Chapter Nineteen
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Thursday morning, Claire woke to the unfamiliar sound of rain. With the dryness of the summer, at first she questioned the pitter-patter, but as her mind cleared, the noise made sense. Going directly to the window, she saw droplets of water on the window, gray clouds, and puddles on the ground. She had been so excited about the lake, but she didn’t want to walk five miles—each direction—in the rain and mud. Disappointment overwhelmed her. How could it rain on the one day she wanted sun? With Tony gone—the day dragged on endlessly.
The next morning, she lay in bed and listened for the sound of rain. Straining her ears, she only heard silence. Tentatively, looking out the window, Claire beheld the crystal clear blue sky. The rain had washed the dust and dryness of the summer away leaving everything looking fresh and clean. The bright sunshine glistened on the moist leaves.
Wearing her robe, she went out onto the balcony and immediately realized the drop in temperature. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and gazed out over the polychromatic woods. The crisp autumn fragrance penetrated deep into her lungs. She knew it would be muddy, but she didn’t care. She’d wear an old pair of shoes and make her way to her lake.
Getting ready that morning, her reflection caught her by surprise. The new blonder hair made her skin tone lighter and eyes deeper green. It wasn’t as if she suddenly looked like Marilyn Monroe, but her reflection looked more blonde than ever before. Claire wasn’t sure what she thought of her new look, but she did know, Tony wouldn’t be back until tomorrow; so, she pulled the lighter hair back into a ponytail.
As she got ready for her adventure, Claire realized she didn’t own anything old—as in old shoes. Everything was new or looked new. The clothes which were in her closet almost six months ago were gone—now too large. Whether she shopped or not, her wardrobe never waned. Currently, sweaters and jackets multiplied while she slept.
Luckily, her feet hadn’t changed size, so the hiking boots she requested months ago were waiting and ready. Claire decided she’d just clean them when she got home. Catherine didn’t approve of Claire’s plan, saying the ground would be muddy and slippery. What if she fell and twisted something? Claire promised she would be safe. She explained that it had been so long since she hiked in the woods; she wanted to stay out as long as possible. She would return—she simply didn’t know when.
Catherine promised dinner upon her arrival—no matter how late. She also provided Claire with a packed lunch complete with water bottles and a thermos of warm coffee. A little past 10:00 AM, she left the backyard.
Although it had been almost a month, Claire knew each turn to find her lake. At almost noon she reached her destination. The shore looked exactly like she remembered, except the trees surrounding the lake were now multicolored with rich vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges. Green had definitely become the minority. Certain varieties of deciduous trees were completely bare. Claire suddenly wondered what made some trees lose their leaves earlier than others; she had some research to do.
The scent of autumn filled the air, thick, poignant, fresh, and spicy. After yesterday’s wind and rain, the morning air was still and the lake was calm, the surface resembling a giant mirror. The colorful trees on the shoreline reflected off the water. The simplistic beauty made Claire wish she had a camera.
The sounds of nature were everywhere: bees or yellow jackets buzzed in the autumn sunshine, birds sang, and forest rodents scurried through the fallen leaves. Claire watched as ducks swam on the beautiful smooth lake, leaving wakes as their trail. Some floated near the shore, occasionally dipping their heads under the water, filling their stomachs for their flight south. September was almost half done; she would head south too, if she could. Pensively, she thought about Atlanta.
When Claire dressed, she put on jeans, a workout t-shirt, and a jacket. Now that the sun glowed strongly from high above, the warmth allowed her to remove the jacket. By late afternoon, she even took off her boots, rolled up her jeans, and waded into the water.
Part of her recognized the possibility she may not be back to the lake before winter, and she wanted to experience as much as she could. Of course, she hoped her debt would soon be considered paid. More realistically, she realized her duties now included travel. If she were expected to accompany Tony out of town, she wouldn’t be home to explore.
The cold water made her feet tingle. She watched as her polished toes stepped on pebbles and squished the underwater terra. When she stood still, the minnows swarmed, investigating the bright red toenails. Some even nibbled at her toes; it tickled.
Claire had eaten her lunch midafternoon, but her stomach told her she needed dinner soon. Finding some coffee in the thermos—no longer warm—she pretended it was a Frappuccino—without the crushed ice. It helped to fill the void until she reached the promise of Catherine’s dinner. The daylight hours were decreasing, and before she knew it the sky began to redden.
