by Gow, Kailin
Before they left the conference hall, Courtney spoke ecstatically about Claire’s ability. “This turned out so well! I just can’t believe the final figures. Honey, together we are going to raise money for every organization west of the Mississippi.”
Although she felt uneasy regarding her future philanthropic activities, Claire hugged her friend and wore her smile. “Oh, goodness, we’ll have to see.”
“Well, enjoy this success for a little while, because I have plans!” Courtney’s enthusiasm was contagious. Claire smiled and nodded her head.
Mrs. Rawlings’ more recent hostess duties aided her efforts. She shrewdly mentioned the auction, both for donations and possible attendance, whenever possible. She found it interesting how Tony’s business associates were willing to participate in one or both when personally approached. The fact that they were in her home, eating her food, and receiving her attention didn’t hinder her efforts. The current president of the Red Cross of the Greater Quad Cities thanked Mrs. Rawlings and Mrs. Simmons profusely.
Many of Tony’s associates, from out of town, attended the event. Claire hadn’t realized when she invited them that this had an additional impact on the Quad Cities. These important people needed places to stay and food to eat while in Bettendorf. According to Courtney, the media estimated their event reaped over a quarter of a million dollars windfall to the Quad Cities. Claire hadn’t seen the coverage. She didn’t like television, and any other form of communication was still forbidden.
As a matter of fact, since the Chicago Symposium, Claire had lost many of her newfound freedoms. She still saw e-mails, but only after responses had been sent. No longer a freedom, they were merely a blatant illustration of what was now prohibited.
During the final preparations of the auction, it was undeniable that Claire and Courtney needed to communicate and see each other; however, contact and endeavors with others had dramatically decreased. Tony decided Claire needed time to decide what was really important to her.
The night in Chicago was reminiscent of her first encounters at the estate. Tony was excessively domineering, controlling, and demanding. Even the sadistic, cruel sexual tendencies, from before her accident, reappeared. Once back at the apartment, Claire tried to reason with him. “Please think about what you’re doing.” It was as if his black eyes couldn’t register her voice. She pleaded, “Tony, remember your promise. I’m your wife. Think about what you’re asking me to do.”
Unaffected, his demands continued, “You are my wife; however, I’m not asking.”
When she awoke the next morning, feeling the too familiar aches from a year before, she dreaded his presence. Lying silently, she listened for his breathing. Relieved, she heard the sound of his shower in the adjoining room. Slowly, she sat up and thought about her options. Up until seeing Simon, things were progressing well. Even in Italy when she broke his rule, he responded with kindness, not cruelty, yet on this morning as she listened to the running water, Claire debated leaving him, the apartment—everything.
She didn’t know how. Where could she possibly go where he couldn’t find her? She fell back against the soft pillows and allowed herself a few tears. Momentarily, she had difficulty filling her lungs with a sufficient amount of air and remembered her nightmares. This wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. It was her reality. Although she didn’t want to see or talk to him, she recognized the helplessness surging through her veins. Her only way forward was through the man in the next room. Slowly, she eased back the blankets, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the mirror. The steely determination propelling her feet didn’t come from courage, more from a sense of powerless necessity. The reflection before her had been worse. It’d been much worse. Yet seeing the red and blue markings made her stomach twist. She reached for her robe and covered the evidence.
Minutes later, Tony stepped into their bedroom. The man before her seemed completely ignorant of the previous night’s events. He casually kissed her cheek and said, “The shower’s all yours.” She just stared. Who is he? He grinned, “I would have stayed longer, if I’d known you were awake.”
Later that morning, he helped her prepare to leave Chicago and kindly discussed daily pleasantries.
The incident forced Claire to recognize that she’d deluded herself into believing the other Tony was gone. He wasn’t gone. In fact, he was incredibly close to the surface. That morning she had no idea with whom she was flying or even with whom she shared a home. Every night, she’d wait as her stomach twisted into knots, wondering who would walk through the doorway.
