Truth

by Aleatha Romig

  Phil grabbed his sport coat, combed back his hair and splashed his face with water. 57 seconds after Claire left her room, Phil double stepped it down the stairs to the lobby, only eleven floors down.

  The firm soles of his shoes hit the marble floor of the main lobby. Phil inhaled and exhaled, regulating his breathing as he walked toward the large glass entry. Being Saturday night, the hotel as well as Riverwalk bustled with people, most paired and appropriately adorned for evening revelries. It was after all, a five star establishment. The magnitude of private conversations created a dim drone as Phil scanned the open foyer. The ceiling towered many stories above, the enormous fireplace blazed, and the tile floor echoed with the clicks of stiletto heels. An occasional whiff of food cooking in the distance reminded Phil that Citrus, the hotel’s finer restaurant, was nearby.

  His tenacity was rewarded as Phil passed the glistening, metal, beaded, chain curtain separating the ultra-sleek Vbar from the Hotel Valencia. Just beyond the semi translucent drape, he saw the beautiful outline of Claire Nichols. Her white dress shone like a beacon within the dimly lit tavern.

  Phil followed the piano music and entered the posh lounge. The low lights, red carpet, and intimate groupings, created a chic romantic atmosphere. He watched from afar as her face, illuminated by a flickering red candle, smiled and spoke to the attentive waiter. Using his phone he casually snaped a few photos. Walking nonchalantly through the busy lounge Phil positioned himself on a leather stool at the shiny black bar. Each time he raised his head Ms. Nichols sat directly in his field of vision. He ordered a Blue Moon and waited.

  Fifteen minutes passed; no one joined his assignment. She didn’t seem worried, wasn’t fidgeting with her phone; yet, her attire screamed date. He waited, but no one joined her, perhaps no one was coming. Phil contemplated the woman he’d spent the last three weeks getting to know. Many women sitting alone in a bar would be self-conscious. Ms. Nichols looked completely content, composed, and confident. She sipped a glass of red wine and gazed around the room. Suddenly, their eyes met. Phil fought the urge to look away. He reminded himself, they’d met on the elevator. His mind wheeled as she smiled and tipped her glass his direction. Could this be an invitation? Perhaps if I talk to her, maybe I can learn where she’s been?

  Phil smiled and raised his mug in response. The bartender broke their trance, “Sir, would you like another beer?”

  Phil became aware of his near empty mug. Maybe the stress of the last four days had gotten to him. “Yes. And could you please send the lovely lady in the white dress another glass of wine, with my compliments.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  He covertly watched as the waiter gallantly delivered the wine to her table. He couldn’t hear their conversation but read her body language: surprised, pleased, and appreciative. When she turned toward him, she lifted the new goblet and mouthed thank you. Phil bowed his head. When he looked up, her gaze was no longer his. Had he expected an invitation? Fifteen more minutes, she remained alone. Phil puffed his chest, exhaled, and eased himself from the tall leather stool.

  Lost in thoughts she didn’t acknowledge him until he was directly in front of her. “Thank you, for the wine.” If he’d startled her, there was no reflection in her voice. He assessed, she is either considerably calm or an ice princess. Her vitality penetrated the calm veneer. Energy sparkled in her emerald eyes. Phil became consumed by the fire he observed in those amazing eyes. An ice princess would never be able to conceal that kind of heat. She’d surely melt.

  “You’re welcome.” He remained standing while she lounged gracefully in the soft high backed chair.

  “I suppose I should’ve been the one to buy you a drink.”

  He smiled, “And why would that be?”

  “Well, you’re the gentleman who saved me from remaining within the confines of the elevator, forever.”

  “I do believe you would’ve rescued yourself. After all, didn’t you find your key as we began to ascend?”

  Claire smiled acknowledging his affability. “Thank you, again.”

  Phil gestured toward the empty chair in Ms. Nichols’ grouping. “Would you mind if I sat and joined you for a while?”

  Abashed, “Oh, of course, I’m sorry I didn’t offer sooner. Please, help yourself.”

  Phil lowered himself onto the plush cushion and pursued their conversation. “Hello, I’m Phil.” He extended his right hand.

  Accepting his hand Claire responded, “Hello, my name is Claire.”

