Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  VF: It was rumored that you, Anthony, wanted to surprise your wife with your honeymoon destination. Is that true?

  Smiling with a smirking grin, he answered, “Yes, I tried diligently to surprise Claire for our honeymoon. And I almost succeeded.” VF had to ask, “Almost?”

  Anthony looked at his wife, she continued the story. “He would have succeeded had it not been for the TSA agent in Hawaii.” Mrs. Rawlings was obviously amused by the story. “I wasn’t the least bit upset. I’d sought to learn the destination for some time. No one would betray his confidence, no matter how much I tried. So after arriving in Oahu, Hawaii, all I knew was that we had farther to fly and we were crossing the International Date Line.”

  Anthony chimed in, “Actually, she figured that out from a hint,” and he winked at Claire.

  She continued, “So when the agent looked at our passports and asked our destination, I wasn’t able to answer.” Smiling, she added, “But Anthony had to. And it was then I learned that we were going to Fiji.” (Photo released by the Rawlings of the two of them dining on a torch-lit deck with a magnificent sunset and the ocean in front of them.)

  VF: Mrs. Rawlings, were you pleased with your husband’s destination choice? Some women would want to be more involved in the planning.

  “That may be true, but my husband planned ten days in paradise. It was amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like it. It was a tropical oasis. I know we have pictures for your publication, but honestly photos can’t do it justice. The climate, atmosphere, cuisine, beach,” and leaning close to Anthony, smiling into his big brown eyes, “his company, all made it a dream. I’m not sure heaven can compare.”

  VF: So you did not mind not being involved in the planning?

  “If all his decisions are as amazing as our honeymoon, I do not mind at all.” He kissed her cheek.

  “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

  Anthony added, “I have had many years of living on my own, making my own decisions, and doing everything for my benefit. I have learned that people remember most how you make them feel. I try to work my business with that in mind. When I negotiate with someone, they will forget what I say or what I do, but they will not forget how I make them feel. Do they feel important to the deal? Do they feel central to the transaction? I wanted our honeymoon to be special because it would benefit me.” His smile looked mischievous to this reporter. “; however, I wanted it to be special so that Claire would feel special and know how important she is to me.” He no doubt had her full attention during his statement, and this reporter would guess during their stay in paradise. Mr. Rawlings seems to have the gift of making everyone feel special. Claire agreed he has made her feel special since they first met.

  VF: Vanity Fair would like to thank you for taking the time to allow us into your home. Now is it true you have other homes besides this one?

  Anthony answered, “Due to my multiple business sites and intensive travel schedule we do own a few apartments here and there. It makes traveling much easier.” (Insert text box of real estate holdings of Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Rawlings.)

  VF: Mr. Rawlings, your answer about “we” owning brings VF to another more controversial subject. May I ask about the debate regarding the lack of a prenuptial agreement prior to your marriage?

  “I would prefer you didn’t; however, the only way to stop the rumors is to address them. First let me say there was no debate. We did not consider a prenuptial agreement, much less debate one.” Taking his wife’s hand in his, he continued, “I’m elated to have the world get to know my wife. Mrs. Claire Rawlings is an amazing woman. She did not know who I was when we met. She has told me exactly what she thinks of me or of my actions and not always in a complimentary manner. She did not anticipate a marriage proposal on that cold,” he smiled at Claire, “night in Central Park. I trust her implicitly. I have worked my entire life to build a business empire. It means nothing without someone with whom to share. I did not feel it was fair to ask her to sign a piece of paper that would restrict her partnership with me in any way. She is my wife and I am her husband. It may not be PC to say this today, but we believe in forever, in trust, and in love. A piece of paper is not going to matter when we are old and gray. We decided together that our commitment to one another is stronger than any legal agreement.” Mrs. Rawlings squeezed his hand. “Like it is said in a movie, she completes me.”

  VF: Thank you again for the brief glimpse into your life. Below is a quote that was recited during your wedding ceremony. To our readers, it was meant as a dual statement to both of them, from each of them.

  I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out. —Roy Croft

  (Photo collage at the end includes photos of home: grand hall, sitting room, library, office, dining room, recreation room, exercise room, theater room, and indoor pool. Also included are wedding photos: of ceremony, reception, with cake, talking with guests, and dancing. There are a few of Fiji, the private island where the couple stayed, the beach, infinity pool, lounging decks, and outdoor shower.)

  *

  Claire read the copy and imagined the photos which would be inserted. It truly appeared perfect.

  Three days later, on the March 18, Tony surprised Claire with a long weekend getaway to Lake Tahoe. The beautiful snowy mountains filled with skiing, roaring fires, and hot coffee made for a great escape. The ski resort, literally a mile above sea level, had crystal-clear air that permeated deep into their lungs. The mountains provided the most amazing skiing with over a hundred inches of base and freshly fallen powder. The tall majestic evergreens bowed to the weight of the snow which layered each branch. Their small, private chalet held amazing views, warm fires, and no cook. For the first time in a year, despite limited supplies, Claire managed to keep them from starving. With the intensity of their exercise—both indoors and out—she was pleased he liked her cooking. A while ago she’d heard some advice. Eating was important to keep up their strength.

