In which Moneypenny meets and impresses ‘M’

Mr Bond

Looking back on it, I have rarely seen Moneypenny look more uncomfortable than when ‘M’ addressed her in the bar at Los Laureles. It was as if Moneypenny realised that her insatiable curiosity in entering the cemetery had sealed her fate.

She smiled limply and cast her eyes down in a coy way. Was this the real Moneypenny, or an act put on for Maria Cristina’s benefit? But a few nights ago Moneypenny had been quick to seize the initiative and suggest what could only be described as an outrageous plan to seduce Alvero and access Dr Richard Alvarez.

“Well, you are now with us, like it or not - and I have a little job for you”, ‘M’ continued.

Raul leaned back in his chair as a 1931 vinyl recording of ‘Amargamente’ from Orquesta Tipica Brunswick played and lights from a passing car flickered across the wall. A waiter slid a fresh bottle of high altitude Malbec onto the table, and I picked up the last piece of queso milanesa. Sabrina, seeking to rescue Moneypenny ventured, “It seems that she has already made a good start”.

“So, tell me about it”, said ‘M’ as she looked intently into Moneypenny’s eyes. “What have you been up to, chica?”

It was over an hour later that Maria Cristina picked up her scarf from her lap, pushed her blonde hair beneath her cloche hat and opened her handbag to retrieve her gloves. On doing so, a yellow light spun across the wall and a motorcycle turned outside the bar in Av Gral Iriate. A waiter, not hitherto noticed, stepped forward and led M the way she had entered, behind the counter, disappearing as quickly and unseen as she had arrived.

Raul whistled softly, ‘phew, Moneypenny, I would never have guessed you had it in you. How on earth did you work out that plan?”, added Sabrina, “you make Mr Bond look like an amateur!”

Never the master of the understatement, Sabrina was spot on for once - although in fairness neither Moneypenny nor I had shared with ‘M’ details of her reckless plan to return to Alvero’s apartment.

“I think another bottle of Sottano Judas Malbec 2012 is warranted”, I ventured, “no point in having the Ministry’s gold card and not making full use of it”, I added. Raul looked across disconsolate - driving the Bentley had its disadvantages. “So, let’s get a couple of bottles then Raul can enjoy his at his leisure”, I continued with a wry smile and a nod.

As we prepared to leave Moneypenny tipped her head to one side and glanced over to the small dance floor. “Oh I adore Di Sarli”, she slurred, “just one last dance”. After her tour de force earlier I could not deny her this trophy, so propping her against my arm, I led her to onto the pista. “I know the words, Bond, ‘Esta Noche Luna’, I know the words”, she repeated, and resting her head against my chest we danced as she sung,

“Acércate a mí y oirás mi corazón
Contento latir como un brujo reloj,
La noche es azul, convida a soñar
El cielo ha encendido su faro mejor.
Si un beso te doy, pecado no ha de ser
Culpable es la noche que incita a querer,
Me tienta el amor, acércate ya
El credo de un sueño, nos redimirá”.

Moments later, we stepped out into the cool night air. On leaving, the waiters slid the windows down along the front of the bar and shot the bolt on the doors. The sound of Di Sarli faded, to be replaced by Hugo Diaz’s  ‘Mi Noche Triste’- receding from beneath the railway arches where I could just discern the glint of moonlight on the wheels of a chair.

Moneypenny

“I didn’t want you to end up here, it’s not too late to say no…..it’s not too late yet”, Sabrina whispers in my ear.  I don’t have an answer for her, few are the times when I am at a loss for words and it seems this was one of them. At first, I thought it was fun running around the city following Bond; mysterious cemetery meetings, secret milonga parties, even sleeping with Alvaro didn’t bother me too much, but now… I have to prove myself, prove my worth towards something I’m not even sure I want to be a part of.

Suddenly, I feel Sabrina and Bond tense up as the bar doors open and a blonde woman. dressed in black, walks in.  It’s the woman from the cemetery, it’s the illusive ‘M’.

“Good evening, James, Sabrina, Raul”, she says as she removes her hat and lets her golden hair cascade over the shoulders.  “Now let’s see what the two of you have been up to”, she says with a smirk, addressing Bond and Sabrina casually avoiding me.  She then turns her gaze towards me and adds: “You both left out how incredibly….what’s the word, not beautiful, beautiful is too plain, too generic, no not beautiful -  but seductive she is. Although, I should hardly be surprised, I have known you for what over…..well let’s just say some years now haven’t I James?”. I assumed this was also eluding to how Sabrina got caught up with them.

“Indeed M, good of you to conceal the exact number of years”, Bond retorts with a smile.  “Don’t flatter yourself Bond, I did it more for me, and because I simply can’t count that high!”, she responds with a burst of laughter.

“Now enough of this nonsense; Sabrina I trust that everything is in order”, she questions, giving Sabrina no chance to repond. “And now Moneypenny, James tells me you’re quite something, says you figured out the riddle we planted for you without too much difficulty, Bond himself would have taken years to solve it”, she says looking directly at me with her piercing eyes.  “How did you do it?”

“Well, it was quite elementary”, I started.  “James, I mean Bond, and Sabrina for that matter, always seem to speak in riddles, so I’ve had a fair amount of practice when it comes to deciphering things. I know Bond is fascinated by Argentine history so I knew it had to be a historical reference.  And the rest just followed: brothers in arms, high the sky… had to be Peru or Lima up in the Andes; freed from the same shackles, had to be the year of independence, and then I realized it was an address”, I respond, trying to conceal my nerves.

“Impressive, and what did you think of the party my dear?” she asks, again looking directly into my eyes.

“I’m not sure what to think, the standard of tango wasn’t very good and the floor was too slippery -  but the champagne and the orchestra were excellent. Other than that I have no opinion”, I retort.

“I like her”, she says to Bond, “she doesn’t venture to talk about what she doesn’t know. It’s a good quality. However, don’t take me for a fool, I know you have more to say than a comment on the type of polish Richard uses on his floor.  I also know you took matters into your own little hands with Alvaro”, she adds with an inkling of criticism. “ So tell me, what have you been up to, chica? What was your plan that you so boldly took on by yourself?”

I wasn’t sure what to answer her. I hadn’t really thought things through properly, I had just acted, I couldn’t tell her that though.  “Well, I thought that the most direct way to Richard, assuming Richard is our target, is through his lover. Margaretta is clearly useless in this area, so the most obvious choice is Jay, which gives me at least one degree of separation from Richard should anything happen. But I thought Jay wouldn’t be too easily swayed by me, he’s a profiteer and I had nothing to offer him. It could make him doubt my motives for getting close to him. I needed something else to spark his interest. And then it came to be, who would do almost anything for a little fame and glory? Alvaro is perfect, he’s beautiful and fairly stupid. Not to mention that the man is obsessed with himself; a little flattery of his ego goes a very long way.  Thus, I wanted to ‘seduce’ him and convince him that he and I had a lot to gain from a connection with Richard. I made up some cockamamie story about my dreams of being a tango dancer and how he and I could benefit from Richard’s connections around the world. How, by infiltrating his inner circle, by infiltrating Jay, we could have it all. Alvaro is too stupid and too preoccupied with moisturizing his chest to put two and two together”, I respond almost surprised at how easily the words flooded from my lips.

‘M’ smiles, pulls her hat down and slips her gloves onto her slim hands. “That’ll do for now”, she replies, “don’t do anything else until you’re told to”.  “James, Sabrina I trust the two of you can work together on this”. Just as she got up, a waiter arrived, picked up the glass from which she had been sipping her Malbec and led her away. Not a trace of her was left behind, even her napkin had disappeared.

The four of us just stood there in silence as James opened another bottle of Malbec.  “Don’t say anything, put your shoes on and go dance”, Sabrina instructs me.

As soon as I manage to hook my shoe strap on, struggling with it as usual, Bond cabeceo’s me and swooshes me away to the dance floor.  We dance to one of my all time Pugliese favorites as moonlight beams through the windows of Bar Las Laureles.

In which Bond and Moneypenny keep their appointment

Mr Bond

As I exit the double doors of Palacio Haedo, I spot Raul waiting in the Bentley by the crossing on Av Santa Fe. In contrast to our last sortie to Peru 1826, I have dressed down, choosing a simple black shirt, casual chinos and a dab of cologne. Raul, as ever, sports his old gardening shirt and sun-beaten straw hat. Having arrived in good time for once, in the off-side seat sits Moneypenny, her cool slim legs crossed against the leather upholstery as she leans forward to kiss my cheek.

“Mr Bond, do we go to collect Senora Sabrina?”, Raul enquires. “No, she doesn’t trust your driving”, I retort with a grin that he spots in the rear view mirror. ”Bueno, let’s go”, he adds, feigning indifference. It is clear that Sabrina’s historic allure still retains some of its magic.

We head east in Marcelo Torcuado Alvear to 9 de Julio, then due south towards Av San Juan, beneath 25 de Mayo and into Barracas. I glance at Moneypenny. Tonight she is quiet and pensive. Gone - the incessant chatter and questions. In one way it is a relief to feel the summer evening silence; in another I am missing her youthful exuberance.  Leaving the flyover at Herreras, Raul navigates the Bentley down Alvarado, left into Salom and two blocks later to Av Gral Iriate. Just beyond the railway arches we arrive at our destination, Bar Los Laureles.

