Keep Cool, Stay Tough

“What did I ask you to do for me, Senna?”

“Scan the first team’s most recent medical records into the system, and take down messages from anyone that calls?” I hazarded, pushing my lips together, hoping Martha doesn’t see through my play dumb and hope she lets it slide act.

“Your father had warned me, explicitly he had warned me about what you and an inch freedom will mean,” Martha ranted, as she insistently blew a stray strand of her hair out of her face only to have it land back in its same spot, and yet she refused to budge from the front of the air-conditioning’s vent.

If I were to guess about what this conversation was leading towards then I would have to guess that the picture Sergio took had gone viral and Martha had gotten wind of it. And she wasn’t even following me on Instagram. Rude.

“Do I even want to know how you ended up in that picture?”

Was she seriously wincing?

“He’s a friend of a friend, that’s it, and I get it, he’s the famous one, but he’s the one that wanted to take the picture. I was having dinner with some girls from my sociology class,” I was a little surprised that she had let me get that much out before she shut me down.

“What friends?” She demanded, “You’ve been in town for seventy-two hours, what friends from sociology? You haven’t even started your classes.”

“We were at the library buying books and those girls were looking for the same book, and there was just one left in stock. Also, if we could wrap up this lovely interrogation, so I could get through Arbeola and Benzema’s records…that’d just be so grand,” I returned, my jaw beginning to feel tight.

“Go, Senna,” She sighed.

I got up to leave, but something caught me and held me back. I don’t know exactly what it was, I couldn’t think beyond the need to be completely honest with her, in a way that maybe I was never able to be with my dad.

“It’s going to happen, it’s going to keep happening, Martha. By these standards that you and my dad have created, it’s inevitable that I will mess up.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Cut me some slack, I guess. Is going out to dinner with some new friends, and taking a picture with a friend of a friend really on the same level as getting into a car accident?”

“Prove to me that it won’t be a mistake first,” Martha didn’t skip a beat.

“I will,” I felt like I was trying to convince myself just as much as I was trying to convince her.
She nodded, it was slow and deliberate. I walked back out to the front office where my fancy glass top desk was waiting for me with a shiny new Mac perched on top of it.

In between screening phone calls, scanning and alphabetizing medical records, I was also in a group chat with Cesc, Thiago, and Sergio. The message instigating the group chat was the now semi-infamous picture from last night messaged to the rest of us by Cesc.

Martha got a phone call that she had told me to immediately patch through to her, and she had me taking notes while the speaker phone was switched on, and the woman on the other end of the line was crosschecking a list of medications that I wasn’t quite sure who it was being prescribed to.

When I got back to my desk and my phone, there had been about a half dozen text messages waiting for me. The text that caught my eye was a picture sent from Sergio. It was me sitting at my new desk. I tilted my head, looking towards the glass wall, and sure enough, Sergio’s head was looming there. I laughed, in spite of myself, and snuck outside to talk to Sergio.

“Hey,” I nodded towards him, smiling.

“Hey yourself, what are you doing here?”

“You doctor is my aunt, and I’m going to be helping out with probing during examinations,” I wriggled my eyebrows as Sergio gave an uncomfortable laugh, “It’s punishment for that picture last night.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Your punishment is to spend more time with the first team?”

“Probing,” I grinned, “Yes, too much a good thing, you know?”

“Right, are you like a med-major or something?” He cleared his throat as he asked.

I got the feeling that I could make this joke much more elaborate if I had the inclination to, but I did not, so I dropped the act.

“I’m just an office assistant for the time being. I’ll make some extra cash, and I’ll create order out of the chaos that is the medical records,” I admitted.

He looked visibly relieved. I giggled.

I pointed towards the door, “We should both probably get back to what we were doing, no?”

He pointed towards the same door, “I’m actually on my way to see your aunt. I took a bad knock, thanks to fuck-face Marcelo, and I need my shoulder looked at.”

“Ah, then let’s get that shoulder looked at. Does it hurt?”

“Little bit, little less when you’re distracting me.

