Renaldo (107 page)

JAMES McCREATH

“I would like to add just one more thing, if I may, Señor Presidente. This

group of men on the stage here tonight have accomplished a feat that only a

few weeks ago, the international soccer community, and even many in this

room, felt was an impossible task. Señors and Señoras, these men standing

before you have overcome more obstacles than you will ever know to reach the

heights of Olympus. I must tell you all that there will never again be a group of

individuals to wear our national colors with their heart and character.”

There was a fierce pride resonating from Suarez’s voice now. Those in the

grand room who had not been privy to the man’s passion were startled by

the change in intensity from his written script. He turned to face them as he

addressed his charges for the final time.

“Señors, you are the best in the world tonight, and no one can ever demean

or diminish your accomplishments. God bless each and every one of you! Now,

go and have some fun. There will be no curfew or bed check tonight! Viva

Argentina!”

There was not a dry eye to be found standing on that stage as manager

Suarez worked his way down the line of players, embracing each man in turn.

The orchestra leader, picking up on the emotionally charged moment, lead his

musicians in a spontaneous rendition of “Auld Lang Syne.”

The entire ballroom stood in heart-tugging silence, reflecting on the

magnitude of what they were witnessing.

Never again would this same group of champions be together as a unit,

either on a stage or on a football pitch. The changes in their young lives from

this day forth would be far-reaching, and in some cases, instantaneous.

This was truly a moment for all those present to savor, to cherish for the

rest of their lives as the unsurpassed pinnacle in Argentina’s history.

With the dawn, these young men would go their separate ways, and the

quest to remain champions of the world would inevitably begin. But for these

few sublime moments, time seemed to stand still for all those lucky enough to

be in attendance at the grand ballroom in the Hotel Presidente.

Once the formal ceremonies and speeches had concluded, it was time for

everyone to let their collective hair down. The orchestra picked up the tempo

considerably, mixing the latest pop tunes with the more traditional favorites.

The National Team players were now free to mingle with the chosen

guests and partake of the festivities that they, themselves, were responsible

for creating. Estes Santos had not been exaggerating in his estimation of the

quantity of female companions available for the pleasure of the guests of honor.

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The task of finding the lovely things had been turned over to Astor Gordero,

who had played a large role in planning the tournament ending fête for the

Organizing Committee. Wolfgang Stoltz had personally handpicked over one

hundred of the most attractive and exotic single ladies from all regions of the

country. They included everything from debutantes to call girls, the latter’s

services for the evening being prepaid by A.R. Gordero and Sons to avoid any

scandalous connection with the official organizers.

Each team member was a highly sought-after commodity, and all were

constantly encouraged to join various tables of dignitaries for rounds of

drinks and commemorative photographs. The mood of giddy excitement did

not extend to Renaldo De Seta, however. He observed both Estes Santos and

Ramon Vida squiring a bevy of young ‘hostesses’ from table to table, while

he himself politely declined all offers of female companionship. There was

only one lady that the young star had eyes for, but to his dismay, Simone had

disappeared after leaving the stage. The only reason Renaldo put up with the

pawing, pandering crowd of drunks was to locate the object of his desire. His

frustration was growing by the minute when a familiar large figure summoned

the boy to his side.

“So, Renaldo, how goes the battle? Are you enjoying yourself this evening?

Quite a little party isn’t it?”

The Fat Man was obviously enjoying himself, for his speech was slightly

slurred, and there was a touch of imbalance to his portly waddle. He placed a

heavy arm around his client’s shoulder as he spoke. Renaldo could not help but

notice that the champagne had given his breath an alcoholic bouquet.

“Yes, Señor Gordero, it is a great tribute to the National Team. But have

you seen Simone lately? I was hoping that she would stay for at least some of

the party.”

“Oh, she is here, my young friend, but first, let me remind you of some

pending business. You haven’t forgotten that we have a luncheon appointment

tomorrow, have you? One o’clock sharp at the Jockey Club! The English are

extremely anxious to meet with ‘Renaldo and Ramon.’ I expect you to make

sure that he arrives on time and with a clear head. By the look of things, he may

have a little trouble extracting himself from tonight’s commitments. But I am

sure that you can have him focused on business by noon tomorrow. My car will

be at the front door of the hotel for you at twelve forty-five. Don’t be late. The

English have a thing about punctuality!”

Ramon Vida was clearly enjoying himself in the company of several

stunning beauties. His National Team tie had long since been discarded, and

he sat mixing long swigs directly from his personal bottle of Dom Pérignon

with lusty gropes and kisses. A few of the more amorous ladies had unbuttoned

his shirt almost to his belt buckle and were fondling and nibbling on his chest

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and nipples. All sense of decorum and propriety had disappeared with manager

Suarez’s order to “go and have some fun.”

“It would seem that I should have a few words with Señor Vida myself

before he starts using that table as his personal casting couch. It would reflect

on me personally if a client of mine became too exuberant in his celebrations.

We can’t have that in the midst a public gathering. I will remind Ramon of our

meeting tomorrow, but I am depending on you, Renaldo, to make sure that he

arrives with all his faculties functioning.”

