Renaldo could not help but laugh at his outrageous companion. If, in fact,
he did end up in London, life would certainly never be boring, not with Ramon
Vida living under the same roof.
“I haven’t made up my mind about going to England yet, Ramon.
Everything has happened so quickly, I just don’t want to act without thinking
things through.”
Vida simply shook his head in dismay.
“Well, you’re fucking loco if you stay around here. For the kind of money
they want to pay us, not to mention the experience of a lifetime, why on earth
would you pass that all up?”
Renaldo wanted to blurt out Simone’s name as his reason, for that was the
answer his heart was screaming. But his mind was beginning to realize that
Simone had been serious about leaving Argentina and about the dangers of
staying in such an unstable environment.
He was unable to answer his friend’s question. All that he could do now
was to meet with the English and hope that they would make the decision
easier for him, one way or another.
The table was the exact same one where he had first dined with Simone
more than six months earlier. The memories of that unbelievable afternoon at
the Jockey Club flooded back into Renaldo’s mind. Now the same maitre d’
led the two new arrivals through the packed dining room to Astor Gordero’s
preferred place of business.
While the patrons were impeccably dressed as usual, there was an air of
spontaneous mischief about the private club, similar to the one that was so
prevalent out on the streets. These affluent Porteños had every bit as much right
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to celebrate as their less well-off brothers and sisters, the only difference being
their choice of location and the vintage of the liquid refreshment consumed.
The two football players had not made it halfway through the
establishment when someone recognized them and called out their names.
Even though both men were dressed in business suits instead of the number
one dress of the National Team, there was no mistaking either of these two
figures, so thoroughly had their likenesses been plastered over every newspaper
and television screen the past few weeks. The diners seemed to rise as one,
cheering, applauding, and straining for a better view of the ‘dynamic duo,’ as
they had unimaginatively been coined in the press.
Astor Gordero and his guests were standing and had joined in the
unrehearsed greeting. A phalanx of waiters gathered around Gordero’s table,
acting as a buffer against any overenthusiastic patrons who might just forget
their manners and break the cardinal rule of this members’ only club: ‘privacy
and discretion at all times!’
Ramon and Renaldo had acknowledged the accolades with smiles and
waves before reaching their final destination, and that seemed to satisfy
the masses. There would be no unbecoming behavior and no bothersome
interruptions from that point on.
Introductions were made by the great facilitator himself. Renaldo had
been so caught up in yesterday’s ‘affairs,’ that he had forgotten that one of the
people he was dining with was a woman. A stunningly beautiful woman at
that.
He could only mutter a feeble “hello” using his rusty English. It wasn’t
that he had forgotten the language, it was more the effect of the strange feeling
swirling inside his head. He had been here before with a similar group of
people, several men and a beautiful lady.
Is this deja vu? Is this what I am experiencing?
But there was more! His heart was pounding, just like the first time
he had beheld Simone. Now, the way the seating had been arranged, he was
deemed to sit next to this exotic blonde creature. A natural blonde, of course,
not the beauty salon type found locally. Those women changed their shade like
chameleons. This species was pure and untainted.
He couldn’t even remember her name after being introduced, so debilitating
was the spell she had cast upon him. He managed to take his seat finally, but
he was unable to comprehend any of the niceties flying around the table until
the Venus spoke to him directly.
“Are you alright, Renaldo? You seem a bit disoriented. Are you feeling
ill? Heaven knows that you have probably done a lifetime of celebrating in the
last few hours.”
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He could not speak. All he could do was gaze into her eyes. If her physical
appearance had been disarming, then her voice . . . her voice with that accent.
That was the thing that rendered him totally inanimate.
He had never in his life heard any sound so sweet. Even his English
grandmother did not possess such a melodious way of speaking. Years in
Argentina had diluted the pureness of her English resonance. This sound, the
sound of Mallory Russell’s voice, had the effect of a snake charmer’s flute, and
Renaldo De Seta was her hypnotized cobra.
“Waiter, a glass of water for Señor De Seta, quickly, please.”
Even though the English beauty spoke in her native tongue, a glass of
sparking ice water appeared in seconds.
“Take a drink, Renaldo. Do you wish to postpone our meeting until later
in the day?” Again he was mute, able only to hang on her every syllable and hope
that she would continue to speak to him with that wondrous air. It was Ramon
Vida’s crass whisper in Spanish that crash-landed his floating thoughts.