Glancing at her watch, it was after 7:00 PM. She wondered where the day had gone, as the most beautiful scene unfolded before her eyes. Sitting on the shore she watched the sky as the sun settled over the lake. She couldn’t make herself get up and go back to the house as the lovely postcard picture transformed into a stunning explosion of crimson.
The setting sun caused the few cumuliform clouds to change from white—to gray—to pink—and then to a vibrant red. The radiance beamed onto the leaves, altering their color. The scene continued to improve in brilliance and the beauty continued to grow. Claire sat patiently and watched with a new sense of contentment.
Once the sun reached the line of trees at the far end of the lake, the darkness quickly extended over the land. Claire remembered Catherine, and knew she’d be worried. The idea of walking back to the house in the dark woods should have frightened her, but it didn’t. She knew her way.
When she stepped into the clearing, the illumination from the moon allowed her to see her watch, 8:30 PM. She wasn’t making bad time, but it would be almost 9:30 PM before she reached home. The air had cooled but still tasted fresh and clean, she inhaled and set off as fast as she could. Direction wasn’t the issue—it was safety. The ground not only had limbs and roots as obstacles, but the rain left muddy areas which made her slip. One time her left foot slid, making her right knee muddy. When she stepped into the backyard, her eyes focused on her watch, it was 9:35 PM. The last leg of her trip took longer than normal. Although, her stomach growled for dinner, her first priority was removing the muddy boots, jeans, and taking a shower or a nice bath.
Leaving her boots on the back stoop, the carpeted floor of the southeast corridor felt soft under her feet and quieted her steps. As she opened the door to her suite, her thoughts ran between removing her muddy jeans and a warm shower. Navigation through the dark room was easy, and she even considered leaving the light off. Then she remembered Catherine. Turning on the light would let her know she’d returned. As she reached for the light switch, she sensed his presence. Before she could speak an arm came down over her neck and her head turned sharply upward as her ponytail was pulled back.
It all happened so fast, she gasped.
His fierce voice through the darkness was unmistakable, “Where the f*ck have you been?”
She tried to respond, but the arm around her neck restricted her air intake. She couldn’t breathe, much less speak. He let go of her, momentarily, while he spun her around. She faced him as he gripped her shoulders with a force she’d never experienced. His warm breath hit her face with each word. “I asked you a question. Where the f*ck have you been?”
Coughing at the sudden intake of oxygen, she tried to respond, “Tony, I didn’t think you were coming home until tomorrow.”
That wasn’t an answer to his question. Although the lights were still off, with the bright moonlight streaming through the unblocked windows, her eyes quickly adjusted. With diminished light, distinguishing color was difficult; Claire didn’t need to see color to know his eyes contained none. He released the grip on her shoulder with his right hand and struck her. His left hand stopped her from falling. He supported her, only to confront her again. “I’ve asked you a question twice. I will not ask again.” Once again, his hand contacted her cheek—harder this time.
“Tony, please stop”—she gasped for breath as her temple and cheek stung—“I was hiking in the woods.”
He let go of her shoulders, and shoved her onto the sofa. He followed and loomed over her body as she lay against the cushions. “Do you expect me to believe you were in the woods until this time of night?”
She tried to explain, “I was in the woods.” “The sun was setting.” “It was so beautiful.” Her words came in gasps.
Finally, he yelled, “Shut the f*ck up! You were out there because you knew I was coming home and you didn’t want to face me after what you did.”
Claire’s mind spun. “I don’t know what you mean. You told me you were coming home Saturday, this is still Friday”—tears infiltrated her words—“I haven’t done anything.”
Tony slapped her again. “Liar!”
Claire fought the sobs and fear, as she watched him methodically walk to the light switch illuminate the suite. Immediately, she noticed that his suit coat was missing, and his shirt and slacks were wrinkled. His chest visibly expanded and contracted with each labored breath, and his eyes were not only black—but violent. In the past he’d been upset—but in control. Tonight rage replaced self-control. Instinctively, Claire knew he’d crossed some invisible threshold. She just didn’t know why. She did know—the reason scared the hell out of her.
The room echoed with silence as he walked to her dining table and picked up papers. That quiet shattered as his booming voice demanded, “Then tell me—tell me how this is a misunderstanding”—he shook the pages in his hand while his words came too close together—“I jumped to conclusions last time. Tell me how I’m doing that now.”
