Truth

by Aleatha Romig

  Before Claire could give food much thought, a young man explained, “In about twenty minutes you’ll need to step to those doors. At that time you’ll be announced as you enter the gala. Do you have any questions?”

  Claire said she did not. Once again she was standing alone in a sea of people. Gathering her inner socialness, Claire scanned the room. As she looked from couple to couple, a nice older man and woman approached, “Hello, Ms. Nichols?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Jonas Cunningham. This is my wife, Hilary.”

  Claire extended her hand. Mr. Cunningham continued, “We’re from Shedis-tics. I believe we’ll be sharing a table.”

  Claire filled with immediate relief. It was so nice to talk to someone whom she would be seeing throughout the night. “Yes, I believe we are. It is nice to meet you.”

  The three spoke for a few minutes when another woman with an earpiece politely interrupted. “Excuse me, Ms. Nichols?”

  Claire responded, “Yes, I’m Ms. Nichols.”

  “If you would please follow me, your presence is requested in another room.”

  Claire nodded to the Cunninghams and followed the woman leading her away from the doors she’d been told to exit. When they were on the fringe of the reception room, Claire asked, “Excuse me, everyone else is going another direction. What did you mean, my presence is requested?”

  The young woman answered, “If you’ll follow me, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

  The voice Claire heard earlier, the one warning her about the coincidence of SiJo’s recent problems, began speaking with an alarming tone.

  *****

  After almost thirty minutes in the waiting room, Sophia wasn’t sure what else to call it, she and Derek were escorted to the main ballroom. The large double doors opened to a great beautiful vista. The outside was suddenly in, highlighted by a flowing fountain under a glass atrium ceiling. It reminded Sophia of fountains in Italy, complete with glittering sculptures, a continual shower, and an enormous pool.

  Everywhere she looked Sophia saw finely dressed people in tuxedos and gowns moving gracefully from place to place. The hum of polite chatter and soft music filtered through the air as their names were announced: Mr. and Mrs. Derek Burke of Shedis-tics Incorporated. Holding tight to her husband’s elbow, they made their way to the floor. Immediately, a gentleman approached and introduced himself and his wife.

  “Derek, this is my wife Hilary.”

  Derek shook her hand and introduced Sophia. “I’m pleased to meet you, Hilary. This is my wife Sophia. Sophia, this is my boss Roger Cunningham and his wife Hilary.”

  As the men began to discuss the economy and expectations for the future, Hilary Cunningham pulled Sophia under her wing. Her motherly voice offered more advice than Sophia wanted, “My dear, you look beautiful. I’m so glad to meet you. Roger speaks very highly of Derek. They’re all so happy he agreed to come to Shedis-tics. How do you like Santa Clara? How do you like San Francisco? How about the beach, do you like the beach? Have you two had a chance to drive into the mountains? They are simply beautiful this time of year...”

  Although she was trying with all her might, Sophia couldn’t keep up with Hilary’s questions. It was as if the woman never paused to breathe. How was Sophia expected to answer?

  Finally Mrs. Cunningham moved them away from their husbands. “Let me introduce you to some of the other wives. Listening to the men talk shop all night can get a little tiresome.”

  Sophia looked to Derek who appeared completely engrossed in Mr. Cunningham’s words. Unwittingly, Sophia allowed herself to be directed around the room. Hilary knew many of the people. After introductions and polite chats they would move away and Hilary would whisper sordid tidbits of information about their private lives. Sophia wondered how she possibly knew so much information.

  Making their way back toward their husbands, Hilary whispered, “I’m surprised Mr. Rawlings isn’t here yet. I don’t think I’ve ever made it to a function before him. He has a real thing for punctuality, or so Roger says.”

  “Do you know him?” Sophia asked, suddenly interested in some of Mrs. Cunningham’s gossip.

  “Not really. We’ve been introduced a few times. He doesn’t usually make it to our area. I think Shedis-tics is pretty small on his food chain. That’s why Roger is so excited he’ll be here tonight.”

  “Is he married?” Sophia asked.

  Hilary’s expression was both surprised and amused. “Oh come on, surely you know his story.”

  Embarrassed by her lack of knowledge Sophia apologized, “I’m sorry, I really don’t follow things like that. Why, should I?”

  At that moment a waitress passed by with a tray filled with glasses of champagne. Hilary reached for two glasses, handed one to Sophia and said, “Well, let me fill you in!”

