Rush for the Gold: Mystery at the Olympics (6 page)

When she finished, Mike Unger asked that people not stop her for follow-ups since she had to swim again that night. “Tonight, after finals, all the swimmers will have more time,” he said.

Susan Carol made her way back to Stevie and Bobby, and they all stepped outside.

“Where do you guys want to go eat?” she asked.

“Whoa,” a voice said behind her. “We’re going to get
you food, Susan Carol. But first you’ve got to talk to Bob Costas, and then the Speedo people want you to come by their hospitality room.” J.P. had materialized from nowhere.

Susan Carol was clearly as upset to hear this news as Stevie was.

“No one told me about this,” she said. “I thought the NBC show wasn’t until Sunday.”

“No, it airs on Sunday, but Costas is in town today. He’s interviewing you, Phelps, and Lochte.”

Stevie’s heart sank. He knew that NBC was taping highlights of the meet for a one-hour show on Sunday. This would lead up to its blowout coverage of both the Olympic Trials and the Olympics. Phelps had made swimming into a TV sport, at least in an Olympic year.

Kelleher, no doubt seeing the look on Stevie’s face, jumped in.

“Susan Carol, it’s cool. Stevie and I will wander over there with you and wait until you’re done. There’s no rush; it’s early.”

Ed Brennan had now appeared behind them as well.

“Costas is fine, J.P., but I want her to go sit down and eat after that. I’m sure the Speedo people will understand that she needs to be off her feet this afternoon.”

J.P. did
not
look happy with either Coach Brennan or Kelleher.

“Look, these are important people in Susan Carol’s life.…”

Brennan raised a hand. “And she’ll be important to them as long as she wins, right? So let’s make that her priority. She can schmooze after she wins her races.”

“Okay, fine, but I don’t think the NBC people are going to want anyone hanging around while Costas does the interview.”

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” Kelleher said. “Bob and I are old friends.”

“Okay, okay,” J.P. said, trying to regain some control of the situation. “Let’s get going. Once Phelps swims he’ll be right in there, so we have to get this done.”

“Phelps doesn’t swim for another half hour, J.P.,” Susan Carol said. “And then he’ll warm down before he goes anywhere else. Stop making everything a problem.”

Another voice came from out of nowhere at that moment.

“Susan Carol, watch your tone. You’re speaking to an adult.”

Susan Carol’s tone suddenly softened. “Yes, Dad,” she said. “Sorry.”

T
hey had to walk outside the Aquatics Center to find Costas and his crew. The temperature had warmed considerably since they had arrived, and Stevie wished he had thought to wear shorts.

NBC had created a small set in the back of the building, complete with an anchor desk and two comfortable armchairs next to it and lots of NBC logos. Bob Costas was sitting in one of the chairs when the group—which included Susan Carol, Ed Brennan, J. P. Scott, Susie McArthur (who seemed to have magically appeared as they walked out the door), two USA Swimming people, Don Anderson, Stevie, and Kelleher—arrived.

Costas smiled when he saw them all coming and said, “Well, I know this can’t be Phelps because there aren’t quite enough people.” He apologized for not getting up to greet people since he was already miked and was wearing
an earpiece, which Stevie knew from his own TV experience allowed him to hear what a producer off the set was saying to him.

Susie introduced Susan Carol, and as Costas was shaking her hand, he spotted Kelleher.

“Bobby Kelleher covering swimming?” he said. “Ladies and gentlemen, with all due respect to Ms. Anderson, we have a much bigger story on our hands here than anything in the pool. I suggest we contact the news department right away.”

Kelleher pulled Stevie along with him onto the set. “Knowing the names of three swimmers hardly makes you an expert either,” he said, shaking Costas’s offered hand. “Bob, meet Steve Thomas.”

Costas’s eyes lit up. “Aha! The other half of the dynamic duo of Anderson and Thomas. Now I
really
feel badly about not being able to stand up.”

Stevie had always been a Costas fan. He came across smarter and smoother than almost anyone else doing sports on television and was—in Stevie’s mind—the best TV interviewer going. If he hadn’t already felt that way, he probably would have as soon as Costas referred to him and Susan Carol as “the dynamic duo.”