Claire feared talking, but she did, “Tony, I’m sorry. I really don’t know what you are talking about.”
He threw the pages at her and they scattered on the floor near her feet. When he didn’t move, she bent down to pick them up. Although, her vision was now blurry from tears, she tried desperately to blink and focus on the pages. They were typed, and appeared to be from the Internet. The last two pages contained pictures: pictures of the two of them at the symphony—at some event she couldn’t distinguish—in New York—and walking down the street in Chicago, arm in arm. Then there were pictures of Claire in college—with friends—and one of her and Meredith sitting at a table talking.
The breath in her chest suddenly dissipated. Her eyes focused on the words:
Questions Answered—the Mystery Woman in Anthony Rawlings’s Life
Agrees to a One on One Interview.
Claire’s eyes grew wide and immediately overflowed with a flood of tears. She couldn’t believe what she’d read. Oh my God! “Tony! Oh my God—I did not agree to an interview.”
“So, you’re telling me that this picture of you talking to this woman”—he pointed to the picture as he stood over Claire—“is a print shop fabrication and just like at the barbeque, this is a colossal misunderstanding?”
His closeness filled her with dread. It was her talking to Meredith…She tried to explain, “It is me, but—” His hands picked her off the sofa and pinned her against a wall. Claire attempted reason, “Tony, I wasn’t giving an interview.” She hit the wall with enough force for a picture to fall. His grip hurt her arms; she tasted the salt of her tears as her ears reverberated with his booming voice and rang from his repeated slaps.
His face descended. “Then what the hell are you doing?”—he shook her again—“Claire, I trusted you! You told me I could trust you and I believed you! I sent you to a spa day! This is how you show your gratitude—by breaking all my rules—by public failure?” He released his grip; Claire fell to the floor like a rag doll.
Scurrying to pick up the papers, Claire asked, “What is this?”
“It’s an exclusive Internet release of an upcoming story. Shelly, my publicist, found it today and immediately forwarded me a copy”—he hovered over her before turning abruptly away. Trying to regain control of his anger and of himself, Tony went to the bookshelf, picked up a book, and threw it into the fireplace. His words came slower—“It’s scheduled to run simultaneously in People and Rolling Stone”—his eyes penetrated her soul—“I flew home as soon immediately.”
Claire wondered how long he’d been waiting and brewing in her suite. She desperately tried to read:
Byline: Meredith Banks
Well, you believe you know Anthony Rawlings, forty-five-years-old and self-made billionaire? Or, maybe you would like to know him? You may be too late. Since May of 2010 Anthony has been seen out on the town with the same mystery woman. Up until now we haven’t known much about Anthony’s special woman. That is until she agreed to sit down with old friend and freelance writer Meredith Banks. The woman in Anthony Rawlings’s life is Claire Nichols, twenty-six-years-old and originally from Fishers, Indiana, just outside of Indianapolis.
Claire graduated from Valparaiso University, Valparaiso, Indiana in 2006 with a bachelor’s degree in meteorology. Ms. Nichols and Meredith were in the same sorority from 2003 through 2006. It’s believed that this long-time friendship is why Claire finally agreed to sit down and discuss her relationship with one of the world’s top bachelors.
Claire looked up and saw Tony on the sofa—watching. Her entire body trembled as nausea erupted in her empty stomach. “Tony, I went to school with Meredith; she came up to me the other day and started talking—I didn’t know she was a reporter—I wasn’t giving an interview—I didn’t say anything about you.” In desperation she added, “Your name was never mentioned!”
He didn’t speak. Instead, he nodded toward the pages—she continued reading:
Anthony Rawlings has long been considered a wonderful catch for that one deserving woman. In the past, he’s dated such women as supermodel Cynthia Simmons and recording artist Julia Owens; however, his previous relationships didn’t last long. That is until now—now that Rawlings and Nichols have been together. These two were first seen together in late May (see picture) at the Quad City Symphony not far from the large wooded estate of Anthony Rawlings. Since that time, they’ve been spotted by curious onlookers at various charity events, as well two of the nation’s largest cities—New York (see picture) and Chicago (see picture).
The question all eligible bachelorettes are asking—why Claire? What makes her the woman for a man like Anthony Rawlings? Perhaps it’s her youth, her beauty, or her style.
