Truth

by Aleatha Romig

  “Well, that is someone else’s concern. I was out of the loop on your plan. I just thought you’d want to know.” Maybe she was caving to his plan, but her verbose response was pointedly more abrupt than it would have been years before.

  Tony assessed Claire’s expression for a moment and responded, “Thank you, I appreciate knowing. Did you discuss...” he hesitated.

  She knew he wanted to ask about Harry. “I said I was alone because of an issue at SiJo. However, who I was supposed to be with was never mentioned.”

  Tony nodded and he replied loud enough for others to hear, “Most certainly, I’ll gladly get you something to drink.”

  Before he could move, a waiter appeared with a tray of crystal fluted glasses, the contents bubbled from the stem to the rim. Tony took two flutes and handed one to Claire with a nod. She returned his nod. Claire understood the conversation was done; he was happy with her honesty. Each such behavior helped her figurative chess king live one more day.

  When the couple from Shedis-tics finally arrived, Tony gallantly proceeded, “Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham, it is always a pleasure.”

  Roger Cunningham replied, “Mr. Rawlings.”

  Tony continued, “Ms. Nichols tells me you have met?”

  Claire wasn’t sure, but the Cunninghams appeared embarrassed or apprehensive about their earlier meeting. She joined the conversation, extending her hand, “Yes,” she smiled pleasantly at both of them, “I was so lost in that large room. I appreciated your friendly greeting.”

  The Cunninghams visibly relaxed with her comment. Mrs. Cunningham spoke, “Ms. Nichols, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m sure this collaboration between Shedis-tics and SiJo will be beneficial.”

  Claire continued, her mask intact, “I’m sure you’re aware, it goes way back. Mr. Rawlings gave Simon his first opportunity in Silicon Valley with his dream job at Shedis-tics. Simon Johnson never forgot where he started and enjoyed the allegiance between the two companies.”

  Mr. Cunningham replied, “It’s easy to forget the origins of our companies. Thank you for reminding us. I’m sure Mr. Johnson would be happy that the allegiance has remained.” Claire radiated confidence. Her never wavering smile successfully hid the contained emotions she successfully compartmentalized away. Mr. Cunningham indicated the man to his left. “Mr. Rawlings, Ms. Nichols, this is our promising new associate Derek Burke.”

  Everyone shook hands. Claire evaluated Derek Burke: tall, polished, and polite. He approached Tony with an honest reverence yet with enough self-confidence to indicate he deserved the praise bestowed upon him. There were so many people who blabbered incoherently in Tony’s presence. Claire assessed Tony must also be impressed by Derek’s poise because they conversed longer than Tony usually did with one person. Unfortunately, his attention toward this new associate left Claire, once again, at the disposal of Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham. Their friendly greeting earlier in the waiting room turned to gushing compliments about Claire’s attire and the gala. More incoherent babbling, Claire thought.

  Eventually, the next set of attendees made their way to Claire and Tony. When dinner was announced, Claire was relieved beyond words. She’d played her role well -- very well. Even Tony complimented her regarding the Shedis-tics couple. Nevertheless, her body ached from standing in high heels and the stress. The act of sitting was a welcome relief.

  At one point, before the speeches, Claire excused herself to visit the ladies room. She expected a warning glance or gesture. Surprisingly, she received neither. All the way to the restroom she considered borrowing someone’s cellphone and calling Harry. The problem was -- she didn’t know his number. She called it multiple times a day. But, the number was programmed into her phone. After racking her memory, she gave up and made her way back to her new assigned seat.

  On her way to Tony, she passed the round table where she should have been sitting. Claire noticed three empty seats. It was the only table within the large room with so many vacancies. The Cunninghams, Derek Burke and another couple were politely chatting. Claire moved quickly, to avoid another conversation with Hilary Cunningham.

  *****

  Sophia believed she’d suffocate if she spent another minute in the beautiful sitting room of the Saint Regis’ Presidential Suite waiting for the mystery buyer. Walking through French doors onto a balcony she observed the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge. Although almost the end of May, the evening air was brisk against her exposed skin. Mindlessly she wrapped her arms around her chest and dissected the view, as only an artist can do. The towers glowed more orange than gold, she thought as she as she viewed the illumination from Route One.

