Augustine’s, if you remember,” and he limped out to talk to Malise.
“You were so vile about that guy before he arrived, I knew I’d find him attractive,” said Suzy.
Having finally fallen asleep at 3 A.M. Jake had to get up, jangling with nerves and hangover, an hour later. Speeding along the fast lane reserved for car pools, Malise, not used to fierce power-braking, kept producing appalling screeches like a butchered pig every time he tried to slow down. Even worse, sitting between Jake and Fen, taking up almost the entire backseat, Griselda grimly ate her way through two huge fried-egg sandwiches.
As Jake gave Hardy the gentlest of workouts in the already punishing heat, he realized Rupert’s horse Rock Star was hardly sweating. And while Jake felt dislocated and woolly-headed from lack of sleep, Rupert, despite his late night, seemed utterly together. By leaving ahead of the pack, not only had he acclimatized his horses to the heat and humidity, but also adjusted his time clock as well.
Fen walked Desdemona beside Jake.
“She’s very down,” she said.
Like her mistress, thought Jake, noticing her swollen eyes but making no comment. Ivor was worried about John.
“It’s like sitting on a dead log.”
All around them other nations were crashing their wringing wet horses over massive combinations on what was plainly very hard ground.
Later in the day, Malise called another meeting. Rupert rolled up in a pale blue tracksuit, like Rock Star, hardly sweating after a four-mile jog along the beach.
“The great problem with the Olympic Games is peaking too soon,” said Malise. “Now you’re in L.A. you feel you must be doing something to prepare yourself and your horse. You see other teams popping their horses over all sorts of different kinds of fences, and think they’ve got inside information, but you can be sure no one will know anything until we walk the course on Monday week. If I were you I’d concentrate on work on the flat, and jump your horses as little as possible. Let them rest, relax, and enjoy yourselves and have fun.”
“I’d rather have Fen,” said Rupert, who’d also noticed her red eyes.
As they came out of the meeting they bumped into Ludwig and Hans, who’d just been looking at the Olympic swimming pool.
“Did you know it vos specially built for zee Oleempics?” said Hans.
“So was that girl,” said Rupert, as a spectacularly blond and voluptuous Romanian athlete loped past them without a backward glance. “Bet I can bed her before the Games are over.”
“How much?” said Ludwig.
“Hundred bucks.”
“Done.”
The event that saved Fen from utter despair was the opening ceremony that afternoon. Everyone had been cynical about the American hype beforehand — particularly Rupert, who made Helen furious with his persistently disparaging remarks. But somehow, the Antony and Cleopatra set, the girls in hot pants with their silver balloons, the eighty-five males bashing away at
There was a big row beforehand. Rupert had removed the Olympic badge from his blue blazer and had had the trousers narrowed to drainpipe proportions. Fen had shortened her skirt. Griselda had put on so much weight that she kept popping buttons like Tom Kitten, and the skirt of her dress was so stretched there weren’t any pleats left. Ivor had typically ordered trousers too small, so the turn-ups skimmed his ankles, and a blazer so big it hung like a peasant’s smock.
“You’re all a bloody disgrace, except Jake,” snapped Malise. “Let’s hope you can lose yourselves among the rest of the British athletes.”
After all the razzmatazz, it seemed the athletes might be ignored, but on they came in, country by country, to tumultuous cheers from the amazingly overadrenalized and happy crowd. There were Mexicans in big hats, and Africans in national costume, and the French incredibly chic in couture-designed clothes, and the English very formal, with the sexes sharply defined.
“You can tell Rupert’s been in the army,” said Fen, watching his straight-backed march. Jake tried to disguise his limp as much as possible.
“Thank God we’re jumping out in Arcadia and not in front of a crowd as big as this,” said Fen, looking at the endless pebbledash of faces.
Huge cheers greeted China and Romania and everyone stood up. Then, on a note of crazy informality, the American athletes came on to an earsplitting roar. They all wore tracksuits, so, unlike other countries, there was no division of the sexes. Joyous as otters they swarmed, rowdy and exuberant, in total disarray. All carried cameras and were soon snapping away at one another and the other teams and the stadium, then fighting their way through to the other side of the parade to photograph Mom in the stands.
Even when the black athlete came on carrying the Olympic torch on the last lap, there was doubt whether she’d ever make it, as the U.S. team swayed around her clicking away like pressmen.
“The Marx Brothers seem to have taken over,” said Rupert.
But finally the little flame, all the way from Greece, was lit and, after the endless speeches, the doves of peace fluttered into the blue in their thousands.
“I hope you’ll take note,” hissed Fen to Rupert, “and stop bitching at Jake.”
Then the beautiful girl singer stood up and started belting out “Reach out and touch someone” and everyone was breaking formation and kissing each other and shaking hands. Fen found herself kissed by Ludwig, Count Guy, and Rupert, and three times by Ivor.
“Oh, Christ, here comes Griselda,” said Rupert. “I’m off. One must draw the line somewhere.”
“I told you not to wear mascara,” said Jake, as Fen wiped her eyes.
And suddenly it got to her — the Olympic ideal. Despite the sniping, the commercialism, the chauvinism, and the heartbreak, here she was in Los Angeles, carrying her own torch for Britain in front of this wonderful, friendly, deeply moved, appreciative crowd.
For a few minutes her misery over Dino and over Jake and Helen was put aside as she suddenly realized the magnitude of her achievement, that at nineteen she’d been picked to ride for Britain. For without all the competitors, there would be no competition. And if there weren’t people prepared to lose bravely and with a good grace, there wouldn’t be any winners. True greatness was the ability to pick yourself up from the floor.
“Isn’t this your best moment ever?” she whispered to Jake. He nodded, too moved to speak.
“It’ll be even better when we go home with the team gold, and the gold, bronze, and silver in the individual,” said Rupert. “Oh, look there’s my Romanian,” and, shoving through the crowd, he grabbed her. For a second she gazed at him with her slant-eyed impassive Slav face, then the crowd shoved them together, and he was kissing her.
“First base,” said Jake, wondering if Helen was looking.
“Ludwig’s going to lose that bet,” said Fen. “Can’t you hear the clang of iron curtains dropping?”
After the ceremonies they met Helen, who’d been watching with the Eriksons.
“Wasn’t it wonderful?” said Fen. “You must feel jolly proud to be American.”
Tolerant suddenly, because Dino not coming to the Games had made her even more aware of the agonies of being in love, she moved aside to introduce herself to the Eriksons and apologize for not being able to make it to the party, leaving Helen and Jake a moment alone together.
“I was watching you the whole time,” whispered Helen, her eyes glowing. “Conscious of you every single moment, so proud that you finally made it here after all those setbacks, knowing you’d be thinking of me.”
Jake felt once again the great weight of her love.
57
