Behind His Eyes - Consequences

by Aleatha Romig

  “Anton, I agree with everything, but please don’t forget the big picture.”

  “I’ve told you that I’m in control, and we’ve seen that over and over—with Dr. Leonard and with my proposal. Now the whole world will know that she belongs to me—it won’t be a clandestine arrangement.”

  “The whole world?” Catherine asked. “Is that referring to the emails you’ve been receiving from Emily Vandersol?”

  Tony grinned. “As a matter of fact—yes. The Vandersols will be joining us for Thanksgiving dinner. Soon, they’ll learn that Claire belongs to me. Her interaction with them will be at my discretion.”

  “Oh!” Catherine exclaimed. “How I wish I were a fly on the wall.”

  “My dear Marie, technology is a wonderful thing. Help yourself.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rawlings, I believe I will. I’ll also show the future Mrs. Rawlings my extreme pleasure upon your return.”

  Tony smirked. “That’ll be interesting to witness. We’ll be returning on Saturday. I’ll let you know when I know more about the wedding.”

  “You know me—always at your service,” she quipped.

  Tony grinned as he hit DISCONNECT.

  After some coffee and a light breakfast, Tony made the rest of his calls, and within a few hours, he had the whole wedding thing underway. The next hurdle was quickly approaching. Within a matter of hours he’d have the opportunity to meet his future in-laws face-to-face. They weren’t exactly strangers. He knew everything about them and had even been at their wedding. Tony smirked; now, they’d be coming to his. Sometimes he marveled at how strangely things come full circle. That wasn’t really true. He’d know that they were at his wedding; they’d had no idea.

  With a few hours before his surprise guests arrived, Tony decided to go upstairs. He wanted to visit his fiancée, tell her about their wedding plans, and enjoy what was his for the taking. Besides, with their impending visitors, it was never too early to remind the future Mrs. Rawlings that her change of name would not mean a change in his rules.

  Everyone has to make their own decisions. You just have to be able to accept the consequences without complaining.

  —Grace Jones

  Risk versus Failure in the World of Business—that was the title they’d given him. Tony wondered sometimes how they came up with this crap! Three years ago the bottom fell out of the damn economy and he’d survived. It seemed as though some of these symposiums and seminars were trying to tell the up-and-coming entrepreneurs that the failure was the fault of business. That wasn’t entirely true, but voicing his true feelings wouldn’t win him any supporters in the necessary arenas. So, every now and then, he’d concede to play their game and talk their talk.

  Inspirational—that was what the planners called him, as they crooned, gushed, and requested his presence at their seminar. Shelly received invitations like this all of the time. More often than not, she turned them down. After all, Tony was a busy man; however, every now and then, she’d ask him to consider attending. She’d remind him that he needed to do the occasional public-relations outreach. It not only kept his name on the tips of people’s tongues, sometimes he found talent along the way.

  As he delivered the keynote address, Tony talked about recognizing and weighing risks. He discussed the importance of knowing your opponents and competitors, as well as your customers and investors—he admonished the audience to be informed. Don’t be blindsided—be prepared. The people in the crowd hung on his every word. After all, he was Anthony Rawlings.

  The act of delivering the occasional speech wasn’t new; he’d been doing it forever. The newness came in that he didn’t mind doing it as much as he once had. Looking to his left and seeing the emerald gaze, his business smile morphed into a genuine grin. The way Mrs. Rawlings watched and listened to his every word fulfilled an emptiness that he never knew existed. Many of the magazines and tabloids referred to Claire as nothing more than an ornament to adorn Tony’s arm. That wasn’t true. She was so much more.

