A week later, Tony invited Claire to Chicago for two nights. Even though she needed to cancel a committee meeting, she wanted to go. It was even her idea to go to the spa and lighten her dark roots. Brent and David Field—whom Claire met what seemed like a lifetime ago—on her first trip to New York—were with them as they flew to Chicago. Claire sat on the sofa while the three men discussed their impending meetings. To pass the time, she looked through her purse and was pleased to have her new ID and credit card. Claire didn’t care about their money, but shopping was one of the few pass times Tony granted without hesitation.
Her old driver’s license was a Georgia—issued ID. She thought it was interesting to see the difference in different states licenses. She soon realized the variances didn’t stop with the issuing state—the new one contained her name, Claire Rawlings, and printed at the top was VALID IDENTIFICATION. Her Georgia ID had said VALID DRIVER’S LICENSE. She hadn’t noticed it before. It wasn’t something she should bring up with Brent and David present but decided it was worth discussing when they were alone.
Claire spent the afternoon at the spa lightening her hair and receiving a manicure and pedicure. When she arrived back at the apartment, Charles informed Mrs. Rawlings, Mr. Rawlings would be detained until after 9:00 PM. He could happily serve her dinner at a more appropriate hour. She declined, “Thank you, Charles; I’ll wait for Mr. Rawlings.”
While dining, Claire sensed Tony multitasking. He was eating and conversing with her, but his mind was elsewhere with Brent and David on some big deal. He talked about the next evening. Hopefully, they would be able to go out to dinner and perhaps to a show. It all depended on his meetings. Claire said it sounded great, but she understood if his work went late. She planned to spend the entire day shopping and knew they were scheduled to go home on Thursday.
As Claire contemplated the best way to bring up her question, Tony did it for her. “You’re going shopping tomorrow? Did you see your new ID and credit card? They should be in your wallet.”
“I did, and I was wondering why my new ID isn’t a driver’s license?”
Tony momentarily stopped eating and looked at Claire as if she’d asked why is the sky blue or why do birds fly? It seemed as though the only word missing from his next sentence was Duh. “Because you don’t drive.” His tone wasn’t cruel—perhaps cold.
She thought carefully about her response. “I haven’t driven since I’ve been with you—but I used to drive and enjoyed it.”
“You now have access to a driver. You didn’t before—correct?”
“Correct—however, you have a driver and you still drive. The Simmons’ have a driver and Courtney drives.”
Tony’s annoyance with this conversation came through loud and clear, his words were flat with restraint. “Claire, this is a ridiculous conversation. You have a driver or you’re with me. You have no need to drive.”
“Tony, you are obviously busy with work. We can discuss this later.”
*
Throughout the past year there were numerous instances when Tony purposely baited Claire. He liked to observe her reactions. Initially, it was done maliciously. It intrigued him to see how far he could push. Lately it had become a private game. He found her self-control and resilience incredibly sexy. The restraint she demonstrated to refrain from arguing, when clearly her body language screamed fight, was stimulating.
This evening Tony was not playing a game. His mind was set—Claire would not be driving. The fact they were even discussing the subject seemed absurd. “Let me help you—it has been a long day and this discussion is over. It does not need to be revisited.”
*
She thought about saying, “Fine—I’m going to bed.”
Before she could, he continued, “I would offer you the opportunity to decide on your own if it is worth continuing, but I have decided not to take that risk—it isn’t.”
Her chest expanded and contracted as she released a sigh. Looking at her husband, she kept her lips together and remained silent. He watched her neck stiffen and eyes flash. He waited. After a prolonged silence, confident of her compliance, he continued. “Now, tell me about your day at the spa.”
Claire did her best to feign enthusiasm and replied, “It was very nice. They always do a great job and make me feel special.” Thinking as opposed to how I’m feeling right now.
A wall of glass extended from ceiling to floor behind Tony. Through the night sky, Claire saw the head and tail lights of vehicles moving around the windy city. Somewhere deep in her soul she wondered will I ever drive again?
