But it is the public’s perception of you at such a young age that can be shaped
and contoured to your maximum benefit. We have had players on our World
Cup teams compete under the shadows of horrendous personal scandals. Game
fixing, wife beating, extra-marital affairs, even homosexuality! The foreign
press in particular will dig up any dirt that they can to throw us off our game.
They are absolutely ruthless people, especially the closer a team gets to the
championship game.
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“I am offering my services to you as a sort of, let’s say, guardian of your
career. I have at my disposal the means and the wherewithal to keep the public
perception of Renaldo De Seta on the straight and narrow. And should, heaven
forbid, a small indiscretion occur on your part, well, let’s just say that I am a
man of many contacts in the less glamorous side of the business world as well.
Sometimes, events need a little cosmetic surgery to keep a career wholesome.
Almost anything can be arranged for a price. But I know that none of that will
be necessary as far as you are concerned. Allow me to tell people that you are
represented by Astor Gordero, and I promise you smooth sailing right up to the
victory podium, where you will hold aloft the World Cup trophy!”
The man has delusions. He is a dreamer of the grandest scale. I cannot take this
piffle seriously, Renaldo’s mind was saying.
Nevertheless, the more Gordero talked and the more Renaldo drank, the
more legitimate seemed the reasons for entrusting his future to the Buenos Aires
lawyer. Gordero had done everything that he said he would do for Renaldo. He
had the connections, the esteem, the knowledge. He also had a certain young
actress/singer as a client. The distractions would be tremendous, he knew that.
Who else was there to turn to, to guide him, to show him the path to glory?
The limousine was now approaching Ezeiza Airport. Gordero persisted.
“Think seriously about what I have said, Renaldo, while you are relaxing
in Pergamino over the holidays. Talk to Estes Santos about the potential of my
representing you. I trust his judgment. But once you return to Buenos Aires in
the New Year, it will be decision time. You must have dealt with your family
matters by then, as well as come to an understanding about my participation in
your future. I can help you, Renaldo, make no mistake about that.”
The Mercedes had entered the private aviation compound and was
pulling astride a sparkling white Learjet, the graphics “A.R. Gordero and Sons”
prominently displayed on the fuselage. The chauffeur popped the trunk, then
ran to open his employer’s door.
The pilot and an attractive flight attendant stood at the bottom of the
plane’s staircase. Gordero greeted them warmly, then introduced Renaldo to
them both. The chauffeur handed the boy’s luggage to the flight attendant,
who disappeared into the aircraft to stow it away for the flight. As was often
his habit, Astor Gordero had a surprise to bestow upon his guest before they
parted company.
“Oh, by the way, Renaldo, I almost forgot this.” He reached into the inner
pocket of his sizable white linen jacket and brandished a pink envelope in
front of the departing passenger’s face. “You made quite an impression on a
certain young lady at our luncheon yesterday. She insisted that I give this to
you without delay, and I was advised to tell you that she expects you to follow
the enclosed instructions succinctly and to the letter of the law. That’s legalese
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for ‘you better do as I say!’ So, have a good holiday and come back ready for
your new life. Here is my business card with my phone numbers on it should
you want to talk about anything, anything at all, over the next fortnight. Have
a safe trip. Adios, my boy.”
He embraced a startled Renaldo and kissed him on each cheek. Then his
bulging torso withdrew as he motioned to the pilot with a wave of his hand.
“Please join us, Señor De Seta, and we will be on our way to Pergamino.”
The pilot gently touched the boy’s shoulder and motioned to the stairway.
Renaldo mumbled a barely audible “thank you” to Gordero and
accompanied it with a wave and a smile as he ascended into the jet. Within
minutes they were airborne, an orange juice and black coffee resting on a tray
beside him on the overstuffed couch where he sat.
A very functional piece of furniture, he thought. I could not see a man with Astor
Gordero’s prominent credentials, namely his stomach, trying to fit into a regular airline
seat, even a first-class one at that!
He was now alone in the cabin, the attendant having gone forward,
pulling the privacy screen behind her. He gently held the pink envelope to his
nose, searching for her scent. He swore that he could detect the same perfume
that he had basked in the day before. Slowly, lovingly, he opened the envelope
and pulled out its contents.
The two-inch high florescent red letters spelling out ‘Backstage Pass’ leapt
out at him. Set on an elaborately designed black felt background, the pass was
inscribed with the name of the event, the venue, and the date of the World Cup
Gala Concert. Attached to the back of the pass was another of Symca’s oversized
photo cards. This one, however, contained a totally different pose than the one
from the day before. This pose was even more sensual than the first, exposing
part of her left breast. Renaldo strained his eyes to decipher the outline of her
nipple under the sheer leopard skin material. He became aware of a stirring
in his trousers and was forced to readjust his posture, lest the flight attendant
suddenly appear.
