Renaldo

by James McCreath

  fully sanction the World Cup Tournament here in Argentina, commencing

  in June. As you are no doubt aware, there has been much criticism of our

  National Organizing Committee’s accomplishments and progress to date,

  both from the international press and from the competing foreign football

  associations as well. Those Brazilian bastards have done everything that they

  can to steal the tournament away from us. And those European crybabies, the

  Dutch and the English, they say that their insurance companies won’t take the

  risk of insuring their players if they come to Argentina because of the rampant

  political terrorism here. What bullshit! When is the last time you saw anyone

  gunned down on the streets of Buenos Aires? Anyone that didn’t deserve it, I

  should say.”

  He paused to catch his breath and also to laugh at his morbid little joke.

  “Well, all this subterfuge didn’t work. FIFA president João Havelange, the

  only decent Brazilian on the face of this earth, is staking his career on our

  promise that we will be ready on time, and we will! I am on our organizing

  committee, and I know the daunting tasks before us. But the junta has declared

  the tournament to be of national importance. Economically, more than eighty

  thousand well-heeled visitors will arrive here to spend their hard-earned cash.

  Nothing will stop us from taking it from them, nothing! We will be ready!”

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  JAMES McCREATH

  Again, Gordero paused to catch his breath. This time he studied

  the reactions of the two men in front of him before proceeding. When he

  was certain that his words were making the proper impact, he continued.

  “Unfortunately, while I am one hundred percent certain that our stadiums,

  hotels, and communications facilities will be in peak working form next June,

  I am much less certain about the readiness of our national football squad. The

  Argentine people will accomplish everything asked of them off the playing

  field. It is, however, what the eleven men chosen to wear our national colors

  accomplish on the playing field that will ultimately determine the success or

  failure of this entire undertaking. It is in that regard that I have news for you

  both.

  “The entire program has been in absolute chaos for over a year now.

  Management has been accused of taking bribes from corporations to ensure

  that certain players, who, by coincidence, happen to endorse their products,

  receive a starting position on the team. Coaching and training techniques have

  been at odds with our financial capabilities to support them. Several world-class

  players just don’t want to play, and for the most ridiculous reasons! Worst of all,

  most of our best players are still under contract to European teams that won’t

  release them until the end of their current season, if at all. It is a nightmare,

  worse than you could ever imagine.”

  A sorrowful look of despair fell across The Fat Man’s jowly face. Then, with

  perfect courtroom timing, a broad smile suddenly returned to his countenance

  and the soliloquy continued.

  “I do see a glimmer of hope at the end of this very dark tunnel, however.

  For one thing, Octavio Suarez has agreed to take control of the entire on-field

  program and he intends to clean house, bring in his own people, and start from

  scratch. Everything will be his way, and only his way. No bribes, no sacred

  cows, no interference. That is the only way he would agree to take the position

  of manager of our national team. He has been guaranteed a substantial sum

  of money by the junta to make all the training preparations he requires. First

  class all the way. And Señor Havelange has agreed to turn up the heat on those

  damned Europeans to let our boys come home in time to train with the team.

  Then there are some particular matters of interest concerning the two of you

  . . . ”

  Once again, a pregnant pause for the dramatic effect. Gordero swiveled his

  bulk to face Estes Santos. “Octavio Suarez has asked for you to be the national

  team’s goalkeeper coach, Estes. He knows you, and is impressed with your

  teaching ability and leadership skills. He wants to meet with you right away.

  It will be quite a feather in your cap, Estes, especially if you can help to make

  the team respectable. Championships are never won without great goalkeeping,

  and besides, it will look good on your résumé. National Team and World Cup

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  coach. A good stepping-stone to bigger and better things to come, I am sure!

  As for you, my guardian angel . . .”

  He paused again, and turning slightly, fixed his gaze directly on Renaldo

  this time before proceeding. The boy squirmed visibly in his chair, anticipation

  written all over his face.

  “You will be the new Pelé, if Octavio Suarez has his way. He has seen

  you play the game. I told you that on the train from Cordoba. Remember,

  ‘head and feet as one?’ Those were his words, not mine. He has told me that

  the team needs new blood, someone young and charismatic. An hombre gol, a

  goal scorer that can bring people to their feet. Pelé did it for Brazil in his first

  World Cup when he was only seventeen. You, my boy, will have a few more

  years experience than the Black Pearl did when he made his debut on the world

  stage. Your time is now, Renaldo! The whole country is looking for a hero.

  Someone to make them forget, someone to let them dream. Octavio Suarez says

  that you are that someone. I, for one, agree with him!”

  Renaldo’s mouth was as dry as sandpaper, his face flushed, and the palms

  of his hands clammy with sweat. He could feel the blood pounding in his

  temples. It took a concerted effort for him to mumble some response.

