Renaldo

by James McCreath

  in need of private tutoring to make a passing grade, he excelled on the rugby

  pitch. He led the academy team to three consecutive city championships in his

  final three years there, but his grades were such that he was forced to transfer

  into an arts program at the University of Buenos Aires upon graduation. This

  did not concern him in the least, for his goal in life was to make the Argentine

  National Rugby Side and compete at the international level.

  The sport had been a perfect outlet for his explosive temper, and through

  weight lifting and extensive workouts, he had grown to be an imposing figure.

  Lonnie De Seta turned the heads of both sexes wherever he went.

  Renaldo’s reaction to his father’s death was totally unlike his older

  brother’s. There were no fits of temper, no angry outbursts. He was inquisitive

  about the family’s future, asking question after question. Lydia, in particular,

  reassured the boy that the family would be fine, and that they would be able to

  remain at Casa San Marco and Buenos Recuerdos as long as they wanted.

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  The younger brother spent many hours alone in his room practicing his

  acoustic guitar, in time requesting additional lessons on the instrument. He

  also demonstrated an increased interest in soccer, asking to be taken to another

  Boca Juniors game, with the assurance that he would not be scared this time.

  He would play the game with his brother at every opportunity, but Lonnie

  seemed hesitant to engage in the sport that he felt had caused his father’s death.

  Renaldo could be found in the garden for hours at a time, alone but happy as

  he dribbled, headed, and shot against an imaginary opponent. The boy would

  carry on a dialogue with himself as if he were a sports announcer calling the

  play by play of a Boca Juniors game. He was always victorious and often scored

  the winning goal. Whenever he could, Renaldo would conscript Olarti to be

  the opposing goalkeeper, but the old Indian proved too slow to stop all but the

  most direct shots from this young wizard with a football.

  By the time the youngest De Seta son was old enough to play on the

  academy’s lower school side, his coaches and instructors were amazed at the

  boy’s proficiency and athletic skill. Renaldo was an inquisitive and talented

  student as well, and despite his awkward shyness, maintained a standing near

  the top of his academic class. Math and science were his forte, just as they had

  been his father’s before him.

  The same psychiatrist that had been seeing Lonnie interviewed Renaldo

  on several occasions, just to make sure the boy had no hidden demons that he

  was harboring. The doctor’s conclusion was that Renaldo had accepted and

  adjusted to his father’s passing very well. There was some concern that the boy

  was trying to emulate his father by focusing too strongly on Peter’s interests,

  namely math and science, the guitar, and soccer. Taken as a whole, however,

  Renaldo’s progress in school and his social behavior with others convinced the

  psychiatrist that there was no need for continued therapy unless problems arose

  in the future.

  Florencia took a long time to come to grips with Peter’s death. She was

  barely able to attend his funeral and spent the following month sequestered

  behind the walls of Casa San Marco. Slowly, mainly due to Lydia’s patience

  and encouragement, Florencia began to function in a more normal fashion,

  venturing out on shopping excursions or for long walks in the park. The two

  women saw their bond grow stronger through this tragedy, and they became

  virtually inseparable as time went on.

  In truth, it was Lydia’s strength that allowed the whole family to function

  in a more or less normal manner. She took charge not only of the household, but

  the family business matters as well. Peter had not been a keen businessman.

  He had preferred, instead, to let professional investment advisers oversee the

  distribution and allotment of the millions of dollars that the liquidation of

  Lonfranco’s ventures had garnered. Lydia remained the person to whom these

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  men would report, and she continued to handle the task of dealing with the

  ‘suits’ in her usual, self-confident manner. The investments flourished, ensuring

  the family’s comfortable lifestyle would go uninterrupted.

  The eleven years following Peter De Seta’s death passed without major

  disruption or trauma in the lives of the four De Setas. Several suitors would

  make proposals of marriage to Florencia, who was still an extremely attractive,

  and now very wealthy, single woman. She had rebuffed them all, preferring

  instead to center her attention on her sons and charity work for underprivileged

  children. She ensured that Peter’s camp in Tigre was maintained and periodically

  expanded to keep his dreams alive. Most notably, she had little to do with the

  society set, other than when it benefited one of her charitable causes.

  By 1977, she and Lydia had the right to feel justifiably proud of the job

  they had done in raising the two boys and managing their financial affairs in

  a diligent and efficient manner. Neither of the ladies had any way of knowing

  that the storm clouds gathering on the horizon in December 19 would soon

  cause drastic upheaval in each and every one of the De Seta family’s lives.

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  Chapter nine

  Lonnie, are you crazy? Mama will tan your hide. You haven’t moved

  from where I left you a half hour ago. What are you doing?” A freshly

  showered, nattily attired Renaldo De Seta inquired of his older brother.

