Transition

by Henry Charles Mishkoff

  Jillian sighs. She waits until Valerie’s eyes rise again to meet hers. And only then, when she’s certain that she has Valerie’s full attention, does she speak. “Val, please,” she says, with as much sincerity as she can muster. “We need to talk.”

  1.1.12: Copley Square

  “I was not aware of your relationship with the Kendal family,” Jago says sounding more wounded than surprised. “Jillian never told me.”

  “She thinks of me as a banker,” Kennedy explains. Jago waits, expecting Kennedy to expand on that meager response, but Kennedy seems to be paying only passing attention to the conversation, he appears to be much more intent on keeping a wary eye on the flock of reporters who are lazily circling in front of the Admin Tent. One of whom, Jago notices, is the woman who tried to interview Jillian in the transition area. What a bitch, he thinks, his face contorting into a snarl from the memory.

  The tent flap flutters, someone emerges, the reporters pounce. The new arrival is surrounded so quickly that Jago can’t see who it is, but then he catches a glimpse of red hair, and it clicks. The new girl. Pushing his way through the crowd with an occasional pardon me and a judicious elbow or two, he reaches the new girl just in time to hear the story as it slowly unfolds in response to a barrage of questions. The race to the aid station. The unfortunate incident with the tripod. The Race Marshal’s accusation. The committee’s discussion of disqualification. And, finally, the dramatic testimony that defused the situation.

  “So, as far as you know, then,” someone calls out from behind him, “it has been settled?” It takes a few seconds for Jago to realize that the voice belongs to Kennedy, who must have followed in his wake as he plowed his way through the crowd. “Jillian is no longer in danger of disqualification?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Sunshine says, reassuringly. “It was all a big mistake.”

  “Misunderstandings like this happen all the time,” Jago explains to Kennedy, over his shoulder. “It is all part of the competition. I am certain that Jillian will be able to straighten it out. She is a fierce competitor, and she will not allow a race to be stolen from her. Get that damned thing out of my face.”

  The last comment is to Leida Andersen, who has appeared next to Jago, microphone in hand. She glances dismissively at Jago, then looks back at Sunshine. “Excuse me,” she says, much louder than necessary. “Are you the woman who accused Jill Kendal of tripping her?”

  It dawns on Jago that the microphone is pointed at Sunshine, not at him. But it is annoyingly close to his face, and it is an awfully tempting target…

  In one fluid motion, he snatches the microphone from Leida’s hand, unsnaps it from its cable, and throws it over the heads of the crowd, where it disappears into a row of neatly landscaped bushes.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Leida screams. She slaps him, hard. A bright red flush instantly covers his face, leaving only a white, well-defined handprint. He starts to lift his arms, not entirely sure of whether he intends to retaliate or just to ward off further blows. Someone grabs his shoulders from behind, and he’s about to struggle when he realizes that it must be Kennedy. Just relax, he tells himself. Fighting with a reporter is not smart, but tussling with the head of the USOC would be very stupid.

  Leida glares at him for a few seconds, then whirls and stalks off in the direction of her microphone. But there is a large, round man in her way, he’s backing away slowly, keeping his camera pointed directly at her. “This is the best stuff I’ve had all day, Andersen,” he says, laughing as he retreats before her simmering advance. “Keep it up. You’re beautiful when…”

  But just then he stumbles, as if his heel has caught on a rock, or perhaps he has tripped over someone’s leg. He throws his arms up instinctively as he loses his balance and begins to fall backward. “The camera!” he screeches, as it flies over his head. His arms comically windmill the air. “Catch the camera!”

  But it’s the camera that catches somebody, rather than the other way around: After it describes a lazy arc, it settles softly into the arms of a surprised spectator, who grabs it more in self-defense than in any display of good reflexes.

  “Barbarian.” Jago spits this epithet at Leida’s back as he shrugs free of Kennedy’s grasp. Turning away from the action, he looks back toward the Admin Tent, He has more questions for Sunshine…

  And indeed, a young woman triathlete is standing in front of the Admin Tent.

  But, as Jago can’t help but notice, it’s definitely not Sunshine.

  ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍

  “Jillian.” Jago seems to be studying her face for clues. “Jillian, are you alright?”

  “Am I alright?” She’s squinting as her eyes adjust to the light, so everything’s a little fuzzy, but… Is that a palm print on Jago’s face? “Are you alright? What’s going on out here?”

  But then it’s no longer just her and her coach, it’s her and her coach and a dozen reporters, and they’re all shouting questions at her at the same time. There’s no problem, Jillian keeps assuring them. It was just a simple misunderstanding. Everything’s cool.

  “Jill! Jill Kendal!” Jillian doesn’t even have to look to know it’s the pushy lady reporter. Again. “WSXR news. I need to talk to you for a minute.”

  WSXR news? She doesn’t even have a name? “I’m talking to my coach right now, Miss…”

  “Andersen, Leida Andersen.”

  “…Miss Andersen, but if you’ll catch me after the awards ceremony, I’ll be happy to tell you anything you want to know.”

  “What I’d really like,” Leida continues, unheeding, “is for you to come to the studio tonight so I can interview you in a more relaxed setting. Will you do that?”

  “Oh, gee, I don’t know,” Jillian hedges. She enjoys being on TV, but… on this lady’s show? “I’m not real sure about my schedule yet. Why don’t you ask me after the awards ceremony?”

  “Why not interview her right now?” Jago suggests amiably, cocking an eyebrow. “Jillian is always eager to speak into a microphone, are you not, my dear?”

  For an instant, a mere fraction of a second, Leida instinctively begins to raise her mic hand. Then she remembers that it’s empty. Then she remembers why it’s empty.

  Jago smiles benignly.

  “Why don’t you go back to Russia?” Leida snarls. “We don’t need you here.”

  “You have been misinformed. I am Czech, not Russian.” Now that he’s caused Leida to lose her temper, Jago is clearly enjoying himself. “And as it happens, I left Czechoslovakia specifically to get away from the Russians. But even the Russians know better than to issue press credentials to every Nazi who claims to be a journalist.”

  “Jago!” Jillian is stunned; Jago’s always the one telling her to mind her manners. “What on earth is going on with you two?”

  The combatants stare at each other warily, Jago with a sardonic half-smile, Leida blinking back her anger and trying to regain her composure.

  “Uncle Stan?” Kennedy has been hanging back, as if trying to distance himself from the action, but now he takes a few reluctant steps in Jillian’s direction. “What’s going on?” she hisses at him in a stage whisper, as soon as he’s within earshot.

  “We, ummm…” Kennedy is uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “We were all concerned, shall we say, about the outcome of the race,” he explains. “And I’m afraid that some of us have been edgy, and perhaps even a little short-tempered.”

  “Where’s Sunshine?” Jillian turns around and cranes her neck, trying to see over the heads of the crowd. “She was supposed to wait for me out here.”

  “The last I saw of her,” Kennedy says, obviously pleased with the change of subject, “she was speaking with those Hare Krishna people, or whatever they were. Did you notice them? The ascetic figures in the white robes? They were standing right over there, remember? They looked like refugees from the sixties.” He looks at Jago and Leida for confirmation, or perhaps just to involve them in a
civil conversation. Jago shrugs; Leida nods in halfhearted assent. “They were there just moments ago,” Kennedy insists, “but they seem to have vanished. Perhaps they kidnapped her. Should we issue an Amber alert?”

  “Oh, Uncle Stan,” Jillian laughs. “Stop that. I’ve got to find her. She really saved my… I mean she really saved me in there.”

  “Well, then, I think that it would be a splendid idea if the two of you went off to look for her, don’t you think so, Coach Danziger?” Kennedy motions with his eyes for Jillian and Jago to take off, then he turns to Leida and graces her with a dazzling smile. “Besides,” he says, “I believe that Miss Andersen and I still have some things to discuss, do we not?”

  And before Leida can object, or even figure out what’s happening, Jillian watches as Kennedy grabs Leida’s arm and leads her off into the mob that mills around the historic confines of Copley Square.

