Transition: Chapter 13 (Copley Square)

“No, Val, I am not questioning your authority,” says the stout man with a round face and a receding hairline. “Far from it,” he adds, lowering his head so he can better peer at Valerie over his reading glasses. “I just think that you shouldn’t make a decision like this until you have more information, that’s all.”

“More information?” Valerie barks. “What other information do I need? The incident occurred in sight of a Race Marshal. The Marshal reported the incident to the Race Director – me. The penalty for endangerment is disqualification. And as Race Director, the only way I can discharge my responsibilities is to impose the penalty. Now, tell me, Gordon, exactly why is it that you think you have anything to say about my decision?”

Sitting directly across a long, wobbly table from Valerie Johnson, Gordon Cromartie makes a conscious effort not to wither under the intensity of the verbal barrage. I am, after all, the chairman of the Race Committee, he thinks, but I will not get into a pissing contest with his Race Director by saying it out loud. He risks a quick glance at the half-dozen other members of the committee, who are sitting around the table, and who all seem to be intent on studying whatever pamphlets and flyers happen to be in front of them. “It’s just that the penalty is so... so severe, Valerie,” Gordon says, haltingly. “I would think that you might want to wait until you’ve heard both sides of the story.”

“Damn it, Gordon!” Valerie pounds furiously on the table, which shakes as if it might collapse. Some of the committee members draw back in alarm. A styrofoam cup of coffee spills, but Gordon seems to be the only one at the table who notices. “You know as well as I do that if this wasn’t Jill Kendal we wouldn’t even be having this discussion,” Valerie adds. “Why should we treat her any different from anybody else?”

Without waiting for a reply, Valerie leans over the table, grabs a thin book, and flips through its pages. After a few seconds, she begins reading in a loud voice. “No participant shall commit any dangerous act,” she says, her voice rising in both volume and pitch, “which could cause injury to any participant. Any violation of this section shall result in disqualification.” She throws the book across the length of the table; it skitters across the surface and falls off the far edge. “What more do you want, Gordon?”

“Val, please.” Gordon holds up his hands in what he hopes will be seen as a gesture of conciliation, rather than surrender. “Let’s discuss this calmly, like rational human beings. I think we all agree that if Jill Kendal is guilty of the infraction she’s accused of, she should be disqualified, regardless of who she...”

“Infraction, my ass! Don’t you give me any of your weasel words, Gordon. She could have killed that poor girl, and you’re so chicken-shit that you want me to let her get away with it. Well, I’ll be damned if...”

“What the hell is going on in here!” Gordon turns in the direction of the wounded howl, and there stands Jillian Kendal, the tent flap behind her still bouncing from what appears to have been a fast and forceful entrance. She is breathless, her face a bright shade of red from exertion, or perhaps indignation.

Valerie leaps to her feet. “Jill Kendal, you can just turn around and march your ass right back out of this tent,” she says, angrily. “This meeting is no business of yours.”

“No business of mine?” Jillian’s flush deepens; her features tighten in anger. “Kristin tells me that you’re trying to get me disqualified, and you’re telling me that it’s none of my business?” She covers the short distance that separates her from Valerie in long, swift strides; and then the two women stand eye to eye, inches apart, like two prizefighters getting final instructions for the main event.

Valerie, Gordon can’t help but notice, does not retreat. “Disqualifications are decided by the Race Director, with the advice of the Race Committee. Triathletes are notified of the decisions – which, as you know, are final and are not subject to appeal.” Valerie’s eyes are hard and cold, her features frozen. Her words spill out in short, clipped bursts. “Triathletes are not consulted as part of the decision process... even if the triathlete in question happens to be a prima donna named Jillian Kendal.”

For a few long seconds, the silence in the tent is punctuated only by Jillian’s labored breathing. I’m sure as hell not going to be the first one to speak, Gordon thinks, as he settles back into his chair. To his right, Gina Danovicz, a wisp of a woman with a thin face and long, stringy hair, clears her throat as if she’s going to speak, then apparently thinks better of it.

