Chapter Forty-Two
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On the day following their return, Claire woke late, relishing the large empty bed. After Cindy brought her coffee and food, she sat on her balcony, ate breakfast, and enjoyed the summer day, truly contented to be home. August in Iowa reminded her of Indiana, and even though the temperature and humidity continued to increase, the summer’s climax was rapidly approaching. Before long, the balminess would diminish and evidence of autumn would materialize.
Claire intended to appreciate the remaining days of summer. She took the folder of e-mails to the pool. Knowing that Tony read them before delivering them, she decided to separate the ones she felt needed responses and expedite her evening request session. Eighteen days’ worth of e-mails took quite a bit of time. She started by removing the ones she didn’t intend to answer. Next, she reread the ones from acquaintances. What did they want? Could she help in any way? If not, they went into the Patricia, please respond pile. If she believed there was something she could do, she put them in a pile to discuss with Tony.
Next, was the pile of friends and family. It was considerably smaller. Most of them knew she and Tony were out of the country. Most of her friends wanted to know about the trip and schedule get-togethers. Courtney wanted to do lunch as soon as Claire recovered from her traveling. MaryAnn’s e-mail apparently went to both Tony and Claire. She invited them to a movie premiere party at their home in Malibu in October. Claire checked her calendar. It was the weekend after the Red Cross silent auction. She added those to the “discuss with Tony” pile. The last few pages were from Emily. She definitely preferred sitting in the sun, drinking iced tea at her pool, in her bathing suit, and reading Emily’s e-mails to doing it under Tony’s glare.
The first one was a note about their get-together. Emily and John enjoyed seeing them and thanked them for dinner. Apparently, John spoke to the waiter about paying the bill prior to their arrival, but somehow it never came to the table. This caused Claire to smile; she hadn’t noticed. Emily wished them a good time on their trip. She anxiously waited to hear all about it. The second came a week later. It began with, “I know you are still in Europe, but I wanted to tell you…” The firm set an arbitrary date of November 1. At that time, there would be a review of the associates’ production, hours billed, and fees recovered. She was optimistic about John’s final numbers. He spent every waking hour working. But cautiously, she said if he didn’t make the cut, it wasn’t the end. He would still be an associate and considered for partnership during the next review process. She asked Claire to call when she got home. The third e-mail was dated yesterday. It began, “Are you home yet?” She asked multiple questions about their trip and talked about her impending school year. Apparently, the economic state of the country was affecting the finances of her school as well as others everywhere. Even though she worked for a private school system there were severe budget cuts which would affect her classroom directly. It made Claire wonder if she could use some of her capital to make a donation. She decided to put these in the Tony pile. She wanted to call and perhaps pursue the donation.
Lunch arrived at the pool. Settling into the lounge chair, with a book that made the trip to and from Europe but never opened, Claire was filled with comfort, peace, and contentment. She was home. Jet lag settled in and soon she fell into a deep sleep, sleeping through most of the afternoon. Catherine woke her at 4:00 PM and she went to her suite to prepare for Tony. At 5:00 PM, Catherine informed her that they would dine on the back patio—her life’s routine had resumed.
August faded into September, and before she knew it October knocked on the door. Claire and Courtney were very busy finalizing their efforts for the silent auction. The donations, facility, caterers, and wine distributors all confirmed; the guest list approved and invitations mailed. Excited about the impending event, Claire felt it was her debut to the philanthropic world. Tony not only participated in this world, he excelled. She wanted Mrs. Anthony Rawlings to be equally synonymous with charity as Mr. Anthony Rawlings. It was the first time Claire informed Tony they would be attending an event. He smiled and told her he would check their calendar.
During the auction planning her hostess duties didn’t cease. Various dinners occurred at various locations. They also attended functions and events together. Her biggest decisions involved wardrobe and hairstyle, and often those choices were made for her. That made the Red Cross function all the more important to Claire. She knew she had more to offer.
Not long before the auction, Tony and Claire attended a forum in Chicago where Tony was the keynote speaker. He was asked to give a speech about success. The theme of the conference was “Risk verses Failure in the World of Business.” He never practiced his speeches or ran ideas by her. So, as Claire sat next to her husband at the head table and he addressed the audience, his words were new to her, too.
When she first met him—really met him—she didn’t like the business Tony. He was the one who used to visit her suite; always professionally dressed—impersonal—methodical—detached—and other adjectives not as complimentary, but now she enjoyed watching and being beside Anthony Rawlings—esteemed businessman—while he shined in his element. He radiated an aura that said I am successful. By some, it might have been perceived as conceit. Claire probably thought of it that way at one time, but now she found it attractive. In the past, she disliked or hated his ingrained confidence and authority, but now she could look at it differently. It was sexy. Watching and listening to him, she comprehended the importance of her role.