“Mr. Costas, I can’t tell you what a thrill this is,” Stevie said, taking a couple of steps forward to accept Costas’s offered hand. “I’ve been a fan of yours for as long as I can remember.”

Oh my God, I sound like Susan Carol meeting Andy Roddick!
he thought. He glanced at Susan Carol, who was being
miked by a soundman, and was convinced he saw her smirking.

“Well, since I started in the business before you were born, I guess that makes sense,” Costas said with a smile.

“Oh yes, Steve has looked up to you for as long as I’ve known him,” Susan Carol said.

She
had
been smirking. He was searching for a clever response when Costas said, “Well, Steve, almost
no one
looks up to me, so I’m flattered.”

Costas was famous for making jokes about his height—or lack of it. Now—happily—it was Susan Carol who was flustered.

“I didn’t mean it that way, Mr. Costas,” she said. “I was just …”

Costas waved a hand. “I know you didn’t. And call me Bob—both of you.”

“We need to clear the set,” someone wearing a headset said, waving his arms to indicate that Stevie and Kelleher should get out of the way. A makeup woman was brushing powder on Susan Carol’s face.

“Diane, if I’ve ever seen anyone who didn’t need makeup, this would be the girl,” Costas said.

“You are
so
right,” Diane said. “I’m just taking a little bit of the shine off, that’s all.”

Diane had a bigger southern accent than Susan Carol did, even at her breathless Scarlett O’Hara best. What she actually had said was, “Aahm jus takin’ a little bit of the shaan off.”

She backed off the set, and Stevie heard Costas say—no
doubt to some producer out of sight—“Let’s just go for a while here and then we can figure out how long we have later.”

Costas nodded in confirmation of whatever was said into his earpiece and turned to Susan Carol. “Remember, this isn’t airing until Sunday, okay, Susan Carol? Try not to say ‘today’ or make any specific time reference and, obviously, my questions will be more about what’s coming up than about this weekend.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Susan Carol said. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it. Then again, she didn’t get nervous very often.

The guy wearing the headset was asking for quiet.

“Hang on one second, sorry,” Stevie heard a voice say behind him.

It was J.P., the increasingly annoying agent. He charged onto the set and put a baseball cap with a Kellogg’s logo on Susan Carol’s head. J.P. looked at Costas apologetically. “My fault for forgetting,” he said. “It’s in her contract to wear this during all television interviews.”

Susan Carol looked confused. Costas looked angry.

“Look, fella …,” he said.

“It’s J.P., J. P. Scott,” J.P. said, putting his hand out to Costas, who shook it with clear reluctance. “I’m Susan Carol’s agent.”

“I would never have guessed,” Costas said dryly. “Look, P.J., we don’t like the athletes to wear caps during these sit-downs. For one thing, they look a lot better without them on. Phelps never wears a cap when we talk to him.”

“It’s in our contract,” J.P. said.

“It’s not in ours,” Costas answered. “Why don’t you take the cap off her and let us get started.”

Susan Carol took the cap off and was about to hand it to J.P. when Stevie heard yet another voice behind him.

“With respect, Mr. Costas, it’s our call what she wears.”

Costas was peering past the lights to identify where the voice was coming from. “Who’s that, another agent?” he said.

“No,” Don Anderson said, stepping forward. “I’m Susan Carol’s father.”

Stevie wasn’t quite sure who was more stunned—Costas or Susan Carol. Both stared for a second, saying nothing. Before Costas could answer, Susan Carol, clearly embarrassed, said, “Daddy, really, it’s okay.”

“No, I don’t think it is,” Don Anderson said. He walked up to Costas, who must have been feeling as if he was on a receiving line at this point.

“Mr. Costas, I’m sure you must have dealt with athletes who have this sort of obligation before. When NBC interviews golfers, they’re always wearing their caps. We’re not trying to be difficult but, as J.P. said, it’s written in her contract, and I take that seriously. I hope you understand.”

Stevie realized he was right about the golfers. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a golfer interviewed who wasn’t wearing a cap with a logo on it.

It was clear now that Costas was pretty much done with Team Susan Carol Anderson. “Reverend Anderson”—apparently he’d done his homework on Susan Carol’s family—“if it is important to you, then we’ll do it that way,”
he said. “I think your daughter looks great without the cap on, but if that’s your choice, fine. But we need to get started because my producer is screaming in my ear.” In less than five minutes, Costas had gone from smiling and joking to stone-faced.

