthcoming Olympic Games, was dismissed by an AAU official as ‘wild.’ But the mystery of blond Goldine remains, and may not be cleared up before next month, when the Olympic Trials take place in Eugene, Oregon. Stated the AAU official, ‘If the clockings in San Diego are authenticated, Miss Serafin should get an invite to the Trials. I mean no discredit to San Diego officials, but I’ll be interested to see if this girl can repeat her performances under championship conditions.”
Dryden tossed aside the Sunday edition of the Union he had picked up in the hotel lounge. It was a relief that nothing in it conflicted with the story he had told the night before. To give credit to Serafin, he hadn’t gone berserk when Dryden and Goldine had finally appeared in the lobby of the Westgate Plaza Hotel at ten-fifteen. He had listened to the story, and it was watertight.