Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  Tony mentioned on multiple occasions he was thrilled to have Claire as his wife, but with this title came responsibility. She had done well most of the time in the past. Now, it was different. She was no longer an enigma or a rumor; she was Mrs. Anthony Rawlings. Her actions, words, and appearance reflected directly upon him. He loved her and wanted her as happy as she was here in paradise, but the real world was coming. He wanted her prepared.

  For ten days of complete togetherness, no possible threat of the outside world, chance of public failure, opportunity for breaking rules, or risk of negative consequences, Claire enjoyed the light hue in Tony’s eyes. She gave herself freely and kept him satisfied. She found a place of contentment with her situation and happiness in her decisions.

  Sometimes while lounging, she would think about the out Tony offered in Central Park. She wondered would she be happier? Where would she be? And the biggest unanswered question, would he really have let her go? Then she would open her eyes and see a lush tropical paradise, incredibly handsome generous husband, and recognize her decisions led her to this consequence.

  Thursday afternoon, December 30, Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings rejoined Eric at Tony’s plane in Nadi. This time they traveled back in time, arriving back in Iowa City Thursday night. Glistening under a blanket of white snow, the house looked regal as they approached. The decorations were gone, but the houselights shone upon the brick and river stone facade. It was magnificent and welcoming. Paradise was just that, but now they were home.

  There is a wisdom of the head, and a wisdom of the heart.

  —Charles Dickens

  Chapter Thirty-Two

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  Samuel thought it a farce, the nightly meal with everyone present, his parents, wife, and son. Yes, they lived in the same house, but the formal meals seemed pretentious. It reminded him of the TV show Dallas with Nathaniel the reigning omnipotent patriarch.

  Amanda looked to her husband as the dinner concluded. Samuel leaned over and affectionately kissed his wife’s cheek. “I need to speak to my father for a few minutes. I’ll be upstairs in a little while.”

  She smiled. “All right, I’ll be waiting.”

  “I won’t be long.” He saw the unspoken question in his wife’s eyes. Then he whispered, “I’ll fill you in later, I promise.” Amanda’s eyes smiled, as she looked into Samuel’s face. In a family like theirs, so much had to be said without words, they all knew the rules. Nothing was ever questioned in front of Nathaniel. Samuel was thankful Amanda was willing to deal with her father-in-law’s rules. Having each other made it worth it; Amanda and Samuel adored one another.

  “Anton and I will be upstairs.”

  Their son, home from boarding school, watched his parents. “I’ll be up in a minute, Mother, I need to do something.” Amanda smiled at her husband and son. Anton had grown so much during the past semester. Only fifteen, he stood half a foot taller than her and was still growing. His eyes could shine, but on occasion they also showed his grandfather’s darkness. His parents wanted more than anything to keep that blackness away.

  Amanda nodded. “All right, maybe we can watch a movie when we all get to our suites? I have some new videos.” She began the ascent up the grand stairs. Samuel straightened his neck and walked down the corridor toward his father’s office. The double doors stood as a barrier to the inflexible man within. Inhaling deeply, he formed a fist. Respectfully, he knocked on the grand double doors and listened for the words from within. “Come in.”

  Samuel knew this wasn’t going to go well. His father knew his displeasure with the recent direction of Rawls Corp. Now the recent positive slant and the unexpected shareholder acceptance were too much. These ideas from Jared Clawson had to stop.

  One idea reaped Rawls millions. The next cost them millions. Currently, the balance sheet was in their favor, but the risks and the possible legal repercussions weren’t worth the benefits. Stepping into the large office, Samuel silently prayed he would be able to make his father see his point of view.

  The man behind the desk sat bold and defiant. “I wondered how long it would take you to confront me.”

  “I didn’t think we needed an audience.” Samuel closed the double doors, unaware they were slightly ajar.

  “Always worried about others’ opinions”—Nathaniel grinned—“Obviously, a trait you received from your mother. I don’t give a damn what others think.”

  “Perhaps you should.” Samuel offered.