  He couldn’t help notice how her green eyes glistened in the candle light. If only he could take her picture now. It would make Mr. Rawlings forget the absence of information during the last four days. “I couldn’t help notice your tan. Did you get that here at the pool?”

  “Texas sun is quite intense.”

  “I’ve been here since Tuesday. I find it hard to believe I’ve not seen you during the last four days…” He continued to fish for information. Unfortunately, Ms. Nichols stayed true to her story. She’d been here at the Hotel Valencia for the last four days enjoying the local sights including the Alamo and a boat ride on the river. It was a well-deserved retreat which included sleeping late, bedding early, and the completion of two novels. They’d been talking and laughing for about thirty minutes when Claire received a text message.

  “I apologize, this is rude. It’s just that I’m expecting some very important information.”

  “Please, go ahead and check your phone.” Phil wondered if he called the number he’d given to Mr. Rawlings if the phone in her hand would ring. He doubted it. The glow in her eyes and the obvious smile indicated her satisfaction with the information in the text.

  Still holding her phone, Claire took her wine goblet and slowly sipped the red liquid. Setting the glass upon the small table she looked directly into his eyes. “Phil?”

  “Yes?”

  “I believe given the circumstances, I’d feel more comfortable addressing you as Mr. Roach.”

  His back straightened. He hadn’t told her his last name. “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, Mr. Roach,” she paused for effect. “I mean, I don’t really know you, not as well as you know me -- since you’ve been following me for the last month.” She allowed her lips to linger upon the glass’s rim teasing the liquid. Her eyes stayed on his.

  He contemplated his options: lie, act ignorant, or come clean. “I’m not sure what you’re talking…”

  “Let’s cut to the chase Mr. Roach. You were hired by my ex-husband to keep tabs on me. You’ve done your job quite well, that is until you lost me last Monday. Now, the way I figure it, you have two choices: be honest with Mr. Rawlings, tell him you don’t know where I was, or lie and give him just enough information to keep him pacified?” She sat the glass down. “How am I doing?”

  “I assure you, I don’t know…”

  “Given your inability to be honest with me – I’d assume you chose deception with your employer as well.”

  “Ms. Nichols, I’m not sure how you’ve reached your conclusions.”

  “For starters, I never offered you my last name.” She waited, he remained silent. Claire continued, “I decided to confront you tonight -- or should I say to have you confront me – for this discussion. Mr. Roach, I do not wish my where-a-bouts for the last four days to be known. Let’s both say I’ve been here in San Antonio alone, and you’ll confirm that, as the truth.”

  “Ms. Nichols, tell me why I would possibly agree to this?”

  Her broadening smile made her sun kissed cheeks rise. Without saying a word, Phil knew she had a plan. “Let me show you the text I just received. Actually it’s a multi-media attachment.” Claire extended her hand, with her iPhone angled for his maximum viewing pleasure.

  Phil looked down onto the small screen and saw a picture of him standing near her table. She brushed the screen and another photo appeared; him sitting across the small table from her. She brushed the screen again; they were leaning toward one another across the small
void.

  “I don’t understand,” he confessed.

  “Come now, Mr. Roach. You infringe upon people’s privacy for a living. That information is often used in less than scrupulous ways. Surely you recognize the same being done to you.” She waited; he remained silent. “You haven’t divulged the truth to Mr. Rawlings over the last four days. He’s suspicious and asking questions. I’d be glad to forward these pictures to the press. They do seem to enjoy writing about me. Or, perhaps I could send them directly to my ex-husband with information regarding our secret rendezvous.”

  His mind spun. Shit! This isn’t happening. “Why would you do that?”

  “To get you fired Mr. Roach. I don’t appreciate having a shadow everywhere I go.”

  “I’d deny everything; explain that I was only talking to you for information.”

  “That sounds plausible. However, I presume you were instructed to keep me in sight, not to make contact.”

  She was right. That was his instruction. He bowed to her manipulation. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to report exactly what I told you. I’ve spent the last four days relaxing in sunny San Antonio and enjoying the sights.”

  “Why haven’t I sent photos?”

