But she was not. If anything, she got away a fraction late. That did not handicap her long. At 200 metres, still carried low by the thrust from the blocks, she was showing ahead, bringing with her the girls on either side in an echelon. The symmetry was short in duration. By midway, Goldine was alone, the others struggling to hold their form, a ragged line of no-hopers learning what it means to be utterly outclassed. Moving with a zest and rhythm rarely seen on any track, she parted the tape, ran on into the bend, turned and held out her hand to Debbie Jackson as she came level. Jackson’s comment carried clearly into the stand: ‘Jesus, chick. What d’you use for fuel?’
Dryden touched Brannon’s shoulder. ‘I’d like to go downstairs before the next race, Elmer. If you’re my escort...’
In the excitement generated by the race they were able to leave the group without drawing comment. Serafin registered Brannon’s move with a nod and turned back to say something to Cobb.
‘That run of Goldine’s was electronically timed at eleven point zero eight,’ said the announcer in a voice that told you he was shaking his head, ‘and she was hitting a one-point-three-metre-per-second headwind. Fans, give or take a few hundredths, that’s worth ten point nine in good conditions. This afternoon we’ve been privileged to witness a truly great double — Olympic qualifying times in each of the short sprints by this unknown blonde from Bakersfield, Goldine Serafin. I have the feeling this afternoon’s doings in San Diego are going to cause quite some shake-up in the world of women’s track. Incidentally, Goldine entered her name for the last event on our program, the four hundred, but I guess she’ll settle for two finals in one afternoon, which ought to please those girls listed for the one-lap race, due off at four forty-five. Before that, the interclub relay...’
On the stone steps leading to the warmup area, Dryden touched off the scheme he had worked out. He stumbled, tugged at Brannon’s arm and landed heavily several steps down.
‘Christ. Whassa matter?’ demanded Brannon.
‘I missed my footing. Wow, the ankle hurts!’ He rubbed it energetically, still sitting on the stairs. ‘Can you help me up, Elmer?’ On his feet, he groaned. ‘Feels bad. It may be a break. I have a weakness in my right leg. It went once before. Look, I need someone to take a look at it. The medical room’s below. Can you support me that far? You’re a pal. God, it’s like a knife thrust!’
Hanging from Elmer’s shoulder, he hopped clumsily down the remaining stairs, past the sharp glances of the few girls still exercising in the warmup area and as far as the door marked with a red cross. Elmer pushed it open.
The meet physician in his white coat was attending to a pretty, dark-haired girl whose foot was bleeding. She was lying on a rubbing table, wearing a tracksuit top and brief scarlet shorts.
‘What’s this, then? Someone else in trouble?’ the physician asked, without putting down the swab he was using.
‘Fell on the stairs. Hurt his ankle,’ Elmer explained. ‘Could you take a look at it, Doc?’
‘Be my guest. Would you sit in the chair, sir, while I dress this young lady’s foot. You’re not in severe pain?’
‘Not severe,’ Dryden confirmed.
‘She was spiked in the walk,’ the physician told them. ‘Nothing too serious, but it needs cleaning up. You don’t mind these gentlemen waiting here, miss... er—’
‘Gee, no. It doesn’t bother me,’ the girl said with a smile in Dryden’s direction. ‘After all, it’s only my foot.’
Dryden was quick to see a chance to modify the strategy. ‘Well, there’s really no need for both of us to stay. You could get a coffee, Elmer. It’s clear I’ll be here a few minutes yet.’
‘But I mustn’t let you out of my—’
‘Hey, you’ll have these people thinking I’m a head case,’ Dryden quickly said. ‘No, I can’t move with my foot like this, but it’s too embarrassing for this young lady having treatment in this small room overlooked by two strange men.’
‘I really don’t mind,’ she insisted.
‘So beat it, Elmer, old friend,’ Dryden went on. ‘If you’re concerned about me, you can wait right outside the door till I’m bandaged or whatever. Fair enough?’
Brannon scratched his head and looked around the room, possibly checking for a second exit, but there was none. Not even a window. To help him reach a decision, Dryden moved his right shoe and sock. The ankle was inflamed from the rubbing he had given it.
‘Okay, I’ll be right outside,’ said Elmer, defeated.
Dryden relaxed in his chair and enjoyed the leg show a yard away. In different circumstances, he might have steered this situation toward a date, because she was quite a looker, with more than a hint of fun in her large, brown eyes, but there were other priorities. So far, his plan was working well. If the girl had not been there, he would have needed to persuade Elmer to report the accident to Serafin. This way was better. It detained him, providing more time to work on the physician.
