CRAVING U (The Rook Café) (17 page)

Canosi applauded Braidi’s words.  “I told
you that Carlo is the best in professional youth soccer.  You’re in great
hands.”  He gulped down the last drop of his glass, which he then placed in
front of Mr. Vendramini.  “Ferdinando, let’s have my friend here get a taste of
your excellent Moscato grappa,” unwilling to have his glass remain empty for
long.

“All I ask is for all of you present to
keep your feet on the ground and your heads out of the clouds; false hope could
place useless and potentially damaging pressure on Matteo.”  The pragmatic man
of
San Carlo
was trying to keep everyone’s head level.  “I don’t want to
promise anything until his test period is over.  Give Matteo the support and
breathing space he needs to go through our camp calmly, and then we’ll see! 
The road is long and hard; whoever thinks that it is a bed of roses is lying to
himself.  It will demand a whole lot of sacrifice,” he repeated, swirling the
Tai Rosso in his glass, letting himself be surrounded by its aroma.  “It’s true
that professional soccer players earn enormous sums for doing what they love to
do anyway, but it is often those very millions that create the biggest
problems.”

“This is for you,” Ferdinando said,
placing a small tulip-shaped glass in front of Braidi, filled with his personal
stash of grappa, reserved only for the most special occasions.

“Oh, you must forgive me, Mr. Vendramini,”
Braidi said quickly.  He continued very politely, “I haven’t thanked you yet
for your kind hospitality and the courtesy that you have shown to us.  I hope I
can have you as a guest soon in Milan, so as to repay your generosity, and I
certainly will let my friends and colleagues know about your excellent wines.”

Ferdinando felt his legs begin to tremble
and his knees give way; it certainly wasn’t the first time that he had been
complimented for his wines, but no one had ever done so with such class.  “I’m
honored that you liked them, and hope to have a chance to serve them to you
again in the future,” he managed to get out, despite the racing of his heart.

“You can count on it,” Braidi said,
meaning it.  “So!  Now I’d like to speak a bit about the details of the offer
San
Carlo
is making.  The test period will last two months at the
San Carlo
sports center, and you will be working out with the youth squad.  The program
is as follows: team meetings and workouts on Tuesday and Thursday at 3 o’clock. 
Monday and Friday at 2:30, practice.  Wednesday and Sunday, rest.”  He looked
squarely at Matteo.  “Our players go to school like any other kids their ages,
and it will be no different for you.  You will continue following the course of
study that you have been doing up ‘til now.  Then in the afternoon they head
for the sports complex, and in the evening they study, with the help of a
tutor.  The youth league matches are played on Saturdays... of course, only if
you are selected to be a member of the team.”

With evident pride, Carlo began describing
the practice facilities.  “
San Carlo
’s sports center is on the north
side of Milan, at the center of a very large park.  There are five soccer
fields: two with high-tech synthetic turf, a central grass field with a
surrounding track, a covered field for seven-man soccer, and one dirt field. 
The stands have covered seating, changing rooms, and areas for physical therapy
and sports medicine.  In the middle of it all, there is a two-story building
that has the offices, the press room, the briefing room, the private bedrooms
for the players of the Serie A team, a TV room,  a billiards room, a café and
two breakfast rooms.  Next door, there are rooms for the youth squad players
who come from out of town, the laundry rooms, and the chapel, plus the gym and
the pools for hydrotherapy and aqua rehab.”  He concluded by handing over a
copy of a brochure showing the entire structure, and his personal business
card.

Having satiated his palate and stomach,
Canosi took over for his friend.  “Next week, the
AC San Carlo Milan
youth squad is going to play for the first time ever at the Viareggio
Tournament, known also as the Carnival Cup because of the time of year it is
held.  As you probably know, the Viareggio Cup is an invitation-only event
limited to 32 teams from Italy and abroad.  The games are shown on cable TV and
can be a real launching pad for its participants.”

“Achille Beretta is our youth team coach,”
Braidi added, “and he’s an excellent manager who has been in our system for a
long time.  He was the coach of the under-16 team for many years before moving
up to the youth squad.  Last year, Beretta led the team to a fourth place
finish in their division, which qualified them for the playoffs.”  He sipped on
the strong-smelling grappa with the smooth finish of Moscato grapes.  “The test
period is scheduled for the months of April and May.  You’re a senior, right?”

“Yes sir, I’m doing agricultural surveying
at the vocational high school,” he replied, automatically.

Carlo then turned toward Mr. Zovigo.  “I
can personally guarantee that Matteo will not miss out on any school, and will
graduate on time.  He’ll be back home in time for the final state exams, for
which he will have been more than adequately prepared.  You don’t have to worry
about anything on that score; we will handle all of the paperwork between his
schools here and in Milan.”

In that surreal climate, Canosi raised his
glass to celebrate.  “A toast to the beginnings of a new life: a life, young
man, that you can’t even imagine.”

Everyone lifted their glasses.  “Cheers!” 
But everyone toasted to different, very personal ideas.  Giuseppe Zovigo drank
in honor of his son, praying that he wouldn’t lose his beloved child to a
choice that, he hoped, would be the right one.  Loretta, who to tell the truth
had not understood much of the talk about tournaments, coaches, positions, and
the like, turned her mind to her brother’s inevitable departure, a departure
that would, in the best of all worlds, keep him away from home for a long, long
time.  Ferdinando was euphoric as he raised his glass of slightly sparkling
rosé, because he felt like he had, in a small way, been one of the reasons for
the success of this young man who he had known from birth.  Braidi was already
in another world, thinking about how to best orchestrate his new recruit’s
entrance into the current group of players, while Canosi was busy thinking
about all the money he would make from Matteo, not to mention about a blonde
girl who went by the stage name of Queenie with whom he would be dining later
that week.

Matteo raised his glass as well, but
without understanding which emotion he should be feeling.  Was it normal to be
feeling disoriented, excited, sad, thrilled, amped up and let down, all at the
same time?  Adrenaline, nostalgia, pride, panic, the desire to get started
right away and the hope that he would never really have to leave.

“Excellent!”  Braidi decided that it was
time to bring things to a close.  “The only thing left to do is to organize our
next appointment and schedule the medical check-ups that you will have to do at
our center in Milan before starting your time with us.  I can’t stress enough
how all of your family members should be present at these meetings so as to get
used to your new way of life and to see up close the way our club is treating
you.”

“That’s all!” Canosi said, sitting up as
if he were being interviewed on TV.  He said deeply, “Let’s get the ball
rolling... everything starts in a few weeks!”  He smiled devilishly at Matteo. 
“You ready?”

LIGHT AND SHADOWS

“
You want to
know if I’m ready?  Well I’ll tell you the truth: I don’t know.
”  Matteo
felt too overwhelmed to think straight, observing the events unfold in front of
him without the slightest reaction.  “
Am I ready to become a professional
soccer player?  Damn straight I am
,” he told himself, sensing the glory of
packed stadiums and fame, but then another thought, this one more bitter, took
hold.  “
Am I ready to let go of her?
”  He shook the idea off.  “
What
am I talking about, I don’t even know if she is mine to let go of.  How did
this even happen?
”  He had been dreaming of this opportunity ever since he
kicked his very first soccer ball as a child, but here in front of all these
people, he felt as if his young heart had been sliced in two, and he imagined
how he would feel, alone and without her.  “
How did I get to this point?
” 
Without noticing, this emotion had taken hold of him and become an intimate
necessity that he could not go without.  “
Am I not the master of my fate?
!” 
This was not the time for beating around the bush; he couldn’t delay things any
longer.  “
I’d do anything for her if she really wanted me to.  I would even
walk away from the chance of a lifetime if she asked me to... and I could even
be happy about it.
”  It was time to grow up.

Meanwhile, Marika was in the back of Dario’s
car with Carlotta, on their way to Marika’s house for a quick wardrobe change
before meeting up with the rest of the crew at
Jungle Jim’s
.  They had
all stopped first at Carlotta’s house for what had been an interminable make-up
session, but Marika was now comfortably seated on the leather seats of Dario’s
pastel-yellow Mini Cooper convertible,  thinking about what she should wear
tonight based on the essential triad of purse-dress-pumps.  “It’s going to be
an unforgettable night, I just know it,” she whispered to Carlotta, pushing her
mouth right up to her cousin’s ear and speaking in code so as to not be
discovered by the driver, also known as Matteo’s best friend.  “You know who
will be there and everything I ever hoped for is finally going to happen....”

“Marika,” Dario said.

“Huh?”  She sat back in her seat.

“I can name that tune in just one note!” 
He turned the rear view mirror on her.  “There’s no need to whisper, I already
know everything....”

“Dariooooo!” Carlotta interrupted.  “Marika,
he doesn’t know really, really everything....”  Marika didn’t even have time to
comment before her cousin was begging her.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m SO
sorry!  He won’t tell anyone anything, right Dario?”  She hit him lightly in
the ribs with her elbow.

“Uh-huh,” her boyfriend murmured, yawning
and bored.

“I can’t believe it!”  Marika said.  Her
blood was beginning to boil.  “Now everyone’s going to know!”

“No way, come on, I’m sure they won’t.  I
made a mistake, it’s true, but everything’s under control.”  Carlotta was
waving her hands about like a marionette.  “You don’t have to worry.  Leave it
all to me.”  She was sinking into a quagmire of guilt.  “You know I love you.”

“Yeah, the way Custer loved the Indians.”

“Hey, Marika.”  Dario interrupted them
again.

“What!” she replied, harshly, sinking
deeply into her seat.

“Nothing.  I just wanted to know if you
had the chance to speak with Matteo.”

“
And there it is, the name that must
not be spoken,”
she said to herself, ticked off, waiting to hear the rest
of the crap he might have to say.

“After the game, I mean,” he added
seriously.

“No... why?” she stammered, wrinkling her
brow.  “Is there something I should know?”

“No.  Absolutely not.”  Dario kept his
eyes on the road.  “He has never said anything in particular about you to me.”

“
Obviously!
” Marika commented
sarcastically to herself.  “
Why should he have
?”

“You know how it is... we talk about more
important things: sports, soccer, video games, the rankings, fantasy teams....” 
He was enjoying himself.  “We don’t sit around and gossip like you do.”

“Hah, hah!” the two cousins replied
together.

Lit by the light of
crackling embers in the fireplace, Braidi removed his two-button jacket from
the back of his chair and slipped into it with a graceful, well-practiced
gesture.  Canosi got his friend’s hint and lifted himself from the table too,
folding his houndstooth blazer over his forearm.  They were ready to take their
leave.

As they headed for the door and everyone
shook everyone else’s hand formally, the agent turned to Matteo, who was
hanging back.  “Can I ask you a question?  You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”

“You kidding?” Mr. Zovigo answered for
him.  “He’s the biggest Don Juan in the area.  No serious girlfriend.”

“Let me explain,” Carlo intervened.  “We
don’t want to invade your privacy in any way, shape or form, and we don’t want
to control your life.  It’s just that knowing more details about you helps us
do a better job; it helps us know about potential difficulties before they
arise.”

“Girlfriends bring nothing but trouble, my
boy,” Michele broke in.  “You’re so young, and girls just muddy the waters: if
you ever consider throwing away an opportunity like this one because you think
you’ll feel homesick or because you’ve irrationally fallen into some kind of
puppy love, read my lips: you’re going to regret it.”  Canosi was a master at
blending cynicism and reason.  “You agree?  Best not to have any attachments at
this moment,” he warned him, leaving a heavy weight on Matteo’s shoulders.  In
the meantime, he basked in the admiring looks from everyone else present, all
ready to second his pseudo pearls of wisdom.  Everyone except Braidi, that is. 
“No complications.  Got it?”

“
This is all happening too fast.
” 
It was what he had always wanted, but he had never imagined that it would cost
him so much.  “
Why should one thing exclude the other
?
  I don’t want
to give her up.” 
Matteo felt as though he were being buffeted about by
winds, unable to get his balance, the butt of a terrible joke of fate that had
enjoyed giving him the most noble of pleasures and the most heart-rending of
pains.  It was too much.  “
It doesn’t make any sense!
” he cried out in
silent, poetic anger.  Nothing would be like before, and this bitter knowledge
blew him about like wild grass in the wind, wounded to the soul, and
breathless.

“No problem!”  His father broke the
embarrassing silence, assuring the agent that “My son is more than willing and
motivated.”  He pulled Matteo close.  “Soccer is his life, and hard work has
never been a problem for him.  He’s ready to do his share.”

“Not too fast, everyone, please!  He is
still just a boy, and he’ll need to develop, to prove that he is ready for the
biggest stage in the world.”  Braidi was always wary of giving false hope to
people, and had a particular disdain for encouraging young men to pick up vices
and become irresponsible, living a dissolute life of pleasures.  “Son,” he said
firmly to Matteo, “a healthy, mature relationship with the right girl at the
right moment of your life is a precious source of balance and equilibrium.”  He
gave a veiled, scorching glance at his colleague.

And then, the entire group walked down the
gravel driveway of Marika’s home toward their vehicles.  Ferdinando watched
them, still emotional, from the threshold of the house.

At that very moment, the yellow Mini
Cooper turned the corner and pulled up to 23 Palladio Road, where it crossed
paths with two elegantly-dressed men getting into a large BMW.  The taller,
thinner man was wearing a suit with the emblem of a sports team on his lapel. 
Matteo, Loretta, and Giuseppe Zovigo were close on their heels.

“What’s all this?” Marika blurted out
nervously, making Carlotta jump.  “Don’t you have anything to say now?” she
said caustically to Dario, thinking of his previous impertinent questions.  “Well...
go to hell, then!”  She jumped from the car, planning on running to Matteo and
baring her heart to him once and for all, when her blood ran cold and her heart
stopped beating.  She had recognized the logo on the man’s jacket, and she
recognized the look on Matteo’s face even better: his eyes had a furtive,
guilty look, and the light went out of them as he bent his face toward the
ground.

“
It shouldn’t have ended like this. 
She should have heard about it directly from me
.”  Matteo was beating
himself up as he got into his father’s car, followed by his sister.  “
What
is Marika doing here anyway?  Dario knew about this... why did he bring her
here?
”  In that moment of light and shadows, he felt alone, confused,
disoriented, on the point of rejecting a destiny that hundreds of thousands of
kids could only dream of.

There is more than a bit of truth in the
saying that you should be careful what you wish for, because it just might come
true... and no one will give you an instruction manual ahead of time.  All
desires come with a price tag, sometimes insignificant, sometimes overwhelming.

“We’ll wait for you here,” Carlotta called
after her from the car window, clearly confused herself.

“No, go on!” Marika ordered, running
toward her house.  “I’ll meet up with you at the pizzeria.”

“What are you talking about?  Why?”

“Let her go,” Dario said, trying to
persuade Carlotta to drop it.  “It’s not the right moment to pressure her.”

“You know what’s going on, don’t you?” 
Carlotta pointed a finger at him, ready to probe as they drove away.  “Don’t
you?”

Inside the house, the first thing Marika
noticed was the mountain of plates and glasses stacked up in the kitchen, the
cheese plate, the half-empty bottles of wine.  There had been a toast with the
winery’s best bottles, but to what?  Or perhaps it would be better to ask: to
whom
?

Turning to her right, she saw her father
gazing upon an autographed jersey of Paolo Rossi from the 1977 season when he
played for the Vicenza team.  “I always said that
Pablito
would win the
Ballon
d’Or
some day,” he sighed dreamily.  “Paola, I think I missed my calling. 
I could have been the greatest soccer scout on the entire East Coast!”

“As if!”  His daughter interrupted his
fantasies, monopolizing their attention.  “I saw some people leaving here with
the Zovigos.  What were you all celebrating?”  She swallowed down her
impatience in an effort to look calm and collected.

“What celebration?  Just a friendly chat
between soccer experts!” her father bragged.

“What are you talking about?” she asked
him anxiously.

An annoyingly bright smile exploded across
his face as he said these words: “Matteo has been chosen by the
AC San Carlo
club to try out for their youth squad after a two-month training session in
April and May.  In MILAN!”

MILAN?!
  Nothing in the world could
have hit Marika as forcefully as that one little word.  “
What do you mean,
MILAN?  It can’t be true, it can’t be!”
  She could barely hold back her
tears.  “
It can’t be possible
.”  She started pacing the room, which
suddenly began spinning, making her stomach turn.  Even her body was rejecting
this horrible turn of events, trying to keep it at bay, to vomit it out.  She
undid her jacket and pulled on the collar of her sweater.  The room seemed to
be airless.

And then she couldn’t hold it in any
longer, and she broke down into a hysterical crying fit.  Through her sobs, she
turned on her father.  “What have you done?  What did you do?  How could you do
this to me?!”  Her vision blurry from tears, she turned and ran up the stairs. 
She slammed the door behind her and threw herself on the bed, tossing her
freshly ironed and folded clothes to the floor.

“What on earth’s the matter with her?” her
father blurted out, his face showing shock.  He called after her loudly.  “Marika! 
What the hell’s going on in this house?”  He stormed about the room for a
moment before deciding to let it go for the moment, taking refuge in a
typically masculine thought: “She must be having her period.” 
Smooth!

“Don’t worry about it, Ferdinando,” Paola
was saying to him.  “I’ll go talk to her.”

The sun had set hours ago, and with it the
burning flames of her heart.  In the darkness of her room upstairs, surrounded
by a surreal silence, she heard a patient knock at the door.

“Marika.”  Her mother sat down at her
side, gentle and understanding.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”  Her daughter jerked herself
away from Paola’s caress, reaching her hand out to turn on her stereo as loud
as possible before stuffing her face back into her pillow.

“You’re being absurd.”  Her mother glided
through the room, searching for the volume knob.  “Tell me what’s wrong and we’ll
fix it together.”

Her words were like a flame thrower.  “It’s
too late now for that!  There’s nothing left to fix!”

“Don’t talk that way.”  Her mother
suffered for her daughter’s obvious pain.  “The only thing that can’t be fixed
is death.”