Evenings at the Argentine Club Page 5

  “They make you work too hard during inventory, and you’re always tired when you get home.”

  Lucia shrugged. “You can rub my feet and my legs and I’ll be fine,” she said.

  He frowned as he ate his food, so she reached across and tugged at his chin. “And if I’m still tired, we can go to bed early.”

  His eyes met hers, and he smiled. “Okay.”

  They ate, and as they were finishing their meal, Eric walked in. Lucia shot right up. “Let me fix you a plate, querido. Sit down.”

  “That’s okay. I ate already. ”

  Antonio shot him a disapproving look when Lucia stopped in her tracks and gazed at her son with surprise and hurt she couldn’t keep hidden.

  “Ah, I mean. It was a while ago.” Eric placed his hand over his stomach. “In fact, now that I think about it, I am kind of hungry.” He took a seat at the table.

  Lucia turned around toward the stove and smiled. This was one of the reasons she loved Antonio so much. He’d taught Eric to respect and want to please her. She took pity on him and served him a small amount of food. “We don’t have much left, Eric. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, that’s fine, Mom.” When he had the plate in front of him, he took the fork and stabbed one of the ravioli and put it in his mouth. “Mmm. This is excellent. Mmm,” he said again, and nodded his head for emphasis.

  She watched him eat and couldn’t help remembering when he was younger. How she’d loved to watch him drink from his bottle and eat baby food. The look of pure joy on his face. He had the same look now.

  He glanced up and she realized that she was staring. “You need something to drink?” she asked.

  “Sure. Water is fine.”

  She got him a glass of water. “What did you do today?”

  He wiped sauce off his lips. “Just drove around town, getting reacquainted with the neighborhood. Downtown looks great. That town center they created is awesome.”

  “They did that about four years ago. Brings lots of business to the mall. And in fact, I’m going to turn in, because I have to be there early tomorrow.” She kissed Eric and placed a hand on Antonio’s shoulder. “I’ll see you up there.”

  “I’ll be right up, Amor.”

  “Good night, Mami.” He watched her walk down the hall, then turned his gaze to his father and pushed his plate back.

  “Thanks for eating that.”

  “It’s good. I should have waited, knowing she’d cook for me.” “I had to beg her to feed me. She wanted to wait for you to get home.”

  Eric smiled. “Sorry.”

  “So, did you check out the houses?”

  “Yep. And I think I’ve got a winner,” he grinned. “So get your rest this weekend, Viejo. Monday morning we go to the auction.”

  Eric actually slept in on Sunday. And then spent a couple of hours in front of the TV set dressed in an old T-shirt and comfortable shorts, his feet on the immaculate cherrywood coffee table. Lucia kept his coffee cup full and placed a plate of bread and pastries on his lap. The combination of coffee and yeasty aromas with the satisfaction of not having to do anything but enjoy being at home made him settle in comfortably. He didn’t care if he moved all day.

  About noon however, his peaceful morning came to a halt. Lucia turned the TV off, took the empty plate, and pulled his coffee cup out of his hands.

  “Time to get ready to go to the club.”

  “The club?” he asked, feeling like a bloated, spoiled cat.

  “The Argentine Club. It’s Sunday.”

  “Oh.” He’d forgotten that his mother spent all morning in church and all afternoon and evening at the Argentine Club on Sundays. This morning she’d skipped church. Antonio never went with her to church, but he was the first one out the door to get to the club on time. The men played poker and took turns watching the barbecue. The women played canasta and gossiped. The kids used to have to take a Spanish class before they were allowed to run wild around the club. He’d hated it. Not sure what they did now. “I should go with you guys?”

  “Of course.”

  Eric took his feet off the coffee table and lowered them to the floor. “What would I… do there?”

  “Visit. Play cards with the men. Whatever you want.”

  He never could understand the draw of hanging out with people just because they happened to share the same cultural background as you.

  His mother repeatedly reminded him in the past that it was up to the youth to keep the club going. If they didn’t, then when the older generation died off the club would disappear, and so would any trace of their culture.

