Chapter Eighteen
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A week after the barbeque, they flew to Chicago. Tony absorbed himself in his work and his laptop as Claire sat quietly and thought about the city. It had been a frequent haunt during her college days, with Valparaiso being only an hour and twenty minutes from the Loop. She and her sorority sisters would spend entire afternoons or evenings enjoying the sights. They’d shop, dine, or go to the theater and knew their way to all the best deals.
Claire recalled the fun as they rode the L or the train around the city. Sometimes they’d go with guys to a baseball game—usually the Cubs. Since she’d never really been a baseball fan, she liked warm evenings with a group of friends, enjoying hot dogs and cold beer and watching people at Wrigley Field. They would all pile into someone’s vehicle and road-trip. It really didn’t get better than that. They were even known to blow off classes for a day at Wrigley. Claire rationalized it as academic research—her major was meteorology and baseball was outdoors—it all made sense.
Friends made Chicago and baseball fun. To Claire, the guys, all from the same fraternity, were more like brothers. After a brief romance her freshman year, she decided to concentrate on school instead of love. Suddenly, Claire realized her reminiscing made her sad. She wondered where those friends were today. She’d become so busy concentrating on her career that she lost touch with most of them. Maybe if they’d stayed connected they would have noticed her missing last March.
As the jet approached the private airport, Claire saw the skyline against the blue of the lake. She told herself to put the sadness away. Compartmentalize. She wondered—when driving there in an old minivan, she knew fun times were ahead—now leaving the private jet and entering the backseat of the leased limousine—what was in store?
Eric chauffeured the limousine as they drove toward the lake at 7:30 AM. Claire could see the buildings, smell the exhaust, and feel the vibration of the road as the car turned north on Lake Shore Drive. She felt more at home than she had in months. She wanted to talk about everything they passed: McCormick Place, Soldier Field, and Grant Park. As they approached Millennium Park, she thought about the concerts which took place all summer long.
Despite her new enthusiasm, she didn’t speak. Tony was occupied on his cell phone. He’d been in a conversation with someone ever since they landed. His voice sounded amicable, but she could see his body language. It told another story. Listening to Claire give a tour of Chicago wouldn’t help his disposition. She also worried he may not approve of her comfort level with Chicago. Originally, she didn’t want to join him on this trip, now she couldn’t wait to enjoy the city.
The limousine pulled up to the Reliance Building and Tony gathered his briefcase, laptop, and cell phone. Eric came around and opened the door. Still talking on his phone, Tony nodded to Claire and got out. She found herself in the familiar situation—being chauffeured to a completely unknown destination.
Before the jet arrived, Tony informed Claire she could rest at his apartment. He hadn’t mentioned the location or when he’d return. She took a deep breath and waited while Eric moved the car through the crowded streets. In a short time, the limousine idled in a line approaching the front entrance to the Trump Tower.
Eric lowered the window separating the two compartments and gave Claire the first information on her destination. “Ms. Claire, Mr. Rawlings’ apartment is the eighty-ninth floor of Trump Tower. Security has your name and will allow you access. As you enter the main doors, walk to the left. You’ll see a security desk. They’ll help you reach the apartment. I’ll park the car and bring your and Mr. Rawlings’ bags up as soon as I can. The staff of the apartment will be available to assist you once you reach the eighty-ninth floor. Do you have any questions, miss?”
“No, thank you, Eric, I’ll be fine.” Then she waited while he stopped the car and came around to open her door. After only having five hours sleep, Claire felt like a mouse placed in a maze. Would she be able to find the cheese?
The cool lake breeze hit her legs as she stepped from the car and proceeded into the Trump Tower. She thought about her appearance—the blouse, skirt, sophisticated heels, and hair pulled up and back. She didn’t resemble the college girl who used to roam these streets with her friends.
Today, doors opened and the bellman nodded as she passed. She looked like she belonged in a limousine. The guard at the security desk didn’t question her as she spoke with confidence, “Hello, I’m Claire Nichols. Please show me to Mr. Rawlings’ apartment.”
“Yes, Ms. Nichols, we’ve been expecting you. We hope your flight was enjoyable. Please follow me this way.” The guard tried his best to make small talk, but Claire’s mind lingered six years behind.
Once the elevator reached the eighty-ninth floor, Claire tipped the guard, thanked him, and entered the open door to the apartment. Immediately, a charming gentleman greeted her, “Hello, Ms. Claire, my name is Charles. I’m very pleased to meet you.” He showed her to Mr. Rawlings’s room. “Miss, would you be interested in some breakfast, coffee, or anything else?”