“Hey, man, what the fuck’s the matter with you? The lady is talking right
to you, and you sit there like your mind has turned to shit. Wake up or you’ll
blow this deal for both of us!” Renaldo shook his head and took a sip of the ice
water.
“I’m terribly sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I didn’t get much
sleep last night, and I guess I am a bit overwhelmed by everything that has
happened.”
“That’s alright, young man. You have every right to be overwhelmed.
For that matter, it would not be exaggerating to say that Mallory and I were
overwhelmed by the performances that you and Señor Vida put on at River
Plate yesterday. Don’t give it a second thought.” Reggie Russell smiled a fatherly
smile as Renaldo focused in on the Englishman for the first time.
Funny hair, has to be a wig! the younger man thought.
“Thank you, sir. Your compliment is very gracious.”
Renaldo had responded in English, which would become the language of
choice at the table from that point on. Wolfgang Stoltz sat to Ramon Vida’s left
and acted as his translator for the balance of the meeting.
Astor Gordero had fallen abruptly silent after his opening salutations. Did
Renaldo know about Lonnie’s now-confirmed demise? Was he about to expose this dark
secret? Everything would be lost if that were the case.
“What on earth is wrong with the boy, Wolfie? I have never seen him in
such a state,” an anxious Gordero finally asked his assistant. Stoltz’s two-word
reply put everything in perspective.
“The Lady!”
Now, reassured by this enlightenment and his client’s verbal
pronouncement,
the host launched into a long-winded analysis of the championship game. That
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suited Renaldo perfectly, for it gave him the time he needed to collect his
thoughts and focus on the business at hand. It was an impatient Reginald
Russell that interrupted the corpulent lawyer to address the two younger
gentlemen.
“Yes, yes, Señor Gordero, your team did perform magnificently yesterday,
but I imagine that the young gentlemen would prefer that we get directly to
the point of this luncheon. Shall we then?”
Gordero was a man not accustomed to being interrupted, but he did find
one redeeming point in this inexcusable affront.
“By all means, Lord Russell. But you did mention the word luncheon, so
I suggest that we order first, then continue on with business. By now you know
that I have my little quirks about me, Sir, such as never discussing financial
matters on an empty stomach. Filmon, we will order at once!”
The captain was at The Fat Man’s side in the blink of an eye, while Sir
Reggie sat back in his chair, full of barely contained disgust. One could almost
see the steam emitting from the Englishman’s ears.
Go ahead, you fat bag of dung, stuff some more groceries down your oversized
gullet. Go on, do me a favor . . . eat until you explode, he smoldered silently.
“Right, shall we get on with it then?” Lord Russell was quick to pick up
the ball as soon as the host had finished relaying his extensive gastronomic
wish list.
“Certainly, my Lord. Now I will be able to concentrate to the best of
my ability.” Gordero’s smile was self-indulgent. “As I told you previously, Lord
Russell, both of these gentlemen have received a copy of your signed contract
stating the terms and conditions of their proposed employment with the Canary
Wharf Football Club. As I now represent both Renaldo and Ramon in the
capacity of agent and attorney, I have been in a position to hold preliminary
meetings with them individually to explain the contractual details. I must add,
however, that there have been more pressing matters to attend to of late, but
now that the tournament has drawn to a successful conclusion, we are able to
turn our full attention to the future.” Gordero paused to catch his breath before
continuing.
“While the terms of both players’ contracts are identical, it is, of course,
up to each individual gentleman to decide if those terms are acceptable, and for
that matter, whether or not he chooses to go to England at all.”
There was an aloof matter-of-factness to the facilitator’s last statement
that brought Reggie Russell back to the point of boiling over, but one glance
at Mallory’s icy gaze convinced him to bite his lip one more time.
“I have received no final instructions from either Renaldo or Ramon due
to circumstances beyond our control, and the purpose of this meeting was
really for them to meet face-to-face with you and your daughter. I am sure they
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JAMES McCREATH
have questions to ask you, for it is a drastic change in lifestyles that they are
contemplating. Why don’t we turn the table over to them, and you can speak
to their queries directly? Ramon, why don’t you go first? Do you have anything
you would like to ask Lord and Lady Russell about your playing for the Canary
Wharf Football Club in England?”
Wolfgang Stoltz finished translating his employer’s words for the Argentine
striker, then sat ready to relate his response. Surprisingly, the Boy from Boca
replied in fractured English.
“No, I have no . . . question?”
He turned to Stoltz and spoke rapidly in his native tongue. Stoltz nodded
his head in affirmation to the several inquiries Ramon was obviously making.