“Thanks very much,” Don Anderson said, nodding to Susan Carol, who put the cap back on her head. “I’ll get out of the way now and let you work.”

“That would be a real blessing,” Costas said—not without a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Reverend Anderson looked at him for a moment, clearly considering a reply, then turned and walked off the set.

“This is
not
going well,” Kelleher whispered in Stevie’s ear.

Once again quiet was asked for on the set and—finally—the interview began with Costas asking a very simple first question: “Susan Carol Anderson, where in the world did you come from?”

“Goldsboro, North Carolina,” Susan Carol answered, giving Costas The Smile, which appeared to break the ice that had formed. Then she answered the question seriously, talking about Ed Brennan and gaining strength as she got older and her breakthrough race a year ago in this same meet. From there, it all went well.

By the time they finished, Mike Unger from USA Swimming had joined the group that was watching.

“Bob, Phelps will be here in about fifteen minutes,” he said as soon as the guy in the headset who Stevie had learned was the floor director called, “Clear.”

“Good,” Costas said. “I can stretch my legs.”

Someone rushed to help him get untangled from his earpiece and microphone while someone else was doing the same for Susan Carol. Costas stood at the same time Susan Carol did. Even in flip-flops, she towered over him.

“Now you see why I do all interviews sitting down.” Costas laughed. “It was very nice to meet
you
.”

Stevie wondered if Susan Carol noticed the extra emphasis on the word
you
. If there was any doubt that he was making a point, it went away when Costas turned and walked off the back of the set without saying goodbye to anyone else.

“That’s as close to totally pissed off as you’ll ever see Bob,” Kelleher said to Stevie as J.P. and crew surrounded Susan Carol. “That was a bad scene right there.”

“She did well in the interview, though, right?” Stevie said.

“She did great. But at this level, people don’t remember that she was charming. They remember that she was charming, but the people with her were a pain in the butt. Trust me, when he called J.P. by the wrong name, he was making a point.”

“As in, ‘you’re a nobody, what are you doing on my set?’ ”

“Bingo,” Kelleher said.

Susan Carol, having received hugs from her team, came over to them.

“What’d you think?” she asked.

“You were fantastic,” Stevie said.

She narrowed her eyes and looked at him suspiciously.
Stevie was convinced she could read his mind. J.P. and Reverend Anderson were talking to Mike Unger. Susan Carol looked at Kelleher.

“Tell me what you really think,” she said.

“I
really
think we should go get something to eat,” Kelleher said. “Without your entourage.”

Even standing a few yards away, Stevie could clearly see that Susan Carol’s plan to eat with him and Bobby wasn’t greeted enthusiastically. When she walked back over to them, she said quietly, “Let’s go before my dad changes his mind. J.P. was
not
happy.”

“What a shock,” Stevie said.

As they made their way across the parking lot, they passed Michael Phelps and company headed the other way. Phelps saw Susan Carol and gave her a friendly wave, which she returned.

“When did you meet him?” Stevie said, trying not to sound jealous and failing.

“Oh, Stevie, stop,” she said. “I met him a little while ago in the hallway, and he was very nice.”

Susan Carol went into the locker room briefly to get her swim bag and then the three of them walked to Kelleher’s car. Susan Carol was happy to wear the cap now, pulling it low on her head so she wouldn’t be recognized, but there were still quite a few people congratulating her on her swim. Once they were in the car, Kelleher asked where they wanted to go.

“Right here,” said Susan Carol, pointing at the McDonald’s. “Right now.”

“You want breakfast?” Kelleher said.

“It’s 10:45,” Susan Carol said. “They start serving Big Macs at 10:30.”

“And this will be okay with Ed?” Kelleher said.

“You bet. I don’t swim again for nine hours.”

So they went through the drive-through, ordering enough food for at least six people. Stevie and Susan Carol both dug into their French fries on the short ride back to the hotel. The lobby was almost deserted, and they decided to go to Stevie and Kelleher’s room because it was less likely that any of Susan Carol’s minders would show up there. Tamara had left a note saying she had gone to meet Lochte and his coach for lunch.

As soon as they were sitting down, with food spread out around them at a table by the window, Kelleher came right to the point.