  “Speak your mind.”

  “You know my thoughts. You need to get rid of Jared Clawson. You need to stop these alternative means of financial gain.”

  Nathaniel’s laugh rumbled through the office. “I need?”

  “Father—I’m sorry—maybe need isn’t the best word. You should.”

  “You’re sorry? You’re a weak piece of shit!” Nathaniel stood and walked around his grand desk, facing his son. “Haven’t you learned anything? Don’t apologize! Apologies are for cowards, they make you appear weak.”

  Standing tall, Samuel continued his mission. “This situation is getting out of hand.”

  Nathaniel laughed again. “Out of hand—like we’re making millions upon millions, and that’s bad?”

  “We were doing well before, and it was legal.”

  “So what part of these profits don’t you like? Your wife’s enjoying the money and your son’s enjoying the best education. You, your wife, your son will never know what it’s like to be without. Tell me again what you don’t like.”

  “I believe they would’ve been happy with our earnings before. Amanda and Anton don’t need excess—neither do I”—Samuel watched his father turn back toward his plush leather chair—“And neither does Mother.”

  Changing directions, Nathaniel abruptly turned and struck his son’s left cheek. “Don’t you ever tell me what your mother needs. You have no idea what she’s been through. You’ve never lived as we did. Money is good for one thing—it buys what you need—what you want, and because of my decisions, you and Anton will never worry about money. Do not ever tell me what to do with my business and don’t apologize. I raised you better than that!”

  Samuel knew there wasn’t an answer for his father. He turned to walk away.

  “Where are you going—boy?” Nathaniel bellowed.

  “I’m going upstairs to my wife. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “You’re going upstairs—to the upper level of my house. No. I don’t have a problem—do you?”

  “No, Father, I do not.” Samuel exited the office.

  Before he shut the large doors, Samuel saw Anton’s expression as he hurried down the corridor. The teenager had witnessed the entire scene. Samuel hoped when they were up in their suite, they could talk about it. His son would know discussions were welcome.

  God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

  —Reinhold Niebuhr

  Chapter Thirty-Three

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  The view through the windshield of Tony’s new Mercedes-Benz CLS-Class Coupe reminded Claire of space movies—the snowflakes were like stars being passed at warp speed. The snow, wind, and subfreezing temperature accentuated the reality that they were no longer in paradise. She settled into the heated seat, rubbed her leather gloved hands, and watched the snow covered terrain. The glistening sparkles would’ve been pretty if not for the blowing and accumulation. Tony didn’t mind. He was enjoying his new car, which had arrived at the estate while they were gone. To Claire’s relief, it handled amazingly well on snow.

  Although almost 8:00 PM, she felt as though she was finally waking—the jet lag was difficult to navigate. Both she and Tony had slept late following their arrival back to reality. Now as they headed to Tom and Bev’s for a New Year’s Eve celebration, she thought about their return.

  When they entered the estate, Catherine’s welcoming smile was the best sight Claire could imagine. They immediate
ly embraced. The peaceful stillness of the mansion, barren of decorations and workers, was comforting. She and Tony ate a light dinner and fell sound asleep.

  It was during the morning, while more awake, they discussed their bedroom situation. Now that they’re married, should they move into one room? When Tony asked Claire’s opinion—a benchmark moment—she replied she liked maintaining two rooms. The most important thing was sleeping together, the location was irrelevant. Claire said she liked her suite. Truth be told—she did. Yes—she knew it had surveillance and memories—but it was also where she felt safe and at home. Maybe she’d come to terms with the recordings. She felt—well—secure. If Tony could watch her every move, he wouldn’t question her actions. She also mentioned, “Besides, my suite doesn’t match yours in terms of technology.” His had the big multifaceted screen and God only knew what else. “And you wouldn’t be able to access all your stock market data from here.”

  Since their big storm last summer, Claire hadn’t been required—or asked—to watch more videos, but she believed Tony did. She also believed he could access his videos and anything he wanted: from his office, bedroom, movie-theater, or anywhere else he chose. This hadn’t been confirmed, but somehow she suspected it was true.