Tony’s room reminded her of his apartment in New York, more of the masculine natural colors. The shades were drawn and the room felt dark and dreary. She knew on the other side of the shades the sun shone brightly and asked Charles to open them. The view, as he opened the drapes, took her breath away. The windows faced north toward the lake. Far above most of the city, she stood close to the window and looked down at the buildings. Just a little to the left she saw Navy Pier and out on the lake she saw boats. The beautiful vista hypnotized her. She loved Chicago—and there it was—eighty-nine stories below.
“Ms. Nichols, will you be staying or going out?”
Pulled from her trance, she knew her desire and reality differed. She and Tony hadn’t discussed her activities. “I believe I’ll be staying here—for now—and I’d like some coffee please.”
Charles returned with coffee and their luggage. If she were back in Iowa, she could be on her way to her lake; instead, she was sequestered in Tony’s apartment. She lay down on his big luxurious cold bed, covered herself with blankets, and fell asleep. When she awoke the clock said 12:30 PM. Tony might not be back for at least five hours. If only she could contact him, find out his plans. Instead, she investigated his apartment.
Not surprisingly, it was magnificent and apparently took the entire eighty-ninth floor. Like his New York apartment, there were floor-to-ceiling windows throughout the dwelling. She found an office that contained computers and telephones, no doubt Tony’s home office in Chicago. She opened the office door, looked around, and closed it. Under no circumstance was she permitted in his home office without him. There was no reason to believe the rules would be different here.
It occurred to Claire that perhaps Eric would be able to contact Tony and find out his expectations. Charles informed her that Eric was with Mr. Rawlings. He didn’t know when they planned to return.
Next, Charles served lunch, which bore a striking resemblance to her everyday lunches in Iowa. Knowing there were restaurants with various delicious foods only an elevator ride away, Claire’s appetite disappeared. She settled onto the sofa in the living room with a book; however, the stunning view and the undeniable yearning to be in the city made concentration difficult. Finally, at 4:30 PM, Charles announced Mr. Rawlings called and the two of them had dinner reservations for 6:00 PM and tickets to the 8:30 PM show of “Wicked.”
Preparing for the evening, Claire opened her garment bag to a Nicole Miller taupe strapless dress with sequins. She’d never seen the dress before, but knew it’d fit perfectly. The matching Gucci shoes and handbag completed the ensemble. There was even a small jacket with matching sequins, just right for an autumn evening. She piled her hair on top of her head with large spiral curls dangling down her neck.
As she completed the finishing touches to her make-up, Tony entered the bedroom, greeted Claire, and went to the adjoining bath for a quick shower. She smiled at his chatty tone. It was as if other people were near, and his eyes were milk chocolate. When he emerged from the bathroom, the aroma of aftershave filled the bedroom, and he was clean-shaven, with wet hair, and a towel around his waist.
Watching him, she momentarily thought about an ongoing conversation she’d been having lately with herself. It usually started with thoughts of him—pleasant thoughts. Then she’d think about the way he made her feel or how much she liked to see him happy. Then it would turn to questioning, something like: Are you completely crazy or only unstable. She didn’t know how she could feel this way about him. After all, he kidnapped her and hurt her—but when he was good…Claire tried to remember—there was a song or something that said—when he is good—he is so good—and that summed it up.
She pondered the many puzzling sides of his enigma as she watched him in the mirror. First, looking at him as he removed the towel, her pulse quickened and she forgot about her primping. No one could deny his incredibly handsome physique. Hell, he was gorgeous. Despite the almost twenty-year age difference, she observed his defined muscles, broad shoulders, and firm abdomen. Momentarily, she fantasized about the feel of his skin against hers. Second, he was undoubtedly an extremely successful businessman who desired to keep his personal life private. Third, he utterly and completely believed in appearances. Fourth, he had an insatiable sex drive. In that arena Claire had come to terms with his varying approaches—anywhere from tenderness to domination. The side of Tony that bothered Claire the most was his unpredictability. His temperament could shift without warning—making an Indiana tornado seem docile.
Due to his position, his desire for privacy and appearances were understandable. It was the swiftness with which he could go from serene to furious that concerned her. Nevertheless, as Claire watched him dress, smelled his cologne, and heard him chat, her body tingled in anticipation. She looked forward to being on his arm and enjoying Chicago’s nightlife.
Their dinner reservations were for Sixteen a fine restaurant on the sixteenth floor of the Trump Tower. They were escorted to a premium table with an amazing view of the Wrigley Clock Tower. Tony ordered their wine, appetizers, and meals. The reputation for outstanding cuisine proved true; everything tasted delectable. They chatted throughout the meal, mostly about Chicago and its many possibilities. Claire didn’t complain about spending the day in the apartment, but she mentioned that after the spa she’d like to do some shopping. After all, wasn’t it Tony who kept encouraging her to shop?