Chicago was uneventful. She shopped without accidentally providing an interview. They dined at a steak house not far from the Tower and went to the Cadillac Palace Theater for Les Miserables. Claire saw the same musical many years ago from the nosebleed section. It was one of her favorite live shows—a winner of seven Tony Awards—she didn’t mind seeing it again. It amazed her they could get such exceptional seats. The night before Tony didn’t know if they would be attending a show. Les Miserables had been sold out for months, yet they were seated in a premium box enjoying the outstanding performance.
Apparently, Tony’s dealings were successful because they and Brent were able to go back to Iowa as planned. David stayed behind to finalize some contracts. Reading her book, Claire observed Tony with Brent, sensing a difference from the accustomed friendly casual interaction. Watching and listening to them discuss business issues reminded her of Courtney’s comment, “He can drive Brent crazy sometimes.” She hadn’t seen it before, but understood it now.
Tony’s repertoire of personalities included an overpowering domineering force which apparently was reserved for those closest to him. Claire had plenty of personal experience with this personality, but she’d never had the opportunity to observe it directed at someone else. Today she witnessed Tony’s manipulative rule being unleashed on Brent—it wasn’t pretty. She understood how Brent could relay things to Courtney—because that’s what real couples do—and Courtney could hate and love Tony at the same time. Pretending to be absorbed in her book, Claire didn’t want to be included in the conversation, or for her presence to make Brent uncomfortable—it obviously wasn’t affecting Tony.
The last week of February, Claire and Tony prepared for an interview with Vanity Fair Magazine. Shelly, Tony’s publicist, made a point to come to their house and explain to Claire that this interview was important to Mr. Rawlings’s public relations. There were many speculations in the media about the two of them, their fast wedding, and lack of prenuptial agreement. This would be their way to shape and control the information. Claire thought it was a nice gesture. Truthfully, if Tony told her to do the interview, she would do it. What surprised Claire was the extent of planning and preparation which went into it.
Shelly agreed to Vanity Fair because of their willingness to work openly. They gave her a list of questions. She deleted, added, and tweaked them until both parties were satisfied. Then Tony and Claire were given the questions and time to work on their spontaneous answers. Next, with Shelly’s assistance, they practiced and modified their answers. She arranged for cosmetologists, beauticians, and clothing designers to assist them before the photo shoot. Shelly promised to be present throughout the entire interview and photo session. She would step in and stop any unapproved questions. This was better than Mr. or Mrs. Rawlings refusing to answer a question or appearing unaccommodating. The article would then be reviewed and approved prior to publication.
Claire thought the whole thing was hilarious. Did all people go through this before an interview? There was a time in her life when she read a celebrity interview and assumed it was as it appeared. Being Mrs. Rawlings continued to teach her so much.
The day of the interview finally arrived. The people who came to make Claire and Tony beautiful arrived early, before 7:30 AM. By the time Shelly arrived they both looked like models. Just another day sitting around the house! Claire thought as she looked in the mirror at her professiona
l make-up and styled hair.
Catherine assumed the challenge of the house-it sparkled. Even the weather received the perfection memo. Not realizing it was late February, the sun shone through a sapphire blue sky, and a fresh layer of snow blanketed the gray dingy ground, adding luster to the outdoors.
Anne Robinson, the reporter from Vanity Fair, arrived promptly at nine accompanied by a photography crew. The Rawlings were only introduced to the lead photographer, Shaun Stivert. The plan commenced with photos first, while Claire and Tony looked fresh and beautiful. Then they progressed to the interview. The whole process was more work than Claire imagined.
Shelly was true to her word and omnipresent. She didn’t hesitate to say, “No, I think this would be better,” or, “We went over this. You know that won’t be discussed today.” Claire studied her lines well, knowing what to say and how to say it. Tony practiced too. Claire thought they both sounded sincere and spontaneous. The Vanity Fair crew finally left after 1:00 PM with Shelly not far behind. Before she left, she said, “I think that went very well. I’ll let you know as soon as I have an approved copy.”
