FLEXIBLE FLYER

By JILL SMOLOWE/HOUSTON

At last, a bedroom where the walls do speak. On the door, a sign warns, DANGER, KEEP OUT! THIS ROOM IS GUARDED BY A TRAINED ATTACK GYMNAST. Sweeping left, a Legends of the Fall poster featuring teen idol Brad Pitt is tacked beside a poem titled "Don't Quit." Religious icons hang above the double bed; a handmade quilt hides the outsize teddy-bear slippers stashed below. Though the third wall boasts framed magazine covers of the room's tenant, the reverie of choice is taped to the desk lamp: Brad Pitt. Above the desk, a fanciful collection of macrame dream catchers dangles beneath two tidy rows of gymnastics medals.

Like her bedroom, with its mixed messages of girlish dreams, wry humor and deadly determination, Dominique Moceanu is as beguiling as she is daunting. Make no mistake: as America's best hope for gold in women's gymnastics, the 14-year-old national champion wears her accomplishments proudly. But Moceanu's ambition is tempered by an easygoing attitude and sense of perspective rare in one so young. While the U.S. media build her up as the next Nadia or Mary Lou, Moceanu is keeping a firm grip on reality. "I want a medal, maybe even a gold on the beam." She pauses, then shrugs and adds, "A medal in the all-around." While neither achievement would place her in the firmament of such all-around stars as Comaneci and Retton, if Moceanu can be her witty, outspoken self in Atlanta, a strong performance should be enough to earn her Olga Korbut honors: sweetheart of the Summer Games.

That is a role for which Moceanu is well suited. Though just 4 ft. 6 1/2 in. and a slight 72 lbs., Moceanu is a fetching gamine who can ignite an arena with her Audrey Hepburn-like looks and contagious ebullience. "Dominique's best point is her personality," says her coach, the legendary Bela Karolyi, who trained both Comaneci and Retton. "Joking. Talking. Kidding. That will be her trademark."

That and her refusal to let anyone--Karolyi included--talk her out of who she is or what she wants. Last August after Moceanu finished the compulsory round of the U.S. championships in second place, she sat poker-faced at Karolyi's side as he told reporters, "I wouldn't mind if Dominique had a strong showing in optionals and finished second. It would protect her a little from the pressures of being No. 1." Asked to respond, Moceanu blurted, "I want to win!", leaving Karolyi laughing and shaking his head. After she did just that two nights later, making her the youngest U.S. champion in history, Moceanu still refused to take her cues from Karolyi. Once again, Moceanu held her tongue as Karolyi fretted about his protege peaking too early. But when she was asked whether she liked the attention, Moceanu flashed a smile and said, "Yeah! Of course!" Like, who wouldn't?

And that's what makes Moceanu so winning. She's a real kid. Like most teens, she has a headstrong certainty that whatever it is--guitar, computer software, press conferences--she can figure it out for herself. Certainly she doesn't need adults to tell her whom or what she likes. Jim Carrey. Ricki Lake. Friends. Rollerblading. Clothes shopping. Double-pierced ears. Pro basketball. White-chocolate-mousse frozen yogurt. Brad Pitt. (Blush.)

As teenagers go, Moceanu is a natural. She squabbles with her younger sister, Christina, 6, who worships Moceanu's every step. She balks at her father's overprotectiveness. Boys? "Don't even get me started," she says, rolling her eyes. "My mom's a little better. But mention anything about boys, and my dad goes crazy." She has weird rituals. Ask her about her injury-free career, and she scurries for a balance beam to knock wood. Most refreshing, unlike so many world-class gymnasts, who sound as if they've spent too many hours in airless gyms inhaling chalk powder and practicing the mantra "I just want to do the best I can," Moceanu is forthright. She admits she wants to win--but is prepared to lose. "That's what makes you stronger," she says. "The hard times."

That lesson has been drummed into Moceanu by her parents. While still sweethearts in Romania, Dimitry and Camelia Moceanu resolved to defect to the West. In 1980 Dimitry secured a tourist visa and fled to Austria, leaving behind a secure job as a manager of Romania's duty-free shops. When Camelia followed eight months later, they reunited in Greece, staying long enough to marry and conceive Dominique, then crossed the Atlantic. Over the next 10 years, Dimitry's assorted jobs took the family from California to Illinois to Florida.

All the while, Dimitry was propelled by a single disappointment from his youth. As a teen on Romania's junior national gymnastics team, he had seen his dreams destroyed when a teacher called his mother and firmly suggested that Dimitry must choose: gymnastics or school. Forced to abandon the sport he loved, Dimitry says, "I made myself a commitment that I'd like my first child to be a gymnast." While courting Camelia, he shared his plan. "I said, 'It'll be a big commitment. It's gotta be a different country. But we have no money, so we may just drink water and eat bread.'" And Camelia, who had competed in gymnastics at a less rarefied level, agreed.