  His reply was why, even now as they drove, Claire was still stewing.

  “I think that sounds reasonable, I don’t believe we’ll be running out of room anytime soon”—As Claire watched the honeymoon hue of Tony’s eyes fade into darkness, he continued—“however, regarding the technology you mentioned, I believe it would be prudent to maintain the past restrictions involving my office and bedroom. I don’t think you need unsupervised access to computers, Internet, or telephones.”

  “Tony, I’m your wife. What do you think I’ll do?”

  “I think it’s best to avoid possible glitches”—He lifted her chin—“Do you agree, or would you like to discuss it further?”

  Claire stared into his eyes, squared her shoulders, and straightened her neck. “I agree. Excuse me. I need to take a shower.” He released her chin and she walked away. She’d learned months ago she didn’t like glitches and pursuing a closed conversation wasn’t prudent; however, every bone in her body wanted to pursue it. She really didn’t care about the technology and didn’t want to access it. Claire wanted the ability to access it!

  Ten hours later, as they rode to Tom and Bev’s party, she contemplated the closed conversation. Now that she was Mrs. Anthony Rawlings, didn’t that give her some kind of clout? Some perks? Could she possibly revisit the subject without fear of retribution? As she debated this internally and watched the glistening flakes sparkle in the illumination of the Mercedes’ beams, she wondered if her life had changed.

  She was Mrs. Anthony Rawlings, but was that really different from being Ms. Claire Nichols?

  “Which do you prefer?”

  Tony’s question pulled Claire from her thoughts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear your question.”

  “I asked if you prefer the view in Fiji over the frozen splendor of Iowa.”

  Claire laughed. “I don’t think you need to ask, do you?”

  “Probably not, but I’m trying to get you to talk.”

  “I’m talking.”

  “Yes, you are, but you haven’t really been talking since this morning. Would you like to discuss the cause before we get to Tom’s?”

  Claire thought about the question. Yes, she wanted to revisit the subject, but should she? “I don’t know.” Her feet were cold and the fashionable boots weren’t helping. She tried to get them under the blow of the Mercedes’ heater. “If I say yes, am I opening a closed subject?”

  “Yes, I guess you are. Is it worth it to you?”

  The interior of the car was warm, yet Claire pushed her gloved hands deeper into the pockets of her fur jacket and considered the implications. Did she really care anymore about technology? Was it worth pushing this discussion? She knew immediately the answer was no. “I think my decision is to not reopen the conversation; however, I want you to know—it isn’t the technology I long for—it’s the ability to access it.”

  Tony smirked. “Claire, your talents were wasted in meteorology. You would’ve made a wonderful businesswoman. You just said you didn’t want to pursue the subject, yet you managed to enlighten me about your motivation. Once again, I’m impressed.”

  His condescension didn’t help her disposition. The snow was coming at the windshield with enough velocity to make her feel as though they were flying thought space at hyper speed. Her lips pressed tightly into a line. Finally, she asked, “What kind of response do you expect?”

  “Honest, as always.”

  “Okay—seriously, who do I have left to contact? I don’t understand why you feel the restrictions are still necessary. God knows I know the rules.” The branches of the pines lay low with inches of heavy accumulating snow. Keeping her gaze to her right, Claire saw the ladened evergreens through the side window. They were nearing the Millers’ home and the sound of soft music filled the air. Tony didn’t respond. After all, this discussion was closed. The familiar sense of powerlessness filled Claire’s chest. She wanted the unspoken tension to end. She reached over and touched his arm. “I love you. I’ll do whatever you want or expect of me. I admit I’m not pleased by your verdict, but I’m okay. Let’s spend tonight with our friends and welcome the New Year.” At least she’d explained her view; that was something.

  The Millers’ home was magnificent. Beverly had fantastic taste in decor. It was ultramodern yet amazingly inviting. The unique style was a combination of stone, brick, and wood, accentuated with glass and chrome. Despite the numerous windows, the house was warm. They could watch the snow and wind and stay snug inside.

