only spoken to once. A woman that could have any man in Argentina! Why me? I must
stop this. Call some friends, go to a movie, go for a walk. Do something!
But he did nothing. He sat and stared at the phone for another hour. It was
becoming his worst enemy, tormenting him, enslaving him. He finally grew
tired of the game and made his way to his second-floor bedroom, discarding
his clothes en-route to the double bed that would be his sanctuary. Sleep came
with surprising alacrity, for he had risen early that morning after a fitful night.
Too many things on his mind.
After what seemed like only a few moments of sleep, he became aware of
a distant ringing that seemed to persist. What was it? Why doesn’t it stop? He
sat up with a start.
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The phone! What time is it? He glanced at the bedside clock as he leapt
out of bed, then stumbled to the door and out into the hall where the damned
black tormentor continued to beckon. Three twenty-three a.m. There must have
been an accident. Someone must be hurt. Mama? Lonnie?
“Hello, hello!”
“Could I speak with Renaldo De Seta, please?” There was no mistaking
her husky voice.
“This is Renaldo speaking. Is that you, Señorita Symca?” He was out of
breath, his throat dry, and his voice hoarse.
“Yes, yes it is, Renaldo. Call me Simone. That’s what my friends call me.
Did I wake you? I am sorry to call so late, but I just arrived home from the
television studio, and I have to be back early in the morning. Well, ten o’clock.
I guess that’s not early for people who keep normal hours. Anyway, Renaldo,
can you have dinner with me tomorrow night? Nothing fancy, because I have to
go back to work again. We are taping all the remaining episodes for the season
before I go out on tour. The schedule is hell, but I would love to see you, even
for a short while. What do you think? Can you make it? Do you have other
plans?”
“If I did, Señorita, I would cancel them right away. Where and what
time?”
“Great! Let’s meet at Café Guerrin on Corrientes Avenue. It’s close to the
studio. We break for dinner at nine. Is that OK?”
“Perfect with me. Simone, I can’t believe you called. I am in shock.”
“Well, I will wear something special for you tomorrow night, to shock you
all the more. Good night, Renaldo.”
The receiver went dead, but he didn’t put it down immediately. Instead,
he held his old adversary lovingly, kissed it several times, then screamed at the
top of his lungs, “I am going to have dinner with Symca tomorrow, alone! I
can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!”
The hours passed with a mixture of anticipation and dread for Renaldo
that day. What should he wear? Would he look too much the schoolboy beside
the famous starlet? Would he act mature enough and not embarrass himself?
He spent the entire day at Casa San Marco, going over his evening
wardrobe several times, then sitting down to listen to her recordings while
staring hypnotically at the jacket covers. When time seemed to drag and
impatience got the best of him, he put himself through a rigorous workout
behind the high walls of the casa’s garden. Images of his father and brother
were constantly in his mind. Waddling like ducks, then leaping in the air as
high as they could. Froggie, froggie, froggie!
How simple life was back then. Not a care in the world. A happy family.
Now what was left? A father that was gone forever, a mother that thought her
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two sons were on the road to self-destruction, and an older brother that may
never come home again. Some family! Then Lydia flashed into his mind. She was
really the rock of the family, always steady, very constant in her temperament.
Renaldo was hopeful that she would have the strength to calm his mother
down, to make her see that her sons were not going to turn out to be vagrants
or beggars.
He was covered in perspiration when the cleaning lady came to tell him
that there was someone to see him at the front door of the casa. He grabbed a
towel, and with only his sweat shorts on, disappeared into the darkness of the
casa.
Renaldo didn’t recognize the attractive woman standing inside the
entrance foyer. As he approached her, it became evident that his scant attire
was having an unusual effect on the lady. Her eyes widened and a large smile
came to her lips. It was the same lustful leer that he had seen on Estes Santos’
face when he entered the railcar and saw the two putas aboard in Córdoba. Her
expression stopped the sweaty athlete dead in his tracks.
“My, my, you have been keeping yourself in good shape.” She was looking
him over as if he were a prize bull at Buenos Requerdos.
“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure, Señora . . .”
“Oh, believe me, the pleasure is all mine, Señor De Seta. And it is
Señorita, Señorita Adelina Viamonte. I am Octavio Suarez’s private secretary.
Very private, especially to the press. They do not know about me, about the
work I do for Octavio behind the scenes. Now, I have an envelope for you,
the contents of which are absolutely secret. You are not to discuss them with
anyone. That is why he has sent me to hand deliver them to all the prospective
players that are in the capital.”
She paused for a second, the tone of efficient authority fading from her
voice. It had dropped two octaves and was dripping with innuendo when she
spoke again.