  Warm, naked, and covered with a soft blanket, she rested her head against his chest. Claire contemplated the significance of this weekend as they rested in the afterglow of their love and the glow of fireplace. Three hundred and sixty-six days ago she’d been a different person—in a different life. It wasn’t that her life now was bad. It was just that the transition had been unplanned—unwanted—and well—brutal. She needed to hear her husband’s answer to the question lingering in her mind. “Tony, why are we here this weekend?”

  *

  They both watched the crackling blaze as his strong arms encircled her petite body. He took a deep breath and replied, “I didn’t want you home in your suite this weekend. I wanted you outside in fresh air.” He felt her chest lift, then drop, and heard the soft sniffles. Damn—the crying was what he’d been trying to avoid. Nuzzling his face in her hair, he kissed her head. “If it hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be here now. There’s a reason for everything.”

  He tenderly turned her to face him, and then rolled her over onto her back. Her blonde hair fanned out onto the rug like a halo. He looked down at her angelic face. Even with the moisture, her eyes were stunning. The tears only made the green more intense in the firelight. Tony couldn’t help himself, she was beautiful, sensual, and he wanted her. His bare chest pushed against her supple breasts. He tenderly caressed her pink cheeks and soft shoulders as he looked into her eyes. “I’m not sorry we’re together, but I’m so sorry when I think about…remember the things I—”

  Claire stopped him. Shaking her head, she put her fingers to his lips. He stopped talking and kissed her hand, gently sucking the tip of each finger. “Please, Tony. Don’t. I don’t want to remember or think about that.” Her voice sounded amazingly steady despite the tears which now streamed from the corners
of her eyes. “I want to think about now.”

  “But you should know—”

  “All I know is that I love you today—I hated you then—It’s too much of a contrast for my mind to comprehend. I want to concentrate on today.”

  “I love you today, too. Tell me what I can do to help. Claire, anything you want—it’s yours.”

  “I want you—I want you to love me and fill me with so many good memories that I don’t have room for the others.” She kissed her husband. “Tony, fill me completely.”

  *

  Claire wasn’t thinking. Her body was in control; more accurately, out of control, moving in sync with desire. She didn’t think, because she feared that if she did, it would be about the past and not the present. Instead, she surrendered her body and her mind to her husband. There was a time she’d tried to keep her mind, but no longer. He possessed both.

  *

  His lips found her soft skin and watched as her eyes responded. He wanted to see the spark, to have it be there. Briefly, he thought about the saying the end justifies the means. If that were true, then he wasn’t sorry. In his arms, beneath his body, responding to his touch was the woman he’d watched for so long. He suckled her hard nipples, and she moaned deeply, wanting—no, needing him. At that moment in time, sorry was not his most prominent thought.

  Nothing improves memory more than trying to forget.

  —Unknown author

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

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  It was happening again. The satin sheets dripped with sweat as Claire gasped for breath. Trembling, she concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, all the while convincing herself she could breathe—this was only a dream—or a nightmare. Once over, she couldn’t remember the scenes, just the terrible feeling of helplessness. She always woke when she heard the beep. It was the same damn beep she’d heard when she first arrived; the sound meaning her suite was locked. When the dreams first started, she could roll over, find her sleeping husband, curl up next to him, and fall back to sleep. Now regulating her breathing, Claire knew that wasn’t possible—like so many times before—she needed to get out of bed and complete her new routine.

  The steady breathing from a few feet away told Claire that Tony was sleeping peacefully. Quietly, she lifted the covers and eased out of bed. Her hands shook as she tied her robe and tiptoed to the hallway door. “This is dumb,” she whispered, as her feet crossed the lush carpet; however, it was now her reality. She knew sleep wouldn’t be possible without completing this new drill. Gripping the metal lever, she pulled, and the door opened easily. She closed it and proceeded to the balcony. Moving the draperies aside, the French door opened without hesitation. The rush of fresh air filled the room and her lungs. She walked through the opening and gently closing the door behind her.

  Her perspiration-drenched body relished the cool night breeze. Standing at the rail, she inhaled the spring air and lifted her hair to dry the moisture from her neck. It wasn’t that she wanted to remember the feelings of a year ago. Truly she didn’t. When she stepped onto a patio, terrace, or into the backyard and memories would start to resurface, she could stop them. It was at night while she slept that the compartmentalization of her internment would come rushing back. Then in the minutes or hours which followed, she would attempt to calm her lingering fear. It was the one she tried to keep away, the terror that at any moment, without warning, history could repeat itself. The sickening realization that she would be completely helpless to stop it was what robbed her of sleep.

  The cool cement under her feet brought her back to present. She shivered, pulled her cashmere robe tight, and wished she’d grabbed slippers, but her trembling wasn’t caused by the cold. She knew it was her dream. Looking up she noticed the clear black velvet sky peppered with stars. Absentmindedly, she thought, that’s why the temperature dropped.