  “You were having problems with your computer, or your SD Card, or your camera… I don’t care. Tomorrow I’ll gladly don different clothes and allow multiple staged photos… adjust the date on your camera, and your story will be complete.”

  “What’s in this for me?”

  Claire stood, “Would you like to join me on the terrace?”

  Phil stood. They slowly stepped through the open French doors onto the crowded stone terrace illuminated by large lit torches. The spring air blew warm against their faces, and their attention moved to the magnificent view. San Antonio was before them. Below, the Riverwalk and cypress trees faded into shadows. In front of them, the buildings beamed with artificially induced colorful hues accentuating the wondrous architectural structures. Claire continued their conversation. “It’s a beautiful city. I think it would be nice to spend four days here.”

  Her Cheshire grin infuriated Phil, he repeated, “You haven’t answered my question. Why would I agree to your plan? What’s in it for me?”

  She responded ever so coyly, Phil thought he heard the faintest evidence of a southern drawl. He’d read she lived in Atlanta for a few years. “That should be painfully obvious, Mr. Roach.” The word painfully stretched for four or five syllables. “For starters you get to keep your job.”

  Phil considered her threat. If she followed through and sent the compromising photos to Mr. Rawlings or the press, he would undoubtedly loose his assignment. “For starters? Are you insinuating there’s another benefit... to me?”

  “I’ll allow you to ponder the possibilities.” She lifted the bulbous goblet to her lips intentionally savoring the rich dry liquid. “My ex-husband is a powerful man. I do not believe he would take kindly to you moving in on me, your assignment. I’m not saying that to imply a mutual affection. Rather your mere presence indicates his sense of proprietorship. Not only will these photos imply a relationship between the two of us, but your recent inability to confess your short comings in the area of trailing will support the claim.” Claire gazed out over the Riverwalk. “Mr. Roach, let me be the first to warn you. Lying to Mr. Rawlings is not recommended. That said -- getting caught lying is even worse. My plan will have mutual support and after tomorrow’s photo shoot, substantiating evidence.”

  “What are you trying to hide?”

  Claire finished her wine and sat the glass on a nearby tray. “My plane leaves before one tomorrow afternoon. Of course, you know that, don’t you?” Phil smiled and she continued, “I’d like your decision regarding my proposal. I need to plan my wardrobe for your photos.”

  Phil stood at least six inches taller than Ms. Nichols. He glanced at her feet. The golden sandals had tall heels. He wasn’t sure of how tall but wondered why women chose to walk in such uncomfortable shoes. As his eyes scanned upward settling on her intense emerald eyes, he fought the new feelings he had for Claire Nichols. Contempt and respect were currently contending for first place. How could this petite polished woman so easily reduce him to her accomplice? He leaned down to lower his voice. “For such a beautiful woman who appears deceivingly meek,” She turned toward him, stupid grin still intact. “You really are a bitch.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Roach.” She extended her right hand. After only a moment’s hesitation, he accepted. “I’ve had a marvelous teacher. I believe we have a deal, am I correct?”

  “Yes, Ms. Nichols, we have a deal. I certainly hope you’ve enjoyed your relaxing stay in San Antonio.”

  “Thank you, I have. Oh, Mr. Roach. If you’re considering tampering with the GPS in my rental car, let me save you the trouble. The data’s been permanently deleted. Shall we begin tomorrow with breakfast, let’s say 7:30?”

  Phillip thought how helpful that information would have been earlier this evening, before he spent forty five minutes trying to extract recent destinations from the built-in Global Positioning System within her Chrysler 200. There was no question in his mind – he’d seriously underestimated this woman. He wondered if he were the only person to make that mistake. He truly doubted it. “I’ll be lurking in the shadows at 7:30. Forgive me; I don’t want to be included in future photos.”

  “Then we’ve never met.” Claire turned to leave then glanced back, “Until tomorrow.”

  He nodded and watched her walk away. Her posture exuded confidence, straight spine and slightly raised chin. The backless dress exposed her feminine lean body. A faint white line from a slender bathing suit strap was visible across her tanned back. Below the bare skin, covered with the soft white material was one of the most perfect round behinds he’d ever seen. Watching it sway with just the perfect amount of sultry yet aristocratic movement, he concluded: she does a fine job walking in those shoes. A clandestine four days with her in this five star hotel wouldn’t be a bad tour. Hell, it might even be worth losing his job.

