mirrored on one side with dark wood on the other, and indicated that Madonna should follow her into the dining room. More wood paneling covered the walls, and a long, rectangular table stood in the center of the room, on which was an exquisite arrangement of blue and white flowers, the colors of Menem’s Peronist Party, set on an embroidered, pale blue tablecloth. Three place settings had several crystal glasses at each, with rows of silver forks and knives on either side of gold-trimmed plates.
For several days prior to the meeting, Carlos Menem had been recovering from his third hair-transplant procedure. With his orange-hewed skin from years of using cheap tanning lotion, he resembled a seedy lothario more than a venerable head of state. Nonetheless, Carlos Menem had gone to great lengths to make sure that the evening would be memorable. One of his close aides recalled that el presidente was “more nervous than when he had received the pope.” Yet, despite any trepidation he might have had, Menem, not unlike his illustrious guest, used sex as the most efficient way to communicate and control. Famous for his well-planned seduction scenes, when he wasn’t actively courting a female minister, secretary, or movie star, he created an atmosphere of sexual innuendo that was designed to destabilize his visitors.
Madonna wasn’t feeling very well either. From the time she had arrived in the Argentine capital, she had been suffering from a lack of sleep as well as lingering stomach problems and nausea that she attributed to a diet different from her usual fare of vegetables and grains. Despite her physical problems, she looked stunning, a tribute to her doppelgänger. She was determined to succeed at what she considered to be the most important sale of her life. Aware that her reputation was more Fanny Hill than Harold Hill, the super-salesman from the 1960s musical comedy The Music Man , Madonna was determined to emulate the latter and downplay the former.
The president made his entrance into the dining room. If anyone had forgotten to tell Madonna that the head of the Argentine government measured only five feet two inches tall, she concealed her surprise. After shaking her hand and glancing over her body from head to toe, he said in Spanish, “There are serious problems today in Argentina, and I feel a duty to my people to protect the memory of our sainted Evita.”
Despite her nervousness, Madonna rushed to respond: “I understand completely, because I have the same kind of responsibility to my fans.” She hesitated only for a moment after she noticed a bewildered expression cross Menem’s face. “You see, like Evita, my public loves me, because they can relate to my beginnings. I, too, come from nothing, and like Evita, I also had my heart broken at a young age when my mother died.”
The comparison was not one that the president was prepared to draw, that of a woman revered as a martyr with a performer who had consistently denigrated the Catholic Church by displaying her every sexual fantasy. Smiling his typically enigmatic smile, Menem did not respond. Instead, he gestured to the table, indicating that dinner was served, but not before he gently brushed Madonna’s cheek with his forefinger.
Throughout the meal, Carlos Menem maintained relentless eye contact with Madonna, glancing away only once when he focused on her bra strap, which had slipped out of her dress. As they ate the first course, Madonna considered it her God-given responsibility to fill the heavy silence. She began explaining how close she felt to Evita, how connected to her she was in so many ways. As the translator spoke rapidly in Spanish, the president nodded, encouraging Madonna to go on. She recounted the story of her own life and the death of her mother when she was only a child, a loss that had made her determined, like Eva Perón, never to need anyone else ever again. To her credit, Madonna probably knew more details about Eva Perón’s
For several days prior to the meeting, Carlos Menem had been recovering from his third hair-transplant procedure. With his orange-hewed skin from years of using cheap tanning lotion, he resembled a seedy lothario more than a venerable head of state. Nonetheless, Carlos Menem had gone to great lengths to make sure that the evening would be memorable. One of his close aides recalled that el presidente was “more nervous than when he had received the pope.” Yet, despite any trepidation he might have had, Menem, not unlike his illustrious guest, used sex as the most efficient way to communicate and control. Famous for his well-planned seduction scenes, when he wasn’t actively courting a female minister, secretary, or movie star, he created an atmosphere of sexual innuendo that was designed to destabilize his visitors.
Madonna wasn’t feeling very well either. From the time she had arrived in the Argentine capital, she had been suffering from a lack of sleep as well as lingering stomach problems and nausea that she attributed to a diet different from her usual fare of vegetables and grains. Despite her physical problems, she looked stunning, a tribute to her doppelgänger. She was determined to succeed at what she considered to be the most important sale of her life. Aware that her reputation was more Fanny Hill than Harold Hill, the super-salesman from the 1960s musical comedy The Music Man , Madonna was determined to emulate the latter and downplay the former.
The president made his entrance into the dining room. If anyone had forgotten to tell Madonna that the head of the Argentine government measured only five feet two inches tall, she concealed her surprise. After shaking her hand and glancing over her body from head to toe, he said in Spanish, “There are serious problems today in Argentina, and I feel a duty to my people to protect the memory of our sainted Evita.”
Despite her nervousness, Madonna rushed to respond: “I understand completely, because I have the same kind of responsibility to my fans.” She hesitated only for a moment after she noticed a bewildered expression cross Menem’s face. “You see, like Evita, my public loves me, because they can relate to my beginnings. I, too, come from nothing, and like Evita, I also had my heart broken at a young age when my mother died.”
The comparison was not one that the president was prepared to draw, that of a woman revered as a martyr with a performer who had consistently denigrated the Catholic Church by displaying her every sexual fantasy. Smiling his typically enigmatic smile, Menem did not respond. Instead, he gestured to the table, indicating that dinner was served, but not before he gently brushed Madonna’s cheek with his forefinger.
Throughout the meal, Carlos Menem maintained relentless eye contact with Madonna, glancing away only once when he focused on her bra strap, which had slipped out of her dress. As they ate the first course, Madonna considered it her God-given responsibility to fill the heavy silence. She began explaining how close she felt to Evita, how connected to her she was in so many ways. As the translator spoke rapidly in Spanish, the president nodded, encouraging Madonna to go on. She recounted the story of her own life and the death of her mother when she was only a child, a loss that had made her determined, like Eva Perón, never to need anyone else ever again. To her credit, Madonna probably knew more details about Eva Perón’s
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