by Shawn Keys
“Hélène Roche.”
“Yes, her. Well, I can see the power in her dolphin kicks and the way she slices the water… yeah, she could have a wicked butterfly stroke. If each of the non-duet swimmers picked up different swimming events, you’d have a good argument to make.”
Flora gave him a thankful grin, but there was a mournful undertone to it. “I see what you’re trying to say. But the truth is… even if they did put in the time to be decent competitors in those fields… they would only be doing it to show up and wave the flag. Not to win. It’s not where their hearts are at. They want to be a team, and they want to compete together in the way they love.”
“Which brings us back to the original problem of getting them noticed as artistic swimmers,” Matteo summarized. “Whatever argument we’re going to make to the commission to have them included on the Olympic team, it won’t mean spit until after we can show a few results in their primary sport.” He dug through the options he saw. “I hate to say it, but there isn’t anything we can do before the CACGs. There just isn’t time. We might have a shot at going to the French Language Games, but even that will be pushing it.”
“They’ll be disappointed to hear about missing out on the CACGs. That’s for sure.”
“Maybe a little less if they’re up in California during the same time window.”
“Why California?”
“This is one of those times when I don’t want to promise too much. But I caught wind of a swimming competition that a company called Tirkaheizer is putting on.”
“Why is that name familiar?”
Matteo shrugged. “Not sure how it reached your ear, but it wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve heard of them. They are a huge conglomerate with subsidiaries all over the world. They’ve invested in quite a bit of infrastructure and real estate over the last six years. Their latest is a sports complex in San Diego. They are planning an inaugural swimming meet. It’s scheduled for next month right around the same time that the CACGs are being held.”
“What’s the level of competition?”
Matteo turned to meet her eyes. “That’s the gamble. It’s high. The American’s premiere team is going to be there. Perhaps even their second and third national level teams. I haven’t looked into artistic swimming yet, but I know the other events are drawing in champions from Russia, Brazil and New Zealand. There might be more. It will be a stiff competition for their first outing. How confident are you that they can perform at that level?”
Flora didn’t hesitate. “I’m not saying they’re going to crush the best in the world. Especially not the Americans on their home turf. But they aren’t going to embarrass themselves. They can make a mark they’ll be proud of. That Portesara can be proud of.” She met his eyes, all sincerity in her expression. “Can you get them in?”
“I think so, but no promises. This sort of event isn’t only about winning. They like to show off. The company is considering charity cases. Even a couple controversial ones. The Russians aren’t so far from their last drug scandal. They’re showing up to repair their image a little, and the company gets to put the always-popular rivalry between them and the US at center stage. I might be able to get your team into one of the wild-card spots.”
“Will it be expensive?”
He nodded. “They’ll make us pay for it. This could be a little like putting all your eggs into one basket.”
Flora sighed, then waved that verging regret away before it could take root. “One event. Two events. Not much difference. Better to take our shot at something like this rather than the death of a thousand cuts by saving money at lower-key events.”
“Alright, then. I’ll reach out and see what I can do.”
Flora smiled. “Sorry for giving you a hard time earlier.”
Matteo chuckled in reply. “Protecting them is your job. I don’t take it personally. Do you want me to keep this between the two of us?”
Flora glanced down at the pool. “Hate to keep anything from them. But… yes. For now. I don’t want to get their hopes up until we know for sure. We’ll do introductions then, alright?”
Matteo nodded. “Like I said, whatever you think is right.”
Her smile re-doubled. “Be ready for a little hero worship if you pull this off. Dreams and wishes don’t come true every day.”
“But it sure is special when they do, isn’t it?” Matteo beamed back at her. “This might take a couple days. But I’ll press hard. I know time is short. Start getting them ready. I doubt I’ll be able to get them into any of the other side events we were talking about, so don’t waste any time training for those yet. Keep focused on the team event. Crush that, and then we can think about selling their other skills to the commission for the FLGs. Sound good?”
“Better than good.”
Giving her what he hoped would seem like a solid nod of assurance, Matteo turned and walked back up the steps. He suspected the team might have already noticed him hanging around with their coach. They would already have questions. He didn’t linger because then he’d have to answer a few of them.
For a second, a flicker of trepidation stole over him. It was a huge ask and a huge delivery. He was already starting to work his sales pitch. He’d have to sell the team just right to the organizing committee. Strike just the right chords: a blend of charity, offering a shot to a plucky young team, and maybe a hint of the controversy that Portesara was now poised to overcome.
He took a deep breath as he walked out into the early evening air. They won’t be able to resist it if I can just frame it right. Just right, so I don’t end up fucking their dreams before they even take flight.
Chapter 5
“Go get ‘em, tiger!” Irène quipped with a bright, cheerful, near-giggle of a voice, then smacked Cadence firmly on the ass.
Cadence had been standing at the launching point for the pole-vaulting station, pulling herself into a modest amount of focus. They were in the warm-up stages of the workout and the bar was set at a mere 3.2 meters. A minor challenge for Irène; for Cadence, not more than a puddle jump.