Under the flap awaited a message that would cause him increased
discomfort in his midsection.
‘Dearest Renaldo,
Meeting you was the highlight of my day yesterday. I have sent the pass as
promised, but I can’t wait that long to see you again. Here is my home number.
Call me as soon as you get back in town. Happy Holidays. Thinking of you.
Love, Symca. tel: 555–399’
This is unbelievable! She wants to see me? Why me? The lady could have any man
she wanted in the entire country! Heaven help me!
A cloud suddenly appeared on his previously unblemished horizon. His
brow furrowed. Oh, sweet Jesus, what am I going to tell mother about Symca? She will
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JAMES McCREATH
think that this is all the Devil’s hand. He could hear her prayers for divine help
already.
“Hail Mary, sweet Mother of our Savior Jesus, I ask your help in my time
of need. The rock-and-roll star has seduced my precious son into becoming a
football player. My sweet, sensitive, scholastic son, turned into a football player!
Better a murderer or a rapist.” Renaldo intoned the mock prayer to the empty
passenger compartment.
What a predicament I have gotten myself into, he mused, a half-smile on his
lips. Best to keep quiet about Symca for the time being. No sense giving Mama a stroke
for a Christmas present. Besides, her interest in me will be fleeting at b
est.
It was with mixed emotions that he pondered, in turn, a great lustful
adventure, followed by his eventual dismissal from the superstar’s romantic
considerations as the jet descended into Pergamino.
158
Chapter twelve
How could things have gone so terribly wrong? Especially after the
holiday reunion had started off so nicely?”
Florencia De Seta sat staring out her bedroom window at Buenos
Requerdos, pondering the unsettling events that had ruined her holiday
merriment. She had spent most of the past two days in bed, fretting about
the future of her newly wayward sons. Even though Lonnie had not arrived
until late Christmas Eve in a state of agitation and with very little good cheer,
Christmas Day had been splendid. The boys had bought both her and Lydia
very thoughtful gifts, excluding the book on political change in Argentina by
some left-wing author who was currently rotting in a state penitentiary. Lonnie
had suggested that it would be ‘enlightening’ reading for both her and Lydia
over the holidays. She much preferred the exquisite leather handbag that was
also a gift from her eldest son.
Oli had prepared her usual holiday feast for the family, and the Christmas
meal turned out to be a happy, boisterous gathering with all the participants in
a festive mood. She had actually gotten a little tipsy as the family sang a variety
of songs and carols to Renaldo’s guitar accompaniment. Even Lonnie seemed to
be enjoying himself, and there was no mention of politics the entire evening.
The tidings of good cheer carried over into the following four days. The boys
took to their horses and explored the outer reaches of the estancia while she and
Lydia relaxed in the warm glow of the holiday spirit.
Then, after dinner on the twenty-ninth, things changed for the worse.
Lonfranco and Renaldo had come to her together and asked to have a family
meeting. Lydia’s inclusion had foreshadowed their need of a sympathetic ear.
The elderly lady was sometimes too much of a free spirit for Florencia’s liking,
and the boys knew this all too well.
Florencia still did not believe the things her sons had said to her in the
heat of that moment. She had not slept well the past two nights, ever since the
fateful family council meeting on the twenty-ninth. Here it was, New Year’s
Eve, and her mood was anything but celebratory. What was upsetting her at
this moment, more than any of the news her sons had to tell her, was that the
knot had reappeared in her stomach. She hadn’t felt its dull pain since Peter’s
death.
JAMES McCREATH
Is this an omen of foreboding? she ruminated, silently staring at the late
afternoon shower that swept over the Pampas. Am I to lose someone else, another
loved one?
Lydia had been no help, whatsoever. She had actually encouraged the boys
to “follow their hearts.” What absolute nonsense! Have I raised two worthless
dreamers as sons? It would certainly appear so. Lydia has refused to even consider the
idea of cutting them off from their trust funds until they come to their senses and return to
school. She is the only one empowered to revoke the trusts that she established for the boys
after their grandfather’s death. The country air has made her brain go soft!
The grandmother had called it “quite sweet” that Lonnie had decided to
take the summer off and travel around the country with his girlfriend. What
about the extra courses he needs to get into law school? It is that girl from Tucumán that
has poisoned him, turned him in to a great political philosopher. A dope-smoking hippie
bum is more like it!
