Chapter 3
"Seventh place-Christine Gray of Denver, Colorado," the announcer's voice blared out over the public address system.
Christine clamped her hands to her ears and cut off the rest of the announcement.
"Damn it!" she blurted out in a low, angry voice, "It might as well be three hundred and seventh!" She fought hard to hold back the tears that began to form in her big blue eyes.
Patty walked up to her and put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Chris-you should have gotten third place at worst." She smiled, trying to cheer Christine up.
She looked angrily at Patty and pushed the hand from her shoulder. Sure bitch, you can afford to be nice-you took first, Christine thought to herself.
Patty was genuinely hurt by Christine's reaction. She tried to convey her feelings again.
"Chris-I'm only trying...."
"Fuck you!" Christine blurted out.
She was sorry she had said it as soon as it echoed back in her ears, but it was too late. It was done. She turned and walked quickly away with mixed emotions-hostility and embarrassment.
For twelve years her life had been wrapped up in figure skating. A daily eight-hour grind of figure eights, leaps, salchows and axels-compulsory figures, free skating, school figures over and over and over. And she knew that she was good-damn good.
She had won all the championships on the local, state and regional levels. Three years ago she had entered her first Nationals and finished a very creditable fourth. The following year she had slipped to fifth, but she had finished with a point total close enough to first place to realize, that, if she had concentrated on the compulsory figures just a little more and if she had just been a little more confident and daring in her free skating, she could have easily vaulted into first place.
And so it was back to the training rink for another year of arduous discipline and concentration. This year's Nationals were even more important to her-it was also the year of the Olympics. The first three places automatically qualified for the Olympic team.
Christine had always dreamed of being a National and Olympic champion. She sacrificed her social life in order to be the figure-skating queen of the world.
Her chance had come and gone. She had finished seventh.
She couldn't control her tears any longer.
A strong hand went around her shoulder and she looked up into a pair of sympathetic eyes.
Dan smiled gently and raised her drooping head.
"Smile, honey. You'll be a breeze next year."
"No, I won't," she spit out bitterly.
Her words upset him, then he realized it was only the utter disappointment which she was feeling that had made her react so negatively. He knew that it would pass in time. It always had. Once she was back in training under his watchful eye, she would replace her remorse with arduous practice. That's the way it had been for twelve years. That's the way it would always be. She was Trilby. He was Svengali. He had molded her to his specifications. She had won the championships that had eluded him when he was a skater. Now she would win the Nationals for him. And she would, of that, he was certain.
"Is that any way' for my champion to talk? You were only that far away from taking it all today." He dramatized his words by holding his thumb and forefinger a quarter of an inch apart. "If you hadn't been nervous in the free skating, it wouldn't have been close."
"I wasn't the least bit nervous today, and I skated the best I could. But you are right about one thing. It wasn't close." There was still a trace of bitterness in her voice but no anger.
"That's not true," he answered, his voice betraying his impatience with his student. "I was watching closely-I could see your timing was off. Why you skate better in training than the rest of these girls can on their best day!"
"Sure, in training, in front of you-I'm always flawless. In the regionals, I'm flawless. In the Nationals, I'm an also-ran. I'm a loser and it's about time I faced up to it!" Her anger and frustration finally exploded.
Dan grabbed her by the arms and turned her to him. He held her firmly, not allowing her to avoid his eyes.
"That's a stupid and childish thing to say! You're still young! You're still learning!"
Christine laughed softly, a mocking, biting laugh. "You're still young! You're still learning!" She echoed, then laughed again. "I'm twenty-three! The six girls that finished ahead of me are still in their teens. Aren't they still young-aren't they still learning?"
Dan knew that he couldn't come up with an answer that would satisfy her perceiving question. He decided to avoid the issue until he felt that Christine was in a better frame of mind. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
"Why don't we discuss it later, when you're more receptive to logic. Right now, you're emotionally upset."
She pulled away from him.
"You're damn right I'm upset. It isn't every day that I faintly accept the fact that I'm not quite good enough for the best and slipping down to where I'm just barely good enough to hold off the second best. How did it feel when you realized that you weren't even good enough to win in state meets?"