  She stood motionless at the rail and inhaled the salty air. It wasn’t the same as Provincetown. There was something about Provincetown Harbor which was unique from San Francisco Bay. Nevertheless, closing her eyes and listening to the distant rush of waves, the similarities made her homesick. She glanced at her watch, almost nine thirty.

  She and Mr. George had been in this suite both alone and with Mr. Hensley for an hour and a half. Though she’d communicated with Derek regularly, she knew he was upset. He should be, she reasoned. This was ridiculous and rude.

  Sophia even felt sorry for Mr. Hensley. The poor man was doing his job. It truly wasn’t his fault his employer was delayed. The first excuse was about traffic on 280. When eight thirty came and went, Mr. Hensley kindly ordered them dinner. At eight forty five they fired up Mr. Hensley’s lap top and virtually viewed Sophia’s art. At nine fifteen Mr. Hensley received a text message and excused himself from the suite.

  Now Sophia and Mr. George continued to wait. The night air helped relieve Sophia’s distress. Although she hadn’t been looking forward to Derek’s big gala, she knew how much it meant to him. He’d been anxiously anticipating spending this time with his boss and Mr. Cunningham’s wife. He was also very excited to meet the CEO of Shedis-tic’s parent company. He’d told Sophia his name and Hilary Cunningham had gone on about a woman named Nichols, but currently the CEO’s name escaped Sophia. More than anything she wanted to be back in that crowded, pretentious ballroom.

  “Mrs. Burke, I apologize for this inconvenience.” Mr. George was now on the balcony too.

  “I don’t blame you. It’s just that my husband is so close, and I should be with him.”

  “Mrs. Burke, if this weren’t important, I wouldn’t have asked you to be here.”

  “Do we even know the name of this mysterious buyer?”

  Mr. George rubbed his temple. “No, Mr. Hensley is the one I’ve been dealing with.”

  They both turned, upon hearing the door to the suite open. Mr. Hensley entered. When it was clear he was alone, they both exhaled and moved to join him within the suite. His voice was more assured. “I cannot adequately express my sincere apologies regarding this horrid meeting. Circumstances beyond anyone’s control have delayed my employer. He would, however, like to offer an olive branch.”

  Sophia and Mr. George didn’t reply. It had been a long evening.

  Mr. Hensley continued, “If you two could please have a seat. My employer would like to fund an exhibition of your work, Mrs. Burke. He was thinking of an exhibition which would run in multiple cities, in succession.”

  Mr. George and Sophia sat. Her tired mind spun with this new offer. First, this mysterious man paid 2.3 million dollars for three of her paintings and now, he wanted to fund a moving exhibit. She momentarily forgot about Derek and the gala. Her thoughts now centered upon Mr. Hensley and the papers before him.

  Eric went on, “Mr. George, commission of all sales at all locations would be directed through you. Mrs. Burke, if we could take a few minutes to discuss possible locations?”

  Sophia nodded. She wasn’t sure her voice could sound composed.

  *****

  When the final speaker concluded, the MC from earlier came to the podium and announced, “Ladies and gentleman, the orchestra will be in place soon. If everyone could please make their way back out to the atrium
, dancing will commence in less than a half an hour.”

  Claire looked down at her watch. It was only nine-forty, but she was exhausted. If this were Harry she’d let him know. But it wasn’t. She was back to weighing each word. “Are we staying for dancing?”

  Tony leaned closer, his eyebrows raised, “Do you want to dance?”

  “No, I really don’t. I’m tired and I’d like to go home. If I could have my phone I’ll call for the SiJo car.”

  Tony leaned back against his chair. His lack of response caused Claire’s skin to crawl. The contrary emotions his actions elicited made her feel as though she were with two different men. One minute he was courteous and social, the next he was his old domineering, controlling self. She tried to remain obedient. With each passing minute her insolence increased. Finally, she leaned toward him, smile glistening. From afar they appeared to be having a friendly chat. Claire’s voice betrayed her current emotions; she could only restrain them visually, audibly was too much. Her voice cracked as she questioned, “Have I done everything you asked?”