  Without a doubt, she was much smarter than the press gave her credit. It wasn’t just her education—she was also a quick learner; however, when it came to her degree, Tony was thankful that Claire never mentioned pursuing meteorology. Other than a night a long, long time ago, in a bar, in a faraway land, the subject never came up. As a rule, Tony enjoyed fulfilling Claire’s requests. He liked the entire process. He liked being asked and watching her techniques of persuasion. Most of the time, he enjoyed granting her desires; however, if she’d asked to return to the world of weather, he’d have denied it, without thinking twice. Since last December, Claire’s full-time job was him. She was his wife—Mrs. Anthony Rawlings—and as such had no time for other endeavors. When he allowed her to enter the spotlight as his fiancée and wife, Tony hadn’t realized the many roles she’d be required to perform. He didn’t manufacture the responsibilities—they just were. With each new task, Claire succeeded. Whether it was charity work, hosting a party, or being at his side, he was constantly awed by her perfection. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been. After all, as a Rawlings, nothing less would be acceptable. Public failure could not be tolerated. She handled her responsibilities well.

  On occasions such as this particular seminar, after the speeches were complete, Tony was expected to mingle with the attendees. Claire was the one with that talent. She possessed an uncanny ability to talk to anyone and was the master of small talk. With a smile on her face, she could move people through the process, keep him from being saddled with one person too long, and most importantly, get them out.

  Once his speech was done and he sat, Claire’s small hand moved to his thigh. No one could see below the table, yet her light touch combined with her beautiful smile gave him a sense of accomplishment as he’d never known. A grin, a touch, and suddenly the evening was not only tolerable, but enjoyable.

  Every now and then while the speeches continued, she’d whisper something to him—most of the time it had nothing to do with what was being said. It might be an observation of someone in the audience, or something totally random. It was strange how that, too, could make him relax. Externally, he was calm, cool, and professional, just as he’d always been. Tony recognized the difference—it was internal.

  Sometimes he’d think back to a year and a half ago in sheer wonderment. The woman next to him was so different than the woman he met in Atlanta. Claire had exceeded his expectations at every test and turn. Tony knew that the same could be said of Catherine’s expectations. Eighteen months ago, Catherine begrudgingly agreed to assist in overseeing Claire’s care. Today, she was Claire’s biggest cheerleader. As such, she’d articulate accolades at Claire’s success with each new test or challenge. Catherine would remind Tony how proud Nathaniel would be of what he’d accomplished. He successfully removed a Nichols—a child of a child—while keeping her in a blissfully unaware state of debt.

  With the attendees waning, Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Rawlings stood, still surrounded by a handful of eager entrepreneurs. Claire seemed to know that Tony’s personal time clock was about to expire and graciously moved each man or woman on as soon as possible. There were still a few people waiting for their chance to speak with him when a blonde-headed young man approached. “Hello, Mr. Rawlings, I’m pleased to meet you. Your speech was remarkable and inspiring.” Tony shook his hand and politely thanked him, and then the young man continued, “I have an unusual request. May I speak with your wife for a few minutes?”

  Tony’s glare immediately went to his wife. Moments earlier she’d been the perfect companion, yet in a split second, he saw her well-polished mask shatter into a thousand pieces. There was something in her eyes, a look, a feeling, one he’d seen in pictures, and then it was gone.

  It all happened so fast. Then, she seemed to remember her place and worked to recover. She placed her hand gently on Tony’s arm and stuttered, “O-Oh my,” “A-Anthony,” “S-Simon.” She swallowed. “Anthony, may I introduce Simon Johnson. Simon and I were students together
at Valparaiso—a million years ago.” Each word came faster than the last. “Simon, may I introduce my husband, Anthony Rawlings.”

  The two men locked eyes and shook hands again. Tony hadn’t seen Simon Johnson in years. He’d actually spoken to him a few times in California. Although he remembered the man was truly gifted in the world of gaming, that wasn’t forefront in Tony’s mind. He remembered pictures from the private investigators—pictures of two young people, practically children, head over heels in love. Suddenly, Tony’s world came to a screeching halt. Was the love he’d seen in those pictures ever anything he’d seen in the woman who professed her love for him? Even her smiles today were different. Was it age and maturity, or did this man possess a piece of Anthony’s wife’s heart that Tony would never have? Summoning his most affirmable voice, Tony replied, “I believe that’s Mrs. Rawlings’ decision.”