During some of the discussions at the dinner table, the rhetoric that he was
espousing had been nothing short of political treason. If her eldest son had been
younger, she would have washed his mouth out with soap for preaching such
anarchy against the state. He was blaspheming against the very institutions
that had made their family’s net worth triple in the past three decades. But
even worse were his solutions to the country’s problems: civil disobedience and
guerrilla tactics against the state.
“It is all that damned Celeste Lavalle’s doing,” she cried out in anger.
The pain grew sharper in her stomach. She really did have to see a physician
about this problem. She couldn’t keep sloughing it off as just nerves.
And young Renaldo! Who on earth had gotten hold of him to fill his
brain with such inane thoughts? Argentina’s World Cup soccer team? He is just
a boy, barely shaving. Now he comes to Pergamino with this ridiculous notion
that he is a world-class football player. Why, he cried for me at the first game
he ever went to!
Florencia clutched a hand to her aching midsection. It was raining harder
now, vast sheets of water tumbling down from a dark grey sky. The weather
outside was an exact barometer of her inner disposition. She continued to
ponder the future as she reclined on her bed.
The world has gone crazy. What on earth is happening to my boys? Young Renaldo
acted as if some woman had gotten her hands on him as well. The signs of romantic
infatuation are there for all to see. Loss of appetite, manic swings in temperament, elated
and outgoing one moment, moody and withdrawn the next. Constantly staring at the
telephone, as if hoping with all his heart that it will ring for him. Locked in his room,
playing the guitar and trying to sing those silly love songs for hours on end. What,
sweet Jesus, what, did I do to deserve this? I was going to have one son a lawyer and
the other son a doctor. How those society bitches would have eaten their hearts out then!
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Now neither of them wants to go back to school. At least Renaldo’s dream of joining
that stupid football team will be short lived. He said that they open training camp in
February. I cannot stop him from going because he is still on summer break, but with
any luck, he can still enroll in his first semester after he is cut from the team. How could
he ever think that he was anywhere near the caliber of player to do such a thing? It
must be that scoundrel Santos. I’ll have a word or two with him when we get back to
town. And what about the lack of respect for their mother’s feelings that they both had
displayed? That hot head Lonnie storming off the estancia, saying that he was never
coming back. That he preferred the company of real people to, to…what did he call us?
‘ Petit bourgeoisie.’ The nerve! At least his brother had the manners to stay here as
planned.. That means I still have an opportunity to convince him to give up this whole
business. He must go back to school where he belongs and forget these childish football
dreams. That damn sport killed his father, and if there is anything that I can do to
prevent it from doing the same thing to my son, I will do it! Tomrrow, I will go to the
chapel in the village and light two candles for their lost, pathetic souls. Please God, help
me show them the way…
Renaldo had noticed the change in his brother the first night Lonnie
arrived at Buenos Requerdos. There was something different about him, about
his mannerisms, his speech. The brothers had not crossed paths the two weeks
prior to arriving at the estancia, Lonnie preferring to stay at Celeste’s flat before
they separated for the holidays.
Florencia had taken early leave of the capital due to unusually high
humidity and pollen counts above normal, which were causing her some
discomfort. Lonnie’s whereabouts the ten days before Christmas had not been
under scrutiny for that reason.
Renaldo had suggested that they ride the range together the day following
Christmas. He told his brother that he had some important news to tell him
out of earshot of his mother and grandmother. Bright and early on a cloudless
twenty-sixth, the De Seta brothers took the food and wine that Oli had prepared
for their trail lunch, saddled up their mounts, and left the main buildings of
the estancia in their dust. The siblings had ridden extensively with their father
when they were young. Their teenage summers were spent under the tutelage
of the senior gauchos, learning the ways of caring for a herd of prized beef cattle
on the Pampas. Renaldo took to this life with great enthusiasm. Lonnie, after a
few summers at Pergamino, decided to spend his holidays in Tigre, working on
his grandfather’s ferry boats and helping out at No Se Preocupe. He still loved
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to ride the plains though, and it didn’t take much coaxing for him to join his
younger brother for the day’s outing.
They rode through the flat agricultural lands first, corn and wheat
interspersed in checkerboard fields. Further on, the great herds of cattle were
visible in the distance. Renaldo had always likened his first glimpse of the
herds to the experience of the American Indians of the last century as they rode
over the crest of a hill and confronted the immense herds of wild buffalo that
roamed the plains. The brothers stopped to drink maté, the native herbal tea,
with a few of the gauchos who were tending the herd. Then it was on to their
favorite destination of years gone by, ‘Lake Lonfranco.’
In reality, the ‘lake’ was little more than a large pond shaded by mature
jacaranda and tipa trees, but their grandfather had brought their father to the
very same location years before. He had told a very young, very gullible Peter
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