That didn’t mean she was going to ignore her friend’s joke. Crying in mock outrage, Cadence tossed her pole to one side and tried to grab her.
Irène evaded by leaping backward, putting a good meter of space between them. “Weak play, Cay! I mean – erk!” Her taunting came to an abrupt end as MK coiled her arms around her from behind in a bear hug.
“Gotcha!” MK declared.
Slithering like a slippery eel, Irène squirmed out of her grasp. Dressed in her skin-tight vaulting gear, the spandex got ruffled but wasn’t entirely displaced. Off like a shot, Irène raced toward the nearby distance marker on the shotput range.
Daniel leaned against a marker pole on the field, delighting in watching them have their fun. They were in a good mood, and for good reason. He had received the news that all three of them were being taken to the CACGs earlier that morning. He was a little surprised Irène hadn’t spoiled the good mood by using a nickname for Cadence, normally something she disliked. Maybe Irène gets away with it by being so cute; too cute to get angry with.
It was unexpected news that Irène had been selected, even if it was wonderful. He was still surprised. Even after he had gilded her anticipated results on her application, bending expectations as far as he could before it could be called deception, he wasn’t sure she would make the cut.
Having talked to Gordon, he knew that Carla and Julie were both going, as well as the fourth-place finisher, Ciella Venry. That was one reason he had thought Irène would be passed over. But it seemed the commission was stacking their pole-vaulting team. Maybe they were trying to forge a reputation in a specific sport like the Jamaica with their sprinters, Kenya with their long-distance runners or China’s divers. Turn this initial wealth of talent into a national specialty. Easier to groom successors in a single sport rather than trying to run the gamut. It was a guess, but it made sense. Especially since the commission had signed on another girl, Lay
la Miers, who had placed right behind Irène at the last nationals. Sending six in one event was a clear statement. Unfortunately, in exchange, they were leaving others behind, like the artistic swimming team that Matteo was trying to help.
It’s a hard business. Then again, I’m not giving up Irène’s spot so they can go. Generosity only goes so far. Maybe in the grand scheme of things, the swimming team would have a better shot. Maybe they deserve to go instead…
That’s not my place to say, he thought firmly. I’ve done what I can. Up to them to make it. If they nudge any of my girls out fair and square, then so be it. But until then… He smirked, watching Irène take a sharp turn like a dodging gazelle, evading MK, the charging cheetah. I’m glad Irène is going to get her shot.
With the news that they were all going to the games floating over them, a bit of well-intentioned euphoria was lingering inside them. Their training was in a good spot, so Daniel didn’t jump in to end their fun. There was time for all of that. Three more weeks to scrub them into the best shape of their lives. A little over twenty days to fine-tune their movements and claw out another inch or two of height. This morning… they could celebrate.
Amusement clung to him as he watched them in their impromptu game of tag. Perhaps a little arousal from having witnessed that spank on Cadence’s behind. Irène’s smack might have been playful, but it reminded him of quite a few occasions in their more private moments. Those had been playful too… but, playful in a different way.
Cloaking his grin, he watched as Irène bolted for the long-jumping pit. She was coming at the sandy landing zone at an oblique angle. Doing a quick calculation in his mind, Daniel was fairly certain she wasn’t going to clear the pit and would end up getting her brand-new sneakers filled with grit.
Planting a foot, Irène soared out over the sand. Daniel’s eyes immediately rose, impressed at the power she had managed to generate. She was a few inches shorter than Cadence, but she had a lot of power in her legs. She touched down on the grass on the far side and never paused in her run.
Something about that struck him. He was intrigued… and a thought suddenly occurred to him.
Am I crazy? He shook that off. Would she even entertain the idea? That was a better question.
Pushing off his post, Daniel called out, “Alright you three, knock it off! What kind of outfit do you think I’m running here?”
He wasn’t able to cloak the amusement in his tone, and they all heard it loud and clear. As such, they simply laughed and looked ready to flagrantly ignore him.
“Seriously!” he called out again, this time trying to put something vaguely resembling sternness into the word. “I need to talk to Irène for a few seconds. Save a little energy for your training. Come on, MK! You owe me a sub-15 run before we break. Cadence, since 3.2 isn’t enough to hold your interest, why don’t you hike that up to 4.0?”
They both laughed and pretended to rebel. But that didn’t last long. The women enjoyed their sport too much to make any real effort at avoiding a few serious runs. It was also an unspoken agreement among them. Daniel didn’t want to turn into a taskmaster, and none of them wanted to provoke him into being an ogre. They teased and showed a little good-natured, sometimes impudent spirit. In the end, Daniel never had to really put his foot down to get them to follow their set training regimens or obey his directions.
As they trotted off to their respective areas, Irène jogged over to him. “What’s up, Coach?”
Trusting the others to carry on with their routine, he motioned with his head over to the throwing field. “I wanted to ask you something. Ever thrown a javelin before?”
Irène’s eyes went wide. “Are you serious?” Then, she laughed. “No. Never had a reason to hurl any spears around.”
Chuckling along with her, Daniel said, “Wasn’t sure what schools teach kids in gym class these days. Figured there might have been one day where they got all primitive and showed you how our ancestors used to bring down big game.”