After dinner, Tony suggested they walk the short distance from Trump Tower to Cadillac Palace Theater. Having wanted outside all day, Claire thought his idea was fantastic and enthusiastically agreed. Feeling the warm city breeze, walking arm in arm down South Street through the crowds of people, gave her a rush of anonymity. They talked and laughed as the evening faded into night. Claire’s deprived senses filled with sounds of traffic, the feel of a crowd, and visions of buildings transforming into monuments of architecture as darkness descended and lights illuminated.
Claire could have walked forever. Even the sensation of her shoes hitting the hard concrete delighted her, but their journey ended too soon. Upon entering the theater, she saw the show bill high above their heads. She’d long been a fan of the “Wizard of Oz” and immediately became excited about watching the performance of “Wicked.”
Of course, they were seated in prime seats. Claire remembered seeing shows in the same theater, years earlier, sitting somewhere near the top of the balcony. Currently, they had an excellent view of the stage and orchestra. For the next few hours, Claire became lost in the performance: the acting, dancing, and singing. When Elphaba sang “Defying Gravity,” Claire was absolutely mesmerized. Her life disappeared into the performance. Every now and again she would notice Tony watching her—not the show. She chose to ignore his gazes and enjoy the show. She believed her behavior was appropriate and knew—without a doubt—if it weren’t—he would let her know.
After the show they walked back to Trump Tower. Tony talked about Claire’s appointment scheduled for 9:00 AM. She had a massage, facial, and hair services scheduled, but if she wanted more she only needed to let them know. Everything would be billed to Tony’s apartment. Her only concern would be generous tipping, and he would give her all the cash she needed. The spa was actually in the tower and Charles would be available to help her find it. They would provide lunch if her services took that long, and they probably would.
That night Tony’s bed wasn’t cold like it had been earlier in the day. Claire believed his business in Chicago must be going well. That night he was generous, demonstrative, sensual, and erotic. Perhaps he felt apologetic for his quick judgment the week earlier. Whatever the motive, Claire loved the results!
In the past, during the nights Tony stayed in Claire’s bed, it seemed like they slept on polar-opposite sides. Tonight’s finale concluded differently. They fell asleep with Claire’s cheek on his chest, his arm around her bare shoulder, and her arm over his tight abdomen. She felt his warmth as his chest hair tickled her nose. Her head rose and fell with each of his breaths, and the sound of his heartbeat in her ear. She inhaled his intoxicating scent and drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.
The next morning, she awoke alone. Due to the heavy draperies, the dark room made it difficult for Claire to assess time. The clock read 7:10 AM. She hadn’t heard Tony get out of bed, shower or dress, and had no idea how long he’d been gone.
Putting on a robe, she went to find coffee. At home it would have been brought to her immediately upon waking. Then she thought—no, hoped—perhaps this room didn’t have the quality surveillance of her room in Iowa. In the dining room Charles poured coffee and informed her that Mr. Rawlings left thirty minutes earlier for his Chicago office.
Sipping the rich bold liquid, Claire’s mind recalled the pleasures of last night. Not just the sex—which was great—it was the memories of his voice and expressions. Blissfully walking back to the bedroom, Claire told Charles she would wait until after she dressed for breakfast.
Back in Tony’s room she found his note:
I am sure you remember that your appointment is at 9:00 AM, don’t be late. I plan to be back to the apartment by 6:00 PM You mentioned shopping last night at dinner. I have left you your credit card and ID. There’s also ample cash for tipping and incidentals. After your spa day, Charles will help you with transportation to shopping.
Do not forget my rules—I trust you know better than that.
He never began his notes with a salutation or signed them. Claire looked in the envelope under the note. It contained her ID and credit card, as well as over a thousand dollars in different denominations.
Claire thought it was unnecessary that Tony kept her ID and credit card. It wasn’t as if she had the opportunity to use it whenever she wanted, and the amount of cash seemed excessive, until she saw the small sticky note on one of the bills:
$100 per stylist that assists you
Claire decided maybe some instruction was helpful, she wouldn’t have considered tipping that much.
She arrived at the Day Spa ten minutes early. They greeted her and ushered her to one of the treatment rooms. Instead of music, the air permeated with sounds of nature and the aroma of scented candles. Indirect lighting helped to complete the relaxing atmosphere. To begin her day of pampering they directed her to a large whirlpool tub. Once submerged, the assistant added a special mixture of oils and powders based on Claire’s answers to some preference questions. After the tub, Claire was led to the massage table, where they asked her to lie with her face submerged in a hole.
