weekly ritual. My friends and I never miss an episode.”
He was speaking so quickly and with so much enthusiasm that the other
three men at the table interrupted their discussion concerning the astronomically
high price of the World Cup Gala tickets to listen to Renaldo sing the praises
of his celebrity dining companion.
“That Raul Espling is such a snake-in-the-grass on your TV show. You
are always getting hurt by him and turning the other cheek. My friends and
I want to tar and feather him for the things he does to you. Is he that bad in
real life?”
Symca didn’t have an opportunity to respond before the next question left
Renaldo’s lips. “How about Anita Corazon? What is she like in person? Next to
you, well, there is no contest, but she is still a very attractive lady that can really
dance. That hot tango scene in the episode last month was incredible!”
He had to stop for a moment to catch his breath. “Your life must be so
exciting. You do so many different things, and you do them all so well. I still
can’t believe that I am sitting at the same table with the amazing Symca. My
friends will die with envy. That is, if they believe me at all.”
“Well, Renaldo, let’s give them some proof then.” She reached for her
small handbag and retrieved an oversized business card and a small felt marker.
The outer flap of the card was embossed with a pouting, steamy color head
shot of herself. She raised the flap and wrote several words with a flourish, then
pushed the card across the linen tablecloth into Renaldo’s hand.
“It’s a private message. Don’t look at it until you are alone. You wouldn’t
want these old dinosaurs to tease you about it. They would just be jealous.”
Howls of mock protest greeted her last remark. Renaldo slid the card into
his jacket pocket without a glance, although the anticipation of seeing what
she had written was already driving him crazy. It was Astor Gordero that made
him shift his thoughts to the other unbelievable news of the day.
“Now if I could have your undivided attention for just a few minutes,
Señor De Seta, we have some logistical matters to finalize before we go our
separate ways. Firstly, as I mentioned earlier, I have arranged a meeting for
you and Estes with Octavio Suarez in the morning. I know that this is the
holiday season, and Estes has told me that you are to be in Pergamino by
tomorrow evening. I would not postpone the chance to meet with Señor Suarez
in person, if I were you, Renaldo. He will be inundated with endless tasks of
reorganization, and one cannot be certain when he will be able to schedule you
in again. The meeting will be brief, I can assure of that. I’ll tell you what I can
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do. Let me pick both of you up by eight o’clock tomorrow morning. We can go
in my limousine to the stadium, see Octavio, and then, I will have my private
Learjet at your disposal to fly you to Pergamino. You will be there even earlier
than expected. What do you say?”
There was nothing that he could say. The presence of Symca had allowed
him to temporarily forget the ridiculous notion that he would be a member
of Argentina’s World Cup team. The thought of such a thing rendered him
temporarily mute.
“Come on, Renaldo, at least come with me to meet Señor Suarez.” Estes
Santos was leaning across the table, an earnest look on his face as he addressed
the younger man.
“Your mother is already at Buenos Requerdos, and the train that you were
scheduled to take would not have gotten you there until the late afternoon. You
told me that you have already packed and completed your gift shopping, so
there is absolutely nothing to stop you from accepting Señor Gordero’s offer.”
Again Renaldo was unable to respond. It was Symca that interceded to
show him the way.
“Renaldo, fate works in very strange ways. Sometimes it can choose people
for greatness even against their will. Fate chose me for stardom, and now it
seems it has chosen you for something very special as well. I have been in the
entertainment business since I was very young. Can you imagine for a moment
what it must have been like for me as a five year-old to walk out on a stage and
perform before a live television audience? I can still remember how terrified I
was. But I knew that I loved to sing and dance, and everyone was so nice to me,
telling me how talented I was, how pretty I was. It seemed as if the only one
that had doubts about my ability was me.
“You are in the same situation right now. You are the only one that is
doubting what you can accomplish. The professionals, Señor Suarez and Señor
Santos here, have expressed their feelings that you have the talent to make
a contribution. Don’t deny yourself the chance to see if their faith in you is
justified. If they prove to be wrong and things don’t work out . . . well, look at
you. You are young and intelligent, not to mention extremely handsome. You
are also well-educated and wealthy, from what I understand. It is not the end
of the world if you fail to succeed in making the team. But I for one would be
very, very disappointed if you did not at least try to live up to the expectations
of the men whose job it is to capture the World Cup trophy for our country.
Please go and see Señor Suarez, for me, if for no other reason. Believe in yourself,
Renaldo, the way you see others already believing in you!”
She had spoken with such sincerity and passion that he was helpless to
resist her request.
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RENALDO
“Alright, Señorita, for you and you alone, I will see Señor Suarez tomorrow.