As I nudge the door of the Bentley I hear the sound of Hugo Diaz on the evening air, and a small wheelchair containing a diminutive frame comes into view along Concalves Diaz. Raul nods in its direction, and slips a manila envelope under a wiper blade.

It is about to turn eight o’clock as we enter Laureles. Following Raul, I glance around the bar in search of Sabrina. As expected, she is already at our table by the window, her jet black hair catching the fading light. Lines to her face reveal a slight scowl.

“Don’t get up”, I quip, smiling down at her, which she ignores as she offers a cheek to both Moneypenny and Raul. “What kept you?”, she asks with sarcasm, remembering her last dash in the Bentley with Raul at the wheel.

Bar Los Laureles still bears its 1893 credentials, and some of its paintwork. It has not changed in 125 years. The waiters bequeath their jobs from father to son, so even their appearance remains reminiscent of years gone by. Tonight they clatter from table to table, polishing glasses and checking salt cellars, with the occasional instruction called from the bar.

At one such shout a young waiter rushes to the back of the restaurant to pull open a door leading from the kitchen. And ‘M’ appears in the room from behind the bar.

Wearing a light cape and cloche, there is no doubting Maria Cristina’s significance and status, yet somehow she seems at home here, just as she does everywhere. She removes her hat, shakes her blonde hair to her shoulders and folds a silk scarf in her gloved hands. At the same moment a departing motorcycle and side-car bearing government insignia growls past the front of the building, its single headlamp penetrating the gathering gloom.

“Good evening everyone”, she announces, glancing in turn at Sabrina, Raul and me. “Bond, are you recovered from your trip to the cemetery?”, she adds with a superior smile. At which she turns to Moneypenny and says, “how good to meet you at last, Miss Moneypenny; it has been a while since Recoleta”.

Moneypenny

‘It’s out of the question old girl”, he said to me, “You can’t go back. Lucia arrived as you left. It seems she has a key to Alvero’s apartment. Fortunately, she didn’t see you leave - her taxi was apparently blocked by a wheelchair”, he added with a smile.

Those were his instructions, which in one blow destroyed my original plan of returning to Alvaro’s with a handful of La Viruta’s famous medialunas and café con leche to convince him that we had just spent the night together - that we were working on the same side to ‘seduce’ Jay, each for their own purpose. Perhaps I could tell him that I ran off when I heard Lucia making her way into his apartment? I wonder how gullible he is…..I have the feeling that a little flattery and promise of money and sex will go a very long way with Alvero.  I could also have disobeyed Bond, but as they say, ‘those that don’t follow instructions are often the most intolerant of disobedience’.

Anyhow, tonight is about meeting the mysterious ‘M’ for the first time. I have no idea how I should act. With Bond I know a little flirtation works allowing me to get away with almost anything, but this was going to be different, The silent card is probably the best one to play - speak only when spoken to, and see how things develop.

“Buenas tardes Miss Moneypenny”, says Raul as he holds open the rear door of the Bentley and I climb aboard.  He calls me ‘Miss’ because he knows I hate being called ‘señora’. I’ve demanded that he call me by my first name, but he won’t hear of it.

“Buenas tardes Raul, es la primera vez en mi vida que alguien viene a buscarme con una Bentley, que suerte tengo!” I reply, and he smiles, appreciating my efforts to master Castillano.

We drive through the city towards San Martin. Why would Bond have Raul pick me up first and then return for him, since Barracas is in my neck of the woods? Did he think I may be late, or worse, didn’t he trust me to come?

Bond gets into the car and gives me his usual up and down look; ‘Dress casually’, he had instructed, so I followed his example by sporting black shorts and a black sleeveless shirt. We look as if we’re going to a funeral or impersonating Yoko and John during their black phase.

Bond is silent, and I have no inclination for chit chat, so it suits me perfectly. I stare out the window as Raul swirls the Bentley through the avenidas and calles of Buenos Aires towards Barracas.  These streets hold so many memories. I feel I’m watching the end of a Woody Allen film - scenes empty of people to a haunting violin that makes you question if it had all been a dream. Who I was when I came here first? The things which have happened since? I still can’t believe it at times…

I love Barracas. The best way to describe the barrio is that it’s ‘haunting’, ‘bewitching’ -  grand old houses in large avenues that reveal a certain sadness about the city and it’s dwellers, a sadness with which I identify.

“We’re here, old girl,” Bond says, pulling me from my daydream.  “Bar Los Laureles, you’re going to love it!”

