Goldengirl

by Peter Lovesey

  Valenti looked up from his lounger. “Now, don’t you guys get the idea Gino Valenti ain’t committed. Matter of fact, I went into the TV lounge to watch, but all they showed was some lousy long-distance run. I wasn’t passing a beautiful afternoon like this sitting indoors watching twenty or thirty stumblebums going endlessly in small circles. I got another vodka and vermouth and came out here. And that gave me a great idea. The vodka, not the vermouth. Seems to me there’s a market you haven’t considered, Dryden. Goldengirl wins her medals in Moscow, right? So there’s a Russian connection. Under the U.S.-Soviet Trade Agreement there’s a whole lot of Russian merchandise coming on the market. Vodka, furs, watches. There has to be some percentage in that for us. Why shouldn’t Goldengirl endorse the goods? We could work something out with the Soviets while we’re over there, tell them Goldengirl could move a lot of vodka for them in America. You like it?”

  “If they paid us in rubles, it could help the U.S. balance of payments,” said Dryden to humor him.

  “Just an idea of mine,” Valenti murmured in modesty.

  *

  “I got my dips in today,” said Goldine.

  “You were good,” said Klugman. “You hear that? I mean it. You took them like a champion. Tomorrow will be tougher, because you’ll need to run from the front. Your start looks okay. Keep low, even if the others are upright. Remember Borzov. With luck, you won’t see any others. When you hit the front, don’t turn it on too hard. Hold your speed, don’t force it. Gather for the finish and dip, even if you’re home by a mile. Did you see who you drew in the Semi?”

  “Debbie Jackson, for one. She was looking sharper than she did in San Diego.”

  “Eleven-fourteen,” said Klugman, “but she was spent doing that. Shelley Wilson is the girl in form: eleven point zero five, eleven point zero three. She’s the main opposition. And in the Final, Francie Harman, of course. She’ll be sleeping on that ten point ninety-eight tonight. Something good from you in Semi-Final One could throw her, but I think she’ll follow you home in the Final. Any problems?”

  Goldine smiled. “Not any more. It’s a long time since you said I was good, Pete. Francie can sleep on her ten point ninety-eight. I’m happy.”

  U.S TRACK AND FIELD TRIALS: GOLDINE’S RUSH

  By Ches Nottingham

  EUGENE, Ore., July 12 — She’s 19, blond and the fastest girl in America. You don’t have her phone number. You don’t know her name. No need to write it down, fellows, because after today in Eugene, Oregon, you’ll hear a whole lot more about Goldine Serafin.

  Tall, attractive Goldine from Bakersfield was the sensation of Day Two of the U.S. Olympic Track and Field Trials at the University of Oregon’s Hayward Field. Bursting from the blocks with a sharpness that had the 12,000 crowd cooing like wood pigeons, she zipped to U.S. records in Semi-Final and Final of the 100 meters. In the Final she clocked 10.81, just three hundredths slower than the still unratified world record posted recently in Warsaw by East Germany’s speed queen, Ursula Krüll. And between appearances in the 100 meters, Goldine fitted in a qualifying run in Round One of the 400 meters.

  Goldine’s action-packed afternoon started with coffee and Danish at 12:15 in the University restaurant. From then, her schedule went as follows:

  1:30 — Change for a warmup for the afternoon’s racing.

  2:45 — Report for Semi-Final One of 100 meters. Rivals include Debbie Jackson (San Jose Cindergals), who has twice recorded 11 flat, and Mary-Lou Devine (Tennessee State), one of the favorites for the event, with 11.04 the Quarter-Final yesterday.

  3:02 — Goldine produces a perfect start, steals a meter from Jackson and Devine, holds it up to halfway, and then surges another meter clear to record a new U.S. record of 10.90. Second, Devine 11.08; third, Jackson 11.13.

  3:35 — 400 meters Heat Two, First Qualifying Round: Making it seem like strolling, Goldine glides to an easy win in 53.42, second fastest time of the round.

  4:00 — Time out from jogging for a Coke and sandwich at the refreshment car.

  5:15 — Report for 100 meters Final. The line-up, with Semi-Final times, Mary-Lou Devine 11.08, Jean Shadick (Will’s Spikettes) 11.02, Goldine Serafin 10.90, Francie Harman (Philadelphia) 11.13, Shelley Wilson (Atlantic City Astro-Belles) 10.97, Debbie Jackson 11.13, Therese Newhart (Tennessee State U.) 11.14, Janice King (Valley of the Sun Track Club) 11.20.

  5:31 — 100 meters Final. After one break, Goldine leaves the cream of U.S. sprint talent meters back as she stakes her claim for a place on the plane to Moscow. Knees going like a majorette’s, golden hair slipstreaming, she rips through the wire in 10.81, the third fastest ever — and that into a light breeze that slowed runners-up, Shelley Wilson and Mary-Lou Devine, to 11.04 and 11.07.

  No Serious Running

  After the Final, Goldine treated reporters to an impromptu press conference in the center of Hayward Field, casually throwing out the incredible fact that she did no serious running before this season. Her father, Dr. William Serafin, 59, a former professor at the California Institute of Human Science, persuaded her to try track as a recreation, recognized that she had extraordinary sprint potential, and arranged for her to be privately coached by Pete Klugman, former track coach to the Cornell and U.S. Olympic teams. “Pete advised me to concentrate on technique through the first few months,” said Goldine, “so I didn’t get my feet wet competitively before June, when I reached the qualifying standards in a San Diego club meet. This is only my second meet, and now I guess Moscow will be my third.” Asked if she had expected this afternoon’s victory, she commented, “In some ways it’s a dream, it’s all happened so soon, but I came to win, yes. It’s no use mentally settling for a minor placing, or you get nowhere.”

  Triple Aim

  Goldine’s 10.81 clocking makes her a clear challenger to East Berliner Ursula Krüll for the Olympic title, but before that she has more business to attend to in Eugene. “I enjoyed my run over 400 meters, and I’m definitely going for that as well as the 200,” she told me. “If I could make the U.S. team in all three events, that would be nice. It means a lot of running, but I don’t give up easy.” Goldine, 6’2” and 163 lbs., looks to have the strength to get through the seven races remaining on her schedule here. If so, she could emerge as the first U.S. girl to represent the nation over 100, 200 and 400 meters at one Olympic Games. Whether it would be wise to attempt this ambitious triple on so little experience is an open question. Commented Jake McMurty, an AAU official: “After her running in San Diego we guessed this girl was saving something special for Eugene. She’s proved us right today. Maybe she would be wise to settle for two events, but it’s not for us to interfere.”

  Meanwhile, Goldine is quickly learning what is involved in becoming an instant Olympic hope. “Next time I come out, I’ll make sure I have my comb in my sweatsuit pocket,” she quipped as photographers closed in.

  “Campari?”

  “Uh?” Melody groped for the fastener on her bikini top and snapped it shut. “Say, that’s a nice surprise.” She rolled over on the tiled surface of the patio and squeaked at the contact. “Jeez, it’s hotter than I thought out here!” Sitting up, she massaged the backs of her thighs before accepting the glass. “How did you know?”

  “About Campari?” said Dryden. “A whisper I heard somewhere. You don’t mind me interrupting the cooking? I allowed twenty minutes each side.”

  “You’ve been here that long?”

  “At the table there, across the pool. I was reading the paper besides admiring the view.”

  Her free hand slid behind her back to the waistband of her white bikini pants. The upward tug she gave the elastic didn’t quite obscure the peach effect.

  “You have Sunday morning free, then?” said Dryden. “You seem to have been kept busy since you got here.”

  “I finished collating my notes at ten last evening,” said Melody. “They have to be ready for Dr. Serafin to look over before the action in the stadium this afternoon. It was a lot of w
ork. What a way to spend a Saturday night!”

  “I could say the same,” said Dryden. “I was in a poker game. Lost twenty-three bucks. Oliver Sternberg knows how to call a hand.”

  “You don’t look too dejected.”

  “How could I be after yesterday? Moscow’s still a long way off, but that U.S. record was good for my anxiety neurosis. So was that four-hundred heat. She made it look so easy, like tumbleweed blown by the wind.”

  Melody chipped some varnish from a toenail. “You make it sound positively lyrical. To me it was fifty-three point forty-two. Track’s a drag.”

  “What brought you into the job, then?”

  She shrugged. “I had some complications in my personal life. Needed to get out of Bakersfield for a while.”

  Dryden had the tact to leave it there. “It can’t all be work. You’ve managed to get a gorgeous tan up in the mountains.”

  “Ultraviolet,” said Melody. “Why should she have it all to herself?”

  “Fair point.”

  “It wasn’t so bad in the mountains,” Melody admitted.

  “I second that.”

  They exchanged smiles.

  “But now you’re moving camp,” said Dryden as casually as he could.

  “Uhuh.”

  “Change of air?”

  “I guess so.”

  “An undisclosed location?”

  “That’s the ticket.”

  “Wild horses wouldn’t drag it from you?”

  “One Campari wouldn’t.”

  “You’d like another?”

  “Jack Dryden, I’m suspicious of your motives.”

  “Melody Fryer, you have reason to be. The entertainment page of the Oregonian lists all of three nightclubs. I don’t know what passes for an All-Star Revue in swinging Eugene, but I’m fumbling toward a proposition. Think about it while I fetch that drink.”

  *

  “Hi. I’m Janie Canute.”

  Goldine looked up from the bench where she was untying the laces of her spikes after her 400-meter Quarter-Final. The girl who had spoken looked frail for a runner. Her fine black hair was parted at the center like a squaw and clasped at the back with a leather thong. She had a thin row of beads around her neck.

  “If I may say so, you have a beautiful style,” said Janie. “You don’t mind me speaking?”

  “That’s kind of you,” said Goldine. “I believe I should know your name. You won the second heat, is that right?”

  Janie nodded. “Not so fast as yours. You were really motoring over the first half. Someone over there took a split at just on twenty-four. Do you always start fast?”

  “It’s inexperience, I guess,” said Goldine. “I was too anxious to make up the stagger. By the end, I was short of breath.”

  Janie handed her a training shoe that was out of reach. “I read about you in the paper. You must have a lot of talent, Goldine, going for three events.”

  Goldine smiled. “Or a lot of cheek.”

  “Don’t say that. If you have a talent, don’t bury it. Unto every one that hath shall be given.” She stopped and smiled. “You guessed it. I’m the one they call the Jesus freak. I run because I believe it’s God’s divine plan for me. You have to have something to run for, don’t you, or it’s meaningless? I’m always asking people why they run. I mean, a girl has to have a good reason to stand the guys teasing her about being a jock. You don’t mind me talking? I don’t embarrass you?”

  “I like to talk,” said Goldine. “I don’t know many people in track.”

  “I’ll introduce you to a few. They all think I’m a nut, but they’re okay really. Mind if I ask you my question?”

  “About why I run?” said Goldine. “I’m not religious, Janie, but it’s a kind of compulsion, like yours, I guess.”

  “Mine’s more of a conviction. Does it come from within?”

  “I couldn’t exactly say. I find it difficult to analyze like that. It’s not a thing I have much control over, but the more I go on, the more committed I become.”

  Janie nodded earnestly. “I understand exactly. Goldine, wouldn’t it be great if we both got to Moscow?”

  *

  “The topless dancer!” giggled Melody as Dryden unlocked his hotel room door and hustled her inside. “‘Get a load of Ann-Marie, the topless dancer!’ I never saw so many disappointed men in one place together. You should take out an action for deception.”

  “It wouldn’t stick,” said Dryden. “Topless they promised, and topless she was. As topless as I am. They’re covered.”

  Melody fell onto the bed laughing. “They should be!”

  “I’ve seen some poor entertainment in my time,” went on Dryden, “but for an All-Star Revue, that beat everything. One topless dancer, with nothing to exhibit.”

  “No beefing, Jack,” said Melody, still simpering at the memory. “It was all star. All star and no boob! ‘Get a load of Ann-Marie!’ Do you think I might have drunk too much champagne?”

  “If that was champagne, it was as flat as Ann-Marie,” said Dryden. “Thank God I had the foresight to take the cognac in with us. Melody, I’m sorry it turned out like that.”

  She sat up. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry. I haven’t laughed so much in years. I nearly wet my pants laughing. Say one word more about Ann-Marie and I won’t answer for your bedspread. No, that’s mean. I like to be humored. Which door is the john?”

  Dryden used the interval to open the bottle of Campari he had picked up from the bar.

  “Get a load of this, then!”

  Melody was standing in the doorway of the bathroom wearing a pale-green silk-satin underslip, her arms burlesquing the action of a go-go dancer. “It’s cabaret time for disappointed guys. How about some backing?”

  He tuned the radio beside the bed to something Latin-American. Still giggling, but moving rhythmically with the beat, she glided and bobbed toward him, stopping a couple of steps short, and by degrees easing the lacework straps simultaneously from both shoulders with her fingertips.

  He watched the fine grain of the material slip over her breasts until they emerged, undulating gently with the music, the nipples pink and promising as the first buds of apple blossom. With a wriggle she persuaded the slip over her hips, turning suddenly to cheat him of more than a glimpse of her coppery pubic wedge, mockingly rotating her bottom where it had been. As an erotic display, it more than compensated for the nightclub fiasco, and the entertainment didn’t stop at visual arousal. Dryden slipped his hands around her ribs and got a load of Melody Fryer.

  “You’re pretty good at it,” she announced, an indefinite interval later, as he lit her cigarette. She lay facing the ceiling, on the bedspread, coyness forgotten.

  “Now spoil it by adding ‘for an English guy.’”

  “No, I’m being sincere, Jack. Too bad I should meet you now, after two years of sexual deprivation.”

  “Really?” said Dryden. “You mean not one of those guys in the training camp …?”

  “You have some sauce, Jack Dryden, asking a girl things like that! Deprivation doesn’t mean total neglect, but if it panders to your male ego, I can tell you I haven’t met anyone who tops you in a long time.”

  “And just when you’ve found me, you’re taking off again,” said Dryden. “Sad.”

  She blew cigarette smoke at him. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Would you prefer it if I did?”

  “I guess not.”

  “If I thought it would end like this evening, I wouldn’t mind taking a chance on some other nightspot in an undisclosed location.”

  “You’d have to be determined. It’s a long way from L.A., buster.”

  “I get around in my line of business,” said Dryden.

  “Like the shore of Lake Erie?”

  “That is a little remote.” Dryden took stock. “I shall be in New York toward the end of next week. If I knew which part of Lake Erie …”

  “You have an office in New York?”

  �
��That’s where I shall work from,” said Dryden, encouraged. “It wouldn’t take long from there by helicopter.”

  “Okay, if I feel like sampling the Erie nightlife, I can call you up, can’t I? That’s as much as I’m telling, Jack, and I think you know why. Now, how about finishing that Campari?”

  *

  U.S. TRACK AND FIELD TRIALS: GOLDINE HAS GOLDEN LOOK

  By Ches Nottingham

  EUGENE, Ore., July 14 — Goldine Serafin, 19, sensational winner of the 100 meters here at the U.S. Olympic Trials on Saturday, today filed her claim for representation in two more events with brilliant runs in the qualifying rounds of the 200 meters and the Semi-Final of the 400 meters. This morning, she coasted through the first round of the 200 with a 23.02 win, the morning’s fastest. In this afternoon’s Quarter-Final, she stunned her rivals with 22.72, clipping one tenth from the U.S. record, and leaving the 1979 AAU champion, Mary-Lou Devine, five meters down. Less than an hour later, go-getting Goldine was on the track again to buzz to a 51.30 victory in the Semi-Final of the 400 meters. Until today in these Trials, nobody has looked like heading blond Goldine, but there is a fine race in prospect in Wednesday’s 400-meter Final, when she will clash with Janie Canute, whose 50.45 in the second Semi-Final was a personal best, just fifteen hundredths short of the U.S. record.

  “Pete, that four hundred didn’t feel right.”

  “What do you mean?” said Klugman. “You qualified. That was all you had to do.”

  “My legs felt heavy, like I was unfit.”

  “That’s not surprising after two hard races. You can’t expect to beat records in qualifying rounds and feel no effects at all.”

  “They still feel heavy.”

  “Then you must ask Ingrid for a massage. That’s why we brought her to Eugene.”

  “You don’t think I should tell Doc, in case there’s anything wrong?”

  “I’ll tell him. You’re a little jumpy, that’s all. One day’s competition to go — you’re sure to feel like this.”

  “Janie Canute didn’t tie up. She’s going to be hard to beat on Wednesday.”