Rush for the Gold: Mystery at the Olympics (3 page)

“Just ended,” she said.

“And?”

“We signed.”

She hardly sounded jubilant.

“How do you feel about that?”

“Good,” she said. “There’s a lot of guaranteed money involved, although not as much as they implied when they first approached us.”

Stevie could tell she was feeling stressed because her southern accent was in full gear—she was talking fast and the word
implied
came out
implaahed
.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“All the contracts have some up-front money and some guaranteed money—and it’s a lot; enough to pay for college, probably for all of us. But most of the money is keyed to how I do in the Olympics. Which means first I have to
make
the Olympic team, which is no lock. And then I have to win a medal, of course, and for the big money to kick in, I have to win a
gold
medal, and then, well …”

“You’re rich.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Pretty much,” she finally said.

“What happens if you don’t make it to London?” he asked.

“We still keep the up-front money, which is good, but then it pretty much becomes a trickle rather than a waterfall,” she said. “On the one hand, it’s more than I ever
dreamed of, but on the other hand, I also dreamed of swimming in college.”

“And you won’t be able to swim in college now because you’re a professional.”

“Right. But not making this Olympics doesn’t mean my career is over. I’ll only be nineteen for the 2016 Games in Rio, and they say if I keep swimming well, they can renegotiate my deals then.”

“Lot of ifs in there,” Stevie said, then felt bad because he was probably making her feel worse.

“I know,” she said. “In the end, Dad and I decided the guaranteed money was enough to make the ifs worth it. I hope we were right.”

“I’m sure you were,” he said, trying to be more positive. “For one thing, you’re
going
to make the team and you’re
going
to swim well in London. Look at how much you’ve improved in the last year. And you’re
still
improving. The timing for London is perfect.”

“I know,” she answered. “That’s what Ed said too. He thinks I can improve more because I can train harder now that I’m older. But you know how the trials are. You have to finish first or second to make the team. And it’s the 200 fly—if you miscalculate your swim at all …”

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Plus, you’re ranked third in the country in the 100 fly, so you have a chance there too.”

She sighed. “Stevie, honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

That made him smile. “Well, Scarlett,” he said, using
the nickname he had put on her the first time he’d seen her turn on her southern charm, “the good news is, you don’t have to do without me. I’m right here whenever you need me.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. Then, “Who’s leading the Masters?”

“Someone you like,” Stevie said.

“Rickie Fowler?”

“Yup.”

“He is
so
cute.”

“What’s that, Scarlett? The line’s breaking up.… I can’t hear you.”

They were both laughing by the time they hung up the phone. Stevie felt better. He hoped Susan Carol did too.

I
n May, Susan Carol returned to Charlotte—to the meet that had first put her on the swimming map a year earlier.

A lot had happened since she had signed the contract with Lightning Fast. During her spring break, she and her father had flown to New York for a day of “appearances.” She had started her morning on the
Today
show (since NBC had the Olympic TV rights, the network was happy to promote a potential swimming star), where she stood outside in a steady drizzle while Ann Curry gushed about how cute her dress was and how she wished she could learn to swim butterfly. Susan Carol, who had done enough TV in the past to know how the game was played, offered to give her lessons.

The most surprising part of her morning was discovering how short Matt Lauer was. Even in flat shoes, Susan Carol was several inches taller than the co-host.

From there, they went upstairs to the Carousel Room in 30 Rockefeller Plaza for breakfast and a press conference—where Speedo announced that Susan Carol would join Michael Phelps, Ryan Lochte, and Natalie Coughlin as their main spokespeople leading up to the Games in London. Speedo and Lightning Fast had proposed that Susan Carol walk into the press conference in a Speedo bathing suit, but her father had nixed that idea. When J. P. Scott tried to argue for a moment, her father fixed him with a look.

“You and I had an agreement, J.P.,” he said firmly. “We’re promoting her as an
athlete
.”

Scott backpedaled quickly after that, and a Speedo sweat suit was agreed on as the outfit for the press conference.