  “Today, everyone is ‘Latino,’ as if South Americans, Central Americans, Mexicans, Cubans were all the same,” she’d say with a sad expression. “And of course anyone who speaks Spanish in California is assumed to be Mexican. We get lost in the crowd, Eric. You have to work to keep the Argentine culture alive inside you.”

  Eric would nod, but inside he felt he wasn’t actually Argentine. He was American. And he had very little interest in maintaining an active club. But he did love his parents. And for them, he’d endured the club. So that they’d have the slight connection to their birth country.

  And today, he’d do so again. He stood. “Well… I’ll go shower.” As he walked away, he told himself he should go. It would make his mother happy. And he could pretend to like anything for a few hours. But he wasn’t sure he believed his own encouraging thoughts.

  During the day, the Argentine Club didn’t look as appealing as it had last Sunday night when it had been all decked out. No fancy tables in the large meeting room. No flowers. No music. Just a couple of round gaming tables and a few long picnic tables for lunch, which wouldn’t be served until about three in the afternoon when he’d be starving. They had the air-conditioning turned off because the back doors were open to allow the men to go in and out to check on the barbecue. So the place felt a bit warm and stuffy. Smelled of cigarette smoke and charcoal.

  He shook about twenty-five men’s hands and kissed about as many women’s cheeks. And although everyone was polite, he sensed strong disapproval. The same as he’d felt from Victoria when he dropped in on their Independence Day celebration. He didn’t get it. What the hell had he done to these people?

  A big-screen TV took up a wall on the opposite end of the room behind the stage. A curtain had been drawn to reveal it. He recognized the younger group that had congregated there and strolled over.

  Alex, who used to pee his pants in Spanish class, and who went through a goth period in high school, was there looking like a normal guy. Eric sort of laughed at himself. What had he expected? Time changed all people. Eric recognized Christian, who was sort of cool and on the quiet side; Adrian, another quiet dude he used to share music interests with; Eduardo, a sports buff, and Esteban, who went by Steve and had always been a sort of jerk. They all stood around staring at the big screen.

  Eric didn’t care much for soccer. He was a football fan all the way. “Hey,” he said.

  Eduardo glanced over his shoulder for just a second, then his attention went back to the screen. “Hey, Eric, welcome home, man.”

  “Thanks.”

  No one else said a word. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked around. “Where are the women?”

  “Cooking or doing crafts with the kids,” Adrian said. “Enjoy the peace and quiet while you can.”

  Again, no one looked at him. “I’m going to get a beer.” If he had to put up with hours of this, he’d better start drinking now.

  They had a self-serve honor-system bar. Eric found a beer and put five bucks in the box under the counter, figuring this would cover him for a second one later. Then he climbed the wooden stairs with the same red runner they’d had since he was a kid. He was curious to see if they still had a library up there. They did. He looked through the volumes of Argentine history, literature, and art. He pulled out a book by Julio Cortázar and sat to read the first few chapters. After about an hour, he closed the book
and put his empty beer bottle in a waste can.

  He was bored stiff, not because of the book—in fact, he planned to ask if he could borrow it—but because he wasn’t the type of guy that could happily sit inside for long. He climbed back down. The guys were still watching the soccer game. The older men were playing cards. With a smile, he thought it was actually sort of cool that they all enjoyed the routine of hanging out together every Sunday. The day was warm and comfortable. The only problem was that after so many years away, he felt sorely out of place.

  He walked to the back, where the kids had a playroom, and caught sight of Susana, Victoria, Luisa, Anna, and a few other women he remembered. One little boy asked Victoria why the gaucho had to have such stupid-looking pants. She told him the pants weren’t stupid, and that they were called bombachas, which got a laugh out of all the kids, because in modern times, bombachas were women’s underwear.

  “Jeans on cowboys look better,” the boy told Victoria.

  She shrugged. “When you’re right, you’re right.”

  Eric smiled.

  “Okay, I’m done,” said a little girl. “And I’m hungry. Can we be done now?”

  “Yes, I’m starving, too,” Victoria said.