But that is as far as this whole thing might go. It is my mother I worry about
more than anything! You see, my father was killed attending a soccer game
in England many years ago, and she absolutely hates the sport and anyone
associated with it. Estes here can tell you about my mother and soccer. It was
only if I kept up straight ‘A’s in school this past year that she would even allow
me to lace on a pair of boots. She actually thought that I was still playing
on the high school team instead of on the semiprofessional under twenty-one
team. When she found out the truth, it was Estes who caught an earful from
her. Thank God that Señor Santos is a charmer with the ladies of world-class
proportions, or I might have had to give up the sport forever. So, we will
see what transpires. I am curious about one thing though, Señorita. It sounds
to me like you are a football fan yourself. You speak of the game with such
enthusiasm. Is that the case?”
Symca smiled seductively at her young admirer, as if she had a deep secret
that she was about to reveal for the first time.
“Well, Renaldo, the truth of the matter is that the very first man I ever
dated was Roberto Camacho, the striker with River Plate. I was only fifteen
at the time, but I fell head over heals in love, not only with Roberto, but
with the game in general and the River Plate club in particular. I am sorry
to say that even after Roberto and I stopped seeing each other, I remained
a
fierce supporter of that team. Meeting you and Señor Santos today, however,
might convince me to shift my loyalties to Newton’s Prefects. That is a lady’s
prerogative is it not, gentlemen?”
Hearty laughter greeted her closing remark. Renaldo sank back in his
chair, deep in thought, as Estes Santos picked up the conversation with Symca.
Renaldo was surprised that she had been involved with the great Camacho at
such a tender age. The man was a legendary player, to be sure, but also a fabled
womanizer.
But that was past history. Right now, the young player was intrigued by
the fact that she seemed to have more than just a passing knowledge of his
background, and why the inspiring interest in his future? What had Gordero
said to her about him? Perhaps there was more going on here than met the
eye.
It took only one glance at the lady’s smiling face to make him forget
everything except the card that she had signed for him earlier. The card that
continued to rest close to his heart in the inside breast pocket of his suit
jacket.
Astor Gordero and party were the last patrons to depart the Jockey Club
dining room that afternoon. The waiters and bus boys were busily resetting the
tables for the evening throng that would begin arriving in a few hours. The
maitre d’ and captains remained attentive to Señor Gordero and his vivacious
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JAMES McCREATH
companion up to and beyond the entrance foyer of the club. It seemed that a
few of the less discreet patrons who had departed earlier had let the word slip
out that the famous Symca was dining there that day. A crowd of over one
hundred admirers now lined the sidewalk awaiting her departure.
The maitre d’ had arranged for Gordero’s limousine to be waiting at the
curb, but his table captain offered the lawyer the services of the club staff to
form a human wedge as a means of escorting the lady and himself through the
crowd to the safety of his automobile.
“That will not be necessary, Filmon,” Gordero said with a smile while
eyeing the expectant gathering outside. “It is these people that have made
Señorita Symca the star that she is today. We will not deprive them of a chance to
glimpse their idol. Renaldo, Estes, I will see you tomorrow morning, bright and
early, before eight o’clock. I hope you have enjoyed yourselves today, gentlemen.
Adios! Thank you, Filmon. Everything was superb, as usual. Are you ready, my
dear? Well, then, Wolfgang, lead the way! Come, my little beauty. We are off
to meet your makers!”
With a loud laugh and a wave of his arm, they disappeared through the
revolving glass doors. Delighted screams and chants of “Symca, Symca, Symca”
greeted them instantly. Gordero took as much pleasure from all the adulation
as did the young lady for whom it was meant. They took time to sign several
autographs and answer questions about her next album or tour. When they had
finally departed in Gordero’s white Mercedes limousine, the sidewalk in front
of the Jockey Club was littered with flowers and promotional photos that had
gone disappointingly unsigned by the star whose likeness they bore.
Estes and Renaldo were able to slip out into the afternoon sun, completely
unnoticed. They walked half a block before hailing a taxi. Once in the confines
of its rear seat, Estes embraced the younger man with a passion that startled the
cabby and embarrassed the recipient.
“Didn’t I tell you that The Fat Man would come through for us, Renaldo.
I knew it! I knew that he would. God, he has given us both the opportunity
of a lifetime. I am still in shock. A coaching position on our World Cup team.
And you, the new Pelé! I can see the headlines now. ‘Renaldo leads Argentina
to World Cup supremacy.’ You will not disappoint us, my friend, I am certain
of that.” Renaldo struggled to free himself from his coach’s bear hug.
