“You are making fun of me, Señor Clete?”
“Absolutely not, Enrico,” Clete said. “I am asking you, as a friend, to explain these matters to me, so I will not do or say anything inappropriate. In case I should happen to bump into one of these inappropriate women, or if I should have to entertain some lonely friends of my father.”
“You are making fun of me, and I will say no more,” Enrico said, at once sad and indignant.
“Goddamn it, Enrico, I am not making fun of you. You’re my best friend in Argentina.”
Enrico met his eyes. “Except perhaps for the good Father Welner, I am,” he said.
“You’re my best friend, Enrico,” Clete said flatly.
Enrico considered that for a moment. “You have decided, Señor Clete, to use the Alvear apartment to meet el Mayor von Wachtstein?”
“If that makes sense to you,” Clete said.
“Then I will have to explain the inappropriate women to you,” Enrico said. “If you don’t understand, you are likely to say something inappropriate. I say that with all respect, as your friend.”
“Please do.”
“There are young women in Buenos Aires, whose families are poor, or who have no family, or whose family is in the country, and who in any event do not make enough money to support themselves as well as they would like to live. You understand?”
Yeah, I understand. Like Tony Pelosi’s Maria-Teresa. Who provided my father-in-law-to-be with a little afternoon bedroom gymnastics because he slipped her money and held the mortgage on her father’s restaurant.
And then when she met Tony, and told him no more, was going to call the goddamn mortgage.
And that hypocritical sonofabitch sat there tonight, wallowing in the sympathy he was getting from his family because I made Dorotéa pregnant.
My God, did my father have a Maria-Teresa stashed away someplace? In this apartment in the Alvear?
“Go on, Enrico.”
“They meet people,” Enrico went on. “There is an understanding that there will be a gift—”
“Money, you mean?”
“Money, or jewelry—that can easily be sold back to the jeweler—something like that. If they meet the same man regularly, sometimes there is an apartment. Or an account at Harrod’s. You understand?”
&nbs
p; “But they do go to bed with the man, right?”
“Sometimes yes, and sometimes no, it depends on whether they like the man.”
“Or the size of the present?”
“It is not like that, Señor Clete. You will make a gift to the Minas tonight—”
“Whoa! What tonight?”
“These girls are called Minas. You will give them a gift—”
“I don’t want any women tonight, for Christ’s sake. Jesus, I’m getting married on Saturday! What the hell is the matter with you?”
“You will be so kind as to permit me to finish, Señor?” Enrico asked, his tone eloquently indicating how deeply his feelings had been hurt.
“Go ahead,” Clete said, managing to restrain a smile.
“The Mina is an accepted custom in Argentina for people of your position, Señor. If you and el Mayor von Wachtstein spend fifteen or twenty minutes in the apartment with two Minas, the staff of the hotel will see nothing unusual. If, however, you and el Mayor spend time in the apartment alone…”