Rush for the Gold: Mystery at the Olympics (11 page)

“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.

L
ooking 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 Kelleher 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.”

The thought of an iced tea almost made Stevie feel faint. Actually, the thought of eating made him feel faint because the two bags of airline pretzels he’d eaten since breakfast were not getting it done for him anymore.

All of which gave him an idea.

“Hey, Bobby, if we aren’t going to get in the room anyway, why don’t we leave our bags with the bellman and go get something to eat too?” he said. “Then we can pick up our credentials, and by the time we get back, the room might be ready.”

“Great idea,” Kelleher said. “But Courtyards don’t have bellmen.”

“Then who’s that?” Stevie said, nodding toward the corner of the lobby, where someone was leaving his bag with a man in a hotel uniform.

“That’s odd,” Kelleher said. “Let’s give it a shot.”

“I’m going,” Tamara said, giving her husband a quick kiss. “Wish me luck.”

They wished her luck and Kelleher slung his wife’s bags over his shoulder and they headed for the corner of the lobby.

“Is this the bell desk?” Kelleher said.

“It is this week,” said the man, who wore a name tag that identified him as Lawrence Murchison, Lincoln, Nebraska. “We set it up because the hotel is so full. It isn’t just that every room is booked; we’ve got rooms with three and four people in them.”

“Yep, that’s full,” Kelleher said. “Can we leave our bags with you and come back later to check in?”

“Absolutely,” said Lawrence of Lincoln.

Five minutes and a five-dollar tip later, they were heading for a restaurant called Spencer’s. Lawrence said it had the best steaks in town and excellent hamburgers too. Stevie was in luck.

Tamara’s luck was not so good. At the very moment that Stevie and Bobby were sitting down at Spencer’s, Tamara was being seated at Spaghetti Works. She was also getting a text from Susan Carol.
Just leaving hotel
, it said.
Be there in 10
.

Susan Carol had trouble typing the words because she was striding through the lobby of the Omaha Hilton, where most of the top swimmers were staying. Not only was it practically on top of the CenturyLink Center, there was a sky bridge connecting the two buildings so swimmers didn’t have to go outside into the heat at all. Susan Carol had used the sky bridge that morning when she had gone to work out.

It was a relief to be here and about to swim at last. She’d
thought things might get better when school let out—that she’d have one less thing to worry about. But she almost missed school. At least that was familiar.

She had felt good in the pool and would have liked to stay all day, but she was under orders from Ed Brennan not to do more than 2,000 meters. She had been in full taper mode for three weeks, and at this point all Ed wanted her to do was stretch out, get the feel of the water, and do some work off the blocks.

No two swimming pools had identical blocks even though they were all supposed to conform to standards established by FINA. They all felt just a little bit different and, especially in the 100 fly, being comfortable when you stepped up could be crucial.

She had taken a long shower at the pool, promised Ed for the hundredth time that she would stay out of the heat as much as possible, and headed back to the hotel. It was 11:30, and she and her father had plans to leave for their lunch date with Tamara at 12:45. She’d debated just pretending to run into Tamara at the restaurant but decided it was better to make a definite date. Her father had seemed surprised but happy enough when she said Tamara was working on a story for the
Post’s
Sunday magazine.

When she walked into the lobby, her dad was sitting in an armchair, waiting for her.

“I was just starting to worry,” he said.

“I took a long shower,” she said. “What’s up?”

“We need to talk before we go to lunch.”

“Okay. What about?”

“Not here,” he said.

She followed him to the elevator and was surprised when they got on and he punched the button for the eighth floor.

“Dad, we’re on twelve,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “We’re going to make a quick stop to talk to J.P. and Susie.”

“What about?” she said. “I thought they understood that I’m not doing anything here except swimming.”

The elevator had now reached the eighth floor.

“That’s exactly right,” her dad said as he walked down the hall.

Confused, she followed him. Susie opened the door almost the second he knocked.

“Hey, come on in!” she said enthusiastically. “Susan Carol, how’d the workout go? You want something to drink?”

The room was considerably bigger than hers and looked out on the new baseball stadium where the College World Series was played. She wondered how they had wangled their way into the hotel. She’d been told that the Hilton was strictly reserved for swimmers who were high seeds in their events, their families and coaches, and also for some top USA Swimming officials and sponsors. As far as she could tell, agents weren’t on that list.

“I’m fine,” she said in response to the question. J.P. was sitting in a chair near the window.

“You look great,” he said. “Ready for tomorrow?”

“I hope so,” she said. “I was going to go lie down for a few minutes before lunch.…”

“That’s what we wanted to talk about,” J.P. said, indicating with his hand that she should sit in the chair opposite him. She thought about refusing but remembered Ed’s constant reminder to stay off her feet as much as possible.

“You wanted to talk about lunch?”

“Honey, J.P. and Susie don’t think we should be having lunch with a reporter the day before you start to swim,” her dad said.

“It sets a bad precedent,” Susie said, trying to sound soothing. “We’re turning down one-on-ones unless they’re really important—you know, NBC, ESPN, or maybe
Sports Illustrated
.”

Susan Carol laughed. “You don’t think the
Washington Post
is important enough to talk to me?”

“We don’t think newspapers matter very much anymore,” J.P. said. “But that’s not really the point here. Your life is going to be very hectic from now until the end of the Olympics. You’re going to have to make choices or, more specifically, we’re going to have to make choices for you.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Susan Carol said.

J.P. looked at her dad. Clearly he wanted him to answer that question.

“Honey, it means that for a few weeks, you have to think of Tamara and Bobby and even Stevie as members of the media first and your friends second.”

“You can’t be running off to McDonald’s with them the way you did in Charlotte,” J.P. said.

“Or having lunch with one of them the day before the Olympic Trials start,” Susie added.

“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” Susan Carol said.

She was angry, really angry.

“Susan Carol …,” her dad started.

She held up her hand. “I’m sorry, Dad. But this is going too far. I’ve done everything I’ve been asked to do until now. But I’m
not
going to just cut my friends out of my life. Stevie’s been my rock through all of this. And now you want me to see less of him?”

“I appreciate your loyalty,” her dad said. “I’ve explained to J.P. and Susie how close you guys are. But they do have a point: This is about fairness. Other reporters will see you with Stevie and Bobby and Tamara and think they’re being given favorable treatment.”

“Other reporters know they’re my friends.”

“We need to treat everyone the same,” J.P. put in.

“Except for NBC, ESPN, and maybe
Sports Illustrated
,” Susan Carol said.

She decided she was done talking to the Lightning Fast people. She turned to her father.

“I’m meeting my longtime friend and mentor Tamara for lunch as we planned. I’d really like you to come too, Dad. Please.”

Her dad shook his head. “No, honey, I’m sorry. We’re paying J.P. and Susie to tell us how best to handle all this and I think we need to listen to them. They’re the pros here.”

“Can you hear yourself? We’re paying them to help manage my career, not to decide who I can be friends with or talk to.”

There was so much more she wanted to say, but the need to get out of there was even stronger. She practically ran to the door.

By the time she reached the elevators, she was crying. How could this happen? Her dad was the best, most honest person she knew. But he seemed to have substituted the agents’ judgments for his own. She barely recognized him.

When she got back to her room, it was almost one o’clock. She changed quickly and sent Tamara the text while striding out the door.

“Where’s your dad?” Tamara asked as Susan Carol slid into the booth opposite her.

“Lost,” Susan Carol answered. “He’s completely lost.”

S
tevie and Bobby had finished eating and were walking to the arena to pick up their credentials when Bobby’s cell phone began playing what Stevie recognized as the Army fight song.

“I thought you were unbiased when it came to Army and Navy,” Stevie said as Bobby answered the phone.

“Can I help it if the Army song is better?” Bobby said, then, into the phone, “What’s up?”

He listened for a minute and nodded. “Okay. Order some dessert and we’ll be there in a few minutes.”