Renaldo

by James McCreath

  board table, Señor Gordero was about to make his entrance momentarily.

  Sure enough, before a cup of coffee could be handed to his guest, the host

  made his entrance through one of several doorways leading out of the main

  office. As usual, the gentleman was quite a sight.

  14

  RENALDO

  He was attired in blue silk pajamas, complimented by a matching silk

  bathrobe. His feet were covered in slippers of the same print, and the whole

  ensemble was offset by a contrasting red ascot and pocket puff. A freshly cut

  red rose adorned the robe’s lapel. Gordero made his way directly to the seat

  at the head of the table, all the while greeting his guest and asking the two

  men to join him. The smell of talcum and cologne overpowered the aromas

  of the breakfast delicacies. He saw the puzzled look on his visitor’s face and

  laughingly addressed him.

  “No, no, my boy, I do not come to work in my pajamas! I have a suite of

  rooms behind that door. This is my residence in Buenos Aires as well as my

  office. Saves me precious travel time while putting me right in the middle

  of the action, night and day. Usually, I do not book appointments before ten

  o’clock, but these days, well, there just aren’t enough hours to get everything

  done. I’ve even had to cut my morning massage time in half. Now that is a

  sacrifice that no man should be asked to make.”

  Gordero laughed heartily at his own little joke, at the same time filling his

  plate from the trays and baskets that the two waiters paraded past his chair.

  “How was your holiday, Renaldo? You look fit. Did you stick to Suarez’s

  bible? No overindulging?” The Fat Man did not wait for a reply.

  “I wish I could say the same. The parties and galas were excessive this

  season, all part of the World Cup arm twisting. Thank your lucky stars that you

  only have to worry about playing football, young man. The headaches of trying

  to get this operation off the ground are staggering!” A jam-laden croissant was

  being wagged at the boy as the older man continued his dissertation.

  “Not enough first-class hotel rooms, outdated communication systems,

  terrorist threats, not enough ticket sales. Why, the last financial breakdown

  I saw yesterday had us losing up to eight hundred million American dollars

  on the whole event if we fail to entice more tourists to Argentina. Stadium

  construction, oye! Let’s not even talk about that topic. It will turn me off

  my breakfast. Now, eat! Eat up, then we will talk business. Wolfgang has

  everything prepared for you!”

  Renaldo was famished! Not having Oli at the casa was the only thing he

  didn’t like about being there alone. He was making up for his home cooking

  experiments when Gordero popped ‘the’ question.

  “Have you been in touch with Miss Carta-Aqua since your return?” The

  sudden mention of her name caught the diner totally off-guard. He had trouble

  clearing the frittata and croissant from his mouth, enabling him to reply.

  “No, no, Señor, you are the only person I have called. I really can’t see

  what possible attraction I could be to someone as famous and lovely as Señorita

  Simone, but I plan to call her tonight, hopefully to find out once and for all.”

  15

  JAMES McCREATH

  “Don’t sell yourself short, my boy,” Gordero mumbled, his mouth

  overflowing with Spanish omelette. “Um, she . . . one moment . . . there! Simone

  told me that she found your innocence and enthusiasm very appealing. The

  young lady is constantly surrounded by show business people. Most of them are

  full of shit! Just ‘hangers-on,’ looking to feather their own nests.”

  The look of disgust on the attorney’s face was one Renaldo could easily

  imagine being put to good use in a courtroom rebuttal or scathing cross-

  examination. His host’s demeanor brightened suddenly with the recollection

  of one word.

  “Refreshing! Yes, it was definitely ‘refreshing!’ That was the word she

  used to describe her luncheon companion the other day. She was talking about

  you, son. So call her, Renaldo. Don’t let this woman slip through your fingers

  or you will regret it the rest of your life.”

  “I will, Señor Gordero. I really plan to call her. It is, well, I guess that I am

  just a little star-struck, being such a fan of hers for so many years.

  “How do you think the draw will work out? Everyone is sitting on pins

  and needles, waiting to see who our first round opponents will be.” A look of

  enthusiastic anticipation was directed toward the knowledgeable one.

  Better to shift the conversation away from Symca and the accompanying

  embarrassment to a subject that Gordo can expound upon at great length, Renaldo

  thought swiftly.

  “Oh, what a headache. Those crybaby Dutchmen insist that they should

  be seeded fourth, ahead of Italy! The Italians have already won two World Cups

  and been runners-up another time. But the Dutch feel that because they were

  finalists in Germany four years ago that they should get the seeding. It is a

  plum posting which allows the chosen team to play all its games in Mendoza.

  Mendoza will be like paradise for any team lucky enough to be based there,

  with its clean Andean air and very few distractions.”

  Another pregnant pause ensued as the ‘El Hombre Gordo’ changed plates

  for the fruit and cheese course. A sip of coffee, and on he pressed with further

  enlightenment.