  The body of Mr. Roach’s email was short and simple:

  Mr. Rawlings, I apologize for the inconvenience and delay. My laptop decided to reject the SD card from my camera. I’m glad to say the kinks have been resolved. As you will see, I have multiple photos of Ms. Nichols from throughout her four day holiday. I honestly expected to see her with someone. However, it seems this was truly a four day get-a-way meant only for her personal rest and revitalization.

  I have a return ticket on her plane. We should arrive in San Francisco at approximately 5 PM PST, 7 PM CST. I’ll be available by telephone after that, if you need to reach me. Again, I’ll remain dedicated to this assignment until I learn otherwise. Thank you, Phillip Roach

  Tony clicked the attachment. A parade of pictures: Claire eating breakfast, lounging at the pool, at dinner, in a bar… After a fast pass through all fourteen photos, Tony went through them again, slowly digesting the contents. He wondered about San Antonio. Why? Why would she go there? It didn’t make sense. But then again why not? She’d always enjoyed warm weather and sunshine.

  A man growing old becomes a child again.

  – Sophocles

  Chapter 14

  1984...

  Marie combed Ms. Sharron’s thinning hair and talked endlessly about nothing. Mrs. Sharron Rawls enjoyed hearing her talk. When Marie would momentarily pause, to collect her thoughts or take a breath, Ms. Sharron would gently tap her arm, indicating for her to continue. Marie wondered if the sweet elderly lady understood the words being said, or if she just liked the sound of her voice. Heaven knows, even with the large staff, the enormous house could be incredibly quiet and lonely. There were times Ms. Sharron would allow the sounds to be the radio or the television, but without a doubt, she preferred voices. When Marie spoke, Ms. Sharron’s breathing would regulate and her expression would calm.

  It would seem that after a year and a half, Marie would have run out o
f things to say, but she hadn’t. She could ramble at length about nothing. Truthfully, she hadn’t planned on staying with the Rawls for this long. She, of course, never saw herself as a nurse maid. Yet, given her circumstances, this job was a god send. And now, barely twenty–three years old, she feared it would end too soon. After all, Ms. Sharron was barely a shell of who she’d been when Marie began.

  In the beginning, it was sad to see the way she struggled for words and their meaning. Nevertheless, as Marie spent day and night by her side, she found humor in the most unlikely places. Surprisingly, Ms. Sharron found humor too. This shared bond and most absurd witty view of an unfortunate reality, bound these women despite their drastic differences. The rest of the family was too serious. Especially Mr. Samuel Rawls, Ms. Sharron’s son. Marie shuttered to think how he would react if he knew the way they laughed at some of her mishaps.

  Marie never had formal caregiving training. Then again, is someone formally trained to care? Wasn’t it as simple as being observant to needs and fulfilling them? If Ms. Sharron looked toward her cup, she needed a drink. If she fidgeted in her bed or seat, she needed to get up and move. It wasn’t rocket science, yet other than Mrs. Amanda Rawls, whose presence for some reason agitated Ms. Sharron, the men in this family were hopelessly incapable. Even when they tried, they were often too self-absorbed to notice the slight clues Ms. Sharron put forth.

  Marie’s duties transformed as Ms. Sharron’s disease progressed. In the beginning, Ms. Sharron tried diligently to maintain certain responsibilities. Being that she always oversaw the household staff, she felt it necessary to maintain that assignment and appear competent to her husband. After all, he ran a million dollar business. With tears in her eyes, she explained – over and over, it was her duty to be sure his home ran efficiently. Marie caught-on quickly to the roles of the different employees. She helped Ms. Sharron not only monitor job performance, but payroll. Ms. Sharron didn’t write checks, but she compiled the information for Mr. Rawls’ accounting staff; Marie made sure Ms. Sharron’s figures were correct. Eventually, Mrs. Amanda Rawls took over the responsibility. In actuality, it happened before Ms. Sharron became aware. Ms. Sharron believed she and Marie were still in charge, but they weren’t. In time, she forgot about the staff and household responsibilities. After all, in her mind she wasn’t the wife of a tycoon, but of a handsome young soldier.