Claire expected the recent events to increase the frequency of her nightmares. Surprisingly they diminished. Her theory: her consciousness now shared the stress that only her unconscious had endured.
After the repercussions and some passage of time, she tried to talk to Tony about Simon. He didn’t care or want to hear her perspective. His only notion remained: at a public event she left his side, her husband, to spend time with her ex-lover. To Claire that was a ludicrous observation. Her interpretation went more like: at a public event, to allow Tony the ability to be accessed by fans, she escorted Simon aside and discussed issues with him for a sliver of time. The dissimilar interpretations didn’t have common ground presently or in their future. The subject was closed.
As they rode home from Bettendorf, Claire wondered what Tony thought of the silent auction and what consequences she’d now endure that her presence wasn’t required in a public venue. It wasn’t until they were almost home that Tony finally spoke, taking her from her thoughts. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“The auction was a complete success.”
“Thank you. I’m pleased. Courtney’s happy. I wanted to make you happy, too.”
“And now you don’t?”
“No. I do.” She was sincere.
“I’ve told you before. You continually surprise and amaze me with your abilities.” And, as an afterthought, he added, “Some more than others.”
Claire didn’t react, that was what he wanted. Instead, she sat dejectedly and thought about the date, October 8. Her thoughts went many different directions. She thought about the auction, someone bid seventy thousand dollars for the two-day use of Tony’s plane and pilot. It was a great donation; he’d thought of it. Other donations like stays in resorts, entertainment packages, NBA, and NFL tickets helped in surpassing their goal.
She also remembered they were supposed to be in Malibu the following weekend for Eli and MaryAnn’s party. She’d been looking forward to it since they received the invitation. The Simmons and the Millers were all going. The film was a thriller. Claire knew of the actors, but she mostly looked forward to seeing their home.
Another thought was her family. John’s deadline was less than a month away. She hadn’t spoken to Emily since before Simon. So many other freedoms had disappeared. The idea of talking to her sister seemed preposterous. Claire didn’t have the resolve or strength to follow through on such a request.
Selfishly, she thought about her upcoming twenty-eighth birthday and contemplated the truth of her life. She rode in her limousine, to her estate, with her wealthy, handsome husband. Amused, she decided that was the Vanity Fair version. For the unabridged version: she was secluded in Tony’s limousine, she would prefer to drive her own car, to his house—her prison on multiple occasions, with her husband who was handsome and cruel, sadistic, manipulative, and controlling. Even Tony’s success as a businessman had lost its luster since talking to Simon. Tony ruined lives, futures, and dispensed consequences to make money. Simon had fun and made games. People spent less than two dollars for one of his games, but with enough people, that added up. The reality saddened her. She didn’t know for sure, but predicted there were forty-six people in Pennsylvania without jobs.
Her life wasn’t worse than that of many others. On the contrary, it was better in many ways. She realized injustice was a widespread problem, yet many of the same questions remained: how did she end
up here? How had her life’s goals been so radically modified?
When she took the time to think about it, none of it made sense.
ON OCTOBER 14, in a Rawlings Industries jet Claire happily flew across the continent with the Simmons, the Millers, and Tony. A week earlier she would’ve considered the likelihood of their California trip occurring improbable; however, she’d spent the last week at home with her devoted husband. Each evening, the man she married returned home from his office.
The stress of his unpredictability was making her insane. Since the auction, he’d been attentive, loving, and caring. With the weather turning cooler, the days shorter, and the stress of the dual Tonys, Claire believed she was teetering literally on the edge of sanity. A strong wind was all it would take to blow her one way or the other. Iowa had its share of storms, strong winds, and tornadoes. They were all unpredictable. It made an ironic parallel for her life.