  *****

  With increased concern and anxiety, Claire followed the woman away from the crowds to an elevator. When the doors opened and the woman entered, Claire decided she’d followed long enough.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to get into this elevator without knowing where I’m going.”

  It was at that moment she heard determined footsteps approaching from the direction they’d just traveled. Claire turned toward the source and saw a face from her past. The man approached at a steady pace dressed in a very nice suit.

  Claire’s mind wheeled with memories. This man had never shown her anything but kindness, except perhaps at their last meeting. Had he purposely left the key cabinet to the cars at Tony’s estate open? Was he part of Tony’s plan? Did his actions lead to her eventual incarceration? Although these questions and many more formed in her head, her lips pressed together in a straight line. This wasn’t the time or place to speak her distress. The only outward signs were the sparks blazing from her eyes toward Tony’s driver.

  “Ms. Claire, Mr. Rawlings is upstairs and would like to see you.”

  “Eric.” She managed through clenched jaws.

  “Yes, now, if you’ll please enter the elevator I’ll gladly escort you to him.” He looked at the woman from the gala, “Thank you, I’ll take Ms. Nichols from here.”

  The woman didn’t bother to look back toward Claire for confirmation. She nodded and walked away toward the gala.

  While hushed, Claire’s voice sounded strong and resilient, “Eric, please tell Mr. Rawlings I no longer make command performances. If he wants to see me, he can come to me.”

  Seizing her elbow, Eric directed her toward the still open elevator. His voice was low, yet determined, “Ms. Claire, there are many people about. Perhaps this time you could make an exception?”

  Surprised by his assertiveness and stunned by his touch, her feet moved obediently into the elevator. When the doors closed, she pulled her elbow free from his grasp and felt the floor move upward.

  This wasn’t an elevator used by guests, but an industrial lift, presumably used by the staff of the St. Regis. The stainless steel walls marred with fingerprints and floor covered by a large black mat resembled the service elevator at Claire’s condominium.

  As the doors opened, Eric gallantly turned and asked, “Ms. Nichols, may I assist you?”

  She wondered if that meant: Do you want me to forcibly remove you from this elevator?

  Her stoic expression remained while her words were clipped, “Thank you, I believe I’m capable of walking on my own.” She wasn’t happy with this man. Yet, she knew Eric was only doing what everyone did around Anthony Rawlings, following orders. Exiting the elevator, they stepped into a brightly lit, empty hallway. The sound of her heels upon the concrete floor echoed through the passage. “I’ll follow you, as you seem to know where we’re going.”

  Eric nodded, “Yes, ma’am, this way please.”

  What choice did she have? The elevator was now closed. The sensor near the doors indicated a key was required to regain entry. The hallway had few options for escape. The few doors they passed held name plates indicating the content
s beyond: heating/AC, cleaning supplies, and personal supplies. The destination at the end of the passage was not labeled. Eric opened the door and held it for Claire to pass. She did, each step becoming more difficult to endure. More than anything, she wanted to call Harry, but he was busy with problems at SiJo. She squared her shoulders and entered an elegant posh foyer. Claire knew who she’d find at the end of this journey. Before her were two options, an elevator and a set of double doors. This elevator was adorned with golden mirrored doors.

  Eric placed a card below an electronic reader near the double doors, and she heard tumblers shift. Anthony Rawlings’ driver and right hand man opened one of the grand doors. Claire obediently entered the threshold of the luxurious penthouse atop the San Francisco St. Regis Hotel. Although every fiber within her body told her to run for the gold elevator, Claire’s Jimmy Choo four and a half inch heels moved forward. She heard the click of each step as she followed Eric through the foyer, complete with a winding staircase, toward a beautiful sitting area. Beyond the elaborately furnished room, with multiple sofas, tables and entries to other rooms were windows covering the wall from the polished floor to the ceiling, at least fifteen feet above.

  Claire saw the back of his head, hair gelled perfectly in place and his customary Armani tuxedo slacks and perfectly pressed white silk shirt. She couldn’t remember how many he owned. She knew it was many. Tony’s large form appeared dwarfed against the height of the glass pane. Beyond him the sky filled with color, creating a magnificent vista as an amazing sunset glistened in the western sky, with the Golden Gate Bridge in the foreground.

  The anger growing within her chest stilled as she heard his voice. Uncharacteristic anger emanated. He was yelling at some poor soul on the phone he held tightly in his right hand. With his left hand he twisted a cord. It was the tie holding back the drapes at the edge of the amazing view.

