“Write what about this?” Stevie said, horrified at the thought.
“A first-person piece about how tough it is to watch your friend—you don’t have to say ‘girlfriend,’ but you can if you want to—become a celebrity. How it’s not all wonderful and how it can bring out the worst in those around her.”
“Can I write that I want J. P. Scott dead?” Stevie asked.
“Sure. The lawyers may cut it, but go ahead and write it.”
Stevie felt better just imagining it. Writing about something always seemed to make him feel better.
“I’ll write it when I get home from school,” he said.
“Do your homework first. I don’t want your mom mad at me.”
“Deal,” Stevie said.
He shut the phone. He knew he couldn’t kill J. P. Scott, but he might be able to shame him a little. It would have to do.
10: SETTING BOUNDARIES
Stevie and Susan Carol talked for quite a while that evening. He wanted to be sure she was okay with the idea of his writing about the USA Today article. And she wanted to prepare herself for a serious talk with her dad.
In her family a “come to Jesus” meeting had special meaning. This would be one of those. And it would not be easy. She had always been her daddy’s girl. Because of their shared love of sports, they had a special bond that was completely different from her relationship with her mother.
She knew Stevie’s dad always backed him up when he wanted to miss school to cover a big-time sports event. Stevie had told her it was a “father-and-son thing.” He was wrong. It was more a “jock-and-jock” thing. In her family, she was the jock, not her brothers.
But for the first time she wasn’t sure what her father would say. And that was as upsetting as the problem itself.
She went into her father’s study and found him at the computer. “Just answering a few emails,” he said when she walked in. “Something up?”
She sat down in the chair across from his desk and nodded. “Have you read the USA Today story yet?” she asked.
“Read it at work.”
“What did you think of it?”
“Well, it was very complimentary and—”
“Dad, stop. You know what that story was saying about me. You read the quotes from J.P. and Bill.”
“They’re doing a job, sweetie.”
“Is their job to make me into some kind of fifteen-year-old sex symbol?”
Now—finally—Susan Carol saw concern on her father’s face. “Do you think I would ever allow something like that to happen?”
“Daddy, it’s happening already! Look at the picture! Look at the headline!”
“Susan Carol, calm down. You’re a great swimmer and a pretty girl, and right now both of those things are assets. I’ve talked to J.P. and Bill about it, and I trust them to know where to draw the line.”
Susan Carol took a deep breath and tried to be calm as she said, “No, I need to be able to draw the line. I’m trying to tell you that I’m uncomfortable with this now. J.P. is comparing me to Amanda Beard! She posed in Playboy!”
“She was something like twenty-five years old when she did that.”
“So if I pose in Playboy when I’m twenty-five, you’ll be okay with that?”
“No, I won’t. You know that.”
“Dad, I don’t know what I know anymore. How can you be okay with this? If I’d put that picture on my Facebook page a few months ago, you’d have gone through the roof. So why it is okay now?”
“Things have changed for you, honey. You’re more in the public eye now.”
“Well, I don’t want to be that much in the public eye. Or talked about that way. And I don’t want things to have changed so much that when I go to my father and tell him I have a problem, I can’t be sure he’ll be on my side.” Susan Carol was trying really hard not to cry, and seeing her struggle cracked her father’s resolve.
“Hey, hey, honey,” he said, getting up and coming around his desk to give her a hug. “I am always behind you. Always.”
“Then please, call J.P. and tell him not to talk about me that way. Not to pitch me that way.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to him. I’ll be sure he knows how we both feel about this.” He kissed the top of her head. “Now go get some sleep. There are bound to be more stressful days to come, and everything looks better after a good night’s rest.”
He was right about the first part of that, at least.
* * *
Stevie got an email from Susan Carol that night with the subject line Better. But when he got home from school the next day, there was another titled Worse!
Even though he was only looking at words on a computer screen, he could feel Susan Carol’s agitation as he read: So my father talked to J.P., and he swore up and down that his quotes were taken out of context and that he hadn’t seen the photo or the headline that would run with them. But after he apologized for that, he convinced my dad this was all a good thing. Because J.P.’s been flooded with calls about me. And the whole point right now is to get attention. Not for my great swimming ability, apparently, but for being “marketable.” According to him, the article was just what we needed. And not to worry because we can decide what offers to take or not take. And somehow my dad believes him! He’s totally missing the point!
There was more, but that was the crux of it. Stevie wasn’t even sure what to say in response. He agreed with her, but somehow saying “Yes, you’re right, your dad has gone over to the dark side” didn’t sound all that comforting. So he tried a middle route:
Maybe someone your dad trusts and knows has your best interests in mind could talk to him? Not Bobby because your dad will just say “He hates agents.” But he might listen to Tamara. He knows she’s been a good mentor for you in journalism. And she’s experienced something like this herself.
Remember the stories she told us about TV people wanting her to do on-air stuff but not do any real reporting? What was it that one producer told her? “Just smile so everyone can see your dimples and you’ll be a star.”
Susan Carol’s response was short and to the point: I’m calling Tamara today.
The following evening, Stevie got a call from Tamara’s husband.
“So I hear it was your idea for Tamara to intervene with Susan Carol’s father,” Kelleher said.
“What do you think?” Stevie asked.
“I think it’s a great idea. Reverend Anderson likes her. And I think she might be able to explain why Susan Carol feels like she’s being exploited—in a nice way, of course.”
“So she’ll do it?”
“Yup. They’re setting up a lunch in Omaha on the twenty-fourth.”
“The twenty-fourth? Isn’t that the day before the Olympic Trials start?”
“It is. Susan Carol has to swim the 100 fly twice the next day—heats and semis.”
“Is it a good idea to have a meeting that might upset her so close to her first swim?”
“We talked about Tamara flying down to Goldsboro earlier, but we thought that would only make her father feel ambushed. This is the best option: Get it out in the open before Susan Carol has to swim and hope that he listens.”
“What if he doesn’t? What if he just acts like there isn’t a problem the way he did with Susan Carol?”
“Well, we’ll see. Tamara’s relationship with him is a lot different than Susan Carol’s. She’s an adult, and he’s not an authority figure in her life. I just hope we can rein him in now before things get worse. The pressure only builds from here.”
“This just seems so crazy. I mean, Reverend Anderson is a good guy. C’mon, he’s a minister.”
“I know he’s a good guy,” Bobby said. “He’s a very good guy. But I’ve seen good guys led astray by agents before. And being a minister doesn’t mean you can’t have stars in your eyes. Or dollar signs. I don’t blame Reverend Anderson for hoping that Susan Carol can make the family a lot of money by swimming well. But I think he’s lost sight of wh
ich part of that is most important.”
“To Susan Carol, anyway.”
“Exactly.”
To get through the next few weeks, Susan Carol literally tried to keep her head underwater. All she wanted to do was get to the pool in the morning, get her final exams over with, and go back to the pool in the afternoon.
Only it wasn’t quite that simple. She had even more obligations now. She had to go to New York twice. Once for a Speedo “shoot,” as J.P. called it. Who knew having your picture taken was so exhausting? And then the week before she left for Omaha, she appeared on the Today show again, this time along with Michael Phelps, Ryan Lochte, and Natalie Coughlin. The other three were Olympic veterans and gold medalists. She was introduced by Ann Curry as “the newest star on America’s swimming horizon.”
They did their bit outside so Curry and Matt Lauer could urge the crowd to chant “USA, USA” when the swimmers were introduced.
“Welcome to the pep rally,” Lochte said over the din as they walked onto the outdoor set, all of them waving to the crowd.
“More like a promo for NBC and the Olympic Trials,” said Phelps, who followed them out—biggest star last so that the teenage girls could shriek when they spotted him.
After talking to the more experienced swimmers, Ann Curry turned to Susan Carol. “Now, Susan Carol, these three have been through an Olympic Trial before,” Curry said. “What are you expecting when you get to Omaha?”
“A lot of people with midwestern accents,” she said, drawing a laugh from everyone. “Seriously, I don’t know what to expect,” she continued. “I’ll just be trying to keep calm and feel my way through the week.”
“But you were in the World Championships last year,” Lauer said. “You handled that very well.”
“Thank you,” Susan Carol said. “I was really happy with the way I swam. But that was different. There wasn’t one race, make or break, to qualify for the World Championships. I got in by having one of the two fastest times during that year. For the Olympic Trials, it doesn’t matter what you’ve done in the past or what your best time has been. It only matters what you do on the night of the final. If you don’t finish in the top two, you can be, well, Michael Phelps, and you still aren’t going to the Olympics.”
“She’s right,” Phelps put in. “I think anyone who has been through it will tell you there’s more pressure at the trials than at the Olympics. At least there, you’re already an Olympian. You’ve made the team, you’re wearing USA on your suit. You’ve marched in the opening ceremony. With all the great swimmers we have in this country, there’s no swim meet in the world that’s more pressurized than the trials. Really great swimmers won’t make the team.”
“Thanks for making me feel less nervous,” Susan Carol said, drawing another laugh from everyone.
From there, Matt Lauer launched into a promo of NBC’s coverage of the trials using Phelps’s line as his kicker. “The most pressurized swim meet in the world and it starts next Monday night in prime time on NBC.”
When Curry threw to commercial, she dropped her microphone and headed for Susan Carol.
“You, young lady, are a natural,” she said. “If you weren’t fifteen years old, I’d be worried about you taking my job.”
“Um, Ann, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Lauer said.
For a split second Curry looked terrified, then she laughed at the joke. The swimmers were escorted back inside 30 Rock. Someone was offering them breakfast, but all the various handlers—including Susan Carol’s, who had appeared magically the minute they were off the air—were insisting that their swimmer had to leave for another appearance.
Ryan Lochte, who was about as cool as anyone Susan Carol had ever met, gave her a quick goodbye hug and said, “You’ve got my vote to co-host this show. See you in Omaha.”
“I don’t want to co-host the show,” Susan Carol said, even though she knew he was joking. “I want to write.”
“Write all you want,” Coughlin said, also giving her a hug, “then deliver it on camera. If you’re this calm on TV, you’ll do fine with the pressure at the trials.”
“Susan Carol, we’ve gotta get going,” a voice said behind her. It was Susie McArthur, Lightning Fast’s PR person. They were heading across town to tape an interview with National Public Radio. The angle was sportswriter turned athlete. “The car is parked on 50th Street across the plaza.”
The whole crew was there: J.P. and Bill Arnold too.
As they piled into the backseat of the limo, J.P. turned to Susie as if Susan Carol was invisible. “After NPR we’ve got a break,” he said. “I want you to take her and buy some heels. The next three interviews are on TV.”
“Hello,” Susan Carol said. “I’m right here; you can talk to me directly. And I don’t wear heels. I’m six feet tall.”
“Honey, he’s right,” Susie said. “We need to show off those legs of yours, and heels will be better with your outfit.”
“I’m not a model,” Susan Carol said. “I’m a swimmer. They’re not interviewing me because they want to see my legs.”
“Actually, they are,” J.P. said. “Do you think USA Swimming chose you and Coughlin to do Today because of your flip turns?”
“I don’t do flip turns, J.P. I’m a butterflyer.”
“You get my point.”
“Did they choose Phelps and Lochte because of their looks?”
“To some degree, yes. The fact that they’re the two biggest stars on the men’s side didn’t hurt.
“Look, Susan Carol, I know you aren’t liking the beauty-pageant aspects of this, but this is reality. This is how it works. And you’re going to have to work with us if we’re going to do the best for you. So I’d appreciate a little less attitude and a little more cooperation. We made a deal with your dad: At the meets, your coach has last say. When it comes to marketing, your agent has last say.”