The only question from the media that made Susan Carol a little uncomfortable was one she had been prepped for.

“How do you feel about being part of such a major marketing campaign when you’ve never even been on an Olympic team?”

“Lucky,” she said, flashing The Smile. “And as I recall, Michael Phelps hadn’t won an Olympic medal when he signed with Speedo before the 2004 Olympics.”

“But he was a world-record holder.”

“Yes. And I’m a world champion.”

That seemed to take care of that. The rest of the day was photo shoots, another press conference to announce deals with New Balance, Nikon, and Neutrogena—the three Ns, J. P. Scott called them. What wasn’t announced was that all of Susan Carol’s deals would be worth about
$1 million total if she didn’t win an Olympic medal. A medal—silver or bronze—would double that. A gold medal would up their value closer to $20 million.

Just the thought of it staggered Susan Carol. She couldn’t begin to think of how to spend that much money. The guaranteed $1 million was more fathomable—college for her and her siblings would put a big dent in that. And the security of it comforted her because she was having a hard time accepting that she would never be a college swimmer. All the things she’d imagined for her life were suddenly changing—it was hard to keep up.

One thing was clear from the long New York day, though. She would earn every penny. Being a show pony for corporations was hard work.

Even her life at school had changed. Suddenly everyone wanted to be her new best friend. Some teachers wanted her autograph for their children. Fortunately, her dad and Ed Brennan kept her in line. Especially Ed, since he had her in the pool for four hours a day, not to mention another hour in the weight room three days a week.

Their approach to the Charlotte meet was entirely different this year. Last year, it had been a full taper meet, meaning she cut back on her yardage and changed her workouts a solid three weeks before the meet so she would be as fresh and strong as possible when she stepped on the blocks. This time, with the Olympic trials only seven weeks away, she would swim through the meet—meaning she wouldn’t slacken her workouts at all. She would begin her taper two weeks before the trials, which began June 25 in
Omaha, Nebraska. Then, if she made the team, there was only a four-week break before the Olympics began.

Even though Charlotte was now just a warm-up meet, it was going to be a zoo. Michael Phelps had decided to make it
his
last warm-up meet before the trials, along with several other past Olympians. Phelps’s presence alone would create a media circus. But Susan Carol, especially in her home state, had become a pretty big deal in her own right.

After consulting with the Lightning Fast people and Ed Brennan, it was decided that Susan Carol would drive to Charlotte early Thursday morning, even though the meet didn’t start until Friday. She would work out in the pool that morning and hold a press conference right afterward. Everything seemed set, but then Susie McArthur, who was taking care of all her interviews, called a few nights before the meet.

“We’re going to have to change your schedule,” she said. “Phelps wants to hold a press conference on Thursday too so he doesn’t have people bugging him before he swims on Friday.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Susan Carol asked. “I’m supposed to talk at two o’clock, right? If we have to move it up an hour or back an hour, that’s no big deal.”

“You don’t understand,” Susie said. “You have to move it up a
day
. You have to do it Wednesday.”

“Wednesday? Why? I’m already missing two days of school. No way my dad and mom will agree to three days.”

“I’ll talk to your parents. But we need to do this.”

“Why?”

“Because if we have a press conference the same day as Phelps, you’re the second story, not the first. As popular as you are, Susan Carol, we’re talking Michael Phelps. We can’t compete with the greatest swimmer ever for publicity.”

Well, that was certainly true. Still …

“You’re going to have to talk to my dad about me missing another day of school,” she said.

She heard Susie sigh on the other end of the phone. “I will. But last I looked, you’re making straight A’s. And you aren’t being
paid
to go to school.”

Susan Carol wasn’t thrilled with her tone, but she let it go. Not long after that, her dad walked in to say he had talked to Susie. “I told her we’d do it,” he said. “J.P. and Susie will drive you down on Wednesday, Ed will be there Thursday, and I’ll join you Friday. And I want you to ask your teachers to give you your assignments for the rest of the week before you leave.”

