the streets. As many as 75 people a week are being killed and hundreds of innocent people are being wounded. Stray bullets are flying everywhere and you can’t tell who’s shooting at you or why. So sadly I’ve declined all offers to fight the bulls at the Juarez Plaza de Toros. You can see why I find it ironic that Inez would leave New York City and go to Juarez to get away from danger. But home is home, I guess, and all else be damned.”
“Do you think it’s safe enough for us to go there now?” she asked.
He did not answer for a long moment then said, “I see little difference between the two cities when it comes to us being safer....and maybe that’s what Inez is feeling too.”
They were both in deep thought for the remaining drive. They arrived in Philadelphia at 4:50 P.M. as Rudy had predicted. They drove directly to the Philadelphia International Airport and the Southwest Air Lines curb side baggage check and ticket counter. Rudy hailed a Sky Cap and asked him to return the rental car to the proper vendor and handed him his contract and a forty dollar tip.
After buying two first class tickets to El Paso and making their way though the security maze, Rudy suggested their find the VIP Lounge and have a proper dinner. The lounge was small and had no windows and was lit only by a small candle on each of the dozen tables. The thick dark red carpeting and velour draperies that lined the walls kept the terminal traffic noise to a minimum and made Pamela wish she was wearing a small black dress instead of her casual traveling clothes. The waiters were all dressed in black suits and seemed to speak just above a whisper. They were escorted to a small corner table and Rudy held her chair for her to be seated. He took the corner seat and asked her if she would like a cocktail or glass of wine before dinner. “Yes, a nice red wine would be fine.” Rudy instructed the waiter to send the Wine Steward to their table and ordered a large single malt scotch on the rocks for himself. The Steward arrived wearing the customary silver chain and cup of his trade and carrying a tray with Rudy’s scotch.
“The lady would like a nice red wine. What can you offer us?” Rudy said.
“We have several fine Clarets and Cabernet Sauvignons on hand. Does the lady’s taste lean to the hardy red wines or the softer red?” Rudy looked to Pamela for the answer.
“A hardy Claret would be wonderful,” she replied.
“Bring us a bottle of fine Claret and two glasses,” Rudy ordered.
After the steward had gone to fetch the claret, they opened his dinner menu and Rudy asked, “do you like shellfish?”
“Sure,” she said.
“How about bouillabaisse,” he continued.
“Yes, I like it but I don’t see it listed here.”
“Well let’s see if we can make it a special request. If, of course you don’t object to having fish with your red wine.”
“Not at all. I break that silly little rule all the time,” she said with air an of disregard. They both chuckled at her pretense.
The Wine Steward returned to their table and showed Rudy the bottle he had selected from the wine cellar. He uncorked the wine and placed the cork on the table and poured a small amount of the dark purple liquid into the glass in front of Rudy. Rudy lifted the glass to his nose and inhaled the bouquet. Then swirled the wine around the inside of the glass for a few moments and took another sniff.
He handed the glass to Pamela and said, “Please do the tasting honors. My palate is affected by the scotch.”
She took the glass from him and proceeded to do the same sniffing, swirling and sniffing before taking a small taste of the wine. “It’s excellent, a very fine wine,” she proclaimed.
“Thank you madam, it’s one of our finest, a 1990 Chateau Latour, he said and poured a few drops into his silver cup and took a taste. “Superb, bon appetite,” he said as he poured Pamela’s glass about one third full.
Rudy seemed right at home asking the waiter if the chef was agreeable to preparing non- menu dishes upon request, and if he could make them a special lobster Bouillabaisse.
To their delight the answer was yes and the chef himself would be right out from the kitchen to discuss their order. Within a few minutes the chef arrived at their table. Pamela was amazed as he instantly recognized Rudy as “El Gardo” and wiped his hands on his apron to shake Rudy’s hand. The two men spoke in Spanish as Rudy acknowledged that he was indeed the famed Toreador. After a few moments of polite conversation and hardy hand pumping, Rudy spoke in English as he introduced Pamela to the restauranteur.
“Pamela, we have the honor of being the guests of Chef Fernando Navarro. Chef Navarro, I’d like to introduce my beautiful companion, Doctor Pamela Bean.”
Chef Navarro offered his hand to Pamela and without the prior vigorous shaking with Rudy, smiled and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Doctor, and to have such a beautiful couple as our guests.”
She blushed at the notion that they were considered a couple and said, “Please call me Pamela.”
“That will be my honor Señorita and you must call me Fernando. I would like to make for you and Señor Rodriguez a special banquete.”
Again Rudy and Fernando spoke to each other in Spanish and the only word Pamela understood from their conversation was bouillabaisse. The two men seemed to have reached an agreement. Both were smiling and nodding their heads together.
Rudy was the first to speak in English and said, “Fernando we insist that you join us for your culinary masterpiece and this excellent wine.”
“Sí, sí, yes, I will be delighted to join you for dinner, but now I must return to my kitchen and prepare.”
As soon as he had gone their waiter returned and moved them to a larger table that had been set for four. He quickly removed the fourth place setting and rearranged the remaining three. The Wine Steward, in anticipation of their needs, decanted the second bottle of Chateau Latour and poured a glass for the vacant third place and then refilled their glasses.
After they were alone Pamela asked, “What was it Fernando called you when you met?”
A big smile came to Rudy’s face, “He called me El Gardo. It’s my Spanish nick name. All Matador’s earn one from their audience over a period of time of performing in the bullring. Some are good and some are not so good. I was fortunate to have been dubbed El Gardo.”
“What does it mean?” she coaxed.
“It means The Generous One or He of fine Bearing.”
“Wow....that’s impressive, so why did they nick name you, El Gardo?”
“From my earliest days in the bullring it was well known that I was from a well-to-do family and that I was heir to a large trust fund. My annual allowance, even as a teenager, was more than most established Matadors earn in a year. Although I was still living at the Abby and was a ward of the Monks, I had a very fine lifestyle. From the start I did not need the extra money I was paid at the bullfights and managed to save and invest most of it. By the time I was twenty I owned a sizable villa in the south of Spain and was raising Arabian horses and cattle. We took in any of the local orphans that came looking for food and shelter and soon we had to build a second bunkhouse to hold them all. I had become a very