The words were hardly out of her mouth, when she felt a dejected wave of remorse sweep over her. She could see the pain in Dan's eyes. He had devoted himself to her, and she had deliberately punctured his ego, his dreams, his life. She had poured salt into a big gaping sensitive wound that had never completely healed. She threw herself into his arms.
"I'm sorry, Dan," she sobbed, "truly sorry. Please forgive me."
He put his hand on her head, trying to smile. "Sure, honey, forget it."
She looked up at him and forced a smile. The tension of the moment had eased, but, beneath the facade of mutual forgiveness, there lay the realization that something in their relationship had been lost. Twelve years of smoldering subconscious resentment for the deprivation she had to endure to fulfill Dan's dreams had finally forced its way to the surface. It was Dan's dream from the beginning. It was never hers. She was sadly aware that that was the reason she had tried to hurt him. She was living his dreams, not her own. She was living his life, not her own. But the most upsetting realization was that the only enjoyment she had had in all these years was the enjoyment she had given to him, not her own.
The new awareness made her feel guilty. She looked at his strong face, smiling down at her, and she could see that he was troubled by what she had said. More than that, she knew that he, too, had finally faced the fact that his dream had vanished.
She took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. "Dan, let's go to the hotel, I'm tired."
She sat down and began to unlace her skates.
Dan looked at her a moment and then looked over at the knot of well-wishers surrounding the winners. They were being congratulated, not only by friends and fans, but by the other competitors as well. Dan had never seen Christine display any unsportsman-like conduct before, but it became increasingly clear to him that she was about to display it, now. It seemed obvious to him that she had no intention of adding her good wishes to those of the others.
As she handed him one skate, he sat down beside her, trying to think of the right words, to point out the folly of her actions and not upset her any more than she already was. He slipped the cover over the skate blade and decided there was only one way to tell her that she was committing a sporting and social error.
"Chris, honey," he began hesitantly, "don't you think you should go over and congratulate the winner?"
She looked up and handed him the other skate. "Why?" The question was a statement, expressing Christine's true feelings.
Dan was shocked. She had always been wonderfully warm. The many times that she had won she had been humble and gracious and complimentary to her competitors-the few times when she had lost she was equally as gracious and complimentary. She had known the wonderful feeling of winning and the taste of sadness in losing.
"They deserve it, Chris. They worked hard to win. They would have done the same for you. The sport has been good to you! At least go out a winner in life!" He proclaimed.
"It hasn't been good to me! It's been good to you! I've gotten you almost all the trophies and medals that you couldn't get for yourself. All it did for me was to rob me of my childhood, my dates, the parties and now I'm bringing it to a screeching halt! They're your trophies not mine, so why don't you go over and congratulate them-I'm going back to the hotel!"
She turned quickly and started up the aisle of the arena. Dan started to call after her but saw that it would be useless. He put her skates in the small traveling bag.
He hadn't taken two steps when he was stopped by a rugged-locking man in his late twenties, who extended a business card. Dan took it, but didn't bother to "look at it, he was more concerned with Christine.
The young man persisted in spite of the fact that he could read the anxiety in Dan's face.
"My name is Jim Fowler, President of Ice Frolics. You are Dan Connors, Miss Gray's coach and manager, aren't you?"
"Yes, but I'm in...."
"Has Miss Gray ever thought of turning professional?" He quickly interrupted.
The question had been asked many times before and Dan always found it repugnant. Christine didn't need money, he had all she would ever want, and he always made sure that she never had any lack of it. He turned angrily to Jim and answered him without disguising his emotions.
"No-we never have and we never will!"
"May I speak with Miss Gray? Perhaps she might feel differently later in the day." Jim asked casually.
"Not later in the day, or later in the decade! Now, if you'll excuse me-I have important matters to take care of!"
Dan picked up the traveling bag and angrily brushed by Jim as he made his way up the aisle.
Jim watched Dan tearing up his card as he strode out of the arena. He smiled. He knew that he would be seeing Dan again, knowing that he was going to the hotel to talk to Christine.
Jim Fowler was determined to have Christine Gray as part of his Ice Frolics. He had seen her sparkling personality project itself to the audience. He had seen the flair, the showmanship that was an inherent part of her routines. Her technique might not be as perfect as some of the other skaters whom he had seen, but she was alive, she performed with a special lively magnetism that only audiences appreciated.
He wanted her for the Frolics and only she could deter him, only she could say no.