Dominique Moceanu’s DISENGAGED CHRISTMAS

Dominique Moceanu stood on the podium in Atlanta, a gold medal around her neck, a wide grin on her small face, the world seemingly before her.

At 14, she was already one of the best U.S. gymnasts ever. And with her cute, Nadia Comaneci-like looks, bubbly personality and endearing story of Romanian parents, she was a marketing dream.

But reality has a funny way of rewriting fairy tales, and Moceanu’s pretty little story is no different. Barely two years after the Olympics, her life has been ripped apart by money, ambition and family differences that not even love is strong enough to overcome.

Now the 17-year-old gymnast is living on her own, legally an adult, in a two-bedroom apartment. She has a Christmas tree, but only the top half is decorated because her 3-month-old puppy keeps knocking the lights off the bottom. She plans to spend Christmas Day with her 9-year-old sister, Christina, and mother, Camelia.

Moceanu’s career, meanwhile, is on hold. She says her money is gone and her father, Dumitru--who is accused of inquiring about hiring a hit man to kill her coach and a close friend--is forbidden from coming near her.

“He’s my dad, you can’t just say, ‘No, I don’t love him.’ Yeah, deep down inside I do,” Moceanu said. “They’re your parents, of course you love them. But it’s hard to accept what he did, what extent and lengths he went to.

“Maybe right now it’s the best thing to be apart. I don’t know.”

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Moceanu was born to be a gymnast. Her parents were gymnasts in Romania, and even before Dominique’s birth in 1981 in Los Angeles, where they had moved two years earlier, they decided she would be a gymnast, too.

She was enrolled in classes as a toddler and shortly after her 10th birthday, the Moceanu family moved to Houston so Dominique could train with renowned coach Bela Karolyi, who’d already led Comaneci and Mary Lou Retton to gold.

Four years later, at 13, Moceanu became the youngest U.S. senior champion ever when she won the all-around competition at the national championships.

With the Olympics just a year away, Moceanu-mania went into full swing. She did a commercial, made the cover of Vanity Fair and even published her autobiography.

She didn’t win any individual medals in Atlanta, but when the Magnificent Seven became the first U.S. women’s team to win gold, the spotlight grew brighter and the money poured in. That’s when the problems in Moceanu’s life, so carefully covered up over the years, began to show.

“Things at home, well, she’s been real stressed since the Olympics,” said Adriana Montero, Moceanu’s best friend for nine years.

But things at home had never been easy. There were clashes because Dumitru Moceanu made all of the decisions for his family. It may not have been perfect, but the Moceanus wanted the best for Dominique and raised her the only way they knew how, said Katherine Scardino, Dumitru and Camelia Moceanu’s lawyer.

“When you have the stardom she has, coupled with being a teen-ager, a girl and living in America and living in a household run by East European culture, I think that can create a difference or a conflict,” Scardino said.

Moceanu’s parents were convinced their daughter had that rare talent that could make her an Olympic champion, and her training soon consumed the family.

“I’d get home from the gym and it was, ‘How was the gym?’ ‘OK, fine, can you ask me something else?’ ” Moceanu said. “I was like, ‘Leave me alone. It’s my gymnastics.’ My coaches tell me enough if I’m not perfect.”

Aside from the girls she trained with, she had few friends. Montero, who met Moceanu while training at Karolyi’s, said Dumitru Moceanu never approved of their friendship because he thought it was a distraction.

“Her dad never agreed with her taking her focus off gymnastics,” Montero said. “I knew she wanted to spend time with me, but she couldn’t do anything about it.”

And there were times when Dumitru Moceanu’s dreams for his daughter took an uglier turn. Moceanu said her father occasionally hit her, usually if she gained weight or wasn’t doing well at the gym.

“I’ve never gone public with this and I never wanted to,” she said, a troubled look crossing her face. “This was something I kept private and I would have kept private. Some things are things you just keep for yourself and nobody needs to know.”

The Moceanus have denied abusing their daughter. Dumitru Moceanu declined to be interviewed by The Associated Press.

“No. No more press,” he said, shrugging and smiling sadly. “It’s a family matter.”

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After the Olympics, the Magnificent Seven appeared on a Wheaties box and went on a nationwide tour that made them millions. It was an exhilarating yet scary time, said Amanda Borden, the team captain.

“I don’t think any of us totally knew exactly what was going on,” she said. “We’d talk and it was like, ‘Oh, my gosh, I bought stock.’ We didn’t know what it meant or what was going to happen with it. But it was cool because we bought stock.”

But there was one member of the Magnificent Seven who seemed completely in the dark.

“Dominique just didn’t ever seem to know anything about her [money] or ever have money with her,” said Mary Lee Tracy, assistant coach of the ’96 Olympic team. “She, of course, was younger, but she was still old enough to know what was going on.”

Said Borden, “You could tell she had no idea what kind of money she had or what was coming in. Most of us had some kind of guidance and she didn’t have anything.”

Moceanu estimates she’s made $2 million to $2.5 million in her career and that it’s now gone. A trust, which she can’t touch until she’s 35, was established for her earnings, but her parents have control over it.