“Cut it out, Estes! Let go of me! Look, I am very happy for you. It is a
position that you richly deserve. You have the experience and the talent to
make a contribution. For my part, this joke ends tomorrow. I am sure that the
luncheon with Symca was my reward for looking out for Gordero in Cordoba.
I will be a celebrity just for being able to tell my friends the story of what
happened today. That is enough for me, because that is reality. I prefer to live
in the real world, Estes, not someone else’s fantasy.”
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RENALDO
Estes Santos just shook his head and stared at his charge for a moment.
Suddenly he addressed the cabby.
“Driver, pull over right here for a moment, please.” He then turned to his
backseat companion.
“Well, I have some ‘business’ to attend to right now. Sitting with that
lovely señorita all afternoon has made me . . . Well, you know what I am
talking about. Anyway, Renaldo, don’t forget what your sexy idol just told you
back there during lunch. Believe in yourself, the way others do, and there will
be no stopping you! Remember that, my friend. I will see you in the morning.
Take care.”
He was out of the cab and into the lobby of the Hotel Presidente in seconds.
Renaldo was thankful to finally be alone. After telling the driver to proceed to
Casa San Marco, he pulled his new treasure from his jacket pocket. He stared
down at the sultry picture on the cover for several seconds. Slowly then, with
trembling fingers, he raised the flap to reveal its hidden message.
A smile came to his face as he read the inscription.
“To Renaldo. We will meet again, you can count on it! Believe in the
future! Love, your new friend, Symca.”
He was delirious with joy as he told his assembled amigos of that day’s
unbelievable adventure. They had been hastily summoned to Casa San Marco
for beer and pizza, as well as the promise of a story they would not soon forget.
Renaldo did not disappoint his schoolboy peers, although by the time the party
broke up in the early morning hours, he was chagrined to find that Symca’s
momento had collected some additional pizza-stained fingerprints as a result of
being passed among the unbelievers all evening.
It was fortunate that he remembered to set his alarm clock, for the
early morning meeting had been relegated to the back of his mind by his
preoccupation with the charms of the beautiful Symca. The new teen celebrity
had not related that portion of the day’s events to anyone. He lay partially
clothed, semi-inebriated, and totally elated on his bed, staring up at her
poster.
No matter what happens with Octavio Suarez in the morning, he thought grinning
broadly, this has been the most memorable day of my life!
14
Chapter eleven
A shiver ran the length of the worshipper’s spine as he left the darkness of
the vestibule and walked the twenty or so yards to the edge of the vast
expanse. Standing now in blinding sunlight, he shielded his eyes, then
raised them to view the upper reaches of the sacred temple. Silence cascaded
down around him. The spirits were there, though, he could feel them.
He
walked further into the open space, trying to imagine the events of
six months hence. How different the temple would be then. Seething with
emotion, deafening in its enthusiasm, a literal sea of humanity.
Would those worshippers be elated or deflated? That was the ultimate
question!
Now he was inside the circle where it would all begin. Would he be
here again in June? Down here on the pitch instead of up there in the pews of
the temple? He had thought it ridiculous before this very moment, ridiculous
to think that there was even the faintest possibility that such a thing could
happen. But somehow now, standing here inside the midfield circle of River
Plate Stadium, standing on the exact spot were the first touch of a black and
white ball would commence the greatest sporting event known to man . . . now
he knew in his heart that he wanted to be a part of it.
He was all alone. The thousands of workers that were racing against time
to complete the renovations of what had been known as ‘Monumental Stadium’
were gone for the Christmas break. The cranes and massive machinery stood
silent in the sun.
Monumental is a name befitting of this place, he thought as he scanned the
entire circumference of the upper terraces. Seventy-five thousand hearts would
beat here in unison, hoping that the spirits of past champions could help
their current-day heroes in what everyone knew was a ‘monumental’ task . . .
becoming champions of the world!
He turned his attention to the playing surface itself. New sod had been
laid and not a single cleat had desecrated the beautiful green turf, one hundred
and twenty yards in length from goal line to goal line. Eighty yards in width
from touch line to touch line. The worshipper was mystically drawn toward
the goal area. As he walked the righteous path to glory, the same path that he
hoped to travel at full speed in only a few months, the field markings came
into view.
JAMES McCREATH
First, the penalty arch, beyond which no player could venture preceding
that moment of high tension, the penalty shot. Then, the dreaded penalty area
itself, running along the goal line for eighteen yards from either side of the two
upright goal posts, then extending eighteen yards out onto the pitch to form
a large rectangle. It was within these markings that unsportsmanlike conduct
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