  Sighing, she fell into a chair. This knowledge would never matter again. Her job was her name, Mrs. Anthony Rawlings—Meteorology was gone forever. She’d left the suite in such a panic she hadn’t looked at the clock. It really didn’t matter—sleep was out of reach. Pulling her legs into her chest and covering them with her soft robe, she began her mental therapy session. Her still rapid heart rate told her tonight it would last hours instead of minutes.

  Self-therapy consisted of a mental list of reasons her nightmares were ridiculous and she had no basis for her fears. Claire believed if she could convince her conscious self, her subconscious self would be forced to agree. When she allowed her mind to go back to the spring of a year ago she could rationalize that now her life was significantly dissimilar. She now had more liberties than she’d experienced since her arrival.

  Tony stayed true to his word about her e-mails. He even decided she needed her own address, clarawl1084@rawlingsind.com. This made printing easier. He was also correct about the numerous requests for interviews, money, and endorsements she received daily from people she’d never met. Having Patricia respond to those requests was easy. She also received personal e-mails, and now she had a voice in the responses. Overall, when asked, Tony agreed to requests regarding Courtney, Sue, Bev, or MaryAnn. If he had other plans for the day in question, as occurred from time to time, his plans trumped, but the act of requesting was the crucial portion of her negotiations. If she wanted to reply to someone or to go somewhere, as he had said many months ago, she simply needed to ask. She’d become accustomed to this component—it was a daily reminder of Tony’s authority.

  Regarding that authority—it hadn’t asserted itself, as it had a year ago. She reasoned, perhaps it was because her behavior didn’t warrant that type of implementation. No matter the cause, life was undeniably better.

  Watching the moonlight on the budding trees, Claire recalled the outings she’d recently enjoyed. They included lunches in Iowa City and Cedar Rapids, Red Cross meetings in Davenport, and shopping in Chicago. A few weeks ago MaryAnn suggested a catch-up day in New York, as she and Eli were there for business. Tony reviewed all of the e-mails before Claire, and she didn’t expect permission to spend the day in New York, but she asked. Surprisingly, he acquiesced. Smiling and feeling her pulse slow, she remembered flying off to a beautiful April day in New York City in a Rawlings company jet, with Courtney and Sue. All of the women had a marvelous time, and Claire made it home before 7:00 PM. He was home first, but she was home for dinner. He wasn’t unhappy.

  Calming, as the gentle breeze blew her hair, she listened to the voice in her head and remembered a recent unexpected freedom. Secretly coveting the chestnut hair which kept trying to return, she informed Tony she needed an appointment to maintain her blonde. He said they had no overnight plans in the near future, so she should just go. If he had the private plane she could take one of the company jets, just plan to be home before dinner. Shocked, she remembered questioning, “Are you saying I can go by myself?”

  “My dear Claire, is there any reason you should not?”

  She assured him there wasn’t. He or Patricia arranged the appointment; Claire went to the airport and boarded a company jet—by herself. She landed in Chicago, took a waiting cab to the Trump Tower where she spent the rest of the morning being pampered. Then she ate lunch and shopped for a few hours and came home. Blushing in the cool night air, she thought about being back in her suite before 6:00 PM and how she did her best to show her husband the meaning of a statement she’d made months earlier—coming home to a wife who wants to be home is better than coming home to a wife that has to be home. He caught on pretty quick—the first indication was the spark in her emerald eyes and the next clue involved a black satin robe and a warm waiting tub of water. Truth be told—she couldn’t remember eating dinner at all that night.

  Claire’s heavy eyelids reminded her she should be sleeping. Slipping back into her suite and under the warm blankets, she thought about the man lying next to her. He continued to be a paradox. The man Claire met when she first arrived hadn’t shown his personality since her accident. She knew he was still
here, that knowledge alone was motivation to obey his rules. She’d been told too many times his promise to keep that personality away was contingent on her ability to behave appropriately. The stress of that reality and unpredictability loomed omnipresent.

  The man who worked to court her, to convince her she was important, desirable, and loved, still existed in a muted form. He was still attentive, present, and always sexual, but he was busy with work and often preoccupied. That was understandable—he was a successful man with many fires to tend.

  It was his need for complete supremacy over every aspect of her life that felt stifling and unbearable. Claire theorized this was the cause of the suffocation which usually accompanied her nightmares. He had companies, peoples’ jobs and livelihoods on his list of responsibilities. The fact he controlled her comings, goings, e-mails, hair, and often attire—seemed ridiculous.

  Attempting to stop the rise in blood pressure, she reminded herself that no matter what—she loved him. He could infuriate her one moment and make her feel less than human, and the next, he could make her feel like the world spun only because she mattered to him. It was just that those two contradictory emotions could come too close together and in any order. As Claire reminisced, she recognized that similar to a year ago, her mood, liberties, and sense of self-worth seemed to have a common denominator—Anthony Rawlings.

  As that realization struck, he rolled toward her, wrapped her in his arms; and though still sleeping, murmured, “My love, you’re so cold. Come closer.” She melted against his warm chest. At this moment in time, he made her feel safe and loved. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  As the spring blossomed into summer, their biggest source of dissension continued to be her family. Though she loved to hear from Emily, seeing her name on an e-mail made her stomach turn. It almost always came accompanied by dark penetrating eyes.