Chapter Thirty-Eight
?
It was happening again. The satin sheets dripped with sweat as Claire gasped for breath. Trembling, she concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, all the while convincing herself she could breathe—this was only a dream—or a nightmare. Once over, she couldn’t remember the scenes, just the terrible feeling of helplessness. She always woke when she heard the beep. It was the same damn beep she’d heard when she first arrived; the sound meaning her suite was locked. When the dreams first started, she could roll over, find her sleeping husband, curl up next to him, and fall back to sleep. Now regulating her breathing, Claire knew that wasn’t possible—like so many times before—she needed to get out of bed and complete her new routine.
The steady breathing from a few feet away told Claire that Tony was sleeping peacefully. Quietly, she lifted the covers and eased out of bed. Her hands shook as she tied her robe and tiptoed to the hallway door. “This is dumb,” she whispered, as her feet crossed the lush carpet; however, it was now her reality. She knew sleep wouldn’t be possible without completing this new drill. Gripping the metal lever, she pulled, and the door opened easily. She closed it and proceeded to the balcony. Moving the draperies aside, the French door opened without hesitation. The rush of fresh air filled the room and her lungs. She walked through the opening and gently closing the door behind her.
Her perspiration-drenched body relished the cool night breeze. Standing at the rail, she inhaled the spring air and lifted her hair to dry the moisture from her neck. It wasn’t that she wanted to remember the feelings of a year ago. Truly she didn’t. When she stepped onto a patio, terrace, or into the backyard and memories would start to resurface, she could stop them. It was at night while she slept that the compartmentalization of her internment would come rushing back. Then in the minutes or hours which followed, she would attempt to calm her lingering fear. It was the one she tried to keep away, the terror that at any moment, without warning, history could repeat itself. The sickening realization that she would be completely helpless to stop it was what robbed her of sleep.
The cool cement under her feet brought her back to present. She shivered, pulled her cashmere robe tight, and wished she’d grabbed slippers, but her trembling wasn’t caused by the cold. She knew it was her dream. Looking up she noticed the clear black velvet sky peppered with stars. Absentmindedly, she thought, that’s why the temperature dropped.
Sighing, she fell into a chair. This knowledge would never matter again. Her job was her name, Mrs. Anthony Rawlings—Meteorology was gone forever. She’d left the suite in such a panic she hadn’t looked at the clock. It really didn’t matter—sleep was out of reach. Pulling her legs into her chest and covering them with her soft robe, she began her mental therapy session. Her still rapid heart rate told her tonight it would last hours instead of minutes.
Self-therapy consisted of a mental list of reasons her nightmares were ridiculous and she had no basis for her fears. Claire believed if she could convince her conscious self, her subconscious self would be forced to agree. When she allowed her mind to go back to the spring of a year ago she could rationalize that now her life was significantly dissimilar. She now had more liberties than she’d experienced since her arrival.
Tony stayed true to his word about her e-mails. He even decided she needed her own address, [email protected]. This made printing easier. He was also correct about the numerous requests for interviews, money, and endorsements she received daily from people she’d never met. Having Patricia respond to those requests was easy. She also received personal e-mails, and now she had a voice in the responses. Overall, when asked, Tony agreed to requests regarding Courtney, Sue, Bev, or MaryAnn. If he had other plans for the day in question, as occurred from time to time, his plans trumped, but the act of requesting was the crucial portion of her negotiations. If she wanted to reply to someone or to go somewhere, as he had said many months ago, she simply needed to ask. She’d become accustomed to this component—it was a daily reminder of Tony’s authority.
Regarding that authority—it hadn’t asserted itself, as it had a year ago. She reasoned, perhaps it was because her behavior didn’t warrant that type of implementation. No matter the cause, life was undeniably better.
Watching the moonlight on the budding trees, Claire recalled the outings she’d recently enjoyed. They included lunches in Iowa City and Cedar Rapids, Red Cross meetings in Davenport, and shopping in Chicago. A few weeks ago MaryAnn suggested a catch-up day in New York, as she and Eli were there for business. Tony reviewed all of the e-mails before Claire, and she didn’t expect permission to spend the day in New York, but she asked. Surprisingly, he acquiesced. Smiling and feeling her pulse slow, she remembered flying off to a beautiful April day in New York City in a Rawlings company jet, with Courtney and Sue. All of the women had a marvelous time, and Claire made it home before 7:00 PM. He was home first, but she was home for dinner. He wasn’t unhappy.
