Coffee (37 page)

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Etty
was dressed and ready for Clorice by 4:30, after her refreshing nap.
She sat on a sand dune, sipping a tall glass of sweet orange juice,
squeezed fresh just for her. Anna had coaxed her into another airy
sun dress, and prepared her hair with a sterling pig-bristle brush.

She
placed the glass on the deck, yelled up a farewell to her two new
friends, and started down the beach. She felt growing heat on her
forearms, the tip of her nose, and the tops of her feet from the
day’s high equatorial sun. The stinging felt good. The sand
dunes rose and fell to her left as she walked - white hills spotted
with clumps of sharp grass. She sloshed her bare feet in the thin
water left after each wave. She occasionally came upon a local man
or woman, swimming, carrying supplies, or tending a fire. Every
woman, whether laboring or relaxing, wore vibrant hand made
clothing, mostly skirts and blouses. Many wore hats or bandannas
wrapped on their heads. Some people swam naked, but would still
look up to give Etty a friendly wave as if they were greeting a
family member.

The
mansion nestled in among the banana and coconut trees. It appeared
as more than one building at first, with its ambling layout. The
trees finally separated, opening up to a large sandy courtyard
surrounded by a decorative second floor balcony. John Clorice waved
to her, holding a drink. Two men approached and cordially invited
her to follow them up the outside stairs.

Clorice
took her hand as she arrived on the balcony. “You look more
comfortable, Miss Von Enes.”

“That
name confuses me. Please call me Etty.”

“Will
you join me in a drink? Our fruit and rum mixtures are
irresistible.”

Clorice
had changed since the limo ride. He now wore pressed white cotton
pants, woven leather sandals, a blue and white striped dress shirt,
and a white straw hat. Although Etty was not a fan of goatees, she
decided he was attractive for an older man. But she imagined a
sinister side lurking within this world renown business man. His
close affiliation with Global Growers alone was enough to make her
suspicious. But whether rational or not, she felt in no immediate
danger, still glowing from her afternoon in nirvana.

“Thank
you, Mr. Clorice, I’m sure I’ll enjoy whatever you
recommend.” He clapped his hands, and was met instantly by a
running attendant. He handed the servant his empty glass, and
shooed him away with an order for two more.

“If
I call you Etty or Harriet, you must call me John.”

“Thank
you. I will.” He led her around the balcony, and into one of
the many dramatic ocean side rooms. The decor was well chosen not
to overwhelm the natural beauty of the view. Tall windows leading
up to high cathedral ceilings brought much of the sky and clouds
into the room. Simple, comfortable, furniture was placed for
optimal viewing.

“You
should be here in a storm. The room pulsates with pounding surf and
flashes of lightening.” Etty wondered if he had much
experience being alone with women. He seemed stiff, almost shy.
They entered a screen porch jutting out beyond the balcony, offering
a three sided view. The attendant scurried in, delivering two
pinkish drinks, and a plate of cut mangos and papaya. They sat at a
glass topped table.

“I
toast you. May you decide to stay with us.” They both drank.

Etty
savored the delightful mixture of fruits and rums before responding.
“What do you mean stay? Is this part of your proposal?”

“Yes.
You of course are free to go any time.”

“I
can return to the United States? Right now?”

“Absolutely.
You are not a prisoner here.”

“Then I want to go home.”

John
rearranged himself in his chair while planning the next sentence.
“My only request is that you hear what I have to say. I would
appreciate one week to think it over. Consider this a vacation. If
at that time, you are ready to leave, you may.”

Etty
had little faith that she could really walk out the door and merrily
head back to the States. But, a new sensibility was beginning to
seep in. Whether it be the sun and sea, the drinks, a chance for
the first time in memory to really relax - she wasn’t even
sure - she decided to play along and see what happened. “I am
looking forward to showing up at the Hanover Police department.”
She studied his face for changes, then added sincerely, “I
certainly find your home beyond even my wildest vacation dreams.”