  His external facade remained intact, “Yes, but I want more.”

  Her heart sank, “Please, I’m tired.”

  “Then perhaps you should go to bed.”

  She saw the twinkle in his eye. Her mask momentarily shattered, she leaned closer, as panic filled each syllable, “I am not agreeing to sleep with you.”

  His perfect smile remained unwavering; however, his eyes registered darker than she’d seen since the penthouse, “Sleeping, my dear, is not what I had in mind.”

  She closed her eyes and waited for the distress to pass. When it merely subsided, she turned to her ex-husband, “I will go upstairs with you. I will complete this scenario. I will not have sex with you.”

  “Why do you fight it?”

  People mingled close. There were waitresses and waiters clearing tables. Other couples milled near. Claire inhaled and exhaled. The urge to cry was almost beyond her control. “May we please go upstairs? This conversation is upsetting me. If you want to maintain this charade, we’d better leave while I can maintain a smile.”

  Tony stood and chivalrously offered Claire his hand. She exhaled and took it, allowing her fingers to be swallowed by his girth. “Ms. Nichols, shall we bid our ado’s to the appropriate people?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rawlings. I am but so ready to close the curtain on this performance.”

  Tony leaned toward her ear, “The press release is viral. This, my love, was only the first act.”

  An older couple from the National Center for Learning Disabilities approached. With her stomach in knots, Claire bravely continued her duties. When they finally reached the golden elevator, Tony removed his phone from his jacket and sent a text. Claire remained silent until the doors opened to the Penthouse entry. “May I have my phone?”

  Tony looked at his watch, 10:17 PM. “My dear, the night is still young.”

  *****

  Sophia looked at the list of cities: San Francisco, Seattle, Phoenix, Dallas, Chicago, Louisville, Atlanta, Miami, Charlotte, New York, Boston and Bangor. The tour consisted of two weeks in each city. Exhibition halls rented, advertised, and paid. Lodging and food stipends, as well as travel expenses. Mr. George would receive his customary fifteen percent. The mysterious buyer would receive five percent. The rest of all sales would go to Sophia. With two weeks in each city and the occasional time off, the tour would last approximately thirty months.

  “I have some overseas commitments,” Sophia said as Mr. Hensley discussed the exhibitions.

  “I’m sure that can be worked out.”

  “I really need to discuss this with my husband.”

  “Of course,” Eric replied as he glanced at his phone. “Let me give you this written information.” Looking to Mr. George, “You have my number. Please call when Mrs. Burke has made her decision.”

  Mr. George responded, “Yes, we’ll talk.”

  Eric Hensley turned to Sophia, “Mrs. Burke, again, I apologize for the inconvenience. I hope my employer’s olive branch will help to make amends for the missed gala. I’m sure you would like to join your husband. I look forward to talking to you again soon.”

  Sophia stood with the realization she’d been released. “Thank you, Mr. Hensley. Mr. George and I will be back to you soon. Please tell your employer I do appreciate his offer.”

  Eric walked Sophia to the door of the suite, “I will. Do you need an escort back to the ballroom?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

  Eric Hensley nodded as Sophia walked from the suite. As she waited for the elevator Sophia sent a text to Derek. I’M FINALLY RELEASED. DO YOU STILL WANT ME?

  Her phone vibrated within seconds, DINNER IS DONE. DANCING IS ABOUT TO START. I’D LOOK FUNNY DANCING ALONE. I ALWAYS WANT YOU!

  Sophia smiled as the mirrored cubical descended to the main level. When the doors opened, she hurried toward the ballroom.

  The single biggest problem with communication

  is the illusion that it has taken place.

  -- George Bernard Shaw.

  Chapter 36

  Perhaps it was her look of desperation or the tears that lingered on her perfectly painted lids. The reason was not yet revealed. Nonetheless, once the golden elevator closed and Tony and Claire were alone in the entry of the Saint Regis Penthouse, he opened his Armani jacket and handed Claire her phone. She contemplated taking it to an isolated area and calling Harry. Instead, she bravely stood before Tony, waited for it to turn on, ignored the icons indicating missed calls and messages, and scrolled for the number of the SiJo driver.

