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Rafael Nadal Is Rock Bottom
Part 1
Rafael Nadal could not believe it had come to this. He was outside his lawyer's office, pacing back and forward on the sidewalk, nerves completely shot. If he was a smoker, he would no doubt be puffing on cigarettes at this moment. Instead, he just walked back and forth, unsure of what to do.
He had learned just two days ago that he was broke. Completely and utterly financially ruined. A result of bad investments suggested by the wrong people. The house was in danger of foreclosure as it had been borrowed against his losses. In short, he would be homeless within days if he did not come up with enough cash. With no idea how he was going to support himself, he had called his lawyer, who told him to give him a couple of days to think of a strategy. He had finally called Nadal this morning, telling him to come right over and discuss his plan.
Nadal looked at his watch. He had arrived early and had been killing time outside the offices, signing a few autographs for fans who happened to pass by, probably wondering why he looked so uneasy. He was sure that someone might tip off the paparazzi after seeing him in such obvious distress, so when it was finally 10am, he quickly went inside and took the elevator to the sixth floor.
He caused a bit of a stir as he walked into his lawyer's office, some chatter started in the adjoining offices, the secretary behind the desk a little flustered as she called through to tell her boss that Mr. Nadal had arrived. For his part, Nadal tried to appear as upbeat as possible, smiling as she told him to take a seat.
`He'll be right with you, sir,' she said, beaming.
`Thank you,' Nadal managed to say, sitting down on the black leather couch.
Rafa,' he heard as his lawyer came out of the office, how are you?'
Nadal said nothing, thinking it absurd to ask how he was considering he knew the sort of situation he was in.
`Shall we go through?'
`Please.'
The pair left the secretary, who began to file her nails as she not-so-subtly turned to watch Nadal's famous ass move in his tight suit pants as he entered his lawyer's office. The door closed behind them and she picked up the telephone which had started ringing.
Inside the office now, Nadal took a seat opposite his lawyer, declining an offer of coffee.
Steve,' Nadal began, I'm desperate here. I couldn't sleep at all last night. Maria's left me.'
Jesus, Rafa,' Steve replied, I had no idea. Is there any way she'll come back?'
She wants stability, Steve,' Nadal sighed, and that's something I can't give anyone right now, not even to myself.'
`Well what if I told you there's a way for you to earn enough to keep yourself afloat for now?'
`A tournament?'
Yeah,' Steve smirked, something like that.'
`Where? Are a lot of guys taking part?'
`Definitely. It's right here in the States. Los Angeles and New York.'
`Anybody I know involved?'
`Oh, you bet! Some you're not aware of yet, too.'
`So what do I have to do? Are there qualifying rounds?'
`Not as such. But there is a tryout happening in L.A. this afternoon.'
`Oh, Steve, you've got to get me in!'
No problem, pal,' Steve replied, smirking again, it's already arranged. You've just got to be there at 1pm for the tryout. Here's the address.'
Steve,' Nadal began, I can't afford airfare to--'
Don't be silly, man,' Steve said, they're covering your airfare. Your car from the airport too. Just tell your driver this address and he'll take you to it. Do you have any gear with you?'
`No, I didn't bring anything with me, just the clothes I'm wearing and my last few dollars.'
`Don't worry about it, I'll call ahead and make sure they have a kit ready for you in the car.'
`Thanks, Steve, you're the best.'
`No problem, buddy. Now you'd better hurry if you want to catch that flight.'
I can't thank you enough,' Nadal said, leaving the room and smiling, goodbye, my friend.'
Nadal left the room, the secretary staring intently as his ass moved in the tight suit pants he was wearing. If only she had been bolder, she would have said goodbye to him instead of quietly watching him leave. She called through to her boss and asked if she could take a cigarette break.
`Yeah, Nancy, sure,' he replied.
She left her desk and took the elevator down to the ground floor. As she walked out the door, she could see Nadal in the near distance, walking to the multi-level car park. She lit her cigarette and watched as he crossed the street.
High above on the sixth floor, Steve watched Nadal just as intently. He picked up the telephone on his desk, pressed number nine for an outside line and dialled a number. The phone on the other end rang only once.
`Hello, is that you?'
Yes,' the voice on the other end replied, well, is he in?'
Oh, don't worry,' Steve laughed mischievously, he's in.'