There were four sportsmen on the Dryden books in the superstar bracket — Dick Armitage, Jim Hansenburg, the world champion racing driver, and the two golfers, Marler and Patrick, who between them in 1979 had wrapped up the PGA, the Piccadilly World Match Play, the U.S. Open, and the Masters. Now that they were walking corporations with their own investment managers and tax consultants, people looked at their success and assumed every clean-living kid with muscles could do as well. The plain fact was that merchandising opportunities didn’t arise for people in sports till circumstances contrived to put them in a situation which held the world by its short hairs in front of the TV screens.
For a track and field athlete, there was only one route to Madison Avenue, and that, in 1980, was via Moscow. But these days even an Olympic gold medal didn’t get your face on a cereal box. You had to beat the world in storybook style — falling flat on your face, getting up and still winning. Goldengirl — with no competitive experience — had it all to do.
And Dryden had to spell this out to the people who were behind the girl. When they had put so much already into the sales pitch, they weren’t going to take kindly to being told they didn’t have a marketable commodity.
It was a prospect that came uncomfortably closer when the film ran out, the screen ascended smoothly out of sight, and Dr. Serafin turned his chair to face them, a propitious smile on his lips.
Three
‘I begin with an apology. It was discourteous of me to decline Mr. Armitage’s invitation to preface the film with a few words.’ Without amplification, Serafin’s voice sounded thin, an unequal substitute for the soundtrack. He must have decided a less assertive approach was now appropriate. ‘In planning this evening, I was concerned to ensure that Goldengirl made her own impact, without any preamble from me, so I left the explanations, such as they are, till now. I also apologize for bringing you here on such short notice, without specific indications of the purpose of this get-together. You are extremely active in your different spheres, I know, and I am appreciative that you rearranged your schedules to respond in this way to my invitation. The reason for the lack of advance information will, I assure you, be made clear before very long, but I do not regard a justification as an apology, and I make that now. I believe you will find the rest of this weekend both instructive and profitable.’ On the last word he paused, smiling. ‘Comfortable, too.’ He was feeling his way. It was obvious an interval was necessary to subdue the images and sounds of the film. ‘Melody, I wonder if you could arrange for another jug of coffee? I am sure it would be welcome.’
Armitage started from his chair. ‘I’ll fix that.’
Serafin put up his hand. ‘You’ve done enough, Dick. Miss Fryer may not look it, but she is an old-fashioned girl who has no objection on principle to fetching coffee for four men, do you, my dear? She is perfectly capable of persuading one of your staff to make it for her. I would prefer that we aren’t interrupted by waiters.’
Melody said nothing, but the swing of her bottom as she carried the tray to the door suggested she wasn’t downcast.
Serafin resumed: ‘Gentlemen, you are entitled to know a little more about me and my personal involvement in the project we are here to discuss. You would find, if you were sufficiently interested to look me up in the technical and scientific directories publishers unendingly produce, that my name is William Serafin, I was born in Salzburg in 1920, and I have a medical degree from the University of Geneva and a Ph.D. from Yale. I specialize in the field of physiology, and I am a Fellow of the American Academy of Physical Education. Until 1978, I was Professor of Anthropometry at the California Institute of Human Science. I still live in Bakersfield, where I amuse myself trying to keep up with the latest developments in my field of study. You may think it appropriate here to exchange biographical data all round. Dick Armitage need say nothing, he is so familiar from our TV screens. But Mr. Valenti, although yours, too, is a household name, I am sure we should all be interested to know—’
— who we’re getting into bed with, thought Dryden.
Valenti drew on his cigar, his brown eyes darting at this unexpected development. ‘What do I say? I’m in pharmaceuticals. Always have been. Inherited the business from my father back in sixty-four. I have an interest in sports, which is why I’m here. Just from the sidelines — don’t get me wrong. I do ten pushups each morning, and that’s plenty. I’d like to buy a basketball franchise, but do you see Jack Kent Cooke selling out? So I speculate in other sports, and here I am. Forty-two, just for the record, and I live off Wilshire Boulevard — the Beverly Hills end. Over to you, Dryden.’
‘If you would oblige us,’ Serafin unctuously added.
After Valenti, he was determined to keep it short. ‘I’m from England, as you’ve gathered. Been in business all my working life, exclusively on the entrepreneurial side. Formed my own agency in London, specializing in negotiating contracts for big-name sports stars. It prospered, but the real opportunities were over here, so I transferred to New York in seventy-three. Since then, I’ve moved the head office to Los Angeles, and opened branches in several other cities around the world. My clients are principally golfers, Grand Prix drivers and tennis players. No track stars.’
‘Is that a fun remark?’ asked Valenti. ‘Is it like a joke? You’re our big-wheel agent and you don’t know about track?’
‘Skip it, Gino,’ said Armitage. ‘He didn’t know tennis till I joined him. Jack’s just the best damned agent in America. That’s why he’s here.’
Before Valenti could answer, Serafin added, ‘Mr. Dryden is as much a byword in his particular profession as you gentlemen are in yours. He is here this weekend because I consider it timely to bring him in on our discussions.’ He was articulating his words with an emphasis that made it clear he intended to lead those discussions. ‘Well, gentlemen. None of you had seen the film before. I am naturally interested to have your first impressions.’
‘The girl looks good,’ declared Armitage.
‘Runs good, too,’ said Valenti, with a sneer. ‘What’s your opinion, Dryden? Would you say we’ve got a Grand Prix winner there, or should we try her in the U.S. Open?’
‘Knock it off, Gino,’ warned Armitage.
‘Leave this to me,’ said Serafin. ‘Gentlemen, if this consortium is to operate successfully, it has to be on a basis of mutual respect. Personal insinuations of the kind we have been hearing are intolerable, and as your chairman I emphasize now that I shall not hesitate to cut short the meeting if necessary and abandon consultation altogether.’
Valenti leaned forward and stretched out a mollifying hand. ‘Don’t give yourself ulcers, Doc. It’s my style. There’s no sense getting disturbed about things I say. You asked me if I liked the film. Sure, I did. That’s a twenty-four-carat dame. No argument. What do you say, Dryden?’
Drawn into committing himself, he commented, ‘Yes, I was impressed. I don’t pretend to be an authority on track’ — he glanced Valenti’s way — ‘but I’ve seen my share on the TV networks, and I reckon I can spot a runner with class. The sprinting in the film was a revelation. I’d like to see what your Goldengirl could do against other runners.’
Instead of picking up the last point as criticism, Serafin was delighted by it. ‘So should I, Mr. Dryden — and we shall! I intend to come to that presently, but first I see Miss Fryer approaching.’
‘Mission accomplished, too,’ said Valenti, exuding bonhomie. ‘Mine’s black without, Melody.’