Many times following the dinner and speech, the organizers would schedule a question-and-answer symposium. These were informal, with various people approaching Tony and asking him questions. Many of the attendees were young entrepreneurs looking for advice. According to Shelly, Tony’s participation was essential for public relations. According to Tony, his participation was hell. Claire’s duty included politely interrupting participants, so he could move on to the next and eventually leave.
During these Q & A sessions, multiple people approached Tony. Claire tried to appear attentive, yet unobtrusive, until it was time for her to interrupt. Honestly, she didn’t pay attention to the individuals. They blended together in her mind. During this particular conference, a question came from one of the participants which caught them both off guard. A man, younger than Tony, closer to Claire’s age, dressed in an expensive suit approached Tony.
“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 blond man with big soft blue eyes continued, somewhat timidly, “I have an unusual request. May I speak with your wife for a few minutes?”
Claire hadn’t looked at the man until that moment. She was gazing into the crowd. His words made her turn, first to Tony, seeing his surprised expression, and then to the man. Her mask momentarily shattered. She recognized him immediately and suddenly wondered why she hadn’t recognized his voice. The mayhem in her head tied her tongue until Tony’s eyes brought her back to reality. Placing her hand gently on Tony’s arm, she hesitantly spoke, trying desperately for a sturdier voice.
“Oh my,” “Anthony,” “Simon.” Tony watched as she stuttered through introductions. “Anthony, may I introduce Simon Johnson. Simon and I were students together at Valparaiso—a million years ago.” Her speech flowed too rapidly. “Simon, may I introduce my husband, Anthony Rawlings.”
The two men locked eyes and shook hands again. Tony was polite. Claire watched his eyes, as if a switch had been flipped from light to dark. Turning to Claire, he responded, “I believe that’s Mrs. Rawlings’ decision.”
There were other people waiting to speak with Tony. Claire excused Simon and herself, allowing Tony to speak to the others. She and Simon walked away. As they walked, Simon absentmindedly put his hand in the small of her back; she immediately stepped away from his touch. They sat at an empty table.
Simon spoke softly, “Claire, I apologize if I’ve put you in a difficult position. It’s just that I have wanted to speak to you for a long time.”
“Like eight years?” Even she was surprised by her unfriendly tone.
“This is the third event I’ve attended where you and Mr. Rawlings have been present. I finally summoned the nerve to speak to you.”
Remembering a previous reunion , she said, “First, Simon, tell me you’re not a reporter or talking to me for a publication of any kind.”
His blue eyes looked startled and then softened. “No, Claire, I just want to talk to you. It must be difficult not knowing who you can trust.”
She breathed easier. “It is. I’ve made a few mistakes I don’t plan to repeat.”
“It’s a mistake I made that I want to talk to you about, too.”
She looked at him. He hadn’t changed since their freshman year of college, but alas he had—he was older—more mature—and more confident. His blond hair still needed trimming and his gleaming eyes were still as bright. She couldn’t forget the passion she’d witnessed in those eyes.
“I’ve seen your picture so many places recently. I felt that I needed to talk to you at least once and explain what happened during the summer of ’03.”
They met at Valparaiso their freshman year. Simon’s major was computer programming while Claire’s was meteorology. Living in the same dorm, they ran into one another often. Their mutual attraction blossomed into young infatuation and rapidly into romance. They were each other’s first love. The new, unfamiliar emotions overwhelmed them both. Simon proposed to Claire daily. She had other plans for her life, plans of a career and national success which didn’t include marriage. During the summer they visited each other’s hometowns, met the families, and did all the things young lovers do. Claire’s mother commented how plans can always be modified. She liked Simon. Their sophomore year was to include Greek life, parties, studying, and time together, but somewhere between meeting the family and classes resuming, Simon disappeared. He called a few times, wrote a few letters, and vanished. Claire knew college had been a financial strain on his family. That was why when out of the blue, during the summer, Simon had received an offer for a dream internship and he had, had to accept. An opportunity like that was unheard of for a sophomore. His computer talents exceeded many of the older students. The internship was in California, and he couldn’t miss the opportunity. It was supposed to be just one semester. She waited for him to return, he didn’t. Their correspondences became less frequent and then nonexistent.
She moved on. Forgetting him wasn’t possible, but successfully compartmentalizing him was. Over the years life’s challenges and routines filled her consciousness, only sometimes in unconsciousness did he return.
“That isn’t necessary. We have both moved on with our lives.” Claire began to rise. “It was nice to see you.”
He touched her hand gently. “Please, Claire, I need to tell you”—she sat timidly—“Do you remember that I went to California?”—she nodded—“At first, it was an internship, but then they offered me a job. I’m not sure you remember, but college was difficult for my parents to afford, and the offer was too good to pass. I wanted to go back and finish my degree, but there I was, twenty years old, being offered my dream job.”
Claire remembered the letter she received saying he wouldn’t be returning from California. It broke her heart. She wanted to join him, but he didn’t ask. “I’m glad it worked for you. Are you still living in California?”
