Chapter Eight
The weekend passes by in a blur. Once again, there is areason why Chloe Ann can’t come see me, and this timeI am not afraid to question it. But I am met withresistance from Isabel and excuses. Apparently she hadtold me a long time ago that she wanted to bring ChloeAnn to a waterpark before the summer was over, andthat in this heat it was barbaric to deny her theopportunity to cool down.
I don’t like it. In fact, I hate it with every part ofme. I feel like this is the beginning of the very slowprocess of annihilation. But my protests go unnoticed,and I spend the weekend with Vera, trying to get throughit with a whirl of heat, haze, and alcohol.
We are afraid to leave the apartment, so we don’t.It’s prison time again but this time I really do know it’sfor the better. I just know that Mr. Cruz will be outside,waiting for me, waiting for another attempt, and I knowthat other reporters will have joined in as well. It’s a bigstory, big enough now that it makes the Sunday editionof El País.
There’s my angry face, there’s the accusations.You’d think I would be used to this, but I’m not. I hadonly made Spain’s main newspaper years ago when Iwas back on Atlético. To be featured again, as myselfand not a player, is a big deal. It pains me to think thateveryone across the country—from my parents to myrelatives to my sister, to chumps like Bon and old friendsof Isabel’s and the people I went to Las Palabras with—they are reading this and shaking their heads, wonderingwhat is happening to me, where I went wrong. I ditch mywife, take on a younger girlfriend, rejoin Atlético, puncha photographer. It’s forever one step forwards, two stepbackwards. Give and take. The equilibrium of thecosmos.
The worst comes around on Monday morning whenI realize I have to leave my apartment to go to work, andonce I am at work I will have to face the wrath of thereputation-conscious Pedro.
I get down to the parking garage without incident,but once I pull my car out and onto the street, I can seethe crowd of reporters gathering. Some of them startrunning toward me, flashing their cameras, and it takes alot to maintain composure, to make sure I’m not hittinganyone as I press down on the gas and drive. You wouldthink there are more important things going on in thiscrazy, upside down world of ours, but apparently nottoday. Today it’s all about picking on those who don’tget their chance to share their side of the story.
Easy targets.
When I get to the stadium, I feel the eyes ofeveryone burning into me. I can’t even smile at them,pretend to be this jovial guy who is just misunderstood. Ican’t even pretend to be me. I look down, my feet on mywingtips, my expression closed-off and neutral. I don’twant them to see any part of me.
My office isn’t empty. Warren is standing at hisdesk, pinning something on the wall. He can’t be thatyoung anymore, but with his blonde shaved head, wildeyes, and wiry limbs, he could pass for someone in histwenties. When I step in, he pivots toward me, lookingboth concerned and extremely impressed.
“Way to go,” he says, and he says it in such a waythat it takes me a moment to realize he is completelygenuine.
“What?” I ask in English as I take my seat andswivel my chair around to face him.
“I hate that bloody fuck,” he says. “Do you notremember the time that I got in a brawl with Sebastian?Real Madrid? I was in Arsenal? That fucking wankerphotographed the whole thing.”
“Carlos Cruz?” I ask, now remembering the timethat Warren got in a fight with one of the leftfielders forReal Madrid. This was a long time ago, but most of thefootball fights stuck out in my head, mainly because youalways knew what started it or who provoked it.
He nods. “Yeah. He was the one who took thepictures outside of the nightclub. Anyway, I’m justsaying, he’s a douche and I’m happy you punched hisfucking face in. Especially you, Mateo.”
“Why especially me?”
“Because I’ve been waiting for you to go a bit mad,if you don’t mind me saying.”
I frown at him. “You have?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Old boy, I’ve been inyour shoes. Not quite, but close. I left my ex-wife, too.Not for someone a lot younger, but someone a lot better.My life was a mess for a long time, and so was Sheila’s.She’s, you know, the new wife. The only wife. We’restill together, you know, despite what all those fucksthought.”
“I see.”
“I’m just saying, I know what it’s like. It’s tough towrong someone, and it’s tough to be the one wrongingthem. But I don’t regret it for a second. Neither doesSheila. I can’t imagine life without her, so it makes all the bloody bullshit we went through worth it. In fact,” he pauses to scratch the golden stubble on his chin, “I think we needed to go through all the shit in order to prove to ourselves—and to the world—that we could handle it, that we were meant for each other. Time went on, as it does, and sooner or later people forgot. Once we got married, my ex eventually found someone else and remarried. My family understood it was serious. Took them bloody long enough, but there you have it. It was worth it.”
I am feeling decidedly guilty about Warren now. Not that it was my decision to possibly let him go—that was all Pedro—but the chance of him leaving soon is high, and I’m only now really starting to like him.
He gives me a crooked smile that hides his crooked teeth. “If I can give you advice . . . well, it’s not really advice because I fucking don’t know much. But whatever you and, Vera, is it? Whatever you have, hang on to it. I know you already know that, I can tell just by looking at you, but what I mean is, you’re going to be each other’s infinity for a long time. The only rowboat in the storm or whatever bloody anthology—sorry, analogy—there is. But it’s just going to be you and her because everyone else is going to pretend that they don’t understand.” He leans in and winks at me. “Here’s the kicker. They do understand. But they don’t want to. To understand, they fear, is to become. And they would rather someone else take the heat than them. They stay safe. You stay wild. But in the end, you’re happy and you’re free, because you did what you knew you had to. Just hang on to her and know that even if it’s just the two of you for a while, if it’s meant to be, the two of you is really all you need.”
He pauses before going to sit down at his desk. “As long as the sex is good, anyway. If it’s not, then I don’t think anything can help you.”
I almost assure him that the sex is more than good, but I have the impression that he knows anyway.
I’m impressed by Warren, and his insight leaves me feeling slightly optimistic. Maybe it’s okay if the world is boiled down to just Vera and I. As long as we don’t let go of one another, as long as we can work together, as long as the rest of the world, one day, promises to catch up.
My optimism leaves me, though, the minute I get a call from Pedro.
He wants to meet me in his office. Immediately.
I get up and am about to leave when Warren wishes me good luck. Funny thing is, he means it, just as he means everything he said before. I’m not sure what Pedro has in mind for me now, but the fact is I took away Warren’s potential career, and I might be taking away his current job, and yet the man doesn’t seem to hold any grudges. That fact gives me the smallest bit of courage as I make my way through the halls to see my boss.
He’s waiting at his Lucite desk, his office all white sterility. There are no cigars this time, only his long stern face to take in like a dry stogie.
There are no what ifs or guesses. We both know why I’m here.
“Mateo,” he says, but that’s all he says as he gestures to the seat across from him. For a moment I wish he would just fire me on the spot so I don’t have to go through the whole long process of it all. But I still sit down and put on my mask, ready for whatever things he’s going to say. At the moment I almost laugh because I’m making him out to be worse than my actual father. Now there is someone whose opinion I care about. Not this guy. Not really.
“I guess you’ve heard,” I tell him.
He manages a wry smile though his eyes remain cold as stone. “Who hasn’t?”
“I assume you don’t want to know the real story,” I tell him, crossing a foot over my knee. I pay attention to my shoes. They seem like the safest place. Nice, glossy brown leather. Top dollar. They were a present of sorts when I sold the restaurant. I try and think about how my life as a restaurateur would have handled this scandal. I think it would have done well for business.
“I’m sure I already know the real story,” Pedro says simply. “I’ve been watching the papers carefully. I can’t say I’m surprised that this happened. It seems like you can’t take a shit without someone there. In some ways I feel sorry for you, Mateo.”
“But . . .” I fill in, because there is always one.
“But,” he says, “I do expect better from you. Look, I know you can’t help it if you go to the gym and someone follows you, or you go out for dinner and they are there, or Vera goes and does whatever she does and she’s photographed. I know you can’t live a sheltered life, even if it is for just a short while, until their fascination with you is over. But I do expect a level of decorum from you. And though I can’t necessarily blame you for hitting this guy, I would have thought you’d have more respect for the team. For Atlético. And for me. Because you knew what would happen if you hit him, didn’t you?”
I barely nod. I feel like a kid again in the principal’s office. Back then I got in trouble for my hotheadedness too.
“I wasn’t thinking,” I tell him, and that is the truth. I remember a distinct lack of thought. It was all action and instinct. “No, you weren’t.” He sighs, long and hard. “But I have a daughter. I have two. I know what it’s like to try and protect them. I do think this photographer is a vile creature, and I don’t think that you’re in the wrong. But you need to make sure that you settle this out of court. I don’t want a trial, I don’t want this drawn out. The focus for this season needs to be on the team, not on you. You cannot be more famous than the players, that’s just how it goes.”
“And that’s how I want it,” I tell him. “I promise, there are arrangements being made as we speak. I am more than willing to negotiate to keep this from going on unnecessarily. I can only hope that Cruz will take it.”
“He’s a bloodsucker,” he says. “If it’s high enough, he’ll take it. Even if it’s not that high, it has to seem high to him. Make it seem like you’re suffering because of the settlement, and he’ll take whatever you give him.”
Another good bit of advice, and it’s not even noon yet on this horrible day. I give Pedro a curious look, wondering how many incidents like this one he’s been involved in. His face gives me nothing, but I feel like his words have given me all I need to know.