  “Señor Gordero, with all due respect, I have never even played in one

  professional first division game. I am flattered by your confidence in my

  abilities, but to compare me in the same breath as the great Pelé . . . I am just

  a schoolboy. For me to be the savior of the National Team is, is, crazy!”

  “The idea is not crazy at all, Renaldo,” Estes Santos interjected before

  Gordero could make his rebuttal. “I have been your coach for a full season

  now, and during my career as a premier league goalkeeper, I played both with

  and against the best players this country has ever produced. I have never, in all

  those years, come across a player with your natural talent, at any level! But this

  goes beyond just natural ability. There is an intangible that all great athletes

  have, no matter what their chosen sport. A je ne sais quoi, as the French say.

  You are a leader, Renaldo. You have the ability to anticipate, and then to act.

  You saved all of our lives in Cordoba by getting us out of that stadium. You

  acted instinctively, and you led us to safety. The only reason you have not been

  playing professional football to date is your mother’s insistence that you obtain

  your high school diploma. I do not argue with that philosophy at all, but you

  have achieved that goal now. What lies before you is the chance of a lifetime!

  Do not turn your back on it, grab on to it and run with it. You still have to earn

  a place on the team, and that
will not be easy. But you have nothing to lose by

  trying, and in Octavio Suarez, you have the best coach in the business. Besides,

  if what Señor Gordero says is true, it looks as if I will be along for the ride, to

  keep you on the straight and narrow path to glory.”

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  JAMES McCREATH

  Shock and disbelief still shrouded the young man’s face as he tried to

  comprehend what was happening to him. It was now Astor Gordero’s turn to

  reassure his teenage guest.

  “Very well said, Estes, and I must say, my sentiments exactly! Do not sell

  yourself short, Renaldo. Your talent is there for everyone but yourself to see.

  Believe in yourself. Do not doubt what is God-given, for it is only self-doubt

  that will deprive you of greatness. I have set up a meeting for you both with

  Octavio tomorrow morning at nine out at River Plate Stadium. After that,

  both of your fates will be in his capable hands. Now, gentlemen, I believe that

  we are keeping a very pretty, not to mention famous, young lady waiting. Let

  us not extend this discourtesy any longer. We can continue our discussions over

  luncheon. Shall we be off? Wolfgang, would you please inform Señorita Carta-

  Aqua that we are ready for her to join us.”

  The word ‘overwhelmed’ did not do justice to Renaldo’s feelings at that

  moment. Did he not have enough to digest without the added discomfort of

  being in the presence of the nation’s most adored and sought-after show business

  personality? A poster of Symca’s scantily clad form adorned the ceiling above

  his bed. He would stare for hours at the suggestive jacket covers of her albums

  while he fantasized that she was singing her love songs to him alone. It was

  one thing to have a dream girl, but to meet her in the flesh and act like a total

  Neanderthal was another. What an imbecile she must have thought him!

  The party of five was ushered to Astor Gordero’s private table in the rear

  of the Jockey Club dining room. The expedition through the packed club was

  equivalent to reading the who’s who of Buenos Aires. Corporate luminaries,

  military officers of the highest rank, government ministers, and monied society

  dandies rubbed shoulders with one another while playing the game of see and

  be seen. None of them, however, could compete with the young lady that the

  rotund lawyer escorted through the throng on his arm.

  As the party passed through the various rooms, the diners literally froze

  the instant that Symca came into view. Part of the reason was that ladies were

  allowed only in the dining area of this most revered and legendary Porteño

  establishment. As was so often the case, on this day, there were very few of the

  gentler sex present for the noon day meal. After the initial shock of seeing such

  a gorgeous celebrity in their midst, the tongues started to wag. Astor Gordero

  milked the situation for all it was worth, introducing his famous guest to any

  of his acquaintances whom he deemed worthy of such a reward.

  At twenty-one years of age, Symca had acquired the poise and public

  relations savvy that could only have been attained through a lifetime in the

  entertainment business. She had been a child star in countless Argentine

  movies during her adolescence, switching to television soap operas and record

  production in her teens. It was said that she was one of the wealthiest women

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  in all of Argentina. Her public appearances and live concerts had, more often

  than not, led to riots by overzealous fans. Even the strict decorum of the Jockey

  Club was being strained to the limits by her presence, as the rich and powerful

  craned their necks and strained to catch a glimpse of her.

  The procession seemed to take forever before Renaldo was able to find

  asylum in the corner seat of Gordero’s table. He hoped more than anything that

  he would not make a fool of himself again. The meeting at The Fat Man’s office

  had passed from his memory, replaced only by the thoughts of her beauty being

  more overpowering in person than in any photograph or poster he had ever seen

  of her. He barely heard Wolfgang Stoltz address him.