It is as if we’ve stepped into the time capsule, or that the clock has been wound back 130 years. The walls are filled with pictures of famous historic clientele. Between the pictures, time has chipped away the paint. The checkered floors on which dancers sway to Gardel are cracked, yet it doesn’t seem to bother them.  Waiters whisk from the cluttered bar to impatient customers carrying everything from bottles of wine to obscenely large pieces of meat.

Sabrina is seated in the far corner of the room, looking incredible as always. As we enter she looks up, ignores Bond, and beckons me. I feel vulnerable. For some unknown reason her presence here comforts me.

We kiss, take our seats and await the arrival of ‘M’.

In which Bond meets Moneypenny at La Viruta and prepares her to meet ‘M’

Mr Bond

It is Friday morning, after midnight. Checking my fountain pen, I pull on my jacket but decide against the black polished shoes, favouring a pair in suede. La Viruta Milonga is far from formal and I want to do my best to blend in.

There are some things that you should know about La Viruta. Situated in the Asociación Cultural Armenia in Palermo, La Viruta is a tango club with a difference. Whilst tango tourists arrive before midnight, the true milongueros - the professional dancers, teachers and organisers do not appear before two or three o’clock and stay until six in the morning after the tourists have gone, for a breakfast of coffee and medialunas.

My taxi drops me in Armenia and, being early, I saunter diagonally up the wide Asociacón stairs, turning to descend to the salon. From above, the ceiling appears low, giving the place a ‘club-like’ feel. Horacio Godoy’s bald head glints as he purports to conduct a small tango orchestra to the amusement of his tanguero followers. I glance to the far corners of the room in search of Moneypenny. As expected, she is not here yet. When a departing couple leave their table near the piano the waitress nods and I take my place to await Moneypenny’s arrival.

It is nearly 5 am when a breathless Moneypenny stumbles down the stairs to the salon. It is hard to know whether she is fearful, excited or both. She spots me and trots quickly towards my table. “Moneypenny, old girl, what kept you?”, I say jovially. She looks strained and exhausted. “Come, let’s dance and you can tell me all about it”, I continue, glancing down at her little red Katrinski flats.

Out on the crowded floor Moneypenny recounts her encounter with Alvero, and that she has made a discovery. As we dance she slips her hand under her shirt to withdraw a slim diary. “Bond, I found this in his pocket and from what I could see in the taxi coming here, it may hold the key to Jay”. “I am sure there will be more there if only I can get back. Will you come with me?”

“It’s out of the question, old girl”, I reply, adding, “apparently, Lucia arrived just as you left”. “We don’t know why, but it seems she has a key to Alvero’s apartment. Fortunately, she did not see you leave, thanks to the door of her taxi being blocked by a wheelchair”.

I take the diary from her fingers and slip it into my jacket pocket. El pibe de La Paternal - Fresedo’s ‘Buscandote’ swirls us into a close embrace.

“I have had a phone call from my handler ‘M’ here in Buenos Aires”, I breathe. “And she requires to meet you. It seems that from here on she will be pulling the strings for both of us”.

Returning to our table, I take the diary and pen from my pocket, and rip out a blank page on which I scribble an address. “This, old girl, is where we are to meet. Eight o’clock on Thursday night. For heaven’s sake, don’t be late”.

Were it not for my ‘grace-and-favour’ apartment on the top floor of Palacio Haedo, I would live in Barracas; an area that lies to the south west of San Telmo with the river Matanza at its feet, and La Boca to the east. Considered by many to be a ‘risky area’, for me it combines aging splendour with the historic home of true Portenos.

Sabrina was strangely quiet when I phoned to pass on Maria Cristina’s directions for a meeting. Her matter-of-fact response had me questioning the whole plan, and in particular, which of us was really handling Moneypenny. These days, Sabrina’s bitterness often conceals her true feelings, and drawns a curtain of mistrust. “Fine”, she replied, “I will meet you there for I don’t want to suffer Raul’s driving after last time”, she added abruptly, referring to her rescue from Belgrano two years earlier.

Bar Los Laureles is located in Av Gral Iriate, deep in Barracas. It is one of the oldest bars in Buenos Aires, dating back to 1893, and is steeped in the traditions of politics and tango. It was here in 1940 that the famous tango singer Angel Vargas gathered and seduced his first followers. Well chosen by M, it is so distant from the Recoleta’s Embassy community as to be a safe, discreet and private meeting place.

“We could get there by taxi, Mr Bond, but it is doubtful that we will find a cab to bring us back”, said Raul, knowing of Barracas’ night time reputation. “I will get the Bentley out on Thursday”, he continued, drumming his garden-gloved fingers on the side his watering can. “We can bribe one of those cartonero kids to watch it for us”, he added with a grin.