"You were good," he said.

She looked around, surprised at his voice, then smiled perfunctorily, and looked back toward the table.

"Really good," he said.

"I hope the judges think so."

"What do you need to qualify?"

"Nine-point-three," she said.

They watched and waited until the judges posted her score. They gave her a nine-point-four. She squealed with joy as she jumped into the air. Remo was the closest person to her so she threw her arms around him and hugged him. He felt her firm breasts press against his chest and smelled the sweet cut-grass scent of her hair.

"Oh," she said, suddenly recoiling, realizing she was hugging a stranger. She put her hands over her mouth, then lowered them. "I'm sorry," she said.

"I'm not," Remo said. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. Are you competing?"

Remo nodded. "Eight hundred meters. I qualified, too."

"Congratulations back. What's your name?"

"Remo Black. Yours?"

"Josie Littlefeather," she answered, watching closely for a reaction.

"Pretty," was all he said.

59

"Thanks. And thanks for not making some smartass remark."

"One wasn't called for," Remo said. "Listen, since we're both celebrating, why don't we do it together? I'll spring for a drink."

"Make it coffee and it's a go," she said.

She walked to a nearby bench and shared hugs with a half dozen other gymnasts, all of them smaller and younger than Josie was. She put on a wraparound skirt and slid her feet into a pair of sandals and was ready to go. She looked more like the average girl on Main Street than an Olympic athlete, Remo thought, and then decided that with his t-shirt, chinos and loafers, he looked like an outboard motor mechanic.

As they walked from the gym, Josie wrapped a silk handkerchief around her neck.