When Dominique was only 3 1/2, Dimitry called Karolyi, whom he had known in Romania before the coach's defection. "He laughed," Dimitry recalls. "He said, 'Don't bring her now. Bring her when she's nine or 10.'" Undaunted, Dimitry enrolled Dominique in a class in the Chicago area, and, as he'd hoped, she took to the sport naturally. Two months after Dominique's 10th birthday, Dimitry drove her to Houston. When Dominique saw the sign on Karolyi's gym, she squealed excitedly, "What are we doing here?" Dimitry answered, "Surprise!"

The grand master was more circumspect. "She was nothing to explode in the air about," Karolyi says. Dimitry, undeterred, moved the family close to the gym. During the next 18 months, he commuted weekly to Florida to run a used-car lot. When he finally found a job in Houston, he laid down only one condition: "I have to travel for Dominique's meets."

Meanwhile, Dominique struggled to adjust to Karolyi's rigorous routine, which doubled her training hours and pitted her against his disciplined '92 Olympic hopefuls, among them world champion Kim Zmeskal. "The transition was hard," says Martha Karolyi, Bela's wife and coaching partner. "Dominique was not so focused." Dominique remembers, "I was scared. I didn't understand the meaning of seriousness and dedication." Still, when Dominique performed in her first exhibition two months later, she autographed pictures with the words Gold '96. "I said, 'Why you put that? That's not nice,'" Dimitry recalls. "And she said, 'I just feel that way.' I was surprised. So was Bela."

Three months later, Moceanu placed a respectable, if not dazzling, fifth in the junior national all-around. With most of the attention on Zmeskal, Moceanu relaxed and enjoyed her first taste of celebrity. Approached then by TIME, the 10-year-old offered an uncensored glimpse inside Karolyi's gym: "He gets real mad. On occasion, he kicks kids out of the gym. But the worst is when he says nothing, and you don't know what's the matter." What about those famous Bela bear hugs? "He's much nicer here."

Then came Barcelona and Zmeskal's disappointing nonmedal finish. Convinced that Zmeskal had been robbed of glory, Karolyi announced midway through the competition that he was retiring. At the time it smacked of politics. But in fact, Karolyi meant business, and bequeathed his elite program to Martha. "We were upset," says Dimitry. "Martha said, 'Don't worry.' It was his first big defeat. Martha thought he'd come back."

Dominique, who was never told Karolyi had retired, figured he would show up one day. Meanwhile, coaches were brought in from Russia and Romania to work with her on the floor, bars and vault. But her main coach was Martha, who groomed her for what would become her strongest event, the balance beam. "I'm pretty close to Martha," says Moceanu. "When I have a problem I can talk to her. It's girl to girl. Um. Woman to woman." Moceanu giggles. "Well, kid to woman."

Still, it is Bela whom Moceanu credits with kicking her into high gear. Not long after his return to elite gymnastics in late '93, Moceanu won the junior national title and began her meteoric ascent through the senior ranks. "His presence counts a whole lot," Moceanu says. She insists that Bela returned a changed man. No more yelling or name calling. "But he can be strict and tough," she says. "It works better with me."

Karolyi now sees value in Moceanu's '94 national victory. "Her maturity since last year has grown incredibly," he says. "Now comes the pride of being a national champion. That gives motivation to be strong, sharp, demanding." It also places a new burden on Moceanu. "You want to live up to the expectation," she says. Then again, Moceanu has lived her whole life with others' expectations: first her father's, now Karolyi's. But she prefers not to discuss the toll. "I'm aware of it, yeah," she allows. "I don't bring it up too much."

When she feels the need, she turns to Camelia, who definitely deserves gold honors as all-around mom. Camelia prepares Dominique's nutritionally balanced meals, massages her aches, cuts her hair, chauffeurs her to and from the gym twice daily, six days a week--and all the while helps Dominique keep her head on straight. "You have to be prepared for the success and the failure," says Camelia. "That's what defines a great athlete: to be level-headed. You have younger kids following you."

It also helps that neither Dimitry nor Karolyi seems to be hinging his future happiness on the outcome in Atlanta. Though Dimitry remains his daughter's most avid fan, he also takes great pride in the used-car lot he opened last December. He and Camelia, he says, "succeed in our life too, day by day, year by year." As for Karolyi, he says only Zmeskal could have made him bleed. He isn't concerned that the Olympics will throw Moceanu off her stride--or off the beam. "Dominique is naturally self-confident," Bela says, then laughs. "Sometimes too much."

Meanwhile, Moceanu is preparing for the Games. "More strengthening on bars," she says. While she's trying to take it one day at a time, she can't help getting a little ahead of herself. "Afterward I'm looking forward to meeting the athletes." Suddenly, her eyes widen. "Maybe Hakeem Olajuwon!" Having mastered the television camera while shooting national ads for various Olympic sponsors, she entertains a few fantasies: a guest appearance on Friends. Better yet, a bit part in a Brad Pitt movie. (Blush.) Then she catches herself. "I don't have time now," she says firmly. "Maybe later."