Consequences

by Aleatha Romig

  He let go of her chin. His hand slid behind her neck, tightly holding her head and the hair that hung down. 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?”

  Flashing, her green eyes spoke alarm and the stiffening of her neck spoke resolve, “Seeing Simon caught me off guard. I have not thought of or heard from him in eight years. Do you not think that deserves some reflection?”

  His grip tightened. “No. I believe the past is just that. It is done and now it is time to concentrate on the present.” Her neck hurt. He had her head positioned so that their eyes made contact, his shone black. Hers weren’t apologetic, but full of fury. She didn’t respond.

  “At present I believe you need to concentrate on showing me that my wife is first and foremost concerned with pleasing her husband.”

  He used his other hand to shut the window between them and Eric. Next he unzipped the slacks of his tuxedo. Shocked and repulsed, Claire started to protest. She soon found speaking impossible. Holding her neck, he silently directed her head, resting his head on the seat, his fingers entwined in her hair. Claire tried to push away with her hand. Tony grabbed her hand and twisted it back. He did not release the pressure and movement on her head until he was finished.

  As they walked through the lobby of the Trump Tower, Claire did her best to appear composed. Tony placed his arm around her waist and tenderly whispered in her ear, “I have more ways you can demonstrate your devotion, Mrs. Rawlings. We will review when we reach our apartment.”

  The last thirteen months dissolved into nothingness. She wasn’t Claire Rawlings, wife. She was Claire Nichols, whatever he wanted her to be.

  Any idiot can face a crisis, it is day to day living

  that wears you out.

  —Anton Chekhov

  Chapter 43

  The silence within the limousine intensified with each mile as Tony and Claire rode from Bettendorf toward home. The silent auction had unofficially raised over a half of a million dollars net. The cost of the event had been less than $10,000, due to Claire’s clever procurement of donated services and goods. The noiselessness of the ride was a stark contrast to the convention center.

  Before they left the conference room, 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 will 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’s 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 that 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 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 that 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 are doing.” It was as if his black eyes couldn’t register her voice. She pleaded, “Tony, remember your promise. I am your wife. Think what you are asking me to do.”

  “You are my wife. However, I am not asking.” Unaffected, his demands continued.

  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 had been progressing well. Even in Italy when she broke his rule, he responded with kindness, not cruelty. But as she listened to the running water Claire debated leaving him, the apartment, everything. She didn’t know how. Where could she possibly go that 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, it was her reality. She didn’t want to see or talk to him. However, she recognized the helplessness that surged 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 that propelled her feet didn’t come from courage, more from a sense of powerlessness 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 he 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 is all yours.” She just stared. Who is he? He grinned. “I would have stayed longer if I knew 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 would 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 had left his side, her husband, to spend time with her ex-lover. To Claire this 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 would endure now 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 is happy. I wanted to make you happy too.”

  “And now you don’t?”

  “No. I do.” She was sincere. />
  “I have told you before. You continually surprise and amaze me with your abilities.” And as an afterthought, “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 had bid $70,000 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 that 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 Simmonses 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 have liked 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 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 $2 for one of his games, but with enough people, that added up. The reality saddened her. She didn’t know for sure, but predicted that forty-six people in Pennsylvania were 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 company plane Claire happily flew across the continent with the Simmonses, 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 had been attentive, loving, and caring. With the weather turning cooler, the days shorter, and the stress of the dual Tonys, Claire believed that 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 that something was askew with Claire and Tony. She didn’t know what. Claire thought that the less she knew the better. Tony didn’t understand their connection. Claire tried to facilitate his misconception by complaining about Courtney, “She is fun, but she talks so much . . .” It was a ploy which she prayed would work. She really needed Courtney in her life.

  They touched down in Los Angeles on Friday night. The party was the following evening. During their flight they shared wine, laughed, and were entertained by 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 Simmonses and Millers were dropped off at a five-star hotel. 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 that 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 that 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 will be many more journalists present than you have ever been exposed to 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 is 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 by disbelief more than pain.

  He spoke again as if he hadn’t just shattered his promise and her security. Her house of glass now lay 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 in the presidential suite of a very exclusive hotel inside Yosemite. I thought you would 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 have made, then we will be able to keep the plans for your birthday. If, however, you are unable to handle your responsibilities I will have no choice but to cancel the reservations and we will 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, she 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 is 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 do not 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 will 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. Tony asked why. His grandfather didn’t speak but removed a letter from the breast pocket of his jacket. Tony 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 that perfection is the minimum requirement for success.” His grandfather then turned his eyes away and took a drink of his 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 him proud, it wasn’t easy. But today he believed that he had seized the 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 noticed a large purple hand print. Claire’s concern wasn’t that she endured her husband’s wrath, it was that the physical evidence was visible. She felt relieved to find that Catherine packed blouses with sleeves. She rationalized that 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.