  It didn’t take Claire long to choose Simon over Tony. She willingly, without regret, excused the two of them and left him standing all alone. Before he brought Claire to these events, Tony would usually bring Patricia. He didn’t enjoy her company nearly as well; however, Tony was sure she’d never have left him hanging in the middle of a room of people all alone.

  Anthony Rawlings continued to smile and shake hands. He listened to questions and proposals and said all the right things; however, his eyes and mind were constantly pulled to a table not terribly far away. To Claire’s credit, when Simon attempted physical contact, Tony watched her pull away. For what seemed like hours the two of them appeared engaged in a soul-searching discussion. When Claire finally returned, he scrutinized her expression. It was perfect and empty. He never realized that he’d been denied that look, until he saw it bestowed on someone else. Stoically he nodded and addressed his wife, “Mrs. Rawlings.” They had more attendees to meet, and her name was his subtle reminder of her title and her duty. She belonged to him!

  Tony glanced at his watch. Claire had only been gone for eight minutes. It was the longest eight minutes he’d endured in a lifetime. The rest of the evening, she performed beyond expectation. She spoke politely and moved people along. It was her eyes: they were far away in another time and another place.

  As they stepped to the curb and waited for Eric, Tony’s hand rested in the small of Claire’s back. He, too, was seeing memories—flashes of photos. He remembered pictures of Claire and Simon on the Valparaiso campus and reports of her staying in Simon’s room, or vice-versa.

  When they were settled into the limousine, Tony waited. He waited for Claire to talk, to apologize, or to say anything. She didn’t. Her normally chatty demeanor was gone; instead she stared aimlessly toward the window, seemingly mesmerized by the lights of Chicago. Time didn’t register as Tony’s blood boiled. How dare Simon Johnson approach Anthony Rawlings’ wife in a public setting? Claire knew her role; it was that of the perfect companion. How many rules had she successfully broken in a matter of seconds? By leaving him and going off with Simon, she’d not fulfilled her obligation, in essence, not doing as she’d been told. She did it in public! It was public failure! Tony wondered how many tabloids would jump on this.

  Finally, he spoke, “Mrs. Rawlings.” He moved closer. Their noses nearly touched when she turned to face him. “What is your name?”

  It was as if his words weren’t registering. He wanted—no needed for her to understand. Tony grasped her chin, not allowing her to turn away, and repeated his question. “Your name. What is your name?”

  He watched as the fire in her eyes began to burn away the fog of memories. “Tony, what are you doing?”

  He held tight. “I’m asking you a question. One that you seem unable to answer.”

  Claire’s neck stiffened. “My name is Claire … Claire Rawlings.”

  “Please, Mrs. Rawlings, explain to me how you can be sitting with me, your husband, wearing the rings I purchased, in the limousine paid for by my hard work, and thinking about another man.”

  “Tony, please let go of my face. You’re hurting me.”

  Though the red seeped, he remembered his promise and released her chin; however, relinquishing her completely was out of the question. His large hand slid behind her neck, tightly holding her head, and purposely pulling the hair that dangled down her neck. Tony did not like repeating himself, and he’d already done it once since they entered the limousine. For Claire’s sake, he didn’t want to do it again. He continued, “Do I need to repeat every question, or do you think you may be able to answer at least one the first time?”

  “Seeing Simon caught me off guard. I haven’t thought of or heard from him in eight years. Don’t you think that deserves some reflection?”

  She gasped as his grip tightened. “No,” he growled. “I believe the past is just that. It’s done and now it’s time to concentrate on the present.” He stared at the fire that now burnt out of control as the car’s cabin filled with his pent-up rage. How dare she be thinking about another man! He spoke slowly and deliberately, wanting to give her the chance to hear every word. Anthony Rawlings would not repeat himself again. “At present, I believe you need to concentrate on showing me that my wife is first and foremost concerned with pleasing her husband.”

  With their eyes still locked, Tony reached for the button to close the window between them and Eric. Claire didn’t look away until she noticed his next move. With the hand not holding his wife’s neck, Tony unzipped the slacks of his tuxedo. He wasn’t truly thinking—he was reacting. That didn’t matter. When Claire began to protest, he trumped her. Physically she was no match for him, and the idea that she’d attempt to push herself away may have been comical if it hadn’t fueled his rage. Tony seized her hand and twisted it back. Holding her neck, he rested his head against the leather seat, entwined his fingers in her hair and directed her movement. It didn’t take her long to remember how to follow his number-one rule. Not all demands required audible words. He’d trained her well.

