Free The Argentina Rhodochrosite by J. A. Jernay Page A

Two, a need for approval. Three, a lack of family gives him no models to pattern himself upon. All of this means that his sense of self is very fluid, very mobile, whereas yours and mine are more fixed.”
    She thought about that for a moment. Ainsley’s own identity had been in major upheaval for nearly a year now, struggling with loss of spouse, loss of job, loss of friends, loss of purpose. Maybe she was just as adrift as Ovidio.
    Nestor was continuing. “And then this fluid sense of self is reinforced by the adulation of the Argentine public. They tell him that this state is acceptable and even wanted. As a result, he embraces these contradictions within himself, instead of attempting to resolve them.”
    “That’s good insight,” said Ainsley.
    “It’s elucidated by Lacan,” he continued. “The mirror stage initiates, and aids, the process of forming and integrating a solid sense of self. But without the Other, which is typically the Mother…” He shrugged.
    Ainsley felt confused by the verbiage, which she could barely follow in English, let alone Spanish. She decided to steer the conversation towards more practical matters. “Has Ovidio ever spoken about his mother?”
    “Every day for the past ten years,” he said.
    “He comes into your office every day?”
    “No, it’s mostly by phone. Day or night, that telephone is always ringing. And I always pick up.” The psychotherapist smiled ruefully. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s the ideal patient: unlimited problems and unlimited funds. But, truthfully, it’s like a prison for me.” He glanced at Ainsley. “That’s all off the record.”
    “Of course.”
    Then he frowned. “Where is your tape recorder?”
    “I lost it,” she lied.
    “You have no paper or pen?”
    She rushed to cover her tracks. “I’m just getting background. And my memory is excellent.”
    Nestor shrugged. She sensed that he was getting bored with her. Ainsley decided to cut to the chase.
    “Have you discussed his mother’s necklace?”
    Nestor paused. He looked at her significantly. “Ovidio’s entire mentality is in that necklace. I’ve watched him hold it against his face when he cries. I’ve watched him, in a fit of anger, throw it out the window into a dumpster. I had to call his assistant to retrieve it, because I knew he was going to regret it.”
    “I heard an interesting rumor about it,” said Ainsley.
    “I live in Buenos Aires,” he said. “I hear rumors every day.”
    “This rumor says that the necklace is missing,” she said, “and that he won’t play soccer until it’s found.”
    The psychotherapist’s nostrils widened. “That is not public knowledge,” he said, “and if you publish that, you will regret having come to Buenos Aires.”
    “I have no intention of doing so,” she said. “But do you have any thoughts?”
    “I do,” he said, “but I won’t share them with you.”
    “You can trust me,” she said.
    “That’s not been proven.”
    She plowed ahead anyways. “Who would’ve wanted to steal his rhodochrosite?”
    “Who wouldn’t?” he said. The psychotherapist’s eyes were dancing madly behind his glasses. “Pick an opposing manager. Pick an opposing player. They’re in awe of his talent, but nobody can stand his personality. Jealousy is a powerful motivator.”
    “So you’re telling me it could’ve been anybody in professional Argentine soccer.”
    “It’s possible.” Then he grew very still, and when he began speaking again, the psychotherapist’s voice had changed. It was deeper and heavier. “If you’re at this party, then you already know that he’s thinking about running for president.”
    Ainsley nodded. “He’s been giving interviews about it.”
    “What do you think about that?”
    “It’s a bad idea. He’s not fit to be president. It would probably hurt the country.”
    The psychotherapist nodded but said nothing. Behind the spectacles, his eyes had grown very serious, and his gaze held hers with