Once everyone was gone, Claire relished the quiet house again, while her head pounded behind her eyes. The headaches weren’t as frequent as they were right after her accident; however, when they struck they could be debilitating. Sleeping in a very dark room was the best remedy.
Following the interview Claire accompanied her husband to his office. He hoped to accomplish as much work as possible from home; driving into Iowa City would be counterproductive this late in the day. Claire closed her eyes and enjoyed the peacefulness as Cindy placed their food on the long shiny table. After pouring their coffee she asked if they needed anything else.
“No, you may go.” Tony replied before he turned to Claire and asked, “How do you think it went?”
She opened her eyes to focus. “I really think it went well. It was more draining than I expected. I can’t wait to see the final article.”
“Shelly said we should have a draft by next week. It’s supposed to be the cover story for the April publication, so it won’t hit the newsstands for a while.” Claire shook her head. She couldn’t believe her marriage would warrant a cover story for anything, much less Vanity Fair. The food and coffee helped her head, but she suspected it’d gone too far. A nap was the real remedy. Once they finished eating, Tony walked over toward his desk.
“Do you need me? I’d like to go upstairs. The morning wore me out,” Claire asked, as she stood to leave.
He picked up a manila folder and handed it to her. “I’d like you to stay here while you look at these.” She took the folder to the sofa and sat down. The content of the folder was a mystery. She suddenly had visions of Tony with the Meredith Banks interview. Sometimes compartmentalized memories would sneak out.
She opened the folder to find over an inch thick stack of papers. They were printed e-mails. Her mind moved slowly, exhausted from the interview process and dulled from her headache. Confused, she asked, “What are these?”
“Your invitations.” Granting her another freedom—he watched as she read. She looked at the top e-mail:
To: Anthony Rawlings, [email protected]
From: Courtney Simmons, [email protected]
Date: February 25, 2011
Subject: For Claire, attachment
Please let Claire know that our meeting is scheduled for next Wednesday at noon, but I would like to get together before that so we can brainstorm. We need to get the fund-raising calendar set by the next meeting. Attached is a file she needs to review. If one of you could let me know when a good time to get together is I would appreciate it. —Courtney
(Paper clipped to the e-mail was a five-page report)
Claire didn’t know what to say, finally she weakly managed, “Thank you.” He didn’t reply, but watched and continued to evaluate her response. She went back to the stack. The e-mail under Courtney’s was from Emily. It too was dated February 25, 2011; however—it was a series of correspondences.
February 25, 2011
Hi, it is me again. I realize that Claire is busy with her new responsibilities, but I would like to talk to her. I’m usually home most evenings. It has been almost two months. I have sent many e-mails and tried numerous times to call. Thank you, Emily.
February 11, 2011
Mrs. Rawlings is unable to respond to your request at this time.
Patricia M.
February 9, 2011
Hello, this is Emily Vandersol, again. Could you please inform Mrs. Rawlings that her sister would like to speak to her? Thank you.
February 2, 2011
Mrs. Rawlings is unable to respond to your request at this time.
Patricia M.
February 1, 2011
Hello, Emily Vandersol here. I’m the sister of Mrs. Rawlings. I’m not sure who is replying to these e-mails. I have attempted to reach Mr. Rawlings to no avail. Please inform Mr. Rawlings or Mrs. Rawlings that my husband and I would like to talk with them. We would be happy to meet them if they plan a trip to New York, or a telephone call would be acceptable. I look forward to your response.
January 23, 2011
Mrs. Rawlings is unable to respond to your request at this time.
Patricia M.
January 22, 2011
Hello, Anthony, are you receiving my e-mails? I know that you have learned of John’s decision. I would like to talk to you and Claire. We need to be sure this job thing doesn’t affect our family relationship. Let me talk to you about John and his reasoning. Please pass this on to Claire. I will be home all weekend, she can call anytime. Thanks. Em.
January 17, 2011
Mrs. Rawlings is unable to respond to your request at this time.
Patricia M.