  Before they left the limousine, Tony told Claire to fix her makeup; there would be people in the building where they were about to enter. The world didn’t need to know that his wife needed a refresher course on appropriate behavior. Dutifully, Claire appeared composed as they walked through Trump Tower’s lobby, yet when he gently put his arm around her waist, she tensed. It was enough insubordination to tell Tony that Claire’s lessons were not complete. He leaned close and whispered, “I have more ways you can demonstrate your devotion, Mrs. Rawlings. We’ll review when we reach our apartment.”

  Tony woke during the night. They’d be heading to Iowa in the morning, yet his head pounded with the memories of Simon Johnson. Once they were back to the apartment, Claire had done her best to show her devotion. Tony reminded himself that she wouldn’t have misbehaved if Simon had not approached her. That didn’t absolve her of her inappropriate behavior. He planned to remind her about her duties, again, once they returned to the estate. A breach like what occurred couldn’t be repeated. Perhaps she needed some time alone at the estate, showing her devotion to her husband, instead of out with friends or communicating with her sister. Perhaps that would help to reinforce his stance. After all, he couldn’t tolerate public failure.

  Claire’s consequences weren’t enough to quell Tony’s fury. Simon Johnson was also guilty. He’d had the audacity to approach Tony’s wife in a public forum. Tony slipped from their bed and made his way to his apartment office where he pulled out his private laptop.

  He began to search Simon Johnson. The man had made quite a success of himself. He was founder of a gaming company in Palo Alto, California, called SiJo Gaming. Though not as wealthy as Tony, he was doing very well. It seemed as though he’d left Shedis-tics, a Rawlings subsidiary, years before. If he still worked under the Rawlings umbrella, Tony thought he could influence Johnson through business. After all, Tony had done it before; however, this was different. Johnson’s success made him a potential threat. Tony wanted Claire totally dependent upon him. He couldn’t allow there to be an ex-boyfriend with the fin
ancial means to help Claire if she asked. By the way Johnson looked at her, and she at him, that wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.

  If business intervention weren’t possible, Tony needed to look elsewhere. In an unnamed file, he found the cell phone number he sought.

  The way he looked at it, it was a business decision. Claire’s behavior reflected upon him; he had a reputation to uphold. He’d invested a lot of time and money into his wife. As with anything else in business, he evaluated the facts. Positives were accentuated and negatives needed to be eliminated. If an adversary was identified, it became a liability. Liabilities can hinder the projected outcome—and needed to be removed.

  Admittedly, this was different than any other call he’d authorized. Simon Johnson was not on Nathaniel’s list. That didn’t mean that Tony couldn’t justify his decision.

  Claire was on his list, and as long as she performed well and personified a Rawlings, Tony was doing his part to rid the world of a Nichols—a child of a child. When she failed, when she exhibited her independence and innate strength in a non-Rawlings matter, she reminded Tony that he’d failed to directly, fully fulfill Nathaniel’s directive. In order to avoid this type of a failure in the future, ridding the world of Simon Johnson would work to assure Claire’s success. He was helping her.

  After the short call, Tony made his way back to their bed. He felt a slight twinge of his conscience when he found Claire sleeping on her edge of the massive mattress. It was how she used to sleep when he first brought her to the estate. He wanted to pull her close and apologize for some of his earlier behavior, but that wouldn’t teach her the lesson he needed her to learn. It would only show weakness, and that wasn’t acceptable.

  When they returned to the estate, Claire’s disobedience would result in new rules, and her recently earned liberties would need to be reevaluated. It only made sense: actions had consequences. Nevertheless, by the time he slid under the covers, the sound of Claire’s soft breathing and the knowledge of his call dissipated the last hues of red. With a renewed sense of calm, Tony drifted off to sleep.