Evenings at the Argentine Club Page 2

  “Victoria, I just had a thought,” Victor’s voice carried down the hall and he entered the office. “When you get to the club, why don’t you—”

  “What’s all this?” she interrupted.

  Victor glanced at the desk, squinted, then his face seemed to lose its color and close down. No expression readable.

  “It says you’ve applied for a loan.” She shuffled more papers. “You’ve got a business plan for two… no, ten restaurants? Ten? What in the world is this?”

  Victor drew a breath and stepped forward. He placed a hand on his face and slowly drew it down across his mouth and down his chin. Then he took a seat across from Victoria, the desk between them. “That,” he said, “is my legacy. For you and your sister.”

  Victoria frowned, not comprehending at all. “Dad, this is going to cost millions of dollars.”

  “I know.”

  “Mom agreed to this?” Victoria couldn’t imagine that she had. Jaqueline was the one who wanted both her and her sister to get nice government jobs with guaranteed income, medical insurance, and retirement benefits.

  He maintained eye contact, then started to shake his head. “I didn’t need her agreement. The house and the restaurant are in my name.”

  Victoria narrowed her gaze. Bad answer.

  “You know how your mother is,” he said in defense. “She doesn’t understand business. And all she can see is the negative side of things.”

  No, she was conservative and careful. And she would flip when she learned about this.

  “But”—he sat straighter and looked into Victoria’s eyes—“I turned sixty this year, gorda. I don’t know how it happened. One day I was a young man, full of dreams and plans, and the next I woke up an old man.”

  “Dad, you’re not—”

  “Listen,” he said. “I didn’t come to America to get married, raise kids, and barely get by.”

  “Papi, you’ve done more than get by.”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point. I could have stayed in Argentina and done that. I came here to be someone. To make something of myself. And I decided that it was now or never.”

  Victoria stared at her father, seeing someone she wasn’t sure she knew. Wasn’t he the one who said, “Listen to your mother and don’t dream too big. Take things slowly. Don’t ever rush into anything”? She had vague memories of him talking about making it big someday, but that had been ages ago. When she was a teen. He hadn’t spoken like that in years. It was always caution, caution, caution that she heard from both her mother and her father.

  “This restaurant has done well. Has done spectacular,” he continued. “I’m going to open ten more within the next five years. Then when they’ve all proven themselves, I’m going to sell franchises. By the time your kids are your age, La Parrilla will be as well known as Ruth’s Chris or Morton’s The Steakhouse. They’ll know their grandfather came to this country a poor man and became great.”

  Victoria shivered slightly in her seat at the chills running down her spine. His excitement was something strong and palpable and contagious. These feelings of future glory, of wanting greatness, were things she’d desired herself when she was younger and dreaming of her future, but she had always been afraid to voice them. She’d felt it was selfish to want more than what her parents had already provided. So she’d learned to be content. Still living at home, because it had been easy to stay put while in college, and because her parents had wanted it that way. Working here at La Parrilla part-time and at a boutique part-time. Owning a simple Saturn that got her around town. Life was easy.

  Her father’s plans made her heart beat faster. If he was going for it, if he wasn’t satisfied with a satisfactory life, maybe it wasn’t so bad to dream after all. But she was also well aware that he was risking everything on this dream. Success was never easily achieved, and he was the one who told her that. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to share any of this yet. The plans are still premature. The loans have been approved, and I’m now contacting angel investors to get a good starting capital. In a couple of months, I plan to break ground on the first two restaurants. One in Santa Monica and one in Newport Beach. Then I start looking for property outside of California.”

  Even though all the paperwork was still in her hands, Victoria stared at him in disbelief. “This is… exciting,” she said stupidly.

  Grinning like a little boy, he stood. “I’m glad you finally know. I’ve been dying from keeping this to myself. I can’t wait to see your mother’s face when I take her to the openings of the new restaurants.”

  “You’re going to wait until then to tell her?”

  “Yes. So keep this to yourself. Understand?”

  She understood. But she didn’t agree.

  “In fact, while I’m getting these other two restaurants off the ground, I’ll expect you to put more time into this one. You’re ready to take on more responsibility, Victoria.” With a pat on the back, he winked and walked out of the office.

  Victoria sat in the chair, dumbfounded. Was he going to expect her to run this restaurant? She didn’t want to be responsible for the restaurant. Truth was, she wasn’t interested in this type of business at all. And now he wanted to open ten more. Victoria dropped her head into her hands. In her mind, hearing another door slam shut. Burdened, as always, with her father’s plans for her life.

  Chapter Two

  Just when Jaqueline was about to panic, Victoria flew into the club, arms full of things, her wavy, brown hair all over the place, her clothes wrinkled.

  Jaqueline stood from behind the welcome table. “Por fin, llegaste.”

  “Yes, I made it, Mami. I’m not late. Don’t tell me you’re panicking.”

  “No,” she said, faking innocence, “but you know no one does anything until you get here to tell them what to do.” Victoria had an eye for color and patterns and item placement unlike anyone else’s.