  “We should check first to make sure the food is ready,” Susana said.

  “Fine. I’ll check.” Victoria turned around and stopped walking when she saw him peeking into the room.

  “Hi,” he said with a smile, and stepped back to let her through.

  She walked out of the schoolroom. “Didn’t know you’d be here today.”

  “Neither did I. Not my idea of how to have a good time on Sunday afternoon, but I guess the old folks are creatures of habit.”

  “Yes, we’re all seriously flawed and terribly boring. You’re right.” She walked past him.

  “Hey,” he said, and grabbed hold of her arm.

  Steve turned the corner and walked into the hallway. “What’s going on?” he asked with a frown.

  “Eric was just sharing how quaint he finds us all.” She faced him. “Please, let go of my arm.”

  He released her arm. “I wasn’t trying to put you down, Victoria.”

  “Yeah, right,” Steve said, coming to Victoria’s side like he was planning to protect her from Satan. “You come back here acting too good to watch soccer with us, too American to have a glass of wine, and pushing yourself on the women. I think you’d better step back and leave Victoria alone.”

  “He wasn’t—,” Victoria started to say.

  “I’ll take care of this, Victoria.” Steve stepped between them.

  “You’re a jerk, Steve. See what I mean, things never do change around here.” Eric smiled, refusing to get into an argument about how he lacked Argentine sensibilities. He didn’t. He didn’t always see the point in creating a minicommunity within their American world, true. At least not for himself. But he understood that for his parents it was a connection to their past, and he was okay with this.

  Steve frowned and pushed on Eric’s shoulder enough to give a small shove and make his point. “Head on back to the main hall.”

  Was this guy for real? “Who the fuck are you?” Eric laughed. “Security?” He stepped around Steve, hoping he would go back to the big screen and mind his own business.

  “I’m not kidding, man,” Steve said, shoving Eric again and standing between him and Victoria.

  “Steve,” Victoria said. “Cut it out.”

  This time Eric didn’t smile or laugh. If this guy had a screw loose, Eric was willing to tighten it for him. He shoved Steve right back. Without warning, Steve pulled his arm back and popped Eric right in the face, knocking him onto his back. Victoria’s jaw dropped as she gasped. He himself lay stunned on the floor, and Steve shook his hand and cursed. The women ran out of the classroom, gasping and talking all at once. Susana hurried the children back to their seats and closed the door.

  Eric stumbled to his feet and glared at Steve. “Are you crazy?” he shouted. He wanted to pound Steve into the ground but restrained himself for the sake of the women watching.

  The older women from the kitchen ran into the hallway. Lucia brought a hand to her chest. “Oh, my, what happened?”

  “This idiot hit me.” Eric found it unbelievable. The last time he’d been in a fight, he was probably eighteen. He was no wimp, but he wasn’t into acting like a macho idiot to prove he was a man. He scowled at Steve. What the hell was wrong with this guy?

  “What? Why? ” Lucia asked.

  “He was harassing Victoria,” Steve defended.

  The older women looked at Victoria, and she turned twenty shades of red. She glanced at him, and his jaw tightened when she didn’t speak up right away. He wasn’t harassing her and she knew it.

  “You need ice,” Lucia said, cutting past the tense silence.

  “I’ll get it,” Victoria said, and left the room.

  “You men should be ashamed of yourself. Fighting in front of the kids,” Mrs. Apolonia said. “We won’t have this here. You both understand?”

  Steve placed a hand on her shoulder. “Si, Doña. I’m sorry. I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”

  Lucia patted Eric’s face. “You want to apologize too, don’t you, Eric?”

  He wanted to apologize? Was she kidding? But from the look on her worried face, he could see she wasn’t kidding. She wanted him to make nice. “Yes, I’m sorry, too, Mrs. Apolonia.” He didn’t look at Steve.

  Victoria came back with the ice. “Here,” she said.

  “I’m leaving.” He stepped back. “I don’t need that.”