  1.1.13: Copley Square

  They stroll out of the Square and past the medical tent, winding up behind the bleachers that line the sidewalk in front of the library. Gusts of race noise drift in from the other side of the bleachers. Just as Jillian starts to talk, she’s drowned out by the blare of a loudspeaker heralding the arrival of yet another group of runners crossing the finish line.

  “Wait,” Jago says, holding up a hand as Jillian tries to speak again. He looks over his shoulder, walks a few more steps, then looks back again. “Tell me,” he finally says, when he’s certain that Leida hasn’t followed them.

  “You’re sure it’s okay?” Jillian teases. “Maybe she’s in disguise.” But Jago doesn’t bite, he just stares at her, so Jillian sighs and recounts the scene in the tent. Without embellishment, she describes her dramatic entry, her angry confrontation with Valerie, and Sunshine’s unexpected arrival that defused the situation.

  “Now you see why it is never a good idea, Jillian,” Jago observes dryly, “to offend a Race Director. Certainly not the director of the race in which you are competing.”

  “Oh, you heard about that.” Jillian grimaces. “It was an accident, Jago, I didn’t know she was standing there. And anyway, it’s cool, I took her aside and apologized to her, a bunch of times. Everything’s okay. I mean, it’s not like she’s my BFF or anything, but…”

  “You apologized? That is very commendable, Jillian,” Jago says, with a hint of sarcasm. “And not like you at all.”

  She laughs. “Jago, I may want to race here again next year. And she probably knows every other RD in the whole goddamn country. I don’t need her to be pissed off at me.”

  “That is good,” Jago says, nodding with approval. “But I have also a question about your performance today. The Sunshine woman claims that you suggested some kind of race to an aid station, is that right?” He eyes Jillian knowingly. “She was under the impression that you were helping her to improve her performance. You will forgive my skepticism if I disbelieve that explanation.”

  “It was just strategy, Jago. I was trying to wear her out. You should have seen her.” Jillian giggles. “She just smacked into that photographer, BOOM, just like that, and then she knocked over like half a dozen volunteers. And the table, Jago I almost forgot, they knocked over this table…” – Jillian is laughing so hard that her eyes begin to water – “…table, BOOM, coke, oranges, bananas flying all over the place. God, it was a riot. Too much.”

  “I fail to see the humor, Jillian. She might have been seriously injured. And you could have exhausted yourself with this foolish sprint. You should know better.”

  They’ve reached the corner, and Jillian looks left, up Exeter Street. “Can we circle the block? Or should we just turn around and…”

  “And what is this ‘strategy’ you speak of? I find it hard to believe that this… this urchin posed any serious threat to you.” The light dawns; he snaps his fingers. “Now I understand,” he says with calm certainty. “There were only three awards for women in this race. You were not helping yourself, you were helping your friend Kristin, yes? Look at me, Jillian,” he says. “Look me in the eye and tell me that I am wrong.”

  “Jago, c’mon.” Jillian glances around warily. “People can hear you.”

  “Do you think this is some kind of game?” Jago lowers his voice, but it has grown cold. “Jillian, if you had taken this chance for yourself, I would not be upset. Risk is an element of any competition. But not unnecessary risk. Under no conditions do you take a chance for someone else. Ever. That is not an intelligent risk. That is a foolish gamble. This has become an amusement for you, a diversion. You are wasting my time.”

  Jillian rolls her eyes. “Oh, Jago, don’t be so melodramatic. I know you’re right. I’m sorry.” She sighs. “But it worked out okay, didn’t it? I mean, I wouldn’t have even known they were trying to DQ me if Kristin hadn’t tracked me down, and she wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t helped her, would she?”

  “Jillian…”

  “And you just don’t know what it’s like out there, Jago. Sometimes it gets so… so boring, I have to do something just to stay awake. I thought triathlons would be more challenging than marathons, but…”

  “The challenge comes from within, Jillian.” Jago pounds his chest with a fist. “A true champion has an intense, burning desire to win, and does not require a petty diversion to provide some kind of external motivation. I had the impression that you wanted to be a true champion, and I believed that you had the potential to become one. That is why I spend so much of my time with you.”

  “Jago,” Jillian says, resentfully, “what do you want from me? I haven’t lost a race in five years.”

  “And that is the problem.” He sounds more resigned than angry. “It has become much too easy for you.”

  Jillian shrugs, as if to say, well, it is easy, what can I do about it? “Don’t worry, Jago,” she says, consolingly. “Maybe there’ll be more competition in the Olympics. You can help me train for that.”

  “The Olympics?” Jago is puzzled. “It is too late to qualify for the marathon, as you know.

  Surely, you are not thinking of trying to qualify for the Olympic triathlon?”

  “Of course not, silly.” She grabs his arm and starts leading him back toward the Square. “You know that the Olympic distance is way too short for me. I’m going to be the first women’s Ironman-distance Olympic champion.”

  “Stop talking nonsense,” Jago snorts. “You know as well as I do that the Ironman distance is not an Olympic event.”

  “Ah, but it will be, Jago.” Jillian winks mysteriously and treats her coach to what she hopes is her most inscrutable smile. “It will be.”

  Transition

  Book 1: Readiness

  Part 2:

  The Interview

  1.2.1: WSXR

  “Why do I have to wear make-up?” Jillian wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Don’t I look okay the way I am?”

  “You look positively stunning, darling, but you’ll look awful under the lights if you don’t let me touch you up a little. Trust Rudi, darling. I know what I’m doing.” Rudi smiles reassuringly and gestures for Jillian to sit in a salon chair that stands in front of the mirror that covers the better part of the wall in the small dressing room.

  “What is it with you athletes?” Rudi adds, as he studies Jillian’s face with professional concern. “Your friend gave me a hard time too. She wouldn’t even let me touch her. And she’s so ghastly pale.” He pauses and shudders at the thought as he drapes a pink towel around Jillian’s shoulders. “She’ll look terrible under the lights, and you can tell her I said so.”

  “My friend?”

  “The other girl,” Rudi says, as he dabs some kind of powder on her face with a soft brush. “What’s her name, the redhead…”

  The redhead… Sunshine?

  “Jill! Thank God you’re here,” Leida Andersen says, as she bustles into the dressing room. “Is she almost ready, Rudi? We’re on in…” She glances at her watch. “Oh my God, we’re on in ten minutes.”

 
“Leida,” Jillian tries to ask, “is Sunshine O’Malley going to be…”

  “No, no, no, don’t talk, for God’s sake, don’t move a muscle,” Rudi commands, as he pats Jillian’s face with a small sponge. “I’ll be done before you know it, and then you can talk all you want.”

  “Just have her in Studio B by five till,” Leida demands. “Rudi? Can you do that for me?”

  “I can if you’ll stop distracting me, darling. I can’t very well talk and work at the same time, now, can I? Which one would you like me to do, dear? Talk or work?”

  Leida sighs and turns to leave. She pauses at the door and glances again at her watch. “Five till, Rudi,” she says. “Eight minutes.”

  “Eight minutes,” Rudi mimics, when Leida is safely out of earshot. The imitation is so dead-on that Jillian has to laugh.

  “Now, stop that,” Rudi orders, trying to sound annoyed, although he’s clearly pleased with Jillian’s reaction. “You’ll ruin everything, darling, and then I’ll have to start all over again. And if that happens,” he adds, his voice sinking to a conspiratorial whisper, “we’ll both be in big trouble.”

  1.2.2: WSXR

  At exactly five minutes to seven, Rudi delivers Jillian to a door marked with an oversized brass B. “Right through there, darling,” he says. “Don’t worry; you’ll do just fine.” He gives her a wink and a smile, then he scurries off.

  Don’t worry? Is she supposed to be nervous? Everything has been so hectic that she hasn’t had time to worry. It occurs to her that she doesn’t know anything about the show. She’s been assuming that it’s being recorded for a local audience – but could it be going out nationally? And maybe it’s not a recording session at all, maybe it’s live.

  The door swings inward just as she reaches for the handle. “Jill, great.” Leida ushers her breathlessly into the studio. “I’m sorry to rush you like this, but we’re running late.” She grabs Jillian’s arm and nearly drags her across the room.