  “If only I had that much power.” She glanced around. “Okay, we need to get the light blue and white tablecloths on the round tables. And the flowers should have arrived. Have they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How about the band?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay.” She dropped her bag on the table, on top of the notebook in which Jaqueline was checking people off as they arrived. “Let’s go find out.”

  Victoria spun around and charged full speed ahead, almost running right into Lucia and Nelly, who had approached behind her. “Oh, Mrs. Ortelli, Mrs. Apolonia, hello.”

  “Nena, llegaste,” Lucia said in a tone that meant to scold.

  “But you didn’t get dressed,” Nelly said.

  Victoria looked down at her olive-colored stretch twill pants and simple black blouse that tied at her waist—and in Jaqueline’s opinion outlined her breasts too much and her unflattering waist even more—and shrugged. “Didn’t I?”

  “Today’s a special day, Victoria,” Nelly said. “You should wear something nicer.”

  “You’re right, Mrs. Apolonia, but if I did, I’d be a mess by the time the night was over.” She patted Nelly on the arm. “I appreciate that you ladies are always looking out for me, though.”

  Quickly, she stepped away and immediately got to work.

  Jaqueline raised an eyebrow at her friends. “Don’t look at me. I’ve done everything I could with her. She dresses like every other American girl her age.” To herself she added that just because she was a big girl didn’t mean she couldn’t dress fashionably. After all, she was still young.

  “I never had these problems with my Susana,” Nelly said. “And now she’s married, with three kids. She has a nice house. And all because I was strict with her.”

  Jaqueline caught Lucia’s gaze over Nelly’s shoulder, and Lucia rolled her eyes. More than anyone, Lucia understood that children didn’t always behave how parents wanted, no matter what they might do. Her Eric left home when he turned twenty-one, turned his back on
his family, on his culture, on everything he should have valued. As her only child, he broke his mother’s heart. And she didn’t speak of his betrayal. Ever. If she ever mentioned her son it was to say how well he was doing, how wealthy and successful he had become.

  Lucia looked down, then tapped Nelly’s shoulder. “Vamos, we can’t all be perfect parents. Let’s go help Victoria.”

  Jaqueline and Victor may not have been perfect parents, but they were lucky with how their two beautiful daughters had turned out. Jaqueline had no complaints. Victoria was the older and the more difficult one to mold, but she was kind and loyal. A dreamer like Victor. A free spirit. And Jaqueline loved her despite all her unfocused and undisciplined traits. And Carmen, her baby, had gone away to college three years ago. Victor wanted her to study closer to home. But Victoria and Carmen together sent applications to the farthest colleges in the country, and Carmen ended up in a premed program in Pennsylvania. When Jaqueline blamed Victoria for encouraging her sister to go so far away, Victoria simply looked at her sadly and said, “Let her do what I can’t.”

  And Jaqueline had let it go. Victoria was right. Let Carmen be the one who becomes a woman with an education, a woman who lives her own life. She never had, and poor Victoria, as the first, had been her father’s child from day one. She would inherit La Parrilla. She would live the life Victor wanted whether she wanted to or not. Sometimes Jaqueline wished she’d had a son for Victor to share his dreams with, rather than dominating Victoria.

  “Mami,” she called. “The band’s here. Can you show them where to set up?”

  “Si, como no.” Jaqueline went to help, tucking her thoughts away—something she was well practiced at after over thirty years as a mother and wife.

  Victoria didn’t say much when she left work, Victor thought. She’d stayed in the office for some time after learning about his plans. He imagined she was going over every detail of the paperwork from the banks and lawyers. She was probably worried about her future and his and Jaqueline’s. But she shouldn’t be. He’d studied this idea. Had a financial plan created by a professional. This would work.

  He glanced around La Parrilla and, as always, it was packed. Regulars like the TV personality who brought his group of friends in at least once a week. Or the CEO of a major radio broadcasting company who dined here with his family the first Friday of every month. He knew all these guys on a first-name basis, and they loved him and his restaurant.

  And they should have. La Parrilla was something to be proud of. It wasn’t a greasy hole in the wall like some of the other Hispanic restaurants that were open a year or two and then closed. On the contrary, he owned an upscale steak house, and the Americanos paid a lot of money for good beef. Argentines were known around the world for two things: tangos and beef. So he’d given up trying to become un Americano and just accepted that he’d always be an Argentine living in a foreign country. If that meant selling well-seasoned, expensive beef, so be it. Not what he’d imagined he’d be doing with his life, but it had been a job that Jaqueline had accepted would pay the bills.

  And he’d decided that now this noose around his neck would make him rich. He’d finally be able to go back to Argentina and live his retirement years in style. Yes, that would be something. He strolled around the tastefully presented tables, and smiled at his guests. “Are you finding everything satisfactory?”

  “This is the best beef I’ve ever had. What is your secret?” said a guy sitting with a pretty girl.

  Victor smiled, reached for the wine bottle on the table, and poured more into each glass—the elegant sound of wine flowing into the fluted glass reminding both guests and Victor that it wasn’t just food he served, but a dining experience. “Argentines know how to cook beef.”

  “You’re not kidding.” The man motioned to his lady friend. “Isn’t this the best barbecue you’ve ever had?”

