Their dinner reservations were for Sixteen, a fine restaurant on the sixteenth floor of the Trump Tower. Their table had 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 would like to do some shopping. After all, wasn’t it Tony that 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. 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 shows she saw 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 was lost in the performance: the acting, the dancing, and the 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 that 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 nine in the morning. 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 that 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 could feel 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 room was dark: making it difficult for Claire to judge time. The clock read 7:10. 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 decided 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 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, don’t be late.
I plan to be back to the apartment by 6:00 p.m.
You mentioned shopping last night at dinner,
I have left you your credit card and ID. There is
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 $1,000 in different denominations.
Claire thought it was unnecessary that Tony kept her ID and credit card. It isn’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 Post-It note on one of the bills:
$100 per stylist that assists you