Courtney remained true to her observant promise. She knew something was askew with Claire and Tony. She didn’t know what. Claire thought the less she knew the better. Tony didn’t understand their connection. Claire tried to facilitate his misconception by complaining about Courtney. “She’s fun, but she talks so much…”
It was a ploy she prayed would work. She really needed Courtney in her life. Their plane touched down in Los Angeles on Friday night. The party was the following evening. During their flight they shared wine, laughed, and shared stories of Eli’s previous parties. Apparently, the sky’s the limit regarding behaviors with the Hollywood scene. Claire waited anxiously to experience it for herself. The Simmons and Millers were dropped off at a five-star hotel while the Rawlings went to their apartment.
The LA housekeeper met them at the door, while a driver took their luggage to their room. Tony explained they would like a light dinner, as soon as possible. Claire wasn’t hungry. Her head ached. She only wanted to unpack and go to sleep. Once alone, Tony assumed his alternate persona. “Tomorrow evening we will be in an overtly public arena. It wasn’t long ago when a glitch occurred in a setting such as this.”
She didn’t want to hear him. “Tony, please don’t start this again.” The flight, wine, and aching head contributed to Claire’s irritability. Her insolent retort stunned him momentarily. Recovery didn’t take long. As she carried clothes to the dresser, he seized her arm and turned her to face him.
“Claire, I do not appreciate your flippant attitude. There’ll be many more journalists present than you’ve experienced at one time.”
His grip hurt. She looked directly into his eyes and stood tall, as he glowered over her. “I assure you my attitude is not flippant. It’s just that you are increasingly repetitive. I know the speech and I know—” She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence.
It was the first strike since her accident. She remained standing, but temporarily dazed—more by disbelief than pain.
He spoke again, as if he hadn’t just shattered his promise and her security, leaving her house of glass lying in a pile of shards. “You have a responsibility and I expect you to behave appropriately.” He let go of her arm, walked to the suitcase, and pulled out Claire’s hiking boots. “By the way, would you like to know why these are packed?”
Her mind wheeled as he changed subjects. She was having difficulty keeping up. Refusing to cry, she exhaled and took the bait. “Why do I have my hiking boots?”
“As a surprise for your birthday, I made reservations for Sunday and Monday night at the presidential suite of a very exclusive hotel, inside Yosemite. I thought you’d enjoy the Sierra Nevada Mountains and National Park. After last year, I didn’t want to miss celebrating your birthday.” His tone became stern. “However, instead of surprising you like I hoped, our romantic birthday getaway now rests in your hands.”
Claire tried to follow his words: her hands? What did he mean?
“If your memory isn’t failing, if you can remember my concerns and rules, and if you can obey the few requests I’ve made, then we’ll be able to keep the plans for your birthday. If, however, you’re unable to handle your responsibilities, I’ll have no choice but to cancel the reservations, and we’ll concentrate on ways to help facilitate your memory for the future.” He stared at his wife as she sank to the edge of the bed. “What is your choice? You want to be a partner. Tell me what you want to do: go to Yosemite, or go home and review appropriate behavior?” This was another of those offers you can’t refuse type questions.
God she hated the dance: a blow to the cheek one minute and discussing a romantic getaway the next. It was the one step forward, two steps back waltz. She wanted to scream. Sitting on the side of the bed, Claire allowed herself tears and swallowed. Her voice revealed her distress, yet she tried to sound composed. “I’ve never been to Yosemite. I’ve heard it’s beautiful. That sounds like a wonderful birthday.”
Unmoved by her tears, he stood waiting for a response to his question. Seeing her husband’s stare, feeling a too-familiar twinge of panic, Claire realized she hadn’t answered his question. “I’d like to go to Yosemite. I’ll do as you say.”
He moved closer, took her hands, and helped her stand. Their chests touched as she looked up at his still too-dark eyes. She didn’t look away. “Claire, I don’t want to break my promise, but at the risk of sounding repetitive public failure is not an option.”
“I understand. I’m sorry for making you break your promise. I’ll do better.”
THAT NIGHT WHILE lying in bed next to his sleeping wife, Tony remembered a scene from his childhood. It was one of many that shaped so many of his decisions. His grandfather’s booming voice: “Boy, you will not be joining us at dinner this evening.”
