Winning the Game and Other Stories

Be My Valentine

158 be my valentine if there’s one thing i can’t stomach,it’sablackmailer. If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t have left home that Saturday for all the money in the world. Medeiros, the lawyer, called me and said, “It’s blackmail and my client will pay.” His client was J.J. Santos, the banker. “Mandrake,”Medeiroscontinued,“thematterhastobesettledwithout leaving a trace, understand?” “I understand, but it’s going to cost a bundle,” I said, looking at the blonde princess who was with me. “I know, I know,” Medeiros said. And he did know; he’d been a politician , he’d been in the government, he was a retired cabinet minister, he was on top of things. I got off to a bad start that Saturday. I woke up out of sorts, with a headache , hung over from a night of drinking. I walked around the house, listened to some Nelson Gonçalves, opened the fridge, and had a piece of cheese. I got my car and headed for Itanhangá, where the upper crust play polo. I like to see rich people sweat. That’s where I met the blonde. She looked 159 | Be My Valentine like a dew-covered flower, her skin healthy and clean, her eyes shining with health. “Polo players are going to hell,” I said. “What?” she asked. “On the Day of Judgment the rich will get screwed,” I answered. “A romantic socialist!” she laughed disdainfully. That was the blonde who was in my apartment when Medeiros, the lawyer, called. J.J. Santos, the banker from Minas Gerais, was arguing with his wife that same Saturday about whether they should go to the wedding of the daughter of one of his partners. “I’m not going,” J.J. Santos’s wife said. “You go.” She preferred to stay home and watch television and eat cookies. Married for ten years, they were at that point where you either resign yourself and die imprisoned or send your wife packing and live free. J.J. Santos put on a dark suit, white shirt, silver tie. I grabbed the blonde princess and said, “Come with me.” It was Valentine ’s Day. “Did you ever read a book of poetry?” she asked me. “Look,” I replied, “I’ve never read any kind of book, except law books.” She laughed. “Do you have all your teeth?” I asked. She did have all her teeth. She opened her mouth, and I saw the two rows, upper and lower. That’s the rich for you. We got to my apartment. I said, “What’s going to happen here, between the two of us, will be different from anything that ever happened to you before, princess.” “Roll the preview,” she said. When I was born they called me Paulo, my father’s name, but I became Mandrake, a person who doesn’t pray and speaks little but makes the necessary gestures. “Prepare yourself, princess, for something never before seen.” Then the phone rang. It was Medeiros, the lawyer. 160 | Rubem Fonseca The altar was covered with flowers. The bride, escorted by her father, came slowly down the aisle of the church, to the sound of choir voices singing in harmony. The groom, as always, wore a foolish expression as he waited for the bride at the altar. At eight o’clock J.J. Santos left the church, got into his Mercedes, and went to the home of the bride’s parents in Ipanema. The apartment was packed. J.J. Santos exchanged greetings with people, joked with the bride and groom, and left unnoticed half an hour later. He didn’t know for sure whathewantedtodo.Hecertainlyhadnodesiretogohomeandwatchold dubbed movies on the color tv. He got his car and drove along Ipanema beach, in the direction of the Barra da Tijuca. He had only been living in Rio for half a year and found the city fascinating. About five hundred yards ahead, J.J. Santos saw the girl, standing on the sidewalk. Stereo music poured from his car’s speakers, and J.J. Santos was emotionally predisposed. He had never seen such a pretty girl. He had the impression that she had looked at him, but he must be mistaken; she wasn’t the type for a street hooker, like those who pick up customers in passing cars. He was to the end of Leblon when he decided to go back. Maybe the...