Suddenly, besieged by a rush of unpleasant memories, she did her best to control her emotions and lie down. The masseuse began with Claire’s shoulders and commented on the tightness of her muscles. It didn’t take long for the combination of the bath oils, ambiance, and magic of the masseuse’s hands to ease the tension. At the conclusion of the massage, every muscle in Claire’s body felt loose and relaxed.
Next, they proceeded to the hair salon. Apparently, when making Claire’s reservations a highlight procedure was requested. Never in all of her life had she colored her hair. The apprehension brought back some tension to her shoulders; however, she knew Tony was the one to plan her treatment, so the idea of changing it was more unsettling. While the color sat on her hair, they treated her to a facial which claimed skin rejuvenation. After they washed and conditioned her hair, the stylist began trimming and styling.
When Claire’s chair spun around, she gazed at her auburn tresses which now contained generous caramel and light blonde highlights. It all blended beautifully, and the length hadn’t really changed. The result looked healthy, shaped, stunning, and different.
Next, they offered Claire a menu. She enthusiastically ordered her own lunch, deciding on a sushi variety plate with a side salad. Claire decided Tony must not like sushi. She hadn’t eaten any in months. It tasted wonderful. Following lunch she chose to receive a manicure and pedicure while the cosmetic specialist completed her make-up. Claire yearned to walk around outside, yet she was truly enjoying the pampering. Smiling, she recalled Tony’s enthusiasm about her spa experience.
It was nearing 2:00 PM when the receptionist brought Claire the telephone. “Ms. Nichols, you have a call.” At first, she just stared. Other than Emily over a week ago, Claire hadn’t spoken on a phone for almost six months. She immediately believed this was a test.
Looking at her nails under the dryer, she said, “Thank you, could you please ask who it is?”
The receptionist inquired and continued, “Mr. Rawlings would like to speak with you.”
Claire carefully took the phone. “Hello, Tony?”
“Very good, Claire”—she smiled—“I’m on my way to the airport. I need to make an emergency trip to New York.” Tony’s voice sounded informative but preoccupied.
“All right. Will I be going too?”
“No, Eric will be back in Chicago this evening and accompany you home. Just continue your plans and be back at the apartment by 6:00 PM. Charles will see that you get to the airport for your flight.”
Claire wanted to ask about the shopping. She felt pretty and didn’t want to spend the afternoon in the apartment. However, he did say to continue her plans. She chose to believe that included shopping. If she didn’t ask, she could plead ignorance when questioned.
“Okay, I will.” She didn’t want to say anything inappropriate with people listening. “Do you know when you will be back?”
“Not for sure. I believe Saturday. I need to go, we’re at the airport.”
“I will see you then. Have a safe trip.”
“Claire”—he paused—“don’t disappoint me.”
“I won’t Tony. I’ll see you Saturday.” The telephone disconnected from his end. Claire handed the telephone back to one of the clinicians and inspected her nails, holding the phone hadn’t caused any damage. Her fingers and toes glistened shiny red, and her make-up had been expertly applied. Claire stepped in front of the mirror. She wished with all her might that Tony could see her now—she felt stunning.
There were a total of six assistants that worked directly with Claire. She went to the front desk, signed the charge slip, and gave the tip money to the receptionist, with an additional fifty for her. Claire smiled and thanked her for bringing her the telephone.
Back at the apartment Claire changed clothes, wanting to get outside and enjoy the shops before she needed to return at 6:00 PM. Looking out of the windows, she could tell the day was warm. The waves on the lake also told her that the breeze was strong. But of course, that was why they call it the windy city!
She had a little over three hours to shop and she wanted to make every minute count! All of a sudden, time slipped back six years. She needed to shop fast in order to get back to class. The biggest difference between then and now was her goal—instead of bargains—she looked for the buys that would please Tony.
Charles offered Claire a driver, but she wanted to walk. The busy city and warm weather created an exhilarating atmosphere. She longed to be outside and on her own short schedule. Cartier was her first stop. She found another pair of sunglasses. They were like the ones from New York, except black, which would be better for winter.
Although that was her thought, she wondered if she would really be with Tony all winter. Compartmentalize. Right now, her plan was to enjoy this afternoon and some shopping, the rest would work itself out.
Her familiarity with the magnificent mile proved advantageous to her goal. She didn’t have Eric to pick up packages, so she didn’t buy anything too bulky; however, she managed some smaller bags from Saks, Anne Fontaine, Armani, and Louis Vuitton.