  “The committee is leaning towards giving the Dutch what they want.

  Then, to keep the Italians happy, we will have to put them in Group One with

  us! That is their preference, playing Argentina instead of Holland, Germany,

  or Brazil in the first round. Hopefully, you and your new teammates will make

  them regret their decision to be grouped with Argentina!”

  One could not blame the Italians, Renaldo thought. The facts were that

  Holland, Brazil, and Germany would all be heavy tournament favorites, while

  Argentina and its reconstructed football program would almost certainly be

  taken very lightly by the foreign competitors and press. The insult did stir

  some resentment in the rookie player as the lawyer kept up his diatribe.

  16

  RENALDO

  “There is so much at stake in this draw! We would much rather have put

  Italy in Mendoza to assure high attendance figures in the provincial venues, but

  the consolation is that the Argentina-Italy game will be in Buenos Aires now.

  That game should set both attendance and television viewer records.

  “Oh, and let us not forget those other international crybabies, the

  Brazilians. We have gone out of our way to make sure that they will be pleased

  with their facilities. Their first choice for a location was Mar del Plata. So where

  do we put them? Mar del Plata! Then last month they go whining to FIFA that

  they are worried about the climate there in December. Too harsh to suit their

  refined playing style. Well, screw them! Luckily, it was the only city outside

  of the capital that had enough hotel rooms to meet their quota. So there they

  stay!

  “The organizing committee meets today at two o’clock to finalize the

  seed
ings and select which urns the other countries’ names will be put in.

  We have to mix up the strong and weak teams, as well as divide them up

  geographically. At least no one will be able to accuse the person that draws the

  names out of the urns of cheating. It is going to be Señor Havelange’s three-

  year-old grandson that will make the draw. Let the Brazilians accuse him of

  cheating! Ha! He is one of their own.”

  Renaldo was, in turn, fascinated and relieved sitting at this early morning

  feast and listening to Astor Gordero’s privileged information. He had no idea of

  the behind-the-scenes politics that went on prior to an event such as the World

  Cup. He was also happy that Symca’s name had faded from The Fat Man’s

  memory. When Gordero had consumed his fill at the table, he motioned to his

  desk on the opposite side of the room.

  “Gentlemen, shall we discuss some business?” The two waiters helped to

  pull back the oversized chair from the end of the table, allowing its occupant

  to escape and waddle slowly across the room. Once seated for a second time, he

  opened a folder and nodded to Herr Stoltz.

  “Do you mind if I don’t dress for the formal part of our meeting, Renaldo?

  I would stay in pajamas all day if I could get away with it. I find clothes so

  restricting, so hard to buy the proper coordinates, for obvious reasons. That

  Hefner man that started Playboy has the right idea. He never gets dressed, just

  lies around, smoking his pipe in silk pajamas and servicing all those gorgeous

  rabbits.”

  “I do believe they are called ‘bunnies,’ Señor Gordero,” Wolfgang Stoltz

  interjected in his precise German accent.

  “Whatever, Wolfie, but I’ll bet you they all screw like rabbits!”

  Renaldo almost broke out laughing when he heard the very proper German

  being referred to as ‘Wolfie.’ The confusion about rabbits and bunnies also put

  1

  JAMES McCREATH

  a smile on his face. The multi-paged document that Herr Stoltz handed him

  brought his train of thought back to more pressing matters.

  “What you have been handed by Herr Stoltz is a standard player-agent

  contract that I have used several times in the past. We can go over it page by

  page and clause by clause, if you like, or I can give you the most pertinent

  clauses to look at and mark right away. Needless to say, this agreement is only

  valid if you make the final cut and stay on the team. If you succeed, then certain

  bonus clauses, additional money paid to you, that is, come into effect. Up until

  the final team is announced, no funds will be advanced to you, but I retain

  the right to handle all your publicity, public appearances, media interviews,

  etcetera.”

  Gordero paused long enough to get a nod of comprehension from his

  perspective client, then continued with the contract’s summary.

  “Things will be primarily general image making at this point. I will

  not charge you for my time in this regard, as it is unlikely that there will be

  much attention focused on you as an untried rookie, at least in the early stages.

  I will handle the negotiations of your final contract fee with Octavio Suarez.

  As I mentioned, that sum is not payable until the final cut is made. Once it

  is announced that you are on the World Cup squad, my meter starts ticking.

  As your agent, I take ten percent of your gross salary. Also ten percent of any

  endorsement or public appearance fee. There is no telling the financial range

  that these items could fall into at this time. Play well for your country, and they

  could be substantial, astronomical even!