“Well, I am sorry that I have to be on my way now. I would love to stay
and watch you work out. You have a fantastic physique.” She stepped close to
him and ran her hand lightly down his chest, stopping just above his navel.
“This job does have fringe benefits, however. I am certain that we will see
each other again. I hope that you do well with the team.” The voice changed
back to its business mode. “Now, do not leave that letter lying around. Read it,
then hide it. We will see you soon. Good-bye, and keep up the good work.”
The leer returned to her pretty face for a second before she turned and
walked through the front door.
Whoa, mammazita! She just about ate me alive. He temporarily forgot about
the envelope that he was holding as his eyes followed her out past the front
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RENALDO
gate. Her short sundress and spiked heels highlighted a set of shapely legs to
perfection.
Ola! What a set of wheels. It’s time for a cold shower!
Once she was out of sight, his thoughts returned to the contents of the
envelope. He tore it open and stood staring at a sheet of stationary embossed
with the official World Cup ‘78 logo. He read its contents silently.
‘Attention all prospective National Team Members for the World Cup
’78 Argentine squad. Your presence is required at the Velez Sarsfield Stadium
in Buenos Aires at 10:00 a.m., sharp, on Monday January fifteenth, 1978. We
will be meeting in the Governor’s Reception Lounge. Enter through east gate
number seven. Representatives will meet you there to assist with directio
ns.
Bring your official team binder if you already have one in your possession. Be
on time! The gates will be locked at 10:05 a.m. No excuses accepted.
Do not discuss these arrangements with anyone! The press is not invited to
attend this preliminary meeting. It is essential for team security and planning
that they, in particular, know nothing of this.
Viva Argentina!
Signed, Octacio Suarez’
Well, at least Suarez hasn’t forgotten me, Renaldo mused as he made his way
to the shower. He was aware of Suarez’s distrust of the working press. They
had often vilified him in their papers and television commentaries. Secrecy had
become a well-known obsession with the National Team manager, who operated
with only a few close associates. The aspiring player wondered what Señorita
Viamonte had done to endear herself to him. It wasn’t hard to imagine.
Renaldo was half an hour early for his evening rendezvous. His purpose
was to carefully select a table that afforded the maximum amount of privacy. A
small booth with a banquette and two chairs suited his requirements. He tipped
his waiter in advance to be on the lookout for a specific celebrity who might be
joining him and to keep this information confidential. A look of disdain told
the nervous patron that the server found it hard to believe a national treasure
such as Symca would have nothing better to do on her break than join him. He
ordered a Coca-Cola, sat back in the booth, and tried to relax. Three cokes later
and it was almost ten o’clock. No Symca. Each time the waiter passed he would
flash a sarcastic smile Renaldo’s way.
I shouldn’t have said anything to that bastard. If she doesn’t show, I will ask him
for my money back.
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JAMES McCREATH
At around ten-thirty the noise level in the busy café suddenly diminished
to almost total silence. Wondering what had happened, Renaldo pulled himself
up, out of the banquette, and stood in full view at the front of his booth. She
was standing just inside the front entrance, and even with a scarf over her
hair and dark glasses on, there was no mistaking this lady. There was also no
mistaking the two behemoths that stood on either side of her. Bodyguards!
Oh, God! Were they going to occupy the other two seats at the table? It would be
like having dinner with two gorillas watching! The disappointed suitor envisioned
the scene.
The maître d’ had started to lead the three new arrivals to a table in the
opposite direction from where Renaldo was standing when he noticed his waiter
run up and whisper something in his superior’s ear. The maître d’ stopped
immediately and looked directly at Renaldo, who was being pointed out by
the now-beaming waiter. A chance to serve the fabulous Symca had made his
aloofness disappear. Her eyes followed the waiter’s arm and she was at Renaldo’s
side before the rest of the group had moved a foot.
“Renaldo, I am so sorry to be this late. The shooting went overtime. I was
afraid that you would leave, thinking that I had stood you up.”
She took his hand and kissed him on both cheeks as if they had been
friends for years. Simone had been right. Her outfit was amazing. A black
leather miniskirt, black fishnet stockings, black stiletto pumps, and a black,
rhinestone-infested halter top, with clearly no bra underneath.
“Dynamite!” was the only way he could respond. She laughed in her deep,
throaty way. It seemed to set him at ease. By now, the four men that she had
left at the door were at her side.
“Would the Señorita care to change tables to your usual location?” the
maitre d’ inquired.
“I usually call ahead for a table that is out of the way before I come here.
I also need a table for the boys that is close by, in case some fan gets a little too
enthusiastic. The one you selected seems just fine, though. No Ramon, we will
stay right here. The boys can take that table over there. Is that alright?”
“As you please, Señorita. Enjoy your meal.”
They were seated side-by-side on the banquette in an instant. The now-
attentive waiter asked the lady if she desired anything right away.
“I need some cold white wine and a salad. How about you, Renaldo? You
must want something more substantial than a salad. It’s OK. Their steaks are
very good here.”
“Alright then, bring me a vacio jugoso and a glass of domestic red wine.”
“A glass of Pouilly Fusée for me, please, and you can bring the wine right
away,” she smiled at the waiter.
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They were tucked away, out of view from all but two tables, one of which
was occupied by her burly employees. Their unwelcoming stares kept any
would-be autograph seekers at bay. Symca, finally feeling relaxed enough, took
off her dark glasses and let her hair free of the confining black kerchief. The
auburn ringlets fell to the point where her halter top met the bare flesh of her
upper breast. Renaldo was, once again, captivated by her beauty, but he was
determined not to be a mute for the rest of the evening.
“You must be exhausted with the hours you are keeping. Tell me exactly
what is going on in your life right now.” He was proud of himself for starting
off the conversation.
She took his lead and ran with it. The next twenty minutes were taken up
discussing her hectic schedule. By the time her salad and his rare porterhouse
steak arrived, accompanied by a second glass of wine for each of them, Renaldo
felt not only very informed, but very relaxed in her presence.
“Do you like my outfit? I picked it out especially with you in mind. I
would love to wear this out to the clubs, dancing with you, but it can’t be
tonight. Between the studio’s schedule and Astor’s insistence that I become the
goodwill ambassador for World Cup ‘78, it doesn’t look like we will be able to
have much time together. As soon as we finish the last episode of the TV show,
I head to all the venues that are holding World Cup games: Mar Del Plata,
Rosario, Córdoba, and Mendoza. Promotional appearances and concerts in each
city. Then it is back to the capital for rehearsals for the World Cup Gala at
Teatro Colon on the twelfth. Do you still have the backstage pass I sent you?
Now that is one night we might be able to go out dancing!” Simone touched his
hand, stroking it ever so gently as she beamed with optimistic enthusiasm.
“Right after the show, come to my dressing room. Astor usually parades
his special guests in to see me after an event such as this, but with any luck,
I can feign illness and get out of there in a hurry. So you won’t forget, will
you?”
She was being so sweet to him, so attentive. It was as if they had been
lifelong friends or even lovers. What she saw in him, he still could not figure
out, but he was now beyond questioning the whys and the wherefores. The fact
was that he, Renaldo De Seta, was sitting next to the famous Symca, and no
other man in Argentina mattered to her at this moment.
All too soon one of her escorts came to the table to humbly interrupt their
tête-à-tête.
“I am sorry, Señorita, but the director gave us strict orders to have you
back at midnight. It could mean our jobs if we fail to heed his bidding.”
“I understand, Carlo. There is no end to this business. I want you to
meet my friend, Renaldo De Seta. He is going to be on our World Cup soccer
team.”
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Renaldo took the man’s large hand and noticed the puzzled look on his
face. The protector was obviously a soccer enthusiast, and one that had definitely
never heard of a player named ‘Renaldo De Whatever’ on any team, let alone
the National World Cup team. Carlo was polite enough to wish Renaldo good
luck in front of Symca, then he withdrew so that the two new friends could say
their good-byes.
“Oh, I wish we had more time. I’ve been doing all the talking and there
is so much about you, and what is happening with the team that I really want
know. Can I call you if I get a minute? It might be late at night. Is that
all right?” She smiled sadly at the thought of their forced estrangement, then
gently took his hand in hers.
“Don’t worry, Simone. You can call me anytime. I have been fascinated by
your stories. Nothing at all has happened with the World Cup team yet, and
besides, I have been sworn to secrecy by Octavio Suarez, the team manager.
Are you going to watch the draw on television this Sunday? It will answer a lot
of questions for everyone. Señor Gordero said that we will probably have Italy
in our group for the first round. Oh, yes, there is one piece of news you should
know. I signed on the other day as one of Señor Gordero’s clients. He is willing
to handle the business affairs relating to my football career. What do you think
about that?”
The shadow that fell across the table prompted him to remove his eyes
from hers for an instant. The two bodyguards were now standing directly
opposite them, clearly in a state of agitation.
“Señorita, please. We must . . . ”
“Yes, boys, yes, right now! I will stay in touch with you, my darling
Renaldo. I like spending time with you. You are so unlike any of the others.”
She tightened her grip on his hand and leaned over to him quickly. Her
lips pressed against his ever so softly at first, then suddenly with more pressure
and explosive passion. He tried to reciprocate by leaning the full force of his
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