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Matt had been sleeping just fine. It was getting to sleep that was giving him trouble.
Everywhere he went people were talking about the little Barbadian who had been tearing up the Olympics. Few seemed to realize that she had any connection with Alpine, no one except Coach Pérez and the Delbosques. He hadn't seen Dr. Sledd anywhere, but Dr. Sledd stayed to himself anyway.
That was probably best for everyone in town.
Yesterday when he researched a story about cattle eating rotted, poisonous hay he overheard the cowboys at the ranch arguing about whether the Olympic events were fixed. One of them insisted that Darcy's jumping had been created by a special effects team, just to sell more beer.
A group of junior high girls at the next table at Whataburgers where he grabbed lunch were rooting for Darcy to win the diving event.
He couldn't get away from it, and he couldn't get Darcy out of his mind.
Still, Darcy mania notwithstanding, he felt terribly for her. Matt had only begun to know her. They shared some vague but precious bond. Despite what looked like steady concentration on the TV screen, he was certain she was terrified.
He was terrified for her.
Matt found it easy to talk to Coach Pérez about Darcy. She had excellent insight on athletes, as was expected. She was quite happy to discuss her own insights with him. For one thing, Pérez actually had insights. She was the only expert on athletic performance that he knew. When she invited him to drop by her apartment that evening and join several other college athletes to watch the prime-time coverage of the day's Olympic events, Matt accepted gladly. Watching by himself at home was becoming a lonely, nerve-wracking ordeal.
On the short walk from the parking lot to her apartment, he could hear the Olympic theme song playing behind nearly every door.
The pizza he was carrying earned him a warm welcome, and he seated himself with Coach Pérez, a compact Hispanic wrestler who looked like an extra in a B grade gang movie, and a burr-headed farm boy who had the university's best pitching arm.
On the screen, one of the network's headline announcers, a white-haired, jowly fellow in a coat and tie, was interviewing two sisters, Canadian volleyball players who were sitting in overstuffed easy chairs.
The set around them was a combination of high-tech machinery and windows through which could be seen the Olympic stadium with its rows of flags on flagpoles and the Olympic flame at one end in a giant saucer. As the interview was finished and the broadcast went to a commercial, everyone dug into the pizza.
Darcy's name came up between bites, and Matt was silently grateful to Coach Pérez that she refrained from mentioning what she knew about her, or reminding her athlete-guests that could have almost certainly seen her running on campus.
The wrestler and the pitcher were starting their third slice of pizza when the commercials ended, and the anchorman appeared. He recapped the fifteen or twenty medals awarded that day, showed video clips of some, and then cut to a feature about an Indian soccer player who had overcome childhood hardships to become a standout goalie.
Then there was another string of commercials.
Matt reached for his second slice of the nearly-consumed pizza, and reflected they would never, ever have such a documentary about Darcy, unless he produced it.
Now, there was an idea!
The main announcer was back on the screen talking about Darcy. Interested, Coach Pérez and both athletes stopped chatting and turned to the screen.
The announcer reviewed her four gold medals and ran clips of each performance. Then he mentioned athletes from history who had medaled in different sports. There weren't that many, and they seemed to generally perform in no more than two different types of events, excepting the decathletes and pentathletes.
The announcer noted that they hadn't been able to get Darcy to sit for an interview—she
must be exhausted, Matt surmised. Their woman on the field, Donna Biagio, had been able to talk to Darcy after the medal ceremony for the long jump.
He cut to Donna, who was towering over Darcy in her blue windbreaker with a yellow trident embroidered on the left breast. The gold medal hanging from her neck dangled nearly to her waist.
Donna was shouting over the crowd behind the camera. "Ana, how did you feel when you knew you had won your fourth gold medal?"
Matt groaned inwardly. How long had Donna spent planning her questions?
"OK," Darcy said.
"You have the medal round of diving tomorrow, Ana, and that same afternoon, you're scheduled to run in the marathon! How do you think you'll do in those events?"
"I don't know. All right, I hope."
"Tell us, Ana, how did you happen to choose those particular events? Why not the 400-meter race, for instance, or the springboard?"
"It was the schedule."
"Excuse me? The schedule?"
"Yes. Coach Haskin couldn't put me in events that had overlapping heats."
Donna, evidently trying to think on her feet, took an extra second or two to catch on. "Wait,” she said. “Do you mean that your coach entered you in whatever events the Olympic schedule allowed? It didn't matter what the events were? Does that mean you might have participated in totally different events had the schedule been different?"
Donna never got her answer.
A large, ruddy man in a blue blazer with a yellow trident on the pocket stepped into the picture, wrapped an arm over Darcy's shoulder, and said, "I'm sorry, ma'am. The bus is leaving. We have to go. Thank you!" and led Darcy off.
Donna recovered as best she could, turning things over to the man at the anchor desk, who thanked her and cut to yet another run of commercials.
The pitcher shook his head over the empty pizza box.
"'It didn't matter! Well, I'll be."