Calming, as the gentle breeze blew her hair, she listened to the voice in her head and remembered a recent unexpected freedom. Secretly coveting the chestnut hair which kept trying to return, she informed Tony she needed an appointment to maintain her blonde. He said they had no overnight plans in the near future, so she should just go. If he had the private plane she could take one of the company jets, just plan to be home before dinner. Shocked, she remembered questioning, “Are you saying I can go by myself?”
“My dear Claire, is there any reason you should not?”
She assured him there wasn’t. He or Patricia arranged the appointment; Claire went to the airport and boarded a company jet—by herself. She landed in Chicago, took a waiting cab to the Trump Tower where she spent the rest of the morning being pampered. Then she ate lunch and shopped for a few hours and came home. Blushing in the cool night air, she thought about being back in her suite before 6:00 PM and how she did her best to show her husband the meaning of a statement she’d made months earlier—coming home to a wife who wants to be home is better than coming home to a wife that has to be home. He caught on pretty quick—the first indication was the spark in her emerald eyes and the next clue involved a black satin robe and a warm waiting tub of water. Truth be told—she couldn’t remember eating dinner at all that night.
Claire’s heavy eyelids reminded her she should be sleeping. Slipping back into her suite and under the warm blankets, she thought about the man lying next to her. He continued to be a paradox. The man Claire met when she first arrived hadn’t shown his personality since her accident. She knew he was still here, that knowledge alone was motivation to obey his rules. She’d been told too many times his promise to keep that personality away was contingent on her ability to behave appropriately. The stress of that reality and unpredictability loomed omnipresent.
The man who worked to court her, to convince her she was important, desirable, and loved, still existed in a muted form. He was still attentive, present, and always sexual, but he was busy with work and often preoccupied. That was understandable—he was a successful man with many fires to tend.
It was his need for complete supremacy over every aspect of her life that felt stifling and unbearable. Claire theorized this was the cause of the suffocation which usually accompanied her nightmares. He had companies, peoples’ jobs and livelihoods on his list of responsibilities. The fact he controlled her comings, goings, e-mails, hair, and often attire—seemed ridiculous.
Attempting to stop the rise in blood pressure, she reminded herself that no matter what—she loved him. He could infuriate her one moment and make her feel less than human, and the next, he could make her feel like the world spun only because she mattered to him. It was just that those two contradictory emotions could come too close together and in any order. As Claire reminisced, she recognized that similar to a year ago, her mood, liberties, and sense of self-worth seemed to have a common denominator—Anthony Rawlings.
As that realization struck, he rolled toward her, wrapped her in his arms; and though still sleeping, murmured, “My love, you’re so cold. Come closer.” She melted against his warm chest. At this moment in time, he made her feel safe and loved. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.
As the spring blossomed into summer, their biggest source of dissension continued to be her family. Though she loved to hear from Emily, seeing her name on an e-mail made her stomach turn. It almost always came accompanied by dark penetrating eyes.
She would sometimes choose to have Patricia reply instead of herself. There were days and circumstances when the communication wasn’t worth the conflict. It depended on Emily’s words, some motivated Claire’s determination more than others. Her calls with Emily were always monitored. It was a reality she didn’t dispute. If she did, it would result in loss of all communication. He didn’t need to spell that out for her. She knew it as well as she knew that her freedoms lay vulnerable to his whims.
Since the call following the interview, Claire spoke with Emily about every three to four weeks. She heard from Emily at least once a week via e-mail. After Claire had her own e-mail address, Emily’s notes were more informative. Claire would hand-write her response. It was approved or edited and then sent by Patricia. If Emily questioned Claire’s ability to do anything, she’d profess her freedoms as Tony evaluated every word.
That same Tony was the one who surprised Claire with the long weekend at Lake Tahoe. And over Memorial Day weekend he arranged for a getaway to San Francisco. While there, they met Eli and MaryAnn for dinner at an exclusive nightclub with a glorious view of the bay and bridge. The next day, after a romantic drive down Highway 1 in a leased convertible, they strolled hand in hand on the beach at Big Sur. The force and spray of the waves pounding the huge rocks along the ocean shore astonished Claire. It wasn’t like the Gulf of Mexico or even the tranquil waters of Fiji. Instead, it reminded her of the beach scenes in movies. During these excursions, he made her feel like a star. Their final day in San Francisco they went sightseeing; no trip to Alcatraz was planned or even discussed.
