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Rafael Nadal Is Rock Bottom
Part 3
Nadal laughed nervously, taken aback by the person standing in front of him. It was Brad Pitt. Nadal had never been near the actor, let alone met him before, and he was admittedly starstruck. A moment or two passed before he spoke again.
I, um,' he began nervously, what's going on here?'
`I'm sorry, where are my manners?'
Pitt came towards him and took Nadal's hand in his, shaking it warmly. He was even more handsome in person, something which struck Nadal immediately. Nadal did not generally admit that some men could be attractive, but with this man, he could make an exception. Pitt was captivating. He was clean shaven, his hair a dark blonde shade, eyes beautiful, lips perfect.
`It's lovely to meet you,' Nadal said, genuinely smiling for the first time in days.
`And you, Mr. Nadal.'
`Please, call me Rafa.'
Okay, only if you call me Brad,' Pitt smiled, amused, though I'm sure you'll be calling me much more before the day is out.'
Nadal did not fully understand this comment, but smiled nonetheless. He was completely taken with Pitt, and with the grandeur of their surroundings.
`Would you like me to take your coat and your things, sir?'
Nadal turned to see Eric, who he had almost completely forgotten was there.
`Oh, yes, thank you.'
Eric smiled as he took the bag, suit jacket and holdall from Nadal. He looked at Pitt expectantly.
`Oh, take those things to Mr. Nadal's room, please, Eric.'
`Very good, sir.'
`My room?'
`Yes, I've had a room made up for you. I gather you'll be staying here for a while.'
`Oh, yes, for the tournament? I had no idea you were interested in tennis, Mr. Pitt.'
Please, call me Brad,' he replied, smirking, Rafa.'
`Okay, Brad. I didn't realise you had much to do with tennis.'
`I don't. Perhaps you'd better come into my office where we can discuss things better.'
`Okay, sure.'
Nadal followed Pitt through a large doorway to the right of the staircase, then down a long corridor, the walls of which were covered in paintings. Nadal spotted at least one Picasso as he followed his new acquaintance. He wondered if it were genuine, and then remembered the money Pitt had. Of course it would be genuine. Towards the end of the corridor, Pitt stopped. Hidden in the panelled wall on the left was a concealed door, which Pitt now unlocked with a key, taken from his trouser pocket.
Behind the door was a large office, with two black leather couches placed against opposite walls. A large mahogany desk stood in the centre, with a leather armchair on each side. Pitt took a seat in the one behind the desk and offered Nadal the other. The tennis player sat down, still perplexed about what was going on.
`So,' he said, looking over at Pitt, who merely stared at him.
`I guess you're wondering what's going on.'
`Yes,' Nadal replied, thinking that Pitt must have read his mind.
`Well, I'm going to level with you. There is no tennis tournament. I realise that's why you came here, but I have to tell you that, unfortunately, on that front, you're going to be disappointed.'
`But, but, Steve--'
`I don't know how to say this, Rafa, but Steve lied to you, man.'
`Lied to me why?'
`He knew that you'd never agree to come here if you knew the real reason you're wanted.'
`Which is?'
`Your ass, man. We want your ass.'
`What are you talking about?' Nadal was horrified, suddenly overcome by a sick feeling.
`Steve told me that you'd been having money trouble. I told him of a way you could make more money than you'll ever need. All I, or rather, all we, want is one thing: your ass.'
Listen, man, I don't know what you've heard,' Nadal was stumbling over his words, but I'm not gay. I'm not into that, you know.'
`No-one said you were, Rafa. I don't care if you are or not. But if you want to get out of your current financial predicament, you might want to consider taking one for the team. So to speak.'
Nadal had no idea what to say. He had been completely duped, and by Steve, the one person he had felt he could trust. Sold down the river. But what if it were true? Could the man across from him really make this horrible money situation go away? But, no, how could he consider it? Essentially prostituting himself?
`I, I don't think I can do this,' he began, making for the door.
Rafa, wait,' Pitt said following him, listen. No-one will find out about this. We always operate on a top secret basis. Completely confidential. Oh, and it won't make you any less of a man.'
But I've never even kissed a guy,' Nadal said, I've never even thought about it--'
`Okay. Okay, listen. Would it make it easier if I told you how much money you could make?'
`I, I don't know,' Nadal said truthfully, his mind awhirl.
`Please, just sit down and we'll talk money.'
Nadal, much to his own surprise as well as Pitt's, sat down again. Pitt could feel that he almost had him in hand. All he would have to do was offer him a ridiculous figure. More money than any one man could ever dream of. He quickly took a small notepad from a drawer in his desk, and wrote down a number. He passed it across the desk to Nadal.
What?' Nadal said, looking at him in disbelief. This is far more than I need. Than anyone would ever need!'
`I told you it would be worth your while. Just do a few little things for us, and you'll have more money than you know what to do with.'
Us? Who is this we' you keep talking about?'
`Well, I will admit there are quite a few of us. Basically, we would all be contributing to your payment.'
I, I,' Nadal said, feeling himself painted into a corner, unwilling, but desperate for the cash. What do I have to do?'
Pitt knew that he had him. He smiled at Nadal.
`Come with me.'