‘Is it achieving results?’ Lee impassively asked. ‘How did she perform today?’
‘Why ask me when you already know?’ said Klugman.
‘Isn’t it a pertinent point?’
‘I need to know anyway,’ said Serafin. ‘I know you’re not entirely in sympathy with this, Peter, but let’s at least consider the facts.’
‘She ran six repetitions under twenty-four seconds,’ said Klugman flatly. ‘That’s great running.’
‘The best she has achieved?’ asked Lee.
Klugman nodded. ‘She’s a fighter.’
‘Doesn’t that confirm the value of the exercise?’ said Lee.
‘Yeah, but my stock’s dropped fifty points since we started this.’
Lee disdained to comment.
‘The question is, do we persist?’ said Serafin. ‘There could be a danger of overstrain. It hasn’t shown up so far in the physicals, but I can’t risk letting this go on to the threshold of hypertension.’
Lee said, ‘It is proved beyond doubt that there is a factor in the personality that can be stimulated by failure. Too much success leads to overconfidence. We have established that Goldengirl’s performance has improved appreciably under stressful conditions. So far, there are no clinical symptoms of overstrain. I would be in favor of prolonging this, at least until Friday. If we switch her then to less demanding objectives, I believe it will give her the lift she needs for the Olympic Trials.’
‘Until Friday?’ said Serafin. ‘That sounds reasonable to me. Would you settle for that, Peter?’
‘Seems I’m in a minority of one again,’ said Klugman. ‘Okay, Friday.’ He took out his notebook and recorded the decision.
With that settled, Lee went on to say, ‘There are also some indications of a crisis of identity, as we anticipated. I think we can keep it under control by frequently reinforcing the Goldengirl idea. This afternoon, I showed her part of the tape Robb put together for me, featuring female gold medalists, with the emphasis on their moment of triumph. All she has seen before has been technical film, which always cuts as the athlete crosses the finishing line. Seeing the girls she recognizes in this new role, being lionised by the press and crowd, made a definite impression on her. The scenes of Cuthbert in Melbourne were sufficient therapy for today. I watched the pupils of Goldengirl’s eyes dilate as each victory was celebrated.’
‘This sounds an interesting innovation,’ said Serafin.
‘Betty Cuthbert?’ said Klugman, frowning. ‘You’re using her for an example?’
‘What is the matter with that?’ asked Lee.
‘You wouldn’t find a more conspicuous example of a golden girl,’ said Serafin.
‘Betty Cuthbert?’ repeated Klugman.
‘Three gold medals,’ said Lee.
‘I know that,’ said Klugman.
‘There are obvious parallels with our situation,’ Serafin went on. ‘She was blond, blue-eyed, young—’
‘Eighteen,’ said Lee.
‘And she first hit the headlines in Olympic year by winning the Australian championship for 220 yards,’ said Serafin. ‘It would do Goldengirl no harm to identify with her.’
‘So long as nobody tells her what happened to Betty Cutlibert after the Olympics,’ said Klugman. ‘I can think of groovier ways to live with three gold medals than waking up in the night screaming with nightmares. When a kid of eighteen has to go on sleepers because her life has been taken over by the PR guys, that’s sad. And that was twenty-four years back.’
‘Aren’t you being a little overdramatic?’ said Lee. ‘If you remember, the same athlete made a return to track, and won another gold in 1964.’
‘The 400 metres,’ said Serafin, as if Klugman had not spoken. ‘That’s another parallel, of course. Betty Cuthbert is the only athlete to have won the three events Goldengirl is going for. At an interval of eight years, so our achievement will be unique. It may be worth pointing out that Cuthbert demonstrated the possibility of the triple. Which brings us to you, Peter, and the prospects for the Trials in Eugene. We know how Goldengirl is shaping. What can you tell us of the opposition?’
Outmaneuvered again, Klugman glared at Lee, and gave his rundown on the U.S. sprint scene. ‘The black girls top the rankings for the dashes, as usual. There are two useful sprinters at Tennessee State University, names of Carroll and Devine. On the East Coast, Shelley Wilson is cleaning up around eleven flat. She could come big in Eugene. And there’s Francie Harman of Texas Southern with a windy ten point nine and a legitimate twenty-three point five. And I guess Debbie Jackson will be back for more.’
‘She won’t trouble us,’ said Serafin. ‘What’s the picture in the four hundred?’
‘Until San Diego, it was dominated by a Sacramento coed called Janie Canute, some kind of Jesus freak who’s running in the name of the Lord. So far, she’s done it no discredit. Below fifty-one three times this month. That’s fast. The rest you can forget. Nothing under fifty-two.’
‘In the name of the Lord?’ said Serafin. ‘That’s something we didn’t consider, Sammy.’
Klugman laughed. ‘If Dryden’s as good as you say, the Lord would have to pay a bundle for exclusive rights.’
Fourteen
Dryden arrived in Eugene as scheduled on Thursday, July 10, making the 800-mile trip north along the Pacific Coast by air taxi. Mahlon Sweet Field seethed with pinch-fit people carrying trade-marked sports bags, Adidas nudging Puma as they converged on the taxi stand. Bystanders debated which of the bag carriers were hammer-throwers, which high-jumpers. Now that the University of Oregon track was established as a venue for national track and field, jock-spotting in July was a local pastime.
The Hotel Jacaranda, where Serafin had booked rooms for everyone, was a four-story modern building north of town on the Coburg Road, away from the University, where most competitors were accommodated. It stood in nine acres of landscaped grounds, with tennis courts, nine-hole golf and two heated pools. The room Dryden was shown into was in the forty-dollar class; he wasn’t surprised there were no athletes staying there. ‘I’ve known big-name golfers come,’ the receptionist told him. ‘Track people, no.’
He took a slow shower. No sense in hurrying downstairs and catching Valenti or Sternberg at the bar. He wanted a clear head for the afternoon. His plans for selling Goldengirl were scheduled for a thorough going over. He had dug a little into the business histories of the consortium. Valenti he had confirmed as a go-getting executive who had more than doubled his share of the pharmaceutical industry in the last ten years. Oliver Sternberg had wrapped up the wrestling game less overtly; the back-room deal with the meet director in San Diego typified his business style.
The real surprise was Michael Cobb. The Old World exterior masked a dynamo. The Galsgear label, currently selling every garment the factories could produce, was about to be superseded by a new Cobb line. Defying the dogma of brand loyalty, he had made a policy of limiting each promotion to a two-year run, launching the replacement at the sales peak. The results had transformed the trade. In the last five years he had moved into shoes, lingerie and men’s casuals.
Add Serafin, and the line-up justified the groundwork Dryden had got through for this presentation. People like these weren’t going to be sidetracked by the newspeak of marketing; they wanted firm proposals, and they would dissect them point by point.
When he did go down, he was pleased to see Dick Armitage in the elevator. In thinking of the consortium, he never included Dick. Nice to know there was one he could rely on for support.