“Thank
you. Coming from you, I am flattered.”

“May
I make a phone call to my family?”

“I
would let you, but I am afraid with the civil unrest in our country,
our outside lines have been severed.”

“You
have the President of the country on these premises, and you have no
outside lines?”

Now
wishing he hadn’t mentioned the General’s visit, he
lied, “Well, of course we have access to Brasilia, but those
are sanctioned for Government use only.”

Not
likely, she thought. “I’ll stay for a night, maybe two.”
She wondered when the FBI would respond to her call.

“Good.
I’ll see what I can do to convince you to stay longer.”

The
sun fell farther in the west as they talked, deepening the hues from
blue to red. Foliage grew out of every crack, most with wide
hearty leaves. The breeze rustled them with a sound she had never
heard. Birds and other animal sounds persisted even as darkness
fell, but shifted from the twittering of pleasant songs to hoots,
hums, and thumps. Soon a full meal arrived - smaller plates of
different items surrounding two boiled lobsters.

Etty
whistled when seeing the lobster, “You know my weak spot. I
think I have a mermaid gene.” The magnificent spread of food
brought forth a flood of hunger.

John
spoke while pointing around the table. “This is
cavala
- a local fish, delicious. These are
feijao
, simple black
beans cooked in bacon. This is
farofel
, a kind of root that
has been staple food of the Indian and Portuguese for centuries.
The rest are vegetables and fruits. Try them all, but you need not
eat anything you do not like.”

Etty
boldly devoured the lobster using her fingers, indifferent to the
specks of food around her mouth. John Clorice leaned back to get
more comfortable. “Harriet, I have asked you here to discuss
a proposition.”

“This
is spectacular,” she said with a full mouth.

“I
have now over seventy years. I have run this company since my
father passed it down forty years ago. Under my rule, it has grown
twenty fold, earned great respect in the world, and amassed a
fortune in capital.”

Etty
wiped her face with the hand embroidered napkin. “Some by
manipulating the coffee markets in the United States.”

Clorice’s
eyes narrowed momentarily. “Global was my agent. They
consistently found us the best prices. That’s why we hired
them. I knew nothing of their methods, not until I heard of your
involvement.”

“Oh,
so you researched that too,” she said sarcastically.

“I
have many people looking into your past. I know where you lived,
about your academic records, and I have read some of your other
reports.”

“I
am very interested in anything you can tell me about my family, and
appreciate all you have done for me here. But John, we Americans
are a private people, and don’t like others nosing around in
our lives. There are laws against it.”

“I
had to be sure.”

“Sure
about what?”

“You
are an impatient woman, a trait I need in a new President, but there
will be times when you should listen.”

“New
President?”

Clorice
hadn’t expected all the interruptions. He continued
awkwardly. “Allow me, please. ... I never married, I have
no family, no lineage to pass control to. I realized too late, and
now know I am unable to provide seed to bear offspring.”

Etty
put down her fork. Not again, she thought. She placed her head on
her palms and rubbed her temples.

Clorice
continued. “I have personal needs, my own aspirations that
are beyond the management of this company. I, for instance, am
looking toward a political career.”

“I
read about that. Your Brazilian President has made some significant
shifts in policy in the last month. Interesting how he’s here
on this compound. How’s he feel about you wanting his job?”

“We
are the best of friends. My name comes with his recommendation.
Having him here is the least I can do for my country’s leader
during these difficult times.” Again he tried to pull back to
his topic. “But here at my company, there are none with
rising potential, not for the top position. I need new blood,
aggressive leadership, and someone who can learn quickly from me.”

“And
you want me to be your next President? You’re joking.”

“Let
me finish. Your report, it suggests some courageous strategic moves
that are just what we need. I see nothing in your past relating to
the coffee industry, or even agriculture, yet you produced this
analysis in one week. You have the drive, and quickness of mind.
You have exactly the profile I am seeking.”