  Perhaps it was the fire in the fireplace or the wine in their glasses, but the gathering radiated warmth. Their friends happily celebrated their return. They wanted to know all about the honeymoon. Claire told them that it had been wonderful—Tony had literally taken her to paradise. Everyone complimented their wedding. They were a beautiful couple. Sue mentioned how beautiful their pictures were in the press release. Claire had forgotten about press coverage until that moment.

  “I haven’t seen the released pictures. Do you have copies?” Bev said she didn’t but she’d be glad to pull them up online. Claire glanced at her husband, although he didn’t speak, his eyes did. Claire knew she shouldn’t, but she agreed, “Thank you, I’d love to see them.”

  Instead of bringing out a computer, Bev removed a remote from a drawer and pointed it at the large television on the wall. The New Year’s countdown from Time Square changed to a homepage. Bev entered Anthony Rawlings into the search engine. Nine months ago—the procedure would’ve seemed mundane—but now it fascinated Claire. She would’ve loved to take the time to read the multitude of pages that appeared as options. Bev reduced the search by entering wedding. Claire briefly saw an accompanying article; but within seconds, Bev clicked, and their pictures appeared on the screen.

  Claire stared. There they were in their wedding attire. There were three different pictures—a head shot—a full-length frontal view—and one of them dancing. Everyone watched Claire as she beheld herself on the screen. She looked at Tony and her—they looked like models. Tony was tall, handsome, and buff, with his dark hair, dark eyes, and dark tuxedo contrasting dramatically with Claire. She looked petite, blonde, and striking. Her hair was so light she assumed some of her friends from before may not recognize her. Next to Tony, she seemed small. Tony was right about her eyes. In the head shot, her green eyes shined vividly. She’d seen her dress in the mirror, but seeing it on the television screen and looking at it from afar, it was obviously eye-catching, elegant, and spectacular. She smiled. It had been a good choice.

  Claire realized everyone in the room was watching her, especially Tony. Most were happily awaiting her response. Tony seemed less pleased with the entire situation, but she knew he wouldn’t say anything there. It would be a matter better di
scussed in private. Finally, Sue put her hand on Claire’s knee and asked, “So what do you think?”

  Claire giggled. “I just can’t believe my wedding’s news.” Everyone snickered. What did she expect? She married Anthony Rawlings. Claire looked up at him. He had eyes only for her—dark eyes. Daringly, she got up and walked to her husband. Lifting herself by her toes, she reached his cheek and gave it a kiss.

  He obliged, bending down to allow his cheek to meet her lips. Addressing the group, Claire nonchalantly replied, “I guess I just forget who he is, but, I have a lifetime to remember.” She kissed him again.

  They toasted the New Year with champagne. Brent, Tom, and Tim especially wished Tony a profitable year. If his year was lucrative—theirs would be also. It was after 1:00 AM when the party broke up.

  Within the car, the coldness of the leather transcended Claire’s slacks. She wanted the heater to warm the seat as well as the interior of the car quickly. The roar of the window defroster in the stillness of the night told Claire the poor Mercedes was trying its best. Tony was scraping the snow from the windows and talking with Brent while Tim did the same. Everything was blanketed with several more inches of white. Thankfully, it had stopped falling. Absently, Claire wondered how often Tony needed to scrape his own windows. She knew she was trying to divert her thoughts from the reprimand she was about to receive.

  Her husband remained pleasant and attentive during the party, but his expression as he opened her door let her know that this subject wasn’t closed. Claire pondered that thought. Wasn’t it really the same subject as earlier? So shouldn’t it be closed?

  Each time she exhaled she noticed the faint white crystals which formed and hung in the air. She straightened her posture and squared her shoulders; she was ready. The windows were clear and she could hear Tony and Brent’s voices, his door would open at any moment. With each passing minute her demeanor moved from anxious to indignant.