“Guess someone decided sharp, killing tools and eager teenagers were a bad combo,” Irène quipped.
“How long until your twentieth birthday, Miss Still-a-Teenager?”
“Three months,” she said.
“Well, I’m not willing to wait that long. Think I can trust you?”
“I’ll try to keep from going too crazy,” Irène answered with a sarcastic smirk.
While they had been bantering, Daniel had been scanning the set of javelins that had been left out by Coach Desjardins, one of the more respected coaches who specialized in that sport while branching out into discus and shotput. Like the athletes of Portesara, coaches were becoming increasingly aware that they couldn’t afford to specialize in one sport if they wanted to make a living. Tim had the central field booked in the afternoon while Daniel’s team moved onto the track.
He didn’t want to ruin the other man’s setup, but he could reset everything later. He picked out a women’s javelin almost exactly at the minimum weight and length. Usually, high-level athletes liked the balance of something a little longer with a little added heft. Considering this was Irène’s first throw, he wanted to use the baseline version.
Plucking up the weapon, he offered it to Irène. “Care to try it out?”
Curiosity, if nothing else, tugged at Irène. She took the long, flexible spear and found the balance for it in her hand. “What do I do?”
If he wasn’t serious, Daniel might have said something cheeky like ‘throw it’, but he had a purpose here. So instead, he avoided any levity and guided her over to the run-up. “We won’t get too scientific this time. Normally you take a running start, then switch to cross-over steps to throw. You know… the sort of side-to-side run we do during our warm-ups?”
“Alright. I think I understand.” Irène struck a pose, with one hand holding the javelin cocked back.
Impressed by her instincts, Daniel decided she was near-enough to a release stance. “That’ll do for now. Try and hit that pose for when you throw. Give it a shot. See what you can do with it.”
“Now?”
“No time like the present.” He smiled, then stepped back to give her the room to run. The pitch was pointed away from the pole vault station and canted away from the side of the track MK was using for her runs. He decided it was next to impossible for Irène to cause anyone any harm.
For a brief second, Irène looked tempted to ask why they were doing this. Her curiosity and eagerness to try something new won out. She shrugged and jogged over to a spot on the run-up where she could get a good lead.
From her extensive vault training, Irène knew all about the bounding steps that could accelerate her down the track quickly to pick up momentum and power in a short distance. But this was her first time doing it with a weapon in her hands.
Youthful excitement won out over caution. Being as invincible as most people her age believed themselves to be, she launched herself into her run with near-reckless energy, even if it wasn’t the full speed that she would need in competition.
Daniel was again impressed as she transitioned into the cross-over steps. She was a little late with her change, and he thought she was going to go over the fault line. Then again, he hadn’t even told her where the fault line was. Despite the error, her natural athleticism served her well as she flowed instinctively through her throw.
He also noticed that as her arm cocked back further, she coiled her hips and core, adding power to the throw. That was what he had been most eager to see. In the same way she had taken that earlier leap and the way she made the most of her innate power when pole vaulting, Irène was generating kinetic energy that snapped like a whip up into her arm as she let the javelin fly.
Unlike most spectators, Daniel didn’t watch the flight of the spear. He watched Irène. Watched her follow-through. Watched her ride the momentum of her throw and then recover from it. Watched her ride the edge of full commitment to the launch without losing all of her balance. But she still took a few staggering r
ecovery strides. As he expected, she was well over the line. She had actually launched at the line when she was never supposed to step over it even in recovery.
But what she didn’t do was fall on her face. In all honestly, even that wouldn’t have made Daniel feel too badly. Plenty of people had fallen after such a powerful throw. But she didn’t. She kept herself upright. Her arms went up in a cute cheer, bouncing on the balls of her feet as if she had secured a total victory.
Chuckling at her antics, it was only then he glanced over to see the result of the throw. Barely over 35 meters. Not bad. Considering this was literally her first throw, without training or any guidance other than the basic steps… not bad at all.
Of course, Irène wasn’t totally isolated from the javelin. She had trained often enough when the other athletes were here training for that event. She had probably seen it on TV enough times to mimic their motion.
Daniel came back to his original thought: whatever she might have picked up from observing, that was pretty damned good for the first time having her own hands on the spear. 35 meters, and it was sticking proudly out of the ground, proving she had tossed it at a decent angle. Not much more he could have asked from her.
Which brought him right back to his reason for bringing her over here to try it in the first place.
“Walk with me?” Daniel asked, then headed toward the landing point for the javelin. As they strolled to retrieve it, he said, “Despite the good news this morning, the final national team isn’t going to be getting any bigger.”
Her face got a little sour. “Had to bring that up? It was a nice morning.”
“Yeah, I know. Maybe I shouldn’t spoil it. But now that I’ve thought of this new idea, I didn’t want to wait.” He gestured toward the javelin, then over at the long-jump landing pit she had cleared. “I’ve noticed that you’re a pretty well-rounded athlete.”
“Umm, thanks?” Irène looked confused, still not sure where he was going.