  Although Tony stood resolute before her, Claire refused to turn away. Maybe it was a replay of a scene from their past. Maybe it was a move, counter move. Nevertheless, she waited while the phone rang. When the driver answered, she heard, “Ms. Nichols, this is Marcus, are you ready to be picked up?”

  Looking Tony in the eyes, she replied, “Hello, Marcus, yes, this is Claire Nichols...”

  She didn’t complete her sentence. Tony unexpectantly took the iPhone from her hand and spoke, “Hello, Marcus. Ms. Nichols will not need your assistance this evening.” Claire could no longer hear Marcus’s response, only Tony’s: “This is Anthony Rawlings.” “That is correct.” “Yes, you are relieved of your assignment.” “Thank you, good night.” He turned off the phone and placed it back in his pocket. His dark chocolate eyes glowed in the dim light of the penthouse.

  Claire wanted to fight, she wanted her iPhone back, and she wanted to be back in Palo Alto with Harry and Amber. However, after Tony disconnected the call, she dejectedly walked to the sofa and collapsed. The tight reign she’d had on her emotions all night severed. How could it not? The tension was too much. With tears cascading down her cheeks, Claire closed her eyes and waited. She’d been here before. Not this hotel or this scenario, but one with enough similarity she knew the drill. Her only option was conceding -- until her side regained strength.

  Momentarily, Claire remembered Courtney, Brent, Jane, Amber, Harry, John and Emily. She wasn’t a lone chess piece -- isolated, without support. The realization fortified her. Claire didn’t stand and declare victory. Nonetheless, she silently accepted their support and sat taller. Drying her tears she stared compellingly into the depths of her ex-husband’s dark abyss. If those people could stand for her, she’d sit straighter for them. Inhaling deeply and exhaling, Claire asked, “What do I need to do, to leave?”

  Tony sat next to his ex-wife. His gaze mellowed. “Eric will take you home whenever you want. You may leave at any time.”

  She didn’t hesitate, “Then I want to leave now.”

  Tony nodded, and removed his phone from his jacket. It was at that moment she remembered why she was there, why she’d done as he asked, “Tony?” Her voice quivered with concern, “Is SiJo secure? Did they get their problem fixed?”

  He placed his phone back in his pocket and replied, “Do you want to know what I have been thinking about all night?”


  Claire struggled to stay on track, “What you’ve been thinking about? All right.”

  “Many things, the first -- how amazing you’ve been. I’ve endured many companions since our divorce. I have not enjoyed any of those evenings as much as I have tonight, being with you.”

  Claire stared; she wondered what part of that statement was supposed to warrant her response, his many companions or her exemplary performance.

  Tony continued, “Shelly was not happy with my desired press release, but I decided it was the only answer. Now the world knows of our reconciliation. It is official.”

  “You say that, as if it’s beyond debate.”

  He peered unquestionably into her emerald eyes, “Beyond challenge. It is public.” The failure is not an option went without saying.

  “SiJo?”

  “The breach has been resolved. It has been since about eight o’clock this evening.”

  Claire exhaled, “Thank you.”

  Tony accepted her gratitude and answered, “Actually, I will have Eric take you to your condominium. It’s probably better if you don’t know what else I’ve been pondering.”

  Claire sat straighter, “Thank you, again. I’m ready to leave.” She watched as he nodded. The familiar attraction sucked her into his gravitational pull, and without thinking she took his hand in hers. Propelled by curiosity as well as concern, Claire asked, “What else have you been thinking?”

  “Those black lacy panties.”

  Claire released his hand and stood abruptly. “What did you say?”

  “I’ve been thinking about your black lacy underwear; there was a small bow.” His smile turned sensual, “I’ve been wondering what color you’re wearing tonight.”

  Her voice came out an octave higher, “How do you know about black lace panties?”

  Tony stood, his hands grasped her shoulders. Their chests touched and his breath quickened, “Why can’t you believe I still love you?”