|
Chapter 17: Mea Culpa
 By Jim Caple |
Previously at 24 College Avenue: The Wide Wide World Anti-Steroid Police (WWWASP) suspended former Red Devil sprinter Nicollette Mayle for steroid use when the group claimed she tested positive following a Paris track meet. She returned to State College, moved into an apartment with roommate Cheryl Bellamy and, with the help of Athena athletics VIP John Higgins, began trying to clear her name and regain her ability to compete. . . .
Nicollette turned the corner of the running path and found Higgins stretching against a budding sycamore tree, his legs scissored up against its trunk. She waved and raced up to him, giving him a big hug. He returned the hug and bent to tighten his shoelaces.
“OK,’’ he said, setting his athletic watch. “Shall we get going? I have to get back to the office.’’
Nicollette nodded and the two started down the path that ran underneath the old drawbridge and along the river away from campus.
She was grateful Higgins made time for the run. He had been a pillar of strength throughout her whole ordeal. From the moment WWWASP announced she tested positive for steroids and issued a two-year suspension from competition, Higgins had been by her side, as loyal as a Saint Bernard or a ubs fan. Trusting her emphatically, he had offered moral support. More importantly, he also provided legal and financial support, arranging for Athena lawyers to handle her case.
But the case was not going well and Nicollette had just about lost all hope that she would be able to clear her name or get the ban lifted in time for the upcoming track season. She was only clinging to hope that she would be able to get the suspension dropped in time for the Olympics the following year.
A duck and her family of ducklings waddled out of the river and onto the bank as Nicollette and Higgins ran past. Higgins looked over at them but said nothing.
Wild stories normally spewed from Higgins (“I remember the first time I went into Dubai to set up our Middle East headquarters – you can’t imagine the desert party the sheik threw for us. Lobster tails piled as high as sand dunes!’’) but he was unusually quiet today’ quiet and distant.
“So how’s our case going?’’ Niollette asked, if only to break the silence. “Any new developments?’’
Higgins glanced across at her but remained quiet and turned back to face the route in front of them.
“Did I ever tell you this is the route Blaine Colfax and I ran when we were first starting Athena athletics?’’ Higgins said finally after they had run a bit further. “It’s true. We would run along here during lunch, talking about our latest designs, marketing plans, possible commercial, whatever – all our plans and dreams. We’d talk about how we were going to be different from every previous company. How we would make shoes for everyone, regardless of income. How we were going to change the sports world. Make it fun again. Make it democratic again.
“And then we would run back to the office and look at the new revenue projections, the production costs, the endorsement requirements, the whole thing. And we became like everyone else. Paying millions of dollar to athletes to endorse shoes no one wants and selling them for $100 more than they cost to produce. We got there the same way everyone gets anywhere – gradually, and with the best intentions.’’
Higgins gave Nicollette a knowing look that made her uneasy. “So,’’ she asked again, “Where do we stand?’’
“I wish I could say we were making progress but I can’t,’’ Higgins said, stepping up the pace. “It was just your bad luck that you were randomly tested that day.’’
Nicollette stopped abruptly. What did Higgins says? Was he suggesting that she had taken steroids? After all his trust and support, why was he suddenly suspicious?
“What are you getting it?’’
Higgins stopped running well and strode back to Nicollette.
“Nicollette,’’ he said. “WWASP has your urine sample. They have your blood sample. They have your backup samples. Our challenges haven’t been able to dent their chain of custody. It’s thoroughly documented and witnessed. But you know all that.
“What you might not know is this bit of information that WWASP gave me this week.’’
He pulled a DVD from an inside pocket of his running jacket and handed it to her.
“This is a video of you taken by a security camera at the Chateau Depardieu in Nice. It shows you entering room 1109 last June 17. That room was registered to Dr. Bainbridge Vashon, who, as you know, recently was arrested for illegally supplying athletes with steroids.’’
Higgins let the words sink in. Nicollette looked into his eyes briefly, then turned away to avoid his gaze.
“So, Nicollette. How is it going? You want to tell me something?’’
Nicollette felt as if she had been kicked in the gut. She bit her lips and tried to hold back the tears.
“Yes.’’
To be continued
|
|
|
