She was close to tears, but her words were shaped in the white heat of her new knowledge. They were razor-edged.
Serafin stood in silence, spastically stretching and clenching his fingers, suffering, Dryden suspected, more from the destruction of his dream than shame at what he had inflicted on Goldine.
Of those present, Dryden had least reason to feel emotionally involved. He had engineered this confrontation, anticipated what Serafin would say.
But he had not anticipated Goldine’s reaction.
He had watched her and listened in genuine surprise turning to admiration. For it took courage to speak like that to Serafin, her virtual slavemaster for fifteen years. Maybe it was an isolated outburst of defiance, but it showed she was no automaton. Her own personality had survived and was struggling to be free.
And Dryden cared.
There would be no Goldengirl. No triumph at the Olympics. Nothing in it for Dryden Merchandising. But stumbling toward him out of this wreckage was the girl who had been Dean Hofmann.
Yes, he cared passionately.
Jack Dryden in love? Crazy. It couldn’t happen.
He approached and put a hand gently on her arm. This was not the time to analyze his feelings. She needed to know he was going to help. ‘We must get you out of here,’ he told her. ‘Out of Cleveland. I’ll find you a good doctor, a specialist, in New York.’
She stared at him in surprise and frowned. ‘I figured now that I’m out of the Olympics...’
‘...you need help more than ever,’ said Dryden. ‘I take it, after what you said, that you want to get as far away from this skunk as you can. Okay, I have an office in New York. I can get you into a clinic with the best medical treatment.’
‘You’ll do that for me?’ She caught her breath in disbelief. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘But you’ll come?’ said Dryden. ‘You trust me?’
Her eyes moistened. She was shaping to reply when Serafin interrupted.
‘You think you can take her away from me, Dryden? You think she’ll go with you?’ His voice was pitched manically high. ‘It’s a delusion. Goldengirl is mine. I made her what she is. You can’t alter that.’
‘He’s off his rocker,’ said Melody. ‘Ignore him.’
Goldine wasn’t letting it pass. ‘What do you mean by that? You figure you have a claim on me, like I’m some possession?’ She stood up and advanced on Serafin with such menace that he put up an arm to shield his face. ‘Understand this, Doc. I despise you. I’ve hated you for years. The only reason I never walked out of your life before is that I wanted to collect those medals. Hell, I earned them. They were going to make some sense out of the mess my life has been up to now. Yes, you’re right — you made me what I am. And by God I mean to change it.’
‘You won’t,’ said Serafin with a quick uncanny laugh. ‘You’re Goldengirl.’
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Melody appealed to Dryden.
‘There’s no Goldengirl any more,’ Goldine told Serafin, stressing each word with categorical force. ‘You created her and you destroyed, her. All that’s left is bitterness and this wreck of a body I have to drag around. I guess I’ll make out, but I don’t ever want to see you or hear from you again.’ She turned away from him and told Dryden, ‘I’ll need to get dressed.’
‘We’ll wait downstairs.’
‘Before you go, there’s something you may wish to know. All of you.’ Serafin spoke more slowly, with an effort to regenerate authority. ‘You make the mistake of assuming Goldine’s diabetes is incapacitating. There are degrees of this condition, and hers is actually quite mild — so mild, in fact, that I doubt if it would have been diagnosed if she had not made heavy demands on her body as an athlete.’
‘Look, this doesn’t help,’ Dryden said. ‘Salve your conscience any way you want. We don’t wish to hear it.’
‘But you will,’ said Serafin more urgently. ‘Despise me if you like, but respect my knowledge of medicine. I brought Goldine here to check the extent of the diabetes and bring it under control with insulin.’
‘What are you trying to say?’ asked Goldine.
‘The injections I’ve been giving you supply the insulin your body requires, but no longer produces in sufficient quantity. Already you have regained most of the weight you lost. With regular insulin and dieting you can lead a normal life.’ Serafin took a step toward her. ‘Do you sec what this means? There is nothing to stop you competing in the Olympics. I’ve stabilised the insulin requirement. We’ll have to make adjustments to allow for the blood sugar you burn up in exercise, but it can be done.’
‘You’re saying I have diabetes, but I can still run in the Olympics?’ said Goldine, floundering through the medical jargon.
‘Why not? It’s nothing unusual for diabetics to reach the top in sports. There are international tennis players, swimmers—’
‘Just what are you up to?’ Dryden angrily broke in. ‘Goldine has accepted it’s all over. God knows she has problems enough trying to rebuild a life for herself without you poisoning her mind with false hopes.’
‘Wait, Jack,’ said Goldine in a calm voice. ‘I must hear this out. He can’t hurt me any more.’
Dryden looked into her eyes and understood. He had thought she was free, but she was not. The idea of being Goldengirl still possessed her. That was what Serafin had meant.
‘You must go to Moscow,’ Serafin was saying. ‘You won your place on the team. It’s your right.’
‘What about her health?’ demanded Dryden, refusing to let go. ‘You say the diabetes is mild. If competing in Eugene set this thing off, couldn’t the Olympics make it worse?’
‘That doesn’t follow at all,’ Serafin answered. ‘I have it under control now. I will monitor her blood-sugar level from race to race.’
Dryden shook his head. ‘The Russians will scream drugs the first time you take a blood sample.’
‘Nobody would ban a diabetic athlete from the Olympics,’ Serafin stated emphatically. ‘Insulin isn’t on the list of prohibited drugs. It simply allows a diabetic to function normally. It gives them no unfair advantage. When Goldine competed in the finals at Eugene she was suffering from an insulin deficiency. With an injection she might have beaten world records.’
‘That was why the four hundred was so tough?’ said Goldine, the excitement rising in her voice. ‘It was the diabetes that beat me?’ She wheeled round toward Dryden, eyes shining. ‘You see — I could have won that race.’
‘Of course you could!’ crowed Serafin. ‘You exhibited your symptoms early in the Trials. Klugman reported them. But undue tiredness and a dry throat can result from a dozen different causes. Even if I had recognised the condition at once, it is doubtful if I could have helped you through the remaining races. It takes time to check the insulin requirement. It’s a very fine balance that varies from one individual to another. Yours is stabilised now, but it’s taken nearly two weeks.’
‘You mean I could get back to training at once?’ asked Goldine.
Dryden put his hand on her arm. ‘I know how much this means to you, but it isn’t wise. Even if you limit yourself to one event in Moscow, what use will it be if you go out in Round One? Isn’t it better to be remembered as a winner than someone who failed in the Olympics?’