“Oh, you are such a people-pleaser,” I laughed.

“I try,” He chuckled and ushered me inside before him.

After Sergio left, Martha came to the front with a forcibly stoic expression.

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” I almost laughed.

“I had to have this conversation with Mina when she had been helping out, don’t make do it again. It was horrid enough the first time.”

A light bulb flickered on in my head.

“I don’t date footballers, Martha, it’s like, a rule, and I’ve had it forever, and I promise I’ve stuck to it,” I assured immediately.

She looked so relieved, I thought she was going to kiss me, hug me, or even fist bump me.

“That’s good, that’s a smart choice,” She grinned, pulling off her glasses to wipe at her eye.

The last few hours of my day was largely spent indoors – well my day was, Martha disappeared to play doctor outside, and I didn’t see Sergio or any other living person for the rest of the day. The group chat had fizzled out by now too.

I was bored, and felt like I had made a decent start to the medical records, and I spun around in my chair wondering if I should text Chloe and Zoe, but I thought better of it. I turned my attention back to the stacks and stacks of medical records.

“You’re still working,” Sergio arrived flanked by the Frenchmen Karim Benzema and Raphael Varane. My god, Varane was even more gorgeous zoomed in.

It took me a moment to respond to Sergio’s introductions as I was growing more and more admiring of Varane’s…well the whole package if I was being completely honest.

“Senna?” Sergio was repeating something.

“Hi,” I snapped out some weird thoughts and gave a wave.

“Senna, like the Brazilian racer?” Karim asked.

I nodded, a breathy laugh escaping, “I still don’t know how my dad got away with that one.”

“It’s very pretty, it suits you better,” Raphael tacked on with a wide grin.

Really not sure how I was still standing.

“Anyway,” Sergio nearly shouted.

“Where’s Martha?” I asked.

“Oh, she left,” Sergio’s tone was offhand.

My eyebrows furrowed as a frown took over the majority of my face, “What? Where? Why didn’t I know? Why am I still here then?”

“She went off on an emergency consultation; I don’t think she’s even in town, she told me to tell you,” Sergio explained, “She also mentioned something about cutting you some slack or something.”

“I’ve been abandoned?” I squealed, incredulous.

“I volunteered to take you home,” Sergio announced proudly, as if he had done some remarkable deed.

“And she actually agreed to that?”

I’m not even mad anymore, that was pretty remarkable actually.

He nodded, placing his hand on heart, “I swear it.”

He pointed towards the other two, “They’re playing chaperon.”

Understanding dawned on me as I looked from Karim to Raphael, “They’re in relationships.”

“Deeply committed relationships,” Karim assured.

“Ah,” I nodded, “That’s sweet. They’re lucky girls, I’m sure.”

As we walked towards Sergio’s white AUDI Q7, seriously does every footballer drive a freaking AUDI, my phone buzzed, and I was surprised to see that I had gotten joint texts from Zoe and Chloe. I couldn’t help picturing the pair sitting beside each other as they sent their invitation to dinner to me simultaneously.

“Actually,” I glanced up from my phone, “If you could drop me off at my friend’s place, I’m going to have dinner over there.”

Sergio nodded, and I slid in the front seat beside Sergio as the two Frenchman graciously took up the backseat.

***

“I doubt they would have come in,” I assured as Chloe continued to panic and look out the window as if Sergio was still going to be parked out there.

“Why?” Zoe asked, totally unfazed as she sipped from her sangria.

“They had a poker night waiting for them at Iker’s house,” I explained as I popped a salty green olive into my mouth.

I decided not to mention the fact that Sergio asked me to blow off my dinner plans for his poker plans. I wasn’t sure about anything, especially about how much I wanted to up open about well everything to these girls.

Zoe had made a baked ziti, garden salad, garlic bread, and a pitcher of sangria. Apparently Chloe had set the table and bought fresh flowers.

“I should have brought flowers, or dessert,” I pouted, “I’m a terrible dinner guest.”

Chloe waved me off, “You’re coming straight from work, don’t even worry about it. I think we should have a pint of ice cream in the freezer, that’ll suffice.”

“We probably have those maraschino cherries too,” Zoe added, giving a vague nod towards the refrigerator.

As we were settling around the kitchen table, the doorbell rang. Puzzled, the three of us looked towards each other as if expecting one of us to know who was at the door.

“You guys expecting someone else?” I eventually asked.

They both shook their heads as Chloe came to her feet. She returned a moment later with a girl that I recognized from the few photos I’d seen off of Zoe’s instagram.

Her eyebrows briefly furrowed as she acknowledged my presence, but immediately glanced over me as her lower lip quivered. I already had an inkling of what she was about to say. I awkwardly made to stand up, but Zoe waved at me to sit back down without taking her eyes off of Irina.

“Cristiano and I broke up,” She announced, her eyes puffy and lips chapped.

I hadn’t mentioned the brief scrap of conversation I had overheard a few nights ago to either of them, and now they sat seemingly shell-shocked by the news. Irina had been with Cristiano for around five years, I had been informed, and everything had been going well enough for the pair up until the last two months. Everything between them had unraveled during the holidays. Even now, as Irina took up a seat and a glass of sangria, she remained meticulously elusive regarding the details of their separation. She didn’t even mention the phone call that I had overhead accidentally.

It was too awkward to try to eat while Irina continued to rant about all her budding feelings of anger and plans for revenge, and so my plate of ziti remained cold and untouched. I looked down at it, taking deep whiffs of the scent still lingering in the air. Finally, I came up with the idea that I had asked my cousin to come pick me up at a certain time, and that time was fast approaching so I excused myself and went outside feeling hungrier and more exhausted than when I had arrived.

I stepped outside, and the cold air immediately filled my lungs. I didn’t remember it being so cold when I had first shown up on Zoe and Chloe’s doorstep. I walked aimlessly down the block till I hit a four-way intersection. I knew I should just call a cab and get to Martha’s and call it a night, but then I didn’t bother to stop myself about wondering about Sergio’s invitation. I wanted to find out if the invitation still stood.

“Hey, how deep are you in your poker game?” I asked, biting down on my lip.

“Oh, yeah I’m just watching Karim kick Iker’s ass at FIFA, we ditched the poker game like ten minutes in, no one had cash handy,” Sergio was speaking through mounds of food in his mouth. My stomach growled almost indignantly, “Is your dinner going that well that you’re calling, not even texting, in the middle of it?”

I scrunched up my nose, staring at a man that was walking his giant black dog while staring at me, and I was unsure if I wanted to mention Irina’s appearance, “Yeah, I actually left their place a couple of minutes ago, and I was calling to see if you could come get me if it’s not too much trouble?”

He swallowed his food down audibly, and I thought I could hear shouting about a bullshit call in the background before he asked, “From the same place?”

My mood brightened immediately, “Yes, I’m standing at that four-way intersection under a street light, you wonderful life-saver, you!”

“See you in five.”

Either Iker lived ridiculously close to Zoe and Chloe, or Sergio just completely blew past every stop sign, red light, and pedestrian that dared to get in the way of his AUDI. He wasn’t alone this time either; sitting in the front was Sergio’s national teammate, Fernando Torres.

I smiled politely and gave a small wave before reaching for the back door’s handle, “Chaperon?”

“Hey, I made your aunt a promise, she always knows when I lie to her, and trust me you don’t want to be on the receiving end of that woman’s wrath,” Sergio’s voice had dropped low and sincere and I tried to stifle a giggle, but Fernando noticed and laughed. Sergio pretended not to notice.

“Senna, Nando, Nando, Senna,” Sergio introduced as he did a not so legal u-turn in the middle of the intersection as Fernando turned and extended his hand out for a shake.

“Pleasure, I’ve heard a lot about you,” I was reminded of the last time I had been around a table with Cesc and the rest of them and I felt a sharp pang in my chest that was left smarting for the rest of the night.

“Same, Cesc called me the other night to make sure I kept an eye on you while you’re in Madrid,” Fernando announced.

“I could have done that,” Sergio muttered, “He could have asked me too.”

The conversation didn’t really pick up its momentum until we were back at Iker’s house where Iker, Karim, Rapael, and Fernando’s French teammate Antoine Griezman were settled before a giant flat screen and table crowded by paper plates and beer bottles while Karim and Antoine were the ones holding onto the controls.

Sergio frowned, as I pulled a slice of pizza onto a plate.

“Pizza’s cold, I can order another one,” He suggested.

I shook my head, taking a bite, “I prefer cold pizza.”

Sergio shook his head, “So weird.”

“So what has Cesc been saying about me exactly?” I asked, curiosity eventually winning out over my misguided sense of propriety.

“All good stuff,” Fernando responded immediately. Sergio’s eyes were fixed on the screen as Antoine had just scored against Karim’s Real Madrid, leveling the score.

“Hmm, that’s a likely answer, but give me something specific,” I prodded.

Fernando glanced at Sergio who was only present physically, his attention had completely gone to the match, but Fernando lowered his voice slightly anyway.

“That you pulled him out of a potentially catastrophic situation,” Fernando hedged.

Cesc’s voice flooded into my head so sharply, I casually looked around me just to be sure he hadn’t randomly dropped by to visit. He had mentioned that when it came to Spain’s national team, he had struck up easy friendships with Fernando, Iker, and David Villa. Those were the names he mentioned to me most frequently beyond the usual Barca clique. Sergio was the guy that you got drunk with and you would keep your mouth shut and he would fill the silence with other people’s scandals.

As for Fernando, since he had followed a similar path as Cesc’s with leaving their first club for an English side, they had always exchanged experiences about maintaining relationships with the girls that they had left behind in their respective cities. Ironically enough, neither of them had managed to stick with their girlfriends at the time for very long after leaving. But unlike Cesc, Fernando somehow wound up married to his girlfriend.

I could just tell that Fernando knew. He looked at me the way Thiago and Geri would look at me; like I was their friend’s girlfriend which was someone equivalent to being a nun in their heads. Sergio meanwhile simply saw a pretty girl from a city he wasn’t all that fond of.

Iker and the rest of the Madridistas, including Sergio, all groaned as Antoine cheered and Fernando clapped. I checked the screen and the game had wrapped up with Atheltico beating Real once again with the score line 3-1. Iker, Karim, and Raphael were all clambering for the control to avenge the dishonor of losing, when Sergio came to his feet demanding for the control and Karim’s spot on the couch.

“I’ll show you how it’s done,” I heard Sergio assure the group over audile insults and protests.

“I know you know,” I stated, my tone flat.

Fernando laughed and took a swig of beer.

“Cesc has always been careful about who he says what to,” Fernando assured.

“He never told me that he told anyone beyond the people we had told together,” I answered trying not to sound out any of the negative feelings twirling amongst the memories and thoughts that were merging and peeling apart.

“How did you know then?”

I explained about the difference between his looks and Sergio’s looks.

“Very perceptive,” He complimented.

“When you have nothing to go on, every little thing means something,” Weird memories of standing across a room from Cesc as he talked to girls and caught my eye, and entire conversations passed between the pair of us that way. It came to a point when that was the only way I could understand him, and when he left, and we couldn’t have those conversations, the relationship suffered.

I wished it was still last week, and I was sitting on that porch and Cesc was seconds away from kissing me for the first time in years.

“Tell me something nice he’s said,” I pleaded softly.

Fernando gave a small smile and awkward shrug, “He’s my friend.”

He was uncomfortable with being put on the spot, and admittedly I did feel a twinge of guilt for cornering him and putting him on the spot like this.

“There’s too much to remember or choose from anyway, and it’s all good stuff, you guys were good together until you stopped being good together,” Fernando floundered about searching for words to appease me without divulge a friend’s secret.

I raised my eyebrows, and tilted my head, touched, “Really, he really talked about me, like a lot?”
Fernando smiled, “I’m telling you, he was really happy before things got so hard.

“It’s when he left for London, everything unraveled then,” I frowned, the pang pulsing crudely in my chest, constantly reminding me that something was missing.

“Maybe you didn’t seem as emotionally invested in him anymore,” Fernando blurted and seemed to immediately regret his words.

My ears perked up, “Did he tell you that?”

He sighed.

“Right, talk to him, stop extracting information, got it.”

“It would be really appreciated,” Fernando returned, grabbing his beer and leaning back in his seat, his eyes roaming over to the virtual game that was tied 1-1.

“I’m really usually not this pushy, it’s just when Cesc came back to Barcelona, I had genuinely been under the impression that he and I would wind up back together.”

“But he came back with her.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not his fault either. I don’t blame him, I was just disappointed.”

“But then he broke up with her, and you basically snubbed any advance he tried to make.”

“I couldn’t be with him, I wasn’t over the fact that he had bounced back so smoothly and brought this girl back with him, without even a warning might I add, and I had been deluded enough to believe that he would want to be with me again. I really took a hit in the self-esteem department.”

“That’s why he was so surprised when you took the fall for him, you know that right?”

“What do you mean?”

“He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that you would take the fall for him after he had done something like what he did. Senna we actually did exercises where he put himself in your shoes, and-“ Fernando cut himself off, as if just realizing he was saying too much.

“Oh come on, don’t cut yourself off, that’s not fair.”

He laughed, “I was just going to say that he almost cried picturing you coming back from a foreign country after so and so years and then coming back with some stranger that you were now intimate with. Things got weird.”

“Wow.”

“He’s gonna kill me, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“When he finds out I told you this, he’s going to kill me. He’s going to break my kneecaps. Do you know how much Sons of Anarchy he watches? He’s feeling inspired.”

I laughed, picturing Cesc riding a motorcycle, “Who’s going to tell him? Certainly not me, I’m far too grateful to finally fill these gaps that confused me so much for so long.”

“So when he came back to Barcelona…you and him?”

I shook my head, “The first year and a half she was there. Then when she wasn’t there anymore, I just could never get over that sort of betrayal I guess. He never mentioned her to me, you know? I mean he did, and I heard gossip and all that junk, but he never told me it was serious to the point that she would come back with him. It really caught me off guard.”

“Why come to Madrid now though? Why not just go to London with him? Why not give it a proper try?”

“He was my first boyfriend. I love him, I mean obviously I love him; you don’t do what I did for someone you just like. I just don’t see myself being anything more than friends with him, or with any footballer for that matter.”

“He’s got you swearing off all of us, huh? Sergio’s going to be disappointed,” Fernando nodded over towards a gleeful Sergio who had just been awarded a penalty.

I laughed, “I’m positive he’ll find a way to get over it.”

“He’s been obsessing.”

“We’ve just been bumping into each other a lot these last two days.”

“That’s cute, you think those were coincidences.”

“Oh don’t burst my bubble,” I returned, laughing, “I’ll bring up my lack of attraction to footballers in front of him the next time.”

He was shaking his head, chuckling, “So naïve, you really don’t know Sergio at all.”

“I have a decent idea of how to deal with him,” I pressed, wondering if I really did or I was just keen on proving Fernando wrong.

“So you really don’t see yourself dating a football player? Ever?”

I shook my head, “Right now, at this moment, I can’t picture it, maybe in a few months, a year from now, someone will come along to change my mind, but I just can’t go through that stress a second time for some fling that’ll fizzle out.”

“I guess that’s understandable.”

His face managed to completely contradict his words, right down to the ever so slight wrinkle of his nose.

I wanted to explain to Fernando why I was being so pushy. I wanted to tell him that back in Barcelona I didn’t get to have these talks, I didn’t get to be so open. Our mutual friends were always nervous about hurting him or me, and any question I had was always successfully avoided. But I didn’t. Instead, we spent the rest of our evening focusing on FIFA.