  They’d ordered the house specialty—an Argentine parrilla. The little, sizzling grill sat at the center of the table, and everyone picked out what they wanted to eat.

  “Delicious,” the woman said.

  Victor thanked them and continued to make his rounds to all the tables, feeling almost drunk with happiness. He had a gorgeous wife. One daughter in college, another who would one day be his partner in the restaurant business, and a future that for the first time in thirty years he could say he looked forward to living.

  Jaqueline had noticed the second Victor arrived at the club, dressed in his work clothes—an elegant black suit, which he’d have to take off because he would be manning the smoky barbecues. In fact, the other men were already at the grill, preparing the coals. Most of the members were gathered in groups socializing and listening to music, waiting for dinner to begin. Victor took off his shirt, coat, and tie and hung them in the closet to change back into later. Jaqueline tried to ask him about his day, but he just nodded, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and said that things had been the same as always.

  “What does that mean?” Jaqueline asked.

  He frowned, blocking the sight of his beautiful eyes. Charcoal-gray eyes that he’d passed on to Carmen. “It means, it was work. What do you want me to say?”

  She wanted… what they’d once had. Jaqueline had been only seventeen years old when she fell in love with Victor, the most exciting boy in her barrio. Though at first she hadn’t been entirely interested in him, because he’d seemed so full of himself. He’d learned to speak English at the fancy private school he attended and bragged about how one day he’d travel to Norte America and make his fortune. Then he would return home to Argentina and buy a mansion in Buenos Aires.

  Somehow, at one of the neighborhood bailes, she’d caught his attention on the dance floor, and he’d become determined to get her to date him. Every night, he’d show up at her apartment and call her, beg for her to come to the balcony and talk to him. He’d read her poetry, sing tangos full of passion, and call out his undying love.

  Jaqueline’s father cursed at him and told him to go home. He threatened to go down stairs and bash Victor’s head in. But Victor kept coming back, not intimidated or thwarted by parental disapproval. He had even shown up at her high school and begged her to have a cup of coffee with him, go for a walk in el centro, sit on a park bench and tell him her dreams.

  His charm and boldness had swept her off her feet.

  She soon learned that Victor was a man who got what he wanted. And that he had been serious about traveling to the United States.

  “We’ll get married and go together,” he’d promised.

  “Victor, I can’t leave my family, my life, for that kind of adventure,” Jaqueline had said. “Forget all that. We can have a great life here.”

  But Victor couldn’t let it go. It was his dream, and soon it became her dream. They’d gotten married two years later and received a big send-off by all their friends, who wished them a great life in the faraway land so full of promise.

  Everything was new and exciting. Starting with the plane ride. Jaqueline had never been on an airplane before. She marveled at everything—the silverware, the small pillows, the way the chair tipped back. “See how little the houses look,” she had said excitedly, as she held Victor’s hand.

  He had smiled, caressing her with those sexy eyes of his, holding his excitement in check even if she could feel it in his touch. “We’re really doing it,” he’d said.

  “Do you think it will be very different over there?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m scared.”

  He’d put his arm around her and said, “Don’t be, my love. I’ll always take care of you. I promise.”

  And he had. But at some point, buried under the stresses of work and raising children, they’d drifted apart. He might have stopped loving her. Or maybe she’d stopped loving him.

  Her children had become her entire world. But now, they no longer needed her. And Jaqueline had a vacant hole in her chest that she couldn’t seem to fill.

  “I’ve got to go
get the meat ready,” he said.

  “Then I guess you’d better go.”

  He nodded and hurried outside.

  By nine that night, everyone who was going to show up for the July 9 celebration had arrived. Victoria sat down to a glass of wine and breathed a sigh of exhaustion, surveying all her hard work and feeling satisfied with her efforts. She’d been able to put aside her concerns about her father’s revelation and get to work. She had dressed the tables, made sure the place settings were perfectly arranged using the club’s best china, and set up the gardenia center pieces. At each end of the stage she placed three-foot decorative vases, and she’d instructed the three-man band—consisting of a keyboardist, a violinist, and an accordianist—on the songs that had been requested by their members so they could incorporate those into their performance. She had the guys put up the banner over the stage, called the photographer, who was late, checked on the food, and passed the cooking on to the men, including her father, who would handle all the barbecuing. In the kitchen, the women had salads and desserts under control.

  They didn’t even pay her to work this hard. She must be insane. Well, to be fair, no one got paid. This was a labor of love. They purposely never had an event catered, preferring to do it themselves the way they would have in Argentina. So in a way, she looked at it as if she were serving 250 members of her extended family.

  Her cell phone alerted her that her sister was calling. Victoria couldn’t talk to Carmen and not tell her about her father’s plans. And tonight was not the time. She answered hurriedly, “Carmen, let me call you later, we’re going to start dinner.” And that actually wasn’t a lie. The women brought baskets overflowing with bread to the tables, and the aroma drifting inside from the grills indicated that the meat would follow shortly.

  “No problem. Have a great time. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

  “Good idea. I need to talk to you, but not tonight.” She got up and purposely moved closer to the stage so the music from the band would get louder, making conversation more difficult.