The family opened a $4 million, 70,000-square-foot gym in suburban Spring. Dumitru Moceanu dreamed the mammoth facility would be where America’s next generation of medalists would train.

The architectural firm that designed the building is suing him, claiming he reneged on its contract, and the gym is having other financial problems.

But Scardino says the gym also has been successful. Moceanu may claim her parents have been living off of her, but someone had to run the gym.

“Where do you think all that money comes from?” Scardino asked. “It’s the students, the fees, the coaches and the money brought in by the gym. That’s not organized and run by some little fairy who comes out at night. It’s run by him.”

As the gym was being built, Moceanu said people were asking about her money, wondering if everything was being handled properly. She initially dismissed the questions, but then began wondering.

“Sometimes I confronted my father. I asked him about certain stuff, and he would get upset or mad,” she said. “And I would think, ‘Why does this anger you so much?’ ”

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After the Olympics, Moceanu hit a slump. Karolyi retired and she bounced from coach to coach. The teen-ager grew 6 inches, a huge adjustment for a gymnast whose balance can be affected by a pound or two.

Finally, in January, Dumitru Moceanu found the perfect coach for his daughter, fellow Romanian Luminita Miscenco. By summer, Moceanu was back on top.

In July, she became the first non-Russian to win the all-around title at the Goodwill Games. At the national championships the next month, she won gold medals in the vault and balance beam, and was third in the all-around and floor exercise.

“She looked great,” Tracy said. “She decided she still wanted to do gymnastics and she trained because she wanted to. You could just tell.”

But Dumitru Moceanu didn’t trust Miscenco, fearing she was encouraging his daughter to test her independence. He and Miscenco argued frequently, with everything coming to a head on Oct. 17.

The two got in a long, loud argument that ended with Dumitru Moceanu firing Miscenco.

Moceanu snapped. She went back to her house and packed as much as she could fit in her Mustang convertible, leaving most of her clothes in her closet so her parents wouldn’t notice right away that she was gone.

She took her picture frames and a photo album. The glass case with her gold medal had to be left behind.

“We love her very much,” Dumitru Moceanu said, choking back tears at a news conference after his daughter ran away. “And I hope she change her mind and come home, start training again.”

Two days later, Moceanu filed a lawsuit asking to be declared an adult.

“It’s not about the money,” she said. “It’s about leading my life, controlling my life and doing the things I want to do with my future, my goals. Being able to be involved in what I’m allowed to do, not being so controlled. Not being kept in the dark and hidden.

“I have my own voice and my own opinions,” she added. “I should be able to speak out and say what I need and what agent I should work with. It should be my choice, not working through my father.”

Though the Moceanus initially opposed their daughter’s request for independence, they eventually agreed. On Oct. 28, she was legally declared an adult, giving her the right to investigate her finances.

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Less than a month later, Moceanu was back in court, this time saying she feared for her safety and that of Miscenco and Brian Huggins, a family friend who helped her when she ran away. Her father had been following her and showing up at her school, she said, and had hired a private investigator to track her whereabouts.

And on Nov. 13, Moceanu said three Houston homicide detectives told her they had tapes of Dumitru Moceanu discussing having Miscenco and Huggins killed. The tapes haven’t been made public, but a source who listened to them told the Houston Chronicle the killings were supposed to cost $10,000, and Dumitru Moceanu wondered if Huggins could be drugged to make his death look accidental.

“I couldn’t believe it, but I could. At the stage we were in, I thought anything could be possible,” Moceanu said. “One by one, things piled up and I guess he got scared.”

At a Dec. 9 hearing on Moceanu’s request for a protective order, Dumitru Moceanu took the Fifth Amendment when he was asked about the alleged murder-for-hire plot. He did say he went to her school.

“I see nothing wrong with that. I am her father. We are her parents,” he testified.

Houston police still are investigating but no arrests have been made. Scardino, his lawyer, said she assumed it was “a lot of brouhaha about nothing.”

But Judge John Montgomery decided there was a history of violence in the family and it could happen again. When he ordered Dumitru Moceanu to stay away from his daughter for a year, the father looked stunned while his daughter wept.

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Moceanu is now living off what’s left of her $10,000 winnings from the Goodwill Games, and she talks to her mother almost every day.

She hasn’t been back to high school since Nov. 13, but she recently registered at a local junior college to finish up and plans to start in January. She hopes to go to the University of Texas next year.

As for training, Moceanu hasn’t been in a gym since she left home Oct. 17. She doesn’t know when she’ll return.

“I was doing so well that week before, I’d had the best week of my life,” she said. “Who knows if I’ll ever do it again. I want to, I really do, but there’s a lot of stuff involved. I’ve got to get my life in order. If I don’t, my head will be all messy and I won’t be able to focus on the gym.”

Her future with her father is just as unclear. Though she still refers to her parents’ house as “home” and expresses hope they can salvage some kind of relationship, she has no idea when it will happen.

She hopes the year apart will go a long way toward healing the hurts and mistrust.

“I think me and my mom will eventually get closer in a way. I think we’ll regain our trust. I know she never wanted anything bad for me, I realize that,” she said, “and maybe my dad didn’t either.”