Jillian finally breaks the silence. “What am I accused of?” she asks in a half-growl. “At least tell me what I’m supposed to have done!” The two women stare into each other’s eyes unblinkingly.

What the hell. Gordon sighs. “Val, Jill, please,” he says hesitantly, not entirely convinced that assuming the role of peacemaker is such a good idea. He takes a deep breath. “Jill,” he says, “one of the Race Marshals reported that you interfered with another participant, a woman...”

“Gordon!” Valerie says sharply. “What the hell do you think you’re...”

“A woman,” Gordon continues, raising his voice over Valerie’s, “by the name of Sunshine...” – he consults a pad of paper on the table in front of him – “...Sunshine O’Malley. The Marshal says that you...”

“Interfered with her?” Jillian is incredulous. “What the fuck are you talking about? She tripped! She tripped over a goddamn camera stand! Some asshole set up a goddamn camera stand in the middle of the fucking road, and she tripped over the goddamn thing.”

“The Marshal claims that you pushed her, Jill,” Gordon says, gamely trying to hold his ground. “And there really is no need for that kind of language. If we can all calm down, we can...”

But instead, everyone begins to talk at once.

“Pushed her! How can you accuse me of such a...”

“Gordon, you have absolutely no right to discuss this with...”

“Look, why don’t we try to get some more information so we can...”

“People, please, they can hear this outside, this is becoming...”

“QUIET!” Gordon’s shout somehow transcends the confusion. “Everybody just SHUT UP! That’s better,” he adds, as the noise winds down. “Now, can we talk one at a time like civilized human beings?”

“What about the other people at the aid station?” Jillian demands. “What did they have to say? And what about Sunshine? Did you even talk to her?”

Gordon allows the embarrassed silence to drag on for what is probably only a few seconds, but which seems much longer. Finally, realizing that nobody else is going to say anything, he clears his throat. “Actually,” he says, “we haven’t heard from anyone other than the Marshal about the incident. We were just discussing whether or not we should try to get additional information when you... when you interrupted us.”

The deafening silence descends once again.

Jillian, Gordon thinks, looks both uneasy and bewildered at the same time. She looks at Val, looks at Gordon, looks at the rest of the Race Committee. And then, judging by the sudden smirk on her face, she figures it out.

“Ohhhh,” Jillian says, with a slow nod, “I get it.” She turns to Valerie. “Now I understand. The committee wants more information, but you want to DQ me without even talking to anyone else, am I right?”

“The decision of the Race Director is final,” Valerie says, defensively. “We don’t need to talk to anyone else. That’s not the way we operate.”

“Val, look,” Jillian says, suddenly serene. “I’m sorry about what I said. I was way out of line, and I apologize. But you have no right to take the race away from me just because...”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” Valerie hisses. “If you think I’m going to stand here and let you impugn my integrity like that...”

“Ummm, excuse me, ladies.” To Gordon’s surprise, Gina Danovicz seems to have found her voice. “We’re all a little bit in the dark here. What happened before? What are you referring to, Jill?”

“It’s not important,” Valerie snaps. “Don’t you see what she’s doing? She’s trying to confuse the issue, turn this into some kind of personal thing. This is exactly why we don’t allow triathletes to participate in these discussions.” She turns to Gordon as if for his support, and Gordon is surprised to see a kind of pleading in her expression that was not at all in evidence just a few seconds earlier. The meeting, Gordon realizes, is getting away from her.

“How can we make rational decisions in this kind of emotional atmosphere?” Valerie looks around the table with noticeable desperation, leading Gordon to think that he might actually feel sorry for her if she hadn’t been so overbearing just a few minutes ago. “And the fact of the matter is,” Valerie continues, “that a Race Marshal saw Jill Kendal push the O’Malley woman and cause her to fall. And ultimately it is my responsibility, and mine alone, to...”

“She didn’t push me.”