  Lonnie awoke with a start, disoriented for the first few seconds.

  “What? Holy shit! I must have dozed off in the sunshine. What time is

  it? How long do I have?” He was up and into the casa on the fly, tearing off his

  pajama top as he ran. The same question that had kept him awake all night and

  had resurfaced once he was alone on the patio kept running through his mind.

  What is Celeste up to? What was going on with her and her two brothers?

  He had been trying to come up with some logical answers to these

  questions when exhaustion finally overcame him as he sat alone in the warm

  morning sun.

  Celeste Lavalle had not been marking term papers as Lonnie had implied.

  Her two brothers, Jean Pierre and Serge, had arrived in town the day before. As

  was always the case, Celeste had canceled their Saturday night date at the last

  minute to attend to what she described as “family business matters.”

  Lonnie had never met the two men from Tucumán, and Celeste was

  always extremely secretive and uptight whenever they appeared on her doorstep,

  usually without prior notice. He knew that if his relationship with her was to

  go anywhere at all, she would have to answer the questions that were eating

  away at him. For now though, it was the other woman in his life, his mother,

  that he had to deal with.

  He dressed quickly, without showering, ran his electric razor over his

  morning stubble, slicked back his straight black hair with pomade, and

  was down in the entrance foyer before his mother descended the sweeping
>
  staircase.

  Lydia had taken up early residence at Buenos Recuerdos that spring, for

  even at age seventy-seven she preferred to be on hand for the spring breeding

  session. She still controlled almost every aspect of the family’s business interests

  and remained personally involved with matters effecting the Pergamino

  operations in particular. Hector Brown was still the resident manager of the

  estate, although his son Oliviero handled most of the labor to which his father

  once tended.

  JAMES McCREATH

  Now that her grandsons were fully grown, Lydia preferred the tranquility

  and fresh air of her country estate to the stifling humidity and pollution of

  the city. Her mind seemed freer there to wander back to the enchanted days

  when her husband had first introduced her to the Argentine Pampas. It was the

  happiest time of her life, and there wasn’t a day when the memory of her Latin

  lover didn’t enter her thoughts. She felt truly blessed that she had known and

  loved him as she had.

  Sunday mass had become one of the few occasions for which Florencia De

  Seta would venture out in public. She still derived a great deal of pride from

  showing off her two handsome sons to the other society matrons and their

  adoring daughters. Although she liked Celeste Lavalle well enough, Florencia

  would be the first to admit that she was very much a snob as far as choosing the

  proper wives for her sons. The girl from Tucumán lacked certain social graces

  that were necessary to survive in the rarefied air of Porteño society. And all that

  political nonsense! The change in Lonnie had not gone unnoticed by his mother,

  and she much preferred the macho athlete he used to be to the firebrand debater

  that he had become. There was nothing but trouble to be had by speaking out

  against the powers that ruled Argentina in these times. Even in the old days,

  Lonnie’s grandfather knew that premise well and practiced it with great skill.

  Keep a low profile and make friends, not enemies, of government officials.

  Lonnie had always been such a hothead, but at least when he was playing

  rugby, he had a sensible outlet for his pent-up emotions. Now, this Celeste

  had turned him into a deep thinker, a political philosopher. Florencia wanted

  Lonnie to be more practical in his course selection, to get his business degree

  and continue on to law school. It was about time that a male member of the De

  Seta family took the helm of their corporate enterprises!

  Renaldo would, in all likelihood, follow in his father’s footsteps, for he

  had a vocation for the sciences, and she thought him too mild-mannered and

  introverted to develop the killer instinct that a great businessman needed.

  No, it would be her strong-willed Lonfranco that would ascend to the

  president’s chair of De Seta International SA one day. The private family

  holding company had, for the time being, a figure-head executive made up

  bankers and accountants. Lydia was the nominal president, but she was getting

  on in years, and Florencia knew that she would be more than happy to pass

  the mantle to her grandson, provided he had obtained the proper academic

  credentials. Now, if only she could find him the proper young debutante to

  tame his unpredictable spirit and keep him in line!

  In this regard, Florencia made sure that she and her sons lingered after

  mass to exchange pleasantries with the appropriate young ladies and their well-

  to-do parents. The boys were polite, but disinterested. Renaldo could think of

  only two things: Astor Gordero and the possibility of him keeping his promise

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  of a future meeting and his bed, for he was exhausted to the point of nodding

  off during the sermon. Lonnie was consumed by Celeste and her whereabouts.

  He had telephoned her flat before departing for the basilica, but there remained

  no answer. He was confused rather than jealous, for after all, these men that

  were depriving him of her company were her brothers. Had it been anyone else,

  Lonnie would have taken the bull by the horns, confronted his competition,

  and settled the matter once and for all. The only thing he could do now was

  wait and wonder.