  “Now, there are also certain morals clauses that you must adhere to,

  probably similar to the regulations that you found in Suarez’s bible. Again, they

  are image makers, and I cannot stress these enough! I want you clean-shaven in

  public at all times! That should not be a problem with your background. Also,

  jacket and tie are required at all media gatherings. Thank God you went to a

  private school. Some of my football clients from the provinces didn’t even own

  a tie when I met them, let alone know how to make a knot properly.”

  Renaldo knew this point to be true, as some of his under twenty-one club

  teammates still needed his help to tie their neckties before facing the press. He

  thought of those players and what they would think of him trying out for the

  national team. Just as his mind started to wander from all the regulations and

  legal jargon, Gordero mentioned a subject that snapped the boy back to full

  attention.

  “Stay away from bars, brawling, and broads. They are all off-limits until

  next July. I have had this discussion with Señorita Carta-Aqua as well, so should

  the two of you decide to get together for an evening out, I am afraid that it will

  have to be with my approval. In any event, we are putting Symca to work as a

  goodwill ambassador for the World Cup Tournament, and she will be on the

  18

  RENALDO

  road touring almost nonstop between now and the opening game. So that is

  not a great concern to me.”

  Gordero continued to list off clauses and restrictions concerning Renaldo’s

  deportment, but the boy’s mind was now ruminating on the comment about

  Symca being on the road until June. Not wanting Gordero and his assistant to

  know how much that news had taken the wind out of his sails, he tried to nod

  approval whenever he thought it was necessary. From that comment on though,

  he really didn’t hear a word that they were saying. All that he could focus on

  was one act . . . calling her right away, tonight!

  “Well, those are the important clauses, Renaldo. Now, because of your

  age, I would not be insulted if you wished to take this agreement to a lawyer of

  your choice. Someone that you have known for a while, someone that handles

  your family business matters. It is up to you. How did your mother take to the

  news of you joining the team? Is there any input that you would like her to

  have in this regard?”

  “No, Señor Gordero, I have cut the apron strings, and I would prefer that

  none of my family advisers have any knowledge of my personal matters from

  this moment on.”

  Renaldo paused for an instant, and Gordero thought that he saw tears

  welling in the young man’s eyes.

  “I believe that I told you on the train from Córdoba of my secret pledge,

  my driving desire to do something in my dead father’s memory. You have

  opened the door for that pledge to become reality, Señor Gordero. You see,

  until I met you, I had no hope of fulfilling my pledge, certainly not at this

  point in my life. It was only in my dreams and fantasies that I was able to

  accomplish what I had hoped to do, to play for our National World Cup team

  and help win the championship for Argentina. My father was such a fan of the

  sport. It cost him his life, but he had a passion for the game that was totally out

  of character for the man. My mother used to say that he was always so logical,

  so controlled, until you put him in a soccer stadium. It is you that have given

  me the opportunity to make my pledge a reality, Señor Gordero. For that, I will

&nbs
p; be eternally grateful. I do not need to see another attorney before signing this

  agreement. As I have said, you have opened doors for me already that I never

  thought could be opened. My fate is in your hands, Señor, so if you have a pen,

  I am ready to sign!”

  19

  JAMES McCREATH

  Do it now, right now! All seven digits, 555-7399. There, OK. It’s done. It’s

  ringing, so take a deep breath and try to sound calm and cool. Three rings . . . no answer

  yet, she must be out.

  He had sat staring at the phone for over an hour. Looking, but not

  touching, as if it were a poisonous serpent.

  Believe in yourself, believe in yourself! Come on, do it! Now it was too late.

  There was no hanging up, no turning back. He half wished that the phone

  would continue to ring, that she would truly be out. At least he would have the

  consolation of knowing that he had been man enough to try and reach her. The

  sudden click of the receiver on the other end of the line startled him.

  “Ola, darlings, you have reached Simone, but I am not here to talk to

  you in person. So please leave me a brief message with your phone number

  included, and I will get back to you pronto. Stay cool, and we will chat soon.

  Ciao, darlings.”

  A damn answering machine! I hadn’t expected something like this. What do I say?

  Oh, damn it! Renaldo was frantic, totally unprepared to talk to an electronic

  device. The beeping tone of the machine came and went, and he knew that he

  had to say something that instant.

  “Hello, Simone . . . this is Renaldo De Seta speaking. We met at Señor

  Gordero’s office and had lunch together at the Jockey Club before Christmas.

  Señor Gordero delivered your card to me. That is how I received this phone

  number. If you remember who I am and would like to talk to me, my number

  is 555-2619. Thank you very much. Have a nice evening. Good-bye.”

  He replaced the receiver onto the body of the telephone and stood there in

  the living room of Casa San Marco shaking.

  Good God, how did I sound? I have never spoken to a machine before. I bet I

  sounded like a real idiot. What did I say? I bet I’ll never hear from her after that.

  Women! How can they make a man feel like a little boy? The whole thing is crazy. I

  should be thinking of nothing but football, but here I am, gaga over some woman I have