He also had a two-week business trip to Europe planned for the end of July. This time he wanted her with him. Uncharacteristically, he asked her to help make the sightseeing plans. They would visit Italy, Switzerland, and France. He had meetings but promised free time for his wife. Claire spent hours in their library looking at books on destinations, museums, and points of interest. The Internet would have been easier but she found incredible pictures and information in the resource books.
The work with the Red Cross slowed. Their calendar was planned and their goal set. It was now a matter of implementation. Courtney had other members on her committee. They divided the events: Claire was chairman of a silent auction scheduled for October. She drafted letters requesting donations, and Patricia sent them out to prominent associates of Mr. Rawlings. The letters requested donations from Mrs. Anthony Rawlings. Tony had already brought many positive responses home. Claire secured a ballroom in Bettendorf where the auction would be held simultaneously with a wine-tasting event. She even arranged for the wine and catering to be donated, believing a little wine might help increase bids. Courtney seemed genuinely pleased and appreciative of Claire’s help.
The summer heat created the climate Claire enjoyed the most. She contentedly spent many of her days at home by the pool or at her lake. When summer began Tony hesitated to approve her journeys to the lake. He’d been there. He knew how far it was from the house. What if a real accident occurred? At first, she relented to his decision, but then she decided it was worth the struggle. Her lake had been her refuge—she wanted it back.
Determinedly, one Sunday in early June, Claire pursued the liberty to hike. Tony finally acquiesced, saying he wanted to be mad, but it was the memory of her excitement during their February visit that made him relent. She asked him to join her. He had other plans for their day, but agreed. They brought a blanket, a picnic packed by Catherine, and water. When they reached the shore Tony seemed to understand why she loved the site. It was nothing like it had been in February. The colors of the summer starkly contrasted the whiteness of their last visit. The lake sparkled and glittered with hues of blue created by the reflection of the sapphire sky. The trees surrounding the lake were lush, full, and green.
The ones in the woods had been also, creating a maze Tony hoped Claire could truly navigate. He listened to the sounds of the lake shore. In forty-six years he’d never stopped to listen to waves lap the earth. The consistent beat, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, combined with the gentle breeze of the trees soothed him in a way he couldn’t describe. He laid out the blanket on the shore under the shade of a tree and invited Claire to join him. She unpacked their lunch and they sat in silence.
At first, Claire worried—afraid he might be upset by her impudence. Then she stopped worrying and looked at him, really looked at his face; he was peaceful. She thought about who she saw: Anthony Rawlings, multibillionaire tycoon and entrepreneur, a man in complete control of everyone and everything. Claire hoped perhaps she was witnessing this lofty man seeing himself as part of a grand picture. Maybe for the first time he wasn’t seeing himself as the center. Not wanting to break the spell, she let him sit undisturbed.
Sometime later—Claire had lost track of time—Tony finally spoke, “This is beautiful. This is here on our property and I’ve never seen it—not like this.” The sun sparkled and shone as prisms of light and color danced off the water. Having taken the sandwiches out of the basket, Claire broke off a piece of bread and threw it into the water. Tony laughed as minnows swam to devour their newfound feast. She smiled at her husband. Her smile radiated into her eyes, she could feel it. His milk chocolate eyes looked from the water to her. He leaned toward her. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For showing me what I’ve been missing. I’ve been so goal oriented, so driven, I’ve missed so much.” She scooted closer and offered him his sandwich. “I’m really not hungry, yet—are you?” His hands were exploring her collar bone, causing goose bumps to rise on her arms.
“I think I can wait.”
The soft blanket, soft sand, and gentle breeze created the perfect bed. Their actions weren’t hard and rough, but tender and thorough. Keeping rhythm with the waves Tony took Claire beyond her refuge to a place of ecstasy.
The hours of daylight almost reached their peak. The summer solstice was near. Between exploring the lake, shore, wildlife, and one another, they found themselves still on the shore as the sun began to set. It was all right. Claire knew this time there would be no punishment or accident. This time she was safe. They sat and watched the crimson ball as it bled a cherry glow across the sky, slowly fading behind the line of shadowed trees at the far end of the lake.
There is only one way to happiness and that is to cease worrying about things which are beyond the power of our will.
—Epictetus