I raise my hand, shaking it off. I make a point of notsmoking cigars with people I don’t know that well—Ihate the idea of being stuck with someone while you’rewaiting for the paper to burn.
“Suit yourself,” he mumbles out of the corner of hismouth, then lights one up. He puffs on it for a fewmoments, his grey brows furrowed in concentration untilhe has it burning just the right way. “How was your first day?” he asks when he’sfinally satisfied.
“Very good,” I said. “Diego has been verywelcoming and Warren seems to be easy to get alongwith.”
“He is, he is,” he says with a nod. “Just too bad he’snot a Spaniard. Though what’s too bad for him is greatfor you.”
I smile placidly at him, feeling like there is a moreserious undertone to this conversation other thanchecking in on me.
He continues, “This, of course, will be a slow startfor you. But I think that is for the best. It’s good for youto just observe for the next few months. I believe youcan learn a lot more by watching and listening than bydoing.”
“I agree.”
“Good,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “Buteven though we will ease you into things, the momentyou signed the contracts this morning is the moment youbecame part of the team, part of this administration¸ thisinternational symbol of Spain.”
I nod. Uh-huh.
“And as part of this team, you have a certainreputation to uphold. Now, your personal life is none ofmy business. In fact, if it weren’t for your face showingup in the tabloids late last year, we might have forgottenall about you. Though I am sure it was not intentional, itdid help. But now that you are here, I do think thereneeds to be an air of . . . respect and class when it comesto representing Atlético. Do you agree?”
I think I say yes. I can barely tell, the blood iswhooshing so loudly in my head. I am braced forsomething horrible and I don’t know what it is.
“As I said,” he goes on, “your personal life is noneof my business. But if you could, I would prefer it not toappear in the papers anymore.”
I frown. “It hasn’t.”
He gives me a sharp smile. “Oh, but it has. Don’tyou read them, Mateo? Perhaps you should.”
Pedro reaches into his drawer and pulls out a copyof Diez Minutos, my most hated magazine. Cheap,tawdry, and tacky, it was the first one to spread liesabout me and Vera, and I immediately think back to thephotographer I saw taking my picture outside of Fiorisover a week ago. But how could a picture of me, leavingthe restaurant alone, spark any sort of concern fromPedro?
He shows me. He flips a few pages, and there I seea fuzzy photograph of Vera. She is wearing the samesexy clothes she was wearing on Thursday night. She isdancing close with a man that is not me, and laughing.
I think I’m going to be sick. I do what I can to keepmy face as neutral as possible, and I look up to him as Isay, “So, that is Vera. What about it?”
But I know what the problem is because it’s aproblem for me too. I don’t want to examine the photosany closer, not with him watching me, waiting for areaction that I refuse to give him.
“Have you read the headline?” he asks, jabbing afinger at it. I hadn’t. I glance at it now, quickly.
Mateo Casalles Has New Competition.
I swallow and look up at Pedro. “All lies,” I say.
“If you read it,” Pedro says, “it goes on to say thatyour girlfriend was seen partying at a local hotspot lastThursday night and getting close with a young man. Itthen goes on to say that there are rumors of you joiningAtlético in a managerial position. How could one be trueand the other not?”
I shift my jaw back and forth for a moment, tryingto quell the embarrassment and rage that threatens toshatter me. “Do you not remember the photographerstanding outside of the restaurant after our last meeting?It would be easy for him to deduce that I am involved inAtlético again.”
“Stupid paparazzi,” he mutters, though I’m temptedto point out that it was him who waved for the camera.
“Yes,” I say, making a motion to get up and leave,“they are stupid. They made assumptions about mewhich turn out to be half true—coaching is not exactly amanagerial position. They make assumptions aboutVera, that this boy she is dancing with is someone morethan a friend. Their whole business is based on sellingassumptions. Everyone knows that.”
“It looks bad, Mateo,” Pedro says as I stand up.“This was normal when you were younger, and it’snormal for the players, especially a few particular ones,but I don’t want to see this from their coach. You mightneed to put your girlfriend on a leash if she can’tbehave.”
I raise my brows. “Excuse me?” My voice is hardand cold.
Pedro looks mildly apologetic. “Sorry. I don’t meanto insult her, or you, but I just want you to be aware ofyour image now going forward. You don’t work foryourself anymore. The restaurant is long gone. You work for me, for Atlético, forMadrid. You have a face to show the public. Preserveit.”
I can only nod in response before I turn and leavethe room. Somehow I manage to keep it together until Ican’t handle it anymore. I pull over beside a newsstandto quickly snap up a copy. I read it over when I’m in mybuilding’s parking garage.
Up close, the pictures are worse. There are two ofthem. In both they are dancing; in one Vera is laughingand the boy leans in close. In the other, he has his handsaround her waist. From the fuzzy details I can make outthat he is one of Ricardo’s friends—spiked hair, leather,studs, and tattoos. He looks like someone that Verawould be with. He looks like the opposite of me.
I fight the urge to rip the magazine in half, to poundmy head against the steering wheel, to find Claudia thenfind Ricardo, and punch his face in just by association. Izero in on his hands, the possessive way he is holdingher, and I think I may just lose my mind.
She is mine, not his. Why is she letting this happen?
I swallow hard and try to breathe through my anger.It’s an uphill battle. I tell myself that the photos don’tmean anything. It doesn’t mean Vera is having an affair.It doesn’t mean that she’s sleeping with this guy, thatshe’s in love with him. It doesn’t mean they are a bettermatch. For all I know, he may have made her laugh, puthis hands on her, and in the next moment got a drink inhis face. Vera is feisty like that, too. The photographsdon’t tell the whole story.