Evenings at the Argentine Club (6 page)

F
riday afternoon, Eric parked his pickup in front of the fifth and last house he planned to inspect this week. Immediately
he liked what he saw. The house looked like someone had used it as a dumping ground. Old couches, broken glass, tires, pieces
of discarded toys littered the front yard. An overgrown pepper tree blocked much of the view of the front door and porch.
An attached garage had practically caved in on itself. It would need an entirely new roof. Most potential home owners saw
this kind of mess and kept right on driving to the next house on their list, not wanting to clean up someone else’s trash.
But cleanup was the easiest fix in the world.

He walked across the yard, stepping carefully around all the garbage. The front door had seen better days and would definitely
have to be replaced. Stepping inside the house, left unlocked during open-house hours, he scanned the living room, trying
to see where the immediate focal point of the room should be. He decided it had to be the brick fireplace. Looking down at
the stained and torn carpet, he knew it had to come out. Walls looked good and sturdy, even if some of the paint around the
fireplace looked to be chipping. Kitchen was large and at one time had been okay, but since the house had sat empty vandals
had come in and taken everything of value. The sink, faucet, oven, and microwave were gone. And it looked like they’d tried
to pull the cabinets out but failed. The house had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large living room, and a small den. The
starting bid for this house was ridiculously low. Eric nodded to himself. This was it. He’d hire an inspector to check for
structural soundness, roof leaks, termites, and mold. If all that checked out, he was in business. He swatted some kind of
bug, probably a spider coming down from the ceiling, and made his way out through the front door.

Lucia kept dinner warm on the stove. She was washing a pot when Antonio came in and wrapped his arms around her plump middle.

“I’m starving,” he said, and nuzzled her neck.

Lucia smiled, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. “I’m waiting for Eric to get home so we can eat together.” She turned around
in Antonio’s arms. “Why don’t you call him to see where he is?”

“Because I’m not going to hound and annoy him, and you shouldn’t, either.”

“I haven’t seen my son in seven years. Do you think I’m going to pretend to be indifferent about spending time with him?”

“No, amorcito. But let him figure things out on his own. He’s home. And he’s home because he wants to be home. Just wait and
see what happens.”

Lucia placed her hands on Antonio’s face and kissed his familiar and comforting lips. “I want my son back. For good.”

Antonio sighed and nodded; he got the same look of regret that he always got when they spoke about Eric being gone. “If I
could turn back time, he never would have left. But the past is the past, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“Of course you couldn’t. He was young and needed the adventures that young men seem to need. After all, you were his age about
the time you decided to move to this country. But he’s older now, and maybe you can convince him that it’s time to settle
down. Have a man-to-man talk with him.”

Antonio stepped back. He smiled. “I’m starving. Let’s eat, huh?”

“Bueno. I guess I’ll feed him when he gets home. I hope it’s soon, though. I want to get to sleep. I’ve got to be to work
early tomorrow. It’s inventory time.”

“Mmm,” he said.

Antonio hated that she had to work when so many of her friends didn’t. Take Jaqueline, for example. Sure, she helped out at
the restaurant before Victoria took over, but she never
had
to work. Unlike other couples their age from the club, Lucia and Antonio struggled to make ends meet. Eric sent them money
each month. She told him not to, but Antonio told her it would hurt his ego if they rejected his help. Still, she would rather
have him living nearby than receive a check from him once a month. They deposited his checks in an account and never touched
the money.

But also, Lucia liked working. She’d gotten a job at a department store as soon as Eric finished high school, figuring she’d
have more time to work, plus she could use the money to help him get through college. Sadly, he dropped out and they didn’t
have college tuition payments for long, but she continued to work part-time. It got her out of the house. And even some great
discounts at the store. She enjoyed it. And she didn’t care if Antonio approved.

She placed a plate of ravioli with sauce and chicken in front of him and kissed the top of his head. Then she fixed her own
plate.

“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.