January 15, 2011
Hi, Anthony and Claire, I had hoped we could talk, but I haven’t been able to reach you. John is meeting with Tom on Monday. It would be nice if I could talk with Claire and settle a few things before John’s meeting. I hope you check your e-mails on the weekend. I will be waiting for your or Claire’s call. By the way, I saw some of your wedding photos in the grocery store this morning. You two looked wonderful. Please call.
January 4, 2011
Mrs. Rawlings is unable to respond to your request at this time.
Patricia M.
January 3, 2011
Hi, Anthony, I need to speak to Claire again. I’m not sure if she told you, but I brought up John’s job offer the other day. I’ve been thinking about it, and feel guilty. It wasn’t fair of me to talk to her about it. I know you all have a lot going on. John wanted to know if she had anything to do with your offer. I could tell she really didn’t know about it. I need to tell her I’m sorry for putting her in a difficult position. I appreciate what you are offering John. I am trying to stay out of his decision process. But I would like to talk to Claire some more; it was so nice to see more of her during the wedding. Please ask her to call me, and tell her I love her. The photos of you two on the news were amazing. Thanks again for the transportation and the stay in your home. It was beautiful. Thank you, Emily
This history was stapled together. Claire’s eyes were wet by the time she finished Emily’s last or first e-mail. She looked up at Tony. He still didn’t speak; his dark eyes glared. Claire wondered what she was supposed to do with this information. Perhaps it was her head, but she truly didn’t know how to respond, so she asked, “Thank you for giving me my invitations, now what am I supposed to do with this knowledge?”
“Tell me what you want to do.” His tone was hard.
Claire rose and approached his desk. “I want to call her.” She saw the deliberation on his face. She remembered a time when she was unable to read his expression—her ability wasn’t comforting. Claire tried desperately to modulate her voice. “I’ll do it here on the speaker phone. I don’t care if you listen to every word and tell me what to say—I just want to call her.” He still didn’t speak; n
evertheless, the intensity in his eyes multiplied. “Tony, may I please call her?”
“It’s almost 3:00 PM, which would be 4:00 PM in Troy. Would she be home?”
It wasn’t an answer, but it wasn’t a denial.
Claire thought about it. School finished at 3:15 PM, at least it used to. “She might.” As if thinking out loud, she added, “And as a plus John won’t be.”
He didn’t respond to her last statement, instead he began to talk about her e-mails. She sat as he explained that the folder included multiple e-mails from people she didn’t know. Since their marriage, many people have attempted to contact her for various reasons. Patricia replied to everyone: Mrs. Rawlings is unable to respond to your request at this time.
Tony continued, “Your preparation for the Vanity Fair interview and execution today impressed me. I also appreciate you made requests a month ago and have been patient. I believe you deserve to be rewarded. Therefore, regarding your e-mails—from now on—before Patricia replies—you will have the opportunity to review them. We will discuss them. Together we’ll decide responses. Of course, I’ll have the final say—however; I believe you’ve earned a voice.”
Claire realized Tony believed he’d presented her with a freedom. She couldn’t help think it was—instead—only a glimpse of what she was missing. The forbidden opportunities would now be staring her in the face. “Thank you—I understand.”
He turned to his computer screens, and she watched the back of his head for what seemed like hours. He knew what she wanted. She’d made her request. Now he was making her wait. How would she respond? He’d provided a token of his approval. Would she submissively accept or would she pursue the idea of calling her sister?
Claire closed her eyes and tried to stop the pounding in her temples. Perched on the chair’s edge near his desk, she refused to budge. The folder—the gift he’d given her—sat closed on her lap. She didn’t care about people she didn’t know, and her head hurt too much to read anymore. She waited as his fingers flew between the keyboard and mouse. Sitting silently and expressionlessly she remembered Courtney’s kind words: Life isn’t a test you must continually pass. Claire absentmindedly rolled her shoulders and straightened her neck. If her only possibility of calling Emily was passing this test, then by God, she wasn’t moving from this seat. Finally, he turned to face her.
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 37