“Yes, I am, and the company I went to work for interestingly is a subsidiary of Rawlings Industries.”
Claire’s heart started to race. If Tony knew—Simon would lose his job. She saw the darkness, she wanted to protect him. “Are you still there?”
“No”—she sighed with relief—“I was with them for over five years, but I left long before you met your husband. I read the article in Vanity Fair”—she smiled—“I have my own company now.”
“That’s great, I hope you’re happy.”
“With business—I am. I should thank Mr. Rawlings. The start I received from his company made a big impact. Today I create some of the games people play on their phones. I’m doing well.”
“I’m truly happy for you.” She glanced nervously back at Tony. “I do need to get back to Tony.”
“My mother has been keeping up on you, relaying information to me. She liked you a lot.”
“I liked your mom, too. Please, tell her I said hello and to not believe everything she reads.” Claire’s eyes saddened with memories.
“Before you go, I wanted to let you know, even now with my success, I regret not coming back for you.” Claire didn’t speak, she couldn’t. “I thought about it constantly, but the job required a lot of travel. I was in China when your parents died. If I had been stateside I would have been there for you. I just had to tell you. I didn’t leave you because of anything you did or said. Claire, you have remained perfect in my memories. I wish things had been different.” She felt a rush of sadness at what may have been; nonetheless, Simon continued, “I even followed your career. I knew you were in Albany and then in Atlanta. I remembered you wanted a career. I thought maybe after you achieved success we could try again.” Claire looked at the table. This was making her uneasy. She needed to go back to Tony. “But I want you to know I’m happy for you, and I’m happy you’re happily married.”
The increasing feeling of anxiety made her stand. “Thank you, Simon. I wish you continued success. Please give my best to your family. I must get back to my husband.”
“Do you have your phone?” Claire’s expression became confused. Simon smiled.
“I’m making you sad, which wasn’t my intention. I wanted to show you my latest game, it’s fun and I hope it’ll make you smile. Do you remember staying up all night playing video games?” She did, but it seemed like another person, in another life.
“I created this most recent game with someone from my past in mind. Kind of a tribute, I guess.”
“I don’t have my purse, it’s at the table.” She silently berated herself. He was being so open and honest, and she was lying about a phone!
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a smart phone, and started touching the screen. “Here it is, you can download it for a dollar—ninety-nine”—smiling, he added—“Which I believe is within your price range.” Claire looked onto the screen. The goal of the game seemed to be to find something, but in order to accomplish this goal, you had to rummage through clothes, old pieces of pizza, pizza boxes, soda pop cans, etc. She smiled as he explained, “Each level has a new item to discover. It’s very popular with the college and post-college demographic. It’s made me millions.” She really smiled at him. He actually made that kind of money with games. “I’m glad I saw your smile. Claire, you’re beautiful, but I miss the brown hair.”
“Bye, Simon. Good luck to you.” She nodded. He looked like he wanted to hug her or shake hands, some type of contact, but she turned away. Immediately, she made eye contact with Tony. He’d been watching. She resumed her position beside her husband.
Acknowledging her return, he flashed his charming smile, nodded, and greeted her, “Mrs. Rawlings.”
When they stepped out onto the sidewalk, the Chicago lights sparkled in the clear September night air. Tony’s hand gently rested in the small of Claire’s back. The temperature was still warm, but she felt a shiver. Eric opened the door of the limousine and Tony helped his wife into the car.
Lost in her thoughts, Claire watched as the lights of the city passed the windows. Her mind was back at college. The memories of the messy dorm room, the clutter, and now the game brought a warm feeling. She was happy for Simon. He succeeded in accomplishing his goals. She remembered his aspirations, not of wealth, but happiness and family. She recalled he wanted to be able to help his parents. She hadn’t asked if he was married. She hadn’t even looked to see if he was wearing a wedding ring, but with all her soul, she hoped he was.
“Mrs. Rawlings,” Tony was addressing Claire. She turned to face him. He was uncomfortably close. “What is your name?”
Bewildered she just looked at him. He reached for her chin and held it so they were looking at one another. “Your name—what is your name?”
Annoyed and alarmed, she replied, “Tony, what are you doing?”
He didn’t loosen his grip. “I’m asking you a question—one that you seem unable to answer.”
Mystified by his behavior, she answered his question, “My name is Claire—Claire Rawlings.”
Slowly and deliberately he asked, “Explain to me, Mrs. Rawlings, 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.”
He still held her chin. “Tony, please let go of my face. You’re hurting me.”
As he released her chin, his hand slid behind her neck, tightly holding her head and pulling the hair hanging down her neck. 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 haven’t 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’s done and now it’s time to concentrate on the present.” Her neck hurt. He had her head positioned so their eyes made contact—his shone—black. Hers weren’t apologetic, but full of fury. She didn’t respond. He continued, “At present I believe you need to concentrate on showing me 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. When Claire tried to push away, Tony seized 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’ll 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