Clementine had become a wild child. Born in America but raised abroad, she now had little regard for the expectations of high society. But her reckless ways eventually catch up with her when she is kicked out of college in New York City and forced t...
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25
She was allowed to play tennis in this new regime. That, she could do.
Her dad took her to the country club a lot when she was little, convinced she was going to become the next tennis prodigy. But when that didn't pan out, he agreed on her taking over the business or something of equal stature.
On the tennis court surrounded by tropical leaves, she was rusty at first. Missing shots and dropping the ball.
"Come on Clementina, you can do better than that." Her dad exclaimed, "get in the game!"
Then she realized that maybe he was right. She straightened up and made a conscious effort to control her own attitude.
She finally did a slam shot and started picking up speed on the court. Once again, her body kicking into its own memory.
"There we go!" Her dad yelled across the court.
She did miss spending time with him. As much as he was a strong figure in her and other people's lives, she also knew his tender side and that really he was a very gentle and kind man. This was something she always secretly admired.
After their match, they went over to the club cafe and her ordered lemonade for the both of them.
Though the place reeked of money, she was glad fo the change of scenery after idle days at home. When she was still for too long, she found she would get antsy, but here she was feeling calm.
Letting the sun stroke her face, leaning back into the chair, Clementine felt a shadow cover her face.
She opened her eyes and it took her a moment to adjust, but she recognized the face of an older man, and beside him a younger look alike. It hit Clementine that this was her father's business partner from the dinner on her first night back.
"Pedro!" Clementine's father got up and the two men shook hands. "Clementine, you remember Pedro," he was hinting at the fact that she also needed to get up.
"A young woman difficult to forget," Pedro nodded to her direction.
"Nice to see you again," Clementine did her best to keep up the niceties, regardless of his odd comment.
"Let me introduce my son, José," he motioned towards the younger man with him.
Clementine took him in, noticing he was tall and almost handsome with dark hair and a distinct look of someone Brazilian but trying to look American.
"Olá," José extended his arm to Clementine, doing his best to make a smile that Clementine felt was supposed to make her feel something, but didn't.
"Nice to meet you," Clementine responded, smiling but refusing to switch to her broken Portuguese much to her father's dismay.
"Andreu, now that I have you, there are actually some things I'd like to discuss with you." Pedro cut in, "you don't mind, of course?" He asked motioning between all of them.
"Of course not," shooting a warning glance at Clementine, her father continued, "let's go to the bar. Kids, entertain yourself, won't you?"
Before Clementine could respond, she was left alone with José, looking at her expectantly and taking her father's place at the little table.
"I didn't catch your name," he asked her, and she noticed his training in English right away.
"Clementine," she replied simply.
He nodded to himself.
"You know, it's strange we haven't met before," José began, "our families have been doing business together for years."
Here was somebody truly fit to take over the family business, eager to. It made her feel guilty for not knowing that much, not really asking in that direction.
"Totally," she said once again simply. She wanted to stay mum, but knew that she would have to make some sort of conversation, though she wasn't sure where to start.
"You were the one who went to New York, weren't you?" He asked her, and she was slightly taken aback. Not fully sure how he knew but not totally surprised either.
"Yes, actually." Clementine was careful because she didn't want to have to say more than she needed to on this topic. And José seemed more than full of questions for her.
Then he leaned in closer to her, and resting on his elbows, he said in a lower voice, "heard you flunked out."
Clementine was mid sip through her lemonade and froze, casting a glance on him for a moment, frozen in disbelief that he would know that and that he would even bring it up. She became angry, furrowing her brow, not knowing how to respond. Whether she should lie and cover it up (the way she probably would have been expected to), or admit to it totally.
"Don't worry," he said leaning back into his chair, hands behind his head, sun stroking his face, "its just between you and me."