While Claire would neither confirm nor deny that she and Anthony Rawlings were involved. She didn’t deny living in the Iowa City area. Could that address perhaps be the same as Mr. Rawlings’?
Social Security records indicate that Ms. Nichols’ only employment has been as a bartender, since losing her job in 2009 at WKPZ in Atlanta, Georgia. WKPZ was purchased by TTT-TV, resulting in the layoff of many employees, yet despite this loss of employment, Ms. Nichols was seen shopping in Chicago at such stores as Saks Fifth Avenue, Anne Fontaine, Cartier, Giorgio Armani, and Louis Vuitton. It’s also rumored that Ms. Nichols spent the better part of the day enjoying all the comforts money could buy at one of Chicago’s most exclusive day spas.
Claire used to spend her days in Chicago (see picture) with many different men from Valparaiso University. Now it seems she is enjoying the better life with only one man. (see picture). The performers will be happy to know that Claire and Anthony enjoyed the performance of “Wicked.”
The final bit of evidence confirming their involvement came when Ms. Claire Nichols was ushered to the eighty-ninth floor of Trump Tower—the private city dwelling belonging to none other than Mr. Anthony Rawlings.
Emily Vandersol, twenty-nine-years-old, sister and only living relative of Ms. Nichols, was asked about her knowledge of Claire and Anthony’s relationship. Mrs. Vandersol stated that she’d recently spoke to Claire and she sounded well. Anthony Rawlings was not mentioned during their conversation, and Mrs. Vandersol had no further comments.
Sorry, ladies, it seems that Ms. Claire Nichols is holding on to Anthony Rawlings. What will she tell us about this private man? We are anxiously waiting to learn.
Claire’s hands trembled. Although she’d finished reading, she continued to look down as she searched desperately for something to say—some explanation. Finally, she set the pages on the floor and kept her eyes down. There was nothing to say. The article didn’t reveal any information, although the sensational title alluded it would. Tony knew that, he flew all the way home. He’d obviously read the article multiple times. It was her in the picture—she was talking to Meredith—it wasn’t what it seemed—but in her head she could hear his voice.
Now, she heard him stand as he walked toward her. “Appearances, Claire—how many times have I told you? Appearances mean everything. There’s a picture of you sitting with her—the author. It doesn’t matter if what she writes is accurate; it’s believable because she’s seen talking to you.”
He wasn’t yelling, he’d regained some control, yet the aura of rage remained. Claire felt his penetrating stare and didn’t want to look into his black eyes.
“Get up.”
Claire knew she should—but she didn’t move—she couldn’t—her body was paralyzed with fear. She had no defense—she’d disobeyed his rules.
His volume increased, “Claire, get up!”
The tears dripped off her nose. “Please, Tony”—she sobbed—“I’m so sorry.”
Defenseless to stop his actions—her body rose as he lifted her by her arm. His voice exuded wrath, “The entire way home I prayed that somehow this was another misunderstanding. You wouldn’t do this after I put my trust in you—but I knew if it wasn’t a misunderstanding—if you’d truly disobeyed—there had to be consequences. There had to be a punishment for this blatant disregard for the most fundamental of rules!”
She saw his hand move and instinctively veered to avoid another blow. The miss of her cheek infuriated him—his control vanished—he swung again. This time, his hand caught her pearl necklace. The fine chain proved no contest for Tony’s anger and power. The pearl charm flew as the broken chain slid from around Claire’s neck. The next impact put her back on the floor, and she tasted blood. Claire started to reach for her face, to learn the source of the blood, when his booming voice proclaimed, “I believe some time away from people—some time alone—will help you remember who and who not to talk to.”
She pleaded for him to stop—she was sorry. She tried to turn and to twist, yet he continued to hurt her. She tried to yell—but sobs replaced pleas. Claire tried to protect her face and her body, yet she couldn’t get away. Time had stopped moving. She wondered how long this had been happening—it could have been only seconds—or maybe hours—Claire didn’t know.
Suddenly thrown backward by a forceful blow, his voice drifted far away. Though her entire body cried out in agony from the abuse—this was different—more—a sudden onset of intense pain. She tried to get up—to speak—but she couldn’t.
Then the stillness grew and everything—Tony—her suite—her tears—her fear—and the pain—all faded away into darkness.
Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.
—Author anonymous