“But
President?”

“I
know it must sound outlandish. But I have given this much thought.
I reviewed the resumes of hundreds in the industry - Presidents,
Treasurers, Operating Managers. There are some excellent people out
there, but they are from competitors. All are tainted with the
style and methods of their own companies. I can not bear the
thought of having someone run my company whom I have fought against,
and who was raised to hate me. I want someone young, someone who
can stay with my company for many years, someone who will respect me
until I die. I want to mold my next President to be as I am.”

‘He
thinks he’s a God,’ she thought. “But John, people
move among competitors all the time. They bring good ideas with
them.”

“It’s
different in Brazil.” He spoke admirably, with simple hand
gestures, penetrating eyes, a soft yet bold tone of voice. “You
have no past, Harriet, no history in my industry. As soon as a
President is announced, my competitors will scurry to find
weaknesses, dig up dirt, and use it against me. You have none. The
mystery of it all will keep them guessing for years, running scared.
You are fresh, free of biases, yet uniquely blessed with
demonstrated business acumen.” He paused to sip from a goblet
of water. “And Miss Von Enes, you are a countryman. You
have Dutch roots, as I. Your family ran major companies for decades
in Europe - you are of the right stock.”

He
paused to watch her face. She was unable to find coherent words
among the storm of thoughts. John continued. “I know this
would be a dream come true for you, the achievement of your furthest
goals. You even said in your application to the Doctoral program
that you wished some day to run a multi-national company.”
Etty blushed, partly from anger that his research was so thorough,
partly from feeling childish. “And look at you. When you
walked up those steps tonight, I could see a tingle of excitement, a
gentle radiance born from the thrill of this area, the sun, the
beach. After all you have been through, treatment for which I am
horrified and plan to reconcile with Global, here you are with the
rosy smile of a youth in love. With my offer comes this place, this
island, these buildings, this life.”

Etty
shook her head slowly. Although hard to imagine, her adventures
once again outdid themselves. His reasoning, although bizarre,
seemed plausible coming from such an eccentric, self-absorbed
figure. It occurred to her that John Clorice probably saved her
life. It explained why Bill McKinsey suddenly appeared and shot
Maslow, his top man, and whisked her to Brazil. Clorice must have
called. She rubbed her neck and still felt soreness from Bart’s
powerful grip.

“For
starters, under what name would I assume the position?” She
passed her hand through the air as if to write her biography line.
“Harriet Bishop, American PhD in Finance, former fatal
accident victim.”

“As
I’ve said, I deeply regret all that has happened. We can
easily change the understanding of that accident. We can say
someone stole your car and died instead. Whatever it is, once you
are obviously alive, your life will return. Only now with your real
name and ancestry brought back to life with you.”

“How
will you explain my passing an international border?” She
mused at this powerful man’s comfort with wild fabrications.

He
sighed with this petty diversion. “We’ll return you to
the States the same way you entered. No one will know.” He
reached under the table, and surfaced a small, long box, hoping to
regain control of the conversation. “Harriet, I have a gift
for you.”

“Fancy
jewelry doesn’t do much for me.”

“This
is different. I found something interesting about you in the police
report.”

“That
wasn’t I, remember?”

“Our
U.S. investigator reviewed the Police records from the accident. He
mentioned a watch. I’ve been told it was yours. I had them
fax me a photo of it.”

Etty
perked up. “You found my watch?”

“Yes
and no. Yours was beyond repair, but I could plainly see it was a
Rijn
make, one of the best. After the war, many men wore
them.” Etty looked at the box. “We Dutch Brazilians
are forever trying to keep up with our homeland businessmen.”
He pushed it over to Etty. “Open it.”

She
pulled back the top to see a perfect replica of her old watch, only
much newer looking, with an original band. Clorice explained. “My
father, Frederick Clorice, owned that watch, but wore it rarely -
maybe never. You may need to add a few holes to the band to make it
fit. It is yours.”