In truth, Susan Carol’s teachers had always been accommodating about letting her miss some class time when she was covering major sporting events since she was such a good student. But somehow this felt different to her.

“Dad, is this going to get out of hand?”

“Not if I can help it,” he said, which was about the least confident answer she’d ever heard from him. He walked out. She picked up
Of Mice and Men
and resumed reading. She had a lot of studying to do.

Stevie was also missing school the week of the Charlotte meet—but just one day, and even that hadn’t been easy. As
usual, his mom was concerned about him getting behind, and his English teacher, Ms. Granato, had called to say that Stevie was in danger of getting a C for second semester and that certainly wouldn’t help him get into college. As usual, his dad argued that his experiences as a reporter were just as important as an A in English. And so he was going.

Stevie would actually be covering the meet for the
Herald
. Bobby Kelleher was going down to write columns, but the
Herald
wasn’t sending a staffer, so that meant Stevie would get to write the leads. Susan Carol had told Stevie that the
Post
had wanted her to write a daily journal on her experiences at the meet, but the Lightning Fast people had nixed it.

They said we don’t give away anything
, she told Stevie in an email.
Anything I do outside a press conference, they want to get something in return
.

Does this mean you can’t talk to me?
Stevie had emailed back.

I hope not
, she answered, without a hint of humor.

Stevie watched Susan Carol’s Wednesday press conference live on ESPN News. Apparently the Lightning Fast people had told ESPN they would change Susan Carol’s pre-meet press conference to Wednesday if it would be covered live. And ESPN had agreed.

Susan Carol walked into the press conference looking like a human billboard. She had on her Speedo sweats with a different corporate logo on each arm. She was wearing a Kellogg’s baseball cap. When a photographer asked if she
could take off her cap, she shook her head. “Can’t,” she said. “The Kellogg’s people want y’all to see their logo.”

Stevie groaned. His girlfriend looked like a cross between a NASCAR driver and a PGA Tour golfer. Getting the logos airtime was their key to success in life.

But apart from that, Susan Carol handled the press conference with ease. When someone asked her about missing three days of school, she laughed. “Oh, I brought my books with me,” she said. “And my teachers are being nice about letting me make up the work. My whole school’s been so supportive. One of my teachers asked if she could come with me.” The southern accent was turned on full power and so was The Smile. Stevie figured her sponsors would be very happy.

On Thursday afternoon, he watched the Phelps press conference. Michael Phelps was clearly an old pro at this, but he didn’t have Susan Carol’s spark or charm. Then again, he didn’t need to sell himself: He’d already made his millions, and the 2012 Olympics would be the last swim meet of his career.

After watching that press conference, Stevie headed for the airport, and by nine o’clock he was in Charlotte too. He took a taxi from the airport to the downtown Marriott, where a lot of the swimmers—including Susan Carol—were staying. Bobby Kelleher had somehow secured a suite so that Stevie could share it with him and his wife, fellow newspaper columnist Tamara Mearns.

“A buddy of mine named Terry Hanson is a big-shot radio guy here,” he had explained. “He was able to get us
the upgrade.” Most of Kelleher’s stories on how he got things done began with the words “a buddy of mine.”

Stevie called Susan Carol from the cab, hoping they could see each other as soon as he got to the hotel.

“Why don’t you come to my room when you get here,” she said. “You can order some room service because
I know
you’re hungry and we can talk a little before I have to go to bed. My first swim is at 8:30 in the morning, so I have to be up by 6:30 to get over to the pool and warm up.”

“Sounds great,” Stevie said, liking the idea of some quiet time, even if it would be limited by her need to get a good night’s sleep. “You’ve got 100 fly first, right?”

“Right. Trials in the morning, finals at night.”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

When the cab pulled up to the hotel, Stevie stopped at the front desk, where Kelleher had left him a key, and then he went straight to Susan Carol’s room. He knocked on the door and felt himself grinning in anticipation as he heard Susan Carol’s footsteps. He dropped his bags to prepare for a hug.