The voice is so soft that at first Gordon isn’t really sure that he heard anything at all. But then he realizes that something has indeed been said, and that the words have been spoken by a young red-haired woman who must have slipped into the tent unnoticed in the commotion.

“Jill didn’t push me,” the redhead says. “I tripped. I tripped over a camera stand.”

“Sunshine!” Jillian races over and hugs the shorter woman, then pulls back as Sunshine gasps in pain. “Oh, no,” Jillian says, “How stupid of me! Did I hurt you?”

“I’m still a little sore,” Sunshine admits, “but I’m fine. Really, I am. I’ve got a couple of bruises, but they’re not bad. The photographer’s the one who really got hurt.”

“Serves him right for setting that stupid thing up in the middle of the road,” Jillian laughs.

Sunshine doesn’t join in the laughter. In fact, Gordon gets the impression that Sunshine doesn’t laugh much at all. Her face seems to be permanently set in an expression of intent earnestness, not so much ill-humored as humorless.

“He didn’t mean to cause any harm, Jill,” Sunshine says, seriously. “He was just doing his job.” She speaks as if the subject is of great importance to her.

“Excuse me?” Gordon holds up a hand for attention and clears his throat again. “I take it that you are Sunshine O’Malley?”

“Yes, sir, I am.” She speaks formally, as if she’s being questioned in court.

“Well, young lady,” Gordon continues, brightly, “we’re all relieved to see that you seem to be alright. We heard about the nasty spill you took. In fact, we were discussing it just as you walked in.”

“I know,” Sunshine says. “I heard.”

“Am I to understand, then...” – he glances significantly at Valerie – “...that Jill Kendal was not responsible for your mishap? Are you one-hundred-percent certain about this? Beyond any doubt? This is extremely important, Miss O’Malley. Take your time...”

“Oh, yes sir,” Sunshine interrupts. “I’m sure of it. Jill was all the way on the other side of the camera stand when I tripped. It wasn’t really anybody’s fault; it just happened.” She looks at Jillian, and the barest ghost of a smile creases her face. “In fact, sir, Jill was trying to help me. She was showing me how to run faster than I ever thought I could. I’m sure that she would never do anything to hurt me.”

Jillian returns the smile. “And you were doing so good, too. I was so proud of you. Was this your first triathlon?”

Sunshine’s smile grows – or, rather, her expression brightens to something approaching what Gordon suspects, on a more expressive face, might be called a smile. “I’ve never been in any kind of real race before,” she says, apologetically. “I don’t believe in competition. Nathan teaches us...”

“Excuse me, ladies,” Gordon breaks in. “I’m sure you two have a great deal to talk about. But the committee still has some issues to discuss. So, if there are no objections...” – he glances around the table, his eyes finally resting on Valerie’s – “...I think we can consider this matter closed.”

Valerie returns his gaze coolly, but does not speak.

“Thank you, ladies,” Gordon continues. “And now, if you’ll excuse us,” he adds, gesturing in the direction of the exit with what he hopes is some measure of restored authority...

“Wait for me outside,” Jillian whispers to Sunshine. Then she walks slowly over to Valerie, who stands stiffly, her arms folded, her head lowered.

“Val,” Jillian whispers tentatively, and touches her lightly on the forearm.

Valerie stares at Jillian’s hand for a few seconds. Then she looks up and glares at Jillian through narrowed eyes.

“Val,” Jillian says again, tugging on Valerie’s arm ever so slightly. “C’mon, let’s move over to where it’s more private.”

Valerie draws her head back and eyes Jillian warily. “Why?” she asks, suspiciously. She glances down at Jillian’s hand again, as if she can’t quite believe that Jillian is actually touching her. “What are you up to?”

Jillian sighs. She waits until Valerie’s eyes again rise to meet hers. And only then, when she’s certain that she has Valerie’s full attention, does she speak. “Val, please,” she says, with as much sincerity as she can muster. “We need to talk.”