Surprised, he noticed the absence of his place setting. Anton asked why. His grandfather didn’t speak, but removed a letter from the breast pocket of his jacket and placed it on the table. Anton retrieved the letter and unfolded the page. It was his grades from the last semester of classes. He’d taken seventeen credit hours: a very full load for a freshman. There were five A’s and one B+, in Calculus. That seemed good to him.
He remembered still not comprehending his grandfather’s tone. “You plan to succeed in this world, boy?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Then don’t let this happen again. Failure has consequences. Perhaps some time alone, eating in your suite, will help you remember perfection is the minimum requirement for success.” His grandfather then turned his eyes away and took a drink of wine.
“Nathaniel, perhaps he did his—” His grandfather’s dark eyes stopped his grandmother’s plea. She looked down at her plate. The subject was closed. Tony looked at his parents. They too were looking down.
He remembered walking out of that dining room vowing to make Nathaniel proud. It wasn’t easy, but today he believed he’d seized opportunities and created others. If his grandfather were alive, which he should be, Tony believed he would be proud.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Tony left the apartment early to golf with friends. During her morning shower, Claire noticed tenderness on her right arm. While drying, she saw a large purple hand print. Claire’s concern wasn’t that she endured her husband’s wrath. It was that the physical evidence would be visible. She felt relieved to find Catherine had packed blouses with sleeves. She rationalized if the purple bruise was seen, it would break multiple rules: appearances and private information. Most importantly, Tony wouldn’t be happy. Thinking ahead, Claire checked her party dress: sleeveless.
Once the ladies were all together, Claire summoned her brightest smile and asked, “So is anyone up for a little shopping on Rodeo Drive? I think a new dress for the party is in order!” It didn’t take much convincing to entice the others to join her on three blocks of the most famous and expensive shopping in America. Apparently, her mask wasn’t without cracks. Courtney tried on multiple occasions to isolate Claire and ask her what was happening. She said she felt something amiss.
Claire smiled brightly and looked her friend in the e
ye. “It’s just newlywed stuff. We’re both new at this marriage thing. We’re working on it.” Sensing Courtney’s disbelief, Claire continued, “Really, everything is fine.”
Tony mentioned Claire’s shopping talents had improved; he was right. She found two dresses that her friends adored, one from Armani and the other Gucci from Saks. Of course, each needed shoes and a bag. She reasoned that two would allow Tony to make the final decision. Claire laid the dresses on the bed, with their shoes and handbags, and enthusiastically asked Tony which one he wanted her to wear. He liked that she shopped with her friends. The reason was never questioned; however, a decision would be difficult without a fashion show. Claire obliged. Tony chose the Gucci deep-blue long-sleeved classic wrap dress. He particularly liked the ease at which it unwrapped.
The six of them arrived at the party to a crowd of celebrities and press. Claire stayed by her husband’s side, as they chatted with people she’d only seen on screen. She was surprised how normal they seemed. Perhaps a few were boorish or narcissistic, but as a whole they were unpretentious and humble and treated Tony with respect. Claire didn’t realize until listening to his conversations that he also capitalized in forms of entertainment: television stations, news stations, and movie studios. This connection was the impetus for his friendship with Eli. She’d thought they made unlikely friends.
Now it made sense.
Claire hadn’t anticipated the grandeur of Eli and MaryAnn’s home. Bev’s design house had been instrumental in the decor. Every inch screamed California: open spaces, stunning views, clean lines, and affluence. Being built into a cliff with a spectacular ocean view, Claire wondered if they ever worried about earthquakes. She decided not to ask.
Aside from a few excursions with Courtney or MaryAnn, who was determined to introduce her to the Hollywood A crowd, Claire stayed dutifully at Tony’s elbow. He amiably included her in his conversations and introduced her to everyone. Anthony Rawlings and his bride—how cute they were. Still honeymooners and inseparable, it was the talk of the party.