Claire approached the Trump Tower and her watch said she had thirty minutes to spare. She stopped in the coffee shop for a quick café mocha. In Iowa, she mostly drank plain coffee with cream—very high quality and amazingly delicious. This afternoon she was living and decided a little chocolate would hit the spot.
Sitting at the table surrounded by her packages, sipping her café mocha, Claire’s mind wandered. Her life seemed to have taken a turn. The last few weeks were much better than months earlier, so much better than she could have predicted. She talked with Emily—if only for a few minutes. She thought about the rules: speaker phone, limitations, and the briefness of the call. It took a magnitude of compartmentalization to concentrate on the affirmative aspect of the conversation. Nonetheless, she spoke with her sister and that made her happy. Then there was the barbeque—minus the unfortunate misunderstanding—which was a success. Tony introduced her to his friends, and they were nice to her. The date with Tony the night before was romantic: dinner, walking, the play, and the activities until they fell asleep. Now, she was sitting in Chicago—a destination she loved.
Smiling, she sipped her café mocha and thought about him. She hated him one day and then allowed her hair to change colors because he requested it. The more she thought about it, maybe allow wasn’t the appropriate word. Really, did she have an option? How could he hurt her one day and then make her feel so fulfilled the next? Her internal debate continued.
As she thought of Tony, feelings of lust pushed away the old feelings of fear. Remembering the sensation of his touch, sound of his voice, and taste of his skin, she wanted to believe this was a significant improvement. She wondered how she could be having these feelings, how she could enjoy his presence, and even look forward to being with him. She’d read about Stockholm syndrome—maybe that was it. She knew it didn’t make sense—but she couldn’t deny the way she was beginning to feel.
Preoccupied in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the woman approaching until she stood directly above her. “Claire? Claire Nichols is that really you?”
Claire looked up in disbelief, realizing that someone actually addressed her. She recognized Meredith Banks immediately. She was a sorority sister from Valparaiso. It made sense—Valparaiso was nearby.
“Hello, Meredith, how are you?” Her voice reflected her genuine excitement and surprise at seeing someone from her past. They’d roamed these streets together, in another life.
“Gosh, I’m great. How are you? You look amazing. I haven’t heard from you in ages!” Meredith looked at the other chair. “Do you mind if I join you for a few minutes?”
Apprehensively, Claire looked at her watch. She needed to be upstairs by 6:00 PM—it was 5:40 PM. She considered appearances—it would be rude to not allow her to sit.
Claire motioned with her hand. “Yes, please do.”
The two ladies talked about what brought them to Chicago. Meredith noted, looking at the booty surrounding Claire’s chair, she was obviously doing some shopping. She even noted it was higher-end shopping than they did in college. Claire laughed it off, saying even these stores had great deals. She couldn’t help think about Bonnie who’d gauged the value of her clothing and wondered if Meredith were doing the same thing.
Meredith asked if Claire saw any shows while in town. Claire told her she saw Wicked and enjoyed it very much. Did Claire remember the fun shows they used to watch and the concerts? Meredith mentioned she was in town for work. Where was Claire working? She seemed to know Claire had been in Atlanta. Claire wondered if they had spoken while she was there, they must have. Meredith lived out west these days—in California. Did Claire ever make it out that way? Where was she living?
Claire did her best to be evasive, yet friendly. This was her sorority sister being friendly—not some paparazzi. Finally, Meredith started talking about her husband. She married Jerry from the fraternity and their group. Did Claire know that? No, she didn’t. How long had they been married? And Anne and Shaun were engaged! If Claire would give Meredith her address, she was sure that Anne would want to invite her. Meredith wondered if Claire was married. Was she seeing anyone? Hadn’t she heard rumors?
That word sounded an alarm—Rumor. Wasn’t that the word Tony used to describe her—a rumor? Claire laughed again. “Oh, Meredith, didn’t we learn years ago you should never trust rumors.”
Checking her watch again, it was 5:55 PM. “It was great seeing you, but I really do need to go. We should catch up sometime.” Claire tried to not be rude, but she didn’t want to talk any longer. She went directly to the security counter, where the guard recognized her and helped her with her bags as they went to the residential elevators.
By 8:00 PM, Claire sat in Tony’s jet by herself, flying back to Iowa. Eric copiloted. She tried not to think about her conversation with Meredith. She decided compartmentalization was best—she would think about it another time. Instead, she decided to think about Thursday and Friday with Tony out of town. Smiling, she told herself, I’m going to my lake!
Experience is the most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God, do you learn.
—C. S. Lewis