  Oli was sent to awaken Renaldo at ten a.m. the following morning. It

  was Monday, and because his school term was finished, he had been allowed to

  sleep late. He had, in fact, slept almost twenty hours. There was a phone call

  for him from Señor Estes Santos, Oli said. Hearing his coach’s name cleared the

  cobwebs from the boy’s head instantly. Santos must have talked to Astor Gordero,

  he thought.

  “Renaldo, the man is true to his word. We have a meeting with him at

  noon on the twenty-second of this month. Will you still be in town?” the older

  man asked excitedly.

  “I am not sure, Estes. We usually go to Pergamino for Christmas, but we

  haven’t set a departure date yet. I suppose for something this important, I could

  always stay behind and arrive separately. Who did you talk to? What exactly

  was said?”

  “Gordero wasn’t in his office yet, but when I left my name with his

  secretary, she put me through to his executive assistant, one Wolfgang Stoltz.

  Herr Stoltz is as Teutonic as his name sounds, very proper, very, very German.

  He had been informed by Gordero to expect a call from us, and we were given

  the first appointment that was open. So you better make an effort to stay in

  town, amigo. Chances like this don’t pop up every day.”

  “The twenty-second is almost two weeks away, Estes. By that time he

  probably will have forgotten who we are. The whole thing seems like a waste

  of time to me. I bet you that the meeting will be either delayed or canceled by

  his German friend.”

  “Don’t be such a pessimist, Renaldo. What have you got to lose by staying

  in town a few extra days? You told me that you planned to stay the entire

  summer in Pergamino, anyway. The man kept his promise about arranging a

  meeting, so let’s give him the benefit of the doubt until the twenty-second, at

  least. Come on, the man hasn’t lied to us yet, has he?”

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  JAMES McCREATH

  “No, I guess you are right. But I don’t put much faith in anything

  beneficial ever coming out of this. You are a dreamer, Estes, if you think that

  there will.”

  “I’ve never been hurt by dreaming, my boy. That is what got me into

  professional football in the first place. Dreams of being a big league keeper.

  Without dreams, you might as well go to that estancia of yours and breed cows

  for the rest of your life. Doesn’t that sound exciting? Anyway, I must go. I will

  call you in the next few days. Work on your arrangements and try to stay in

  town for the twenty-second. Oh, by the way, that was a very brave, and I might

  say foolish thing, you did in Cordoba, Saturday. Tell me, why didn’t you just

  leave The Fat Man and save your own hide in the alley back there?”

  “I don’t really know. It all happened so quickly. I guess I wanted to be just

  like you, Estes. A leader of men and an opportunistic dreamer,” he laughed into

  the receiver as the last phrase passed his lips. “Good-
bye. Estes, stay in touch.”

  Lonnie had already left Casa San Marco by the time Estes Santos called

  Renaldo. There had continued to be no answer at Celeste’s flat all day Sunday

  and up until midnight, when Lonnie had torn the telephone from its socket and

  hurled it against the wall. He had slept fitfully, rehearsing over and over what

  he was going to say to her when he finally made contact. He had decided that

  he must confront her in person to get the answers to the questions that were

  driving him to distraction. He was shocked when she opened her door, still half

  asleep, attired in one of his dress shirts.

  “Lonnie, what a surprise! I wasn’t expecting you this morning. Why didn’t

  you call? I could have made some breakfast for . . .”

  “Where on earth have you been Celeste? I have been worried sick about

  you since you canceled our date on Saturday. Where are your brothers? Are they

  here with you now, or did they really come to town at all?”

  Lonnie pushed past her into the flat, half expecting to find a naked lover

  lying on the bed. He stormed around the small rooms looking for any sign that

  indicated another man had been there over the last forty-eight hours. Other

  than Celeste’s rumpled bed, there was nothing askew.

  “Get out, you bastard! You don’t own me! No man has the right to

  interrogate me in my home. Get out!” The force of her words and the hatred in

  her voice stopped Lonnie in his tracks.

  “Celeste, I’m sorry. It . . . it’s just that you have been acting so strangely

  the past week or so, I just want to know what is going on in your life.”

  “Why? What’s it to you? Just because I fuck you a few times doesn’t mean

  that I have any feelings for you. It’s just sex. I have nothing in common with

  you, anyway. You are the embodiment of everything that I have always hated.

  You’ve never had to work a day in your life. You’ve never been hungry or had

  to deal with real poverty and misery. You and your fancy family just drive out

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  to your country estate if the inner city becomes too noisy, or humid, or God

  knows what else for your bourgeois blood. I despise you and everyone like you.

  Now get out of my sight!”

  Lonnie didn’t move. He was aghast at her verbal assault and stood staring