The agent knew perfectly well that he could count on his conscientious

client to show up with Vida in tow, but more than anything, he was enjoying

the game of cat and mouse that was obviously driving Renaldo to distraction.

The anxious look on the player’s face made it crystal clear that Simone was his

only thought, and her whereabouts the only thing in this world that mattered

to him right now. It was almost painful to look at the boy.

The image of young love suddenly and unexpectedly vanished from the

agent’s mind as the question of Lonnie De Seta’s fate surfaced. It was the first

time in hours that The Fat Man had conjured up that nasty business. If things

had gone according to plan, there would be one less De Seta to contend with.

Poor Renaldo. To lose a brother was a terrible thing.

Well, I will know about Lonnie’s situation soon enough. Right now, it’s Viva

Argentina time!
he rationalized, turning away from his audience. “Good night,

Renaldo. Don’t party too hard. I will see you in the morning.”

“Señor, please, one moment. What news do you have of Simone? Where

can I find her?” The urgent, almost tragic tone of the question brought a broad

grin to the agent’s round face.

“Oh yes, Simone! I almost forgot. Here, she told me to give you this.”

Gordero pulled a metal fob with a key attached from his jacket pocket, then

entrusted it into the footballer’s hand. Renaldo held it ever so delicately while

reading the inscription.

‘Hotel Presidente, Ambassador’s suite,’ read the engraved black script

on the gold metal. The boy raised his head and looked at his mentor with a

puzzled expression. The agent’s response was fatherly in tone.

“My, my, we will have to teach you the ways of the world, won’t we? Go,

go to her! That is her suite tonight. She is waiting for you there now. Take the

service elevator by the kitchen where you came in. That way, no one will bother

you. The suite is on the seventh floor. Seven! A lucky number, so they say!

Good night, my dear boy. I will see you tomorrow at one o’clock sharp.”

Renaldo stood glued to the spot where he stood. His knees felt weak and

the key almost slipped from his grasp, so sweat covered had his palms suddenly

become. He watched the drunk facilitator stumble over to Vida’s table, then

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glanced down at the key to paradise. As much as he had fantasized about this

moment, he was now trembling with outright fear.

Simone, Ambassador’s Suite, service elevator.
The words kept repeating

themselves over and over again in his mind. It was only the intrusion of an

intoxicated army officer seeking the scoring sensation’s autograph that snapped

Renaldo out of his daze.

The player obliged the military man’s request, declined an invitation to

have a drink with the officer and his cohorts, then excused himself as politely

as possible. Making it to the stage door was no easy task, as more would-be

friends and souvenir hunters descended upon the boy at every turn.

Finally, he was clear of the mob and through the entrance to the service

area. A startled, awe-struck waiter gave Argentina’s newest hero directions

to the service elevators, then offered to show Renaldo the way personally in

exchange for an autograph. The player figured that a uniformed escort may

just fend off other unwanted annoyances, so he readily accepted the employee’s

help. In little over two minutes’ time, Renaldo De Seta was standing outside

the door of the Ambassador’s Suite, his heart pounding and his head spinning

in anticipation of the treasures that lay behind that mystic portal.

He had been rendered physically incapable of using the key, and it seemed

an eternity before his knock was answered. When she finally stood before

him, he thought that he would faint. He could not move, only stare in silent

apprehension and appreciation.

She was attired in a pink chiffon floor-length wrap, which was gathered at

one shoulder and held in place by a golden clasp. Its semi-opaque material was

meant to tease the beholder, but Renaldo’s searching eyes were able to detect

a cornucopia of feminine delights beneath the flowing mantle. Her matching

pink stiletto pumps gave her added stature and allure.

Simone gently grasped her visitor’s hand and pulled him into her private

world. Not a word was spoken as their lips met in the most delicate of kisses.

The boy had never tasted anything so sweet. Tenderness escalated into passion

the longer their lips held the embrace, but before things could get out of hand,

Simone gently freed herself from his arms.

“I am so glad you came to me, Renaldo. You don’t know how I have

longed for this night. Come, let’s have a drink and get comfortable.”

It was true. She had waited for this moment, and there was no way that

she was going to rush things. She was in control, and she would set the tempo.

Her finishing school for young boys was about to commence.

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Renaldo followed her to the living room couch without saying a word.

Simone’s image flickered in the glow of countless lit candles as she walked. A

grand piano adorned one corner of the suite’s main salon, while a fully stocked

bar enhanced another. Simone had thought of everything.

The stereo softly spun the familiar melodies of the Frank Sinatra-Antonio

Carlos Jobim album that the boy loved so much, and beside the couch sat a

beautiful Martin acoustic guitar. The drapes had been drawn to shut out the

ongoing celebration that continued noisily on the streets seven stories below

them. The mood that the singer had set was perfect. Perfect for love!

“What shall we have to drink? I’ve opened a bottle of champagne, but

there is anything you could ever imagine here.”

Renaldo could only drink in her beauty, nothing else. Her long brown curls