Satisfied with the answers that the German had given him, Astor Gordero’s
newest client looked directly at Mallory.
“OK, I go play football. In England. Nice women!”
Ramon’s fragmented acceptance and compliment caught everyone at the
table off-guard. Mallory Russell, far from being insulted, laughed graciously
and extended a hand for the swashbuckling Latin to shake. Ramon grasped
the delicate object rising to his feet, bent forward from the waist, and kissed it
with a flourish. His contract, for all intents and purposes, was signed, sealed,
and delivered. Laughter and a congratulatory round of applause greeted Canary
Wharf’s newest transfer as he returned to his seat.
It was Lady Russell that continued on with the negotiations. “And how
about you, Renaldo? How do you feel about joining your friend in England?
The two of you working your magic together in our first division would make
a sight to behold. We have big plans for the Canary Wharf Football Club. Our
stadium is under construction at this very moment. When finished, it will be
one of the finest facilities in all of England! We want to field a team that will
pack the grandstands by offering exciting offensive football. You and Ramon
are exactly the players that can do that for us.”
Mallory paused to see if she could read the young man’s eyes for an
indication of how hard a sell this was going to be. He was certainly transfixed
on her every word, but she could decipher no clues as to his thoughts. She
pressed on.
“Our ultimate goal goes far beyond just competing well in our newly
promoted surroundings. We want to win the league championship, and of
course, even the FA Cup is possible. But our ultimate goal is to be the champions
of Europe. To win the European Cup as the premier club-side on the continent
is the one feat that the Canaries have never achieved in their existence. That is
our true goal, and you two gentlemen can help us to accomplish it!”
“An envious, but difficult goal to achieve, Lady Russell!” Wolfgang Stoltz
made his first direct statement of the day to the gathering.
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“Winning the first division championship in your own country will be
a tremendous accomplishment in itself, something a newly promoted second
division club has never done before, if I am correct. But to challenge the great
teams of Europe such as Real Madrid, Athletico of Milan, and Bayern Munich?
Well, do you not think that you are putting an unrealistic amount of pressure
on these young gentlemen?”
Lord Russell was quick to respond to the arrogant German. “Herr Stoltz,
it would seem that we have more faith in your homegrown talent than you do.
What these ‘young gentlemen’ give us is an element of surprise. If we mold our
team around their playing style, our English competition, frankly won’t know
how to react. Each and every one of them plays the same monotonous long
ball game. There is little or no innovation, and the only thing that changes
are the names of the players. We have missed two bloody World Cups because
of this constipated philosophy, and Mallory and I want to show the Football
Association that they need to adjust their tactics or remain perennial also-
rans!”
“What about Liverpool’s recent successes abroad? Have they not
won the
last two European Cups, the second less than a month ago?” responded Astor
Gordero.
“True enough, Señor, but realistically, the team they beat, Brugges of
Belgium, was not a great side. Add to that the fact that this year’s competition
was watered down considerably. Many of the club sides in the running were
forced to give up their best players to their national teams competing in this
tournament. The final game was also played in England, right at Wembley
Stadium, of all places. It was basically a home fixture for the Reds. The truth
of the matter is that those Mersey-Men should have won by four or five goals
instead of just one!”
Lord Russell took a large gulp of the neat Scotch that he had hardly
touched since the meeting began. The point of all this mindless babble was
drifting away from his central theme, and he wanted to get the golden ball into
his closet and be done with this whole business.
“No, gentlemen, we do not intend to put unbearable pressure on your
players. That would drive them back across the Atlantic faster than any of us
want. It will take time to build a team that is compatible with the new tactics
we plan to adopt. The first season will be a learning experience for everyone.
But, by the start of the second campaign, if things work out the way Mallory
and I hope they will . . . well, Señor Gordero, by that time, with a lot of hard
work and a bit of luck, all of us should be headed to the continent to take on
Herr Stoltz’s ‘great teams of Europe.’”
The contempt directed at Gordero’s assistant was thinly veiled. Stoltz
pretended to ignore the comment and continued his translation for Ramon
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Vida, but the German was seething with indignation internally. Patience had
always been one of Wolfgang Stoltz’s strongest attributes however, and he would
be careful to choose the perfect opportunity to put this self-righteous weakling
in his place.
Renaldo had listened politely to the verbal jousting going on around him
without paying any of it much heed. He wanted the English lady to talk to
him again, to personally reassure him that she would be accessible if he were to
travel to England. That her warmth and charm were not just an act to lure him
from Argentina. That her sparkling smile and incredible voice would rekindle
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