Susan Carol stared out the window at the New York traffic and wished she was anywhere but here. “Can we make them low heels? I can’t walk in high heels and I don’t want to twist an ankle before the trials.”
They would be in Omaha in four days.
11: LOST IN OMAHA
Looking out the plane’s window while they taxied into the gate in Omaha, Stevie could see the heat coming off the tarmac, but it didn’t hit him just how hot it was until they were actually outside—then the Nebraska heat smacked him in the face.
“Welcome to summer in the Midwest,” Bobby Kelleher said with a shake of his head.
“Guess I won’t be needing that sweater I packed,” Tamara Mearns said wryly.
Stevie had taken the train from Philadelphia to Washington so he could fly to Omaha with Kelleher and Mearns. They had landed shortly before noon.
“Think it’s a hundred?” Stevie asked as a dispatcher pointed them to a cab.
“No, no,” Tamara said. “More like a cool ninety-nine.”
Passing a billboard en route into town, Stevie noticed that it showed the time and the temperature. It flashed 34°C and then 98°F.
“You missed by one,” Stevie said, pointing out the billboard.
The two official media hotels were on the outskirts of town, but as usual, Kelleher had pulled some strings and scored them rooms in a Courtyard Marriott within walking distance of the CenturyLink Center, where the trials were being held.
“It’s supposed to be a three-minute walk,” Kelleher said. “In this heat, it might feel like an hour.”
Once they had checked in, the plan was for Stevie and Bobby to pick up all of their credentials and for Tamara to meet Susan Carol and her dad at a place called Spaghetti Works for their lunch/intervention.
The hotel was teeming with people when they walked in. Omaha hosted one semi-major sporting event every year: the College World Series. But Michael Phelps had almost single-handedly turned the Olympic Trials into a major event. Stevie had done some research before his trip. It wasn’t that long ago that the trials had been what Kelle
her called a “friends and family” event.
In 2008, USA Swimming had decided to take a chance and go big for the trials, building a temporary pool in a basketball and hockey arena. The place seated just under 18,000 for basketball, but once they’d constructed a fifty-meter pool and warm-up facilities and deck space, the capacity was reduced to just under 15,000. Phelps had won six gold medals in the 2004 Olympics and was gunning to break Mark Spitz’s all-time record of seven golds in the 2008 Games, making the trials a huge draw. The arena had been nearly full to capacity for the evening sessions when all the finals were contested.
Phelps had gone on to win that record-setting eight gold medals in Beijing in remarkably dramatic fashion. Thanks to a miraculous anchor leg produced by thirty-two-year-old Jason Lezak in the 4 × 100 freestyle relay and an amazing finish in the 100-meter butterfly, Phelps had surpassed Spitz. Those Olympics had spawned a swimming boom in the United States, both in participation—half the parents in America were convinced their child was the next Phelps—and in viewership.
The London Olympics would be Phelps’s last meet as a competitive swimmer. Which meant the trials here in Omaha was his second-to-last meet. Sellout crowds were expected every night. Stevie knew that the swimming facility in Shanghai had held 5,000. Swimming in front of 15,000 people would definitely be a new experience for Susan Carol.
In the meantime, Stevie’s first impression of Omaha—besides the heat—was that the influx of people might be a bit overwhelming. There were two people at the front desk checking guests in, and the line stretched across the width of the lobby.
“I was really hoping to take a quick shower before lunch,” Tamara said, looking at her watch.
Kelleher sighed. “I’d bet serious money that when we do get to the front desk, they’re going to tell us the room isn’t ready yet.”
“Ah, the joys of travel,” Tamara said. “Okay, I’m leaving my bags with you and heading for the restaurant to meet Susan Carol and her dad. Maybe I’ll be early enough for an iced tea before the heat is on.”
Rush for the Gold: Mystery at the Olympics Page 8