  “She’s not to be there. He is to remain.” “No, that isn’t acceptable.” “This has been the plan forever. If you aren’t capable, I will find someone who is.” He turned, hearing Eric and Claire enter. His eyes smoldered. Despite the dark blackness of his irises, fire flashed from a deep untouchable abyss. Claire searched his expression for a sign of assurance, finding none; she shivered knowing the depths of this man’s temper.

  The words of protest she’d been silently practicing since entering the elevator, faded into Tony’s cloud of rage. With all her soul, Claire prayed she wasn’t the one meant to disappear or the reason for his fury.

  “Twenty minutes. I’ll be waiting.” He disconnected his phone and slid it into the pocket of his Armani slacks. “Thank you, Eric. Ms. Claire will remain with me. Please take care of our other issue. I’m late for the benefit and that’s very upsetting to me.”

  “Yes, Mr. Rawlings. Twenty minutes?”

  “Not a second more.”

  Eric nodded as he backed toward the door, “Yes, Sir.” Before Claire could blink Eric disappeared down the hall, and she heard the grand double doors close.

  Claire gripped her purse and nervously ran her fingers over the silk of the wrap, now lying over her arm. Eric was a source of uneasiness, yet his departure was more unnerving. She stood anxiously before her ex-husband. Straightening her neck, she tried for a formidable yet respectful voice. “Tony, please explain to...”

  He didn’t allow her to finish her sentence. Instantly, his chest touched hers, and her chin rose with the direction of his forceful grasp. His warm breath hit her face as his harsh words flowed, “I have no intention of being at a social gathering or anywhere else with you and another man. You’re a fool to consider such a thing.”

  The bile bubbling from her stomach caused her knees to tremble, yet her voice remained resilient. “I agreed to attend this gala, weeks ago. I didn’t learn of your attendance until this evening.”

  His grip increased as he held her emerald eyes toward his pits of darkness, “Then your informant is as incompetent as the firewall at SiJo.”

  Though her stance remained still, her eyes ignited, “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. As long as your friends don’t have an overwhelming sense of conscious requiring them to inform the public of their near breach, no harm will come.”

  Claire remained motionless. Her well trained protocol wouldn’t allow her to pull away from his hold. Nevertheless, her eyes screamed at his manipulation. “Why?”

  As his hand released her face, Claire flexed her neck and shoulders. Taking a step back, Claire assessed the man before her. He was still very agitated. However, she needed to know, “Why did you do this?”

  “I told you Claire. I know your weakness. It’s your concern for others. God only knows why, but for some reason Amber McCoy has been kind to you. Her company will not be harmed,” He paused and walked to the window. The sky of orange and red was now darkening. The land beyond the bridge was speckled with lights as the bridge glowed with artificial illumination. Turning on his heels Tony’s gaze devoured her, as his commanding voice filled the tall room, “IF you follow my rules.”

  Claire’s heart sunk. Her knees wobbled, and her stomach twisted. This was her nightmare, her greatest fear. She’d convinced herself she was able to maintain the upper hand. Her inner voice tried to warn her, but Claire hadn’t listened. Now it was too late. Suddenly his expression changed.

  “Are you not feeling well? You’re pale.” Was there concern in the voice that only seconds ago was harsh and authoritative?

  “I need to sit down.”

  Tony wrapped his arm around Claire’s waist and directed her toward a soft leather love seat. Her knees buckled and a sudden wave of perspiration covered her skin as she settled against the cool plush hide. Claire lowered her head to her knees and tried to inhale. She saw Tony’s shiny loafers move away and return. Then his voice reassuringly offered assistance, “Here’s some water, drink.”

  Claire shook her head against the green material of her Donna Karen gown. The feeling of queasiness wouldn’t fade. She feared if she drank the water she’d be ill.

  “Dinner will be starting downstairs in about an hour. Have you eaten recently?”

  Feeling the chill that comes after the rush of heat, Claire looked up into the softening eyes. “No, I haven’t.” Her voice quivered, revealing the trembling within her body. She wasn’t sure if the cause of her trembling was the recent onset of nausea or Tony. “I don’t want to go down there with you.” She sat straighter, trying desperately for strength. “I’m here for SiJo, for Amber and Simon.”

  Tony’s gaze lingered. He could see her still to pale complexion. Nonetheