If such dedication argues total indifference to the effect she creates, it is reassuring to learn that Ursula spends up to an hour each day answering fan mail, much of it requests for a certain photo in which she is bent forward as if to receive the baton in a relay race, but winking at the camera. She has no steady boyfriend, despite persistent offers of dates. ‘There will be time after Moscow,’ she says. ‘I don’t think I should want to go out with an athlete. I like to talk about other things than track.’
Goldine, too, has had to curtail her social life since joining the gold rush. ‘I’m a normal girl, and I like going out with guys as much as anyone,’ she confides, ‘but you have to make sacrifices. I’ll make up later.’ Nineteen, with cornflower-blue eyes that light up in surprise each time anyone suggests she is America’s Olympic hope, she reveals an innocence of her commercial potential that would gladden the hearts of the International Olympic Committee. ‘Endorsement contracts? What are they? Look, I’m only just beginning to think of myself as a runner. Don’t confuse me any more by turning me into some kind of merchandise.’
Goldine might deny it to herself, but the middlemen who made a killing each Olympic year are already jostling on the sidelines over the right to manage the girl who could become the hottest property in U.S. sport. ‘There have been inquiries from agents, it’s true,’ says Professor Serafin. ‘Of course, Goldine isn’t considering anything like this. If she won a gold medal, I wouldn’t know what to advise. It’s really up to her. We’re just ordinary people with no experience of sports. She’s doing this for America, not with any profit motive.’
How do track experts rate Goldine’s chances? ‘She’s unquestionably a brilliant talent,’ says Dale Dennigan of Track and Field News. ‘She made a lot of mistakes in Eugene through inexperience, and still did more than any girl in U.S. track history. If you analyze her best clockings of 10.8, 22.7 and 50.52, they indicate that she has a great chance of Olympic medals in all three events, but let’s remember that her best running in the 200 was achieved in the Quarter-Final, and her personal best in the 400 was made a month back in San Diego. She must learn to spread her effort more judiciously. She’s short on experience, of course, but that could mean she’s capable of improvement. It’s not unknown for a sprinter to take the Olympic title on a slender competitive record. Helen Stephens is an outstanding example, coming from a farm in Missouri in 1935 to set world records and then win two gold medals the next year, but it’s right to point out that she had a lot of intensive coaching before the Olympics. By any criterion, Ursula Krüll remains clear favorite for the 100 and 200 metres with her personal bests of 10.78 and 22.0 in the German trials. Remember, she hasn’t lost a race in two years. Taking the events in isolation, I’d put Goldine’s chances highest in the 400, but I’m afraid the short sprints will take a lot of her steam, as they did in Eugene. I’m picking her for silver in the 100 and 200 and hoping she can surprise me.’
Goldine accepts this estimate as a reasonable summation of the evidence available. ‘I’d rather not go to Moscow as favorite for anything. I’ll take it as it comes. Of course, I have my ideas of what I can do, but they won’t be helped by speculation in the papers.’
Ursula, too, is reluctant to make predictions on the outcome of her clash with Goldine. ‘I don’t know much about this girl, but her times I must respect. Do you have a picture of her? I send her my good wishes and I look forward to meeting her in Moscow.’
Ursula now possesses a photo of her U.S. challenger in action. ‘I’d like to send Goldine one of my pictures, so we’ll know each other in Moscow,’ she says, ‘but the only ones I have just now are taken from the back. Well, I’ll send her one,’ she adds with a mischievous smile. ‘Maybe she ought to get used to seeing me from that position.’
Smiling, though not at the wit of Fraulein Krüll, Dryden treated himself to another look at the cover picture. He was pleased because the Sportscene article chimed in well with the chorus of publicity Goldine was getting from the media. The rivalry with Krüll could become a highlight of the Games — the souped-up jogger versus the peerless product of the German machine. He liked that.
He opened his briefcase. Before landing at Kennedy Airport, there was work to do. The past ten days had seemed like 1969 again, when he had started the agency in London with the help of one part-time temp, and lived on sandwiches and four hours’ sleep, spending the other twenty generating business. These days, he was used to farming out the work to those sub-executives on the next floor, not seeing it through himself, every stage from the pitch to the signing. Still, he had kept control of the thing; if there were leaks, they wouldn’t be traced to Dryden Merchandising.
All told, he had done pretty well on the West Coast. The old sales patter hadn’t deserted him. On a quick count, he had logged upward of two million in endorsements, all provisional, of course, and peppered with escape clauses, but it wasn’t bad at all. If he could do as well in New York this week, the project would be right on target.
Already, the agreements had chiseled some shape into the Goldengirl image. She was hooked on California oranges, eggs and soft drinks. She drove a four-seater sports coupe with a V-12 engine, wore cashmere sweaters and white pantyhose and welcomed visitors to the U.S.A. Her hair was shampooed nightly with Goldtress, she showered under a Softspray de luxe and always took a malt drink last thing. Her preference in tracksuits was still under discussion, but shaping promisingly; enough gear had arrived gratis from the major sports manufacturers to outfit the entire agency staff if they ever fielded a track team.
The pleasing thing about the negotiations was that top management had heard of Goldine. That extra day in Eugene had repaid handsomely in publicity. Executives might not believe she was capable of three gold medals, but they knew enough to talk about her, and that was a foot in the door. The take-up had been better than 60 per cent, with less than 15 per cent outright refusals. Moreover, nobody had wanted to know who was behind the project. To a man, they swallowed the line that Goldine was Superjogger, the girl who found by accident she was America’s fastest sprinter.
The ingénue image had gone over strongly, as the Sportscene story testified. It fulfilled all requirements at this stage, providing good copy for the press and prime material for the admen to work on. No question of it: Goldine had done everything right in the interviews after Eugene. There was no hint anywhere of the self-indulgent stirrings she had admitted to him afterward. Just as welclass="underline" the media would have a field day if they heard she was developing a power thing.
He took out a cigarette. No future in worrying what she might say. She had the intelligence to preserve the image, whatever her private statements revealed. In a way, that conversation in the hostel had been a demonstration of the point she was making. She had shown she had power over him. She could destroy his work with a few words in a press conference. He had to believe she wouldn’t, that it was enough to know she had the power. For, like her more explicit threats, it was self-defeating. To execute it, she would have to destroy Goldengirl, and if she did that, she removed herself from her position of influence.
He started sifting through his papers.
It wasn’t pure chance that he bought an evening paper before he left the Pan Am terminal at Kennedy Airport. He wanted to see how his golfers were doing in the Philadelphia Classic. It was a long time before he found out. His eyes were riveted by something else: