Renaldo

by James McCreath

  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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  JAMES McCREATH

  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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  JAMES McCREATH

  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