Renaldo (30 page)

Argentine people will accomplish everything asked of them off the playing

field. It is, however, what the eleven men chosen to wear our national colors

accomplish on the playing field that will ultimately determine the success or

failure of this entire undertaking. It is in that regard that I have news for you

both.

“The entire program has been in absolute chaos for over a year now.

Management has been accused of taking bribes from corporations to ensure

that certain players, who, by coincidence, happen to endorse their products,

receive a starting position on the team. Coaching and training techniques have

been at odds with our financial capabilities to support them. Several world-class

players just don’t want to play, and for the most ridiculous reasons! Worst of all,

most of our best players are still under contract to European teams that won’t

release them until the end of their current season, if at all. It is a nightmare,

worse than you could ever imagine.”

A sorrowful look of despair fell across The Fat Man’s jowly face. Then, with

perfect courtroom timing, a broad smile suddenly returned to his countenance

and the soliloquy continued.

“I do see a glimmer of hope at the end of this very dark tunnel, however.

For one thing, Octavio Suarez has agreed to take control of the entire on-field

program and he intends to clean house, bring in his own people, and start from

scratch. Everything will be his way, and only his way. No bribes, no sacred

cows, no interference. That is the only way he would agree to take the position

of manager of our national team. He has been guaranteed a substantial sum

of money by the junta to make all the training preparations he requires. First

class all the way. And Señor Havelange has agreed to turn up the heat on those

damned Europeans to let our boys come home in time to train with the team.

Then there are some particular matters of interest concerning the two of you

. . . ”

Once again, a pregnant pause for the dramatic effect. Gordero swiveled his

bulk to face Estes Santos. “Octavio Suarez has asked for you to be the national

team’s goalkeeper coach, Estes. He knows you, and is impressed with your

teaching ability and leadership skills. He wants to meet with you right away.

It will be quite a feather in your cap, Estes, especially if you can help to make

the team respectable. Championships are never won without great goalkeeping,

and besides, it will look good on your résumé. National Team and World Cup

138

RENALDO

coach. A good stepping-stone to bigger and better things to come, I am sure!

As for you, my guardian angel . . .”

He paused again, and turning slightly, fixed his gaze directly on Renaldo

this time before proceeding. The boy squirmed visibly in his chair, anticipation

written all over his face.

“You will be the new Pelé, if Octavio Suarez has his way. He has seen

you play the game. I told you that on the train from Cordoba. Remember,

‘head and feet as one?’ Those were his words, not mine. He has told me that

the team needs new blood, someone young and charismatic. An hombre gol, a

goal scorer that can bring people to their feet. Pelé did it for Brazil in his first

World Cup when he was only seventeen. You, my boy, will have a few more

years experience than the Black Pearl did when he made his debut on the world

stage. Your time is now, Renaldo! The whole country is looking for a hero.

Someone to make them forget, someone to let them dream. Octavio Suarez says

that you are that someone. I, for one, agree with him!”

Renaldo’s mouth was as dry as sandpaper, his face flushed, and the palms

of his hands clammy with sweat. He could feel the blood pounding in his

temples. It took a concerted effort for him to mumble some response.

“Señor Gordero, with all due respect, I have never even played in one

professional first division game. I am flattered by your confidence in my

abilities, but to compare me in the same breath as the great Pelé . . . I am just

a schoolboy. For me to be the savior of the National Team is, is, crazy!”

“The idea is not crazy at all, Renaldo,” Estes Santos interjected before

Gordero could make his rebuttal. “I have been your coach for a full season

now, and during my career as a premier league goalkeeper, I played both with

and against the best players this country has ever produced. I have never, in all

those years, come across a player with your natural talent, at any level! But this

goes beyond just natural ability. There is an intangible that all great athletes

have, no matter what their chosen sport. A je ne sais quoi, as the French say.

You are a leader, Renaldo. You have the ability to anticipate, and then to act.

You saved all of our lives in Cordoba by getting us out of that stadium. You

acted instinctively, and you led us to safety. The only reason you have not been

playing professional football to date is your mother’s insistence that you obtain

your high school diploma. I do not argue with that philosophy at all, but you

have achieved that goal now. What lies before you is the chance of a lifetime!

Do not turn your back on it, grab on to it and run with it. You still have to earn

a place on the team, and that will not be easy. But you have nothing to lose by

trying, and in Octavio Suarez, you have the best coach in the business. Besides,

if what Señor Gordero says is true, it looks as if I will be along for the ride, to

keep you on the straight and narrow path to glory.”

139

JAMES McCREATH

Shock and disbelief still shrouded the young man’s face as he tried to

comprehend what was happening to him. It was now Astor Gordero’s turn to

reassure his teenage guest.

“Very well said, Estes, and I must say, my sentiments exactly! Do not sell

yourself short, Renaldo. Your talent is there for everyone but yourself to see.

Believe in yourself. Do not doubt what is God-given, for it is only self-doubt

that will deprive you of greatness. I have set up a meeting for you both with

Octavio tomorrow morning at nine out at River Plate Stadium. After that,

both of your fates will be in his capable hands. Now, gentlemen, I believe that

we are keeping a very pretty, not to mention famous, young lady waiting. Let

us not extend this discourtesy any longer. We can continue our discussions over

luncheon. Shall we be off? Wolfgang, would you please inform Señorita Carta-

Aqua that we are ready for her to join us.”

The word ‘overwhelmed’ did not do justice to Renaldo’s feelings at that

moment. Did he not have enough to digest without the added discomfort of

being in the presence of the nation’s most adored and sought-after show business

personality? A poster of Symca’s scantily clad form adorned the ceiling above

his bed. He would stare for hours at the suggestive jacket covers of her albums

while he fantasized that she was singing her love songs to him alone. It was

one thing to have a dream girl, but to meet her in the flesh and act like a total

Neanderthal was another. What an imbecile she must have thought him!

The party of five was ushered to Astor Gordero’s private table in the rear

of the Jockey Club dining room. The expedition through the packed club was

equivalent to reading the who’s who of Buenos Aires. Corporate luminaries,

military officers of the highest rank, government ministers, and monied society

dandies rubbed shoulders with one another while playing the game of see and

be seen. None of them, however, could compete with the young lady that the

rotund lawyer escorted through the throng on his arm.

As the party passed through the various rooms, the diners literally froze

the instant that Symca came into view. Part of the reason was that ladies were

allowed only in the dining area of this most revered and legendary Porteño

establishment. As was so often the case, on this day, there were very few of the

gentler sex present for the noon day meal. After the initial shock of seeing such

a gorgeous celebrity in their midst, the tongues started to wag. Astor Gordero

milked the situation for all it was worth, introducing his famous guest to any

of his acquaintances whom he deemed worthy of such a reward.

At twenty-one years of age, Symca had acquired the poise and public

relations savvy that could only have been attained through a lifetime in the

entertainment business. She had been a child star in countless Argentine

movies during her adolescence, switching to television soap operas and record

production in her teens. It was said that she was one of the wealthiest women

140

RENALDO

in all of Argentina. Her public appearances and live concerts had, more often

than not, led to riots by overzealous fans. Even the strict decorum of the Jockey

Club was being strained to the limits by her presence, as the rich and powerful

craned their necks and strained to catch a glimpse of her.

The procession seemed to take forever before Renaldo was able to find

asylum in the corner seat of Gordero’s table. He hoped more than anything that

he would not make a fool of himself again. The meeting at The Fat Man’s office

had passed from his memory, replaced only by the thoughts of her beauty being

more overpowering in person than in any photograph or poster he had ever seen

of her. He barely heard Wolfgang Stoltz address him.

“So, Renaldo, are you a fan of Señorita Carta-Aqua’s?”

“Sorry? Oh, yes, most definitely! I have her entire collection of recordings.

She is the number one heart-throb at my school. Many of my friends won’t

admit to it, but we hardly ever miss her weekly television soap opera. You must

excuse me, Herr Stoltz, but I am a little overwhelmed to be in her presence.

What is Señor Gordero’s connection to her, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not at all. It is no secret. Señor Gordero is her attorney and manager. He

is also a longtime friend of her father. Señor Gordero was responsible for the

young lady entering show business when she was very young. He is, I suppose

you could say, her guardian. She is a very sweet lady, very down-to-earth. Do

not be intimidated by her. Simone is a very warm person, as I am sure you will

find out.”

Estes Santos was commenting on the young lady’s obvious beauty when

she and Gordero finally reached the table.

“Well, that was a marathon, my dear. I thought we would never make it

here. You caused quite the uproar, as usual. Now, let us turn our attention to

our raison d’être.”

He motioned to the captain standing by his side, menus at the ready.

“Filmon, bring us two bottles of Dom Pérignon right away, and drop those

menus on the table. We have cause for celebration today, and I, for one, have a

powerful hunger!”

The luncheon lasted over three hours. Most of the time was consumed

by Astor Gordero pontificating on whatever subject caught his interest at any

particular moment. Sports, politics, sex, show business, all the bases were

covered. He would, from time to time, allow each of his guests to express their

personal opinions on any given subject, after which he would control the flow of

the conversation as if he were the conductor of a great symphony orchestra.

Renaldo, for his part, had very little to say. He was more concerned about

exactly how he was going to ask Symca for her autograph before they went their

separate ways. He was totally under her spell. Her smile was unlike any he had

ever seen. Her lips were so full, her hazel eyes so deep and seductive. She wore

141

JAMES McCREATH

her auburn hair in long ringlets down past her shoulders, and as for her figure,

the skintight crimson minidress that she wore barely covered her assets. Her

voice was deep, almost husky, and many of Renaldo’s friends had commented

that it was that voice, more than any of her other attributes, that made them

crazy with macho desire.

Estes Santos was trying all his most charming lines on her, the ones that

he was too nervous to try on Gordero’s secretaries., the younger man thought.

It was when the conversation turned to the gala fundraising event to support

Argentina’s World Cup program, an event to be held at the world-famous Colon

Opera House with Symca as the star attraction, that she finally addressed the

young Porteño directly.

“If you would like to come and see my show at the gala, I can arrange

a backstage pass for you. Would you be interested in something like that,

Renaldo?” For once that day, the boy didn’t hesitate to answer.

“A backstage pass to one of your shows? There is nothing in this world that

would make me happier, Señorita.” His youthful enthusiasm caused the older

men at the table to break out in spontaneous laughter. Embarrassed, Renaldo

sank back in his chair. Symca grasped his hand and looked him directly in the

eyes.

“Don’t let these old baboons cause you any discomfort, Renaldo. If it

weren’t for people with enthusiasm like yours, I might still be in university