  “So, Renaldo, are you a fan of Señorita Carta-Aqua’s?”

  “Sorry? Oh, yes, most definitely! I have her entire collection of recordings.

  She is the number one heart-throb at my school. Many of my friends won’t

  admit to it, but we hardly ever miss her weekly television soap opera. You must

  excuse me, Herr Stoltz, but I am a little overwhelmed to be in her presence.

  What is Señor Gordero’s connection to her, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Not at all. It is no secret. Señor Gordero is her attorney and manager. He

  is also a longtime friend of her father. Señor Gordero was responsible for the

  young lady entering show business when she was very young. He is, I suppose

  you could say, her guardian. She is a very sweet lady, very down-to-earth. Do

  not be intimidated by her. Simone is a very warm person, as I am sure you will

  find out.”

  Estes Santos was commenting on the young lady’s obvious beauty when

  she and Gordero finally reached the table.

  “Well, that was a marathon, my dear. I thought we would never make it

  here. You caused quite the uproar, as usual. Now, let us turn our attention to

  our raison d’être.”

  He motioned to the captain standing by his side, menus at the ready.

  “Filmon, bring us two bottles of Dom Pérignon right away, and drop those

  menus on the table. We have cause for celebration today, and I, for one, have a

  powerful hunger!”

  The luncheon lasted over three hours. Most of the time was consumed

  by Astor Gordero pontificating on whatever subject caught his interest at any

  particular moment. Sports, politics, sex, show business, all the bases were

  covered. He would, from time to time, allow each of his guests to express their

  personal opinions on any given subject, after which he would control the flow of

  the conversation as if he were the conductor of a great symphony orchestra.

  Renaldo, for his part, had very little to say. He was more concerned about

  exactly how he was going to ask Symca for her autograph before they went their

  separate ways. He was totally under her spell. Her smile was unlike any he had

  ever seen. Her lips were so full, her hazel eyes so deep and seductive. She wore

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  her auburn hair in long ringlets down past her shoulders, and as for her figure,

  the skintight crimson minidress that she wore barely covered her assets. Her

  voice was deep, almost husky, and many of Renaldo’s friends had commented

  that it was that voice, more than any of her other attributes, that made them

  crazy with macho desire.

  Estes Santos was trying all his most charming lines on her, the ones that

  he was too nervous to try on Gordero’s secretaries., the younger man thought.

  It was when the conversation turned to the gala fundraising event to support

  Argentina’s World Cup program, an event to be held at the world-famous Colon

  Opera House with Symca as the star attraction, that she finally addressed the

  young Porteño directly.

  “If you would like
to come and see my show at the gala, I can arrange

  a backstage pass for you. Would you be interested in something like that,

  Renaldo?” For once that day, the boy didn’t hesitate to answer.

  “A backstage pass to one of your shows? There is nothing in this world that

  would make me happier, Señorita.” His youthful enthusiasm caused the older

  men at the table to break out in spontaneous laughter. Embarrassed, Renaldo

  sank back in his chair. Symca grasped his hand and looked him directly in the

  eyes.

  “Don’t let these old baboons cause you any discomfort, Renaldo. If it

  weren’t for people with enthusiasm like yours, I might still be in university

  studying anthropology or some dreadful thing. And Señor Gordero would not

  have lined his pockets with the steep legal and management fees he charges

  me.”

  “Touché,” was Gordero’s only comment, delivered with an innocent half-

  smile with his large hands overlapped against his heart.

  “In any event, I hear that the entire National Team will be introduced to

  the public on the opera house stage that evening, and Astor has informed me

  that there is a very good chance that you will be one of those being introduced.

  In that case, you won’t need a backstage pass. Just come and knock on my

  dressing room door when you arrive.”

  “In deference to Señor Gordero, Señorita, I will accept a backstage pass, if

  the offer is still open. So much has happened to me today that the only thing

  of certainty would be to acquire a tangible piece of paper. At least that way, I

  could prove to my friends that I actually met you.”

  “Very well, then, I will have Astor arrange to have one sent to you. The

  gala is on the evening of January fourteenth. I believe that is the same day that

  the World Cup pool draw is taking place to see which countries are grouped

  together in the tournament. It should be a very exciting time, don’t you think?”

  Her smile held him spellbound. Again the words did not come easily to him.

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  “If you are on the stage, then for certain it will be exciting. I heard you

  open for the Rolling Stones at River Plate Stadium last year. My seats were so

  far from the stage that you looked like a miniature doll, but your music was

  amazing! I have collected all your recordings and your television show is a