  “No, you’re not leaving,” Lucia said firmly. “Not with your eye like that. Go eat,” she ordered everyone else and waved her arms. “Victoria, bring the ice.” She made him sit down in a small office to the side of the schoolroom. “Now get that ice on his eye before it swells shut,” she told Victoria. “I’m going to find a small bandage. He’s bleeding from that cut by his eyebrow.”

  Victoria came to his side. “Tilt your head back.”

  “Just give it to me.”

  “Shut up and tilt your head back.”

  He drew a breath and did as she asked. She gently put the plastic bag, covered by a towel, on his eye. He flinched. Damn it. It hurt.

  “Sorry,” she said, softly easing hair off his forehead with her spare hand.

  “You should be. I wasn’t bothering you.”

  “I didn’t hit you.”

  “You might as well have.”

  She stared down at him and held the ice to his eye. A pink flush made her cheekbones more prominent and her creamy skin glow. Here was a girl that needed very little makeup. Huge, dark, almost black eyes. Absolutely luscious red lips.

  Hmm, very pretty face, he decided. “Are you dating him or something?” Eric asked.

  “God, no. You’re right, he’s a jerk.”

  “Don’t let him hear you say that, or you might be the next one he punches out.” Eric began to feel his temper subside. No point in letting one loser ruin the rest of his day.

  “I’ll take my chances. You okay?”

  “I’ll live.”

  “Okay, I’m going to go, then. Hold the ice to your eye.”

  He reached up and held the ice bag in place. “Thanks. And Victoria, I wasn’t trying to insult you or the club. Seriously.”

  “Fine.”

  He closed his eyes, letting the ice fall to the side of his face. “Tell you the truth, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.”

  She placed her hand over his, shifting the clumps of ice directly over his eye.

  He opened the good eye and gazed at her, finding the feel of her hand over his oddly comforting. And the heat of her body beside his again—it was nice enough for him to allow her to take care of him. “Life sometimes gets complicated. What you think you know, you don’t,” he said.

  She watched him with an adorable, perplexed frown. “What did you think you knew?”

  He pulled the ice bag awa
y from his frozen eyeball. “What I wanted, what I didn’t want. I thought I knew all the answers. But I’m finding I don’t know much of anything.” He sighed. “I’m not making any sense. Forget it.”

  “Probably realizing that you don’t know everything is a good thing.”

  He gazed at her, feeling like Quasimodo. “Yeah? I subscribe to the idea that what you don’t know can hurt you. And it did.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t work too well.

  “Okay, here we go,” Lucia said, hurrying back into the room.

  Victoria turned to face Lucia. He let the gaze of his good eye travel down to her jean-covered butt. He probably shouldn’t be looking. But he couldn’t help himself. Interest in the female shape was written into men’s DNA, wasn’t it? And hers was nice and curvy.

  “Sorry about this, Mrs. Ortelli. What happened was Steve’s and my fault. Eric didn’t do anything wrong.”

  She nodded. “Esteban is a troublemaker. Stay away from him, Victoria.”

  “I do. We never even talk. He just wanted to find a reason to show Eric who’s boss. You know how he is. The other guys humor him, because they know he’s a pitiful loser with no balls. Excuse me,” she said.

  Lucia smiled. “What? You think the truth offends me?”

  Victoria blushed again. “I’ll see you later,” she said, then she glanced his way one more time. “Sorry, Eric,” she said, and left.

  Eric sat up as Victoria walked out.

  Lucia noticed that her son seemed particularly interested in watching Victoria disappear down the hall. “Why did he hit you?”

  As if distracted, he forced his attention back to the two of them. “Hell if I know. They all hate me here, as if they take it personally that I left or something. Steve said I think I’m too good for them. Why would he think that?”

  “Probably because I always told them how good you were doing. How you were traveling and didn’t miss home at all. That you were happy to leave behind this ordinary life.” She shrugged, full of guilt. “That’s what I always told myself.”

  He gazed at her with sadness and an eye that was red and puffy. “Truth is, I was happy not to have to hang out here every Sunday once I left. But, I was just out of my teens. Not exactly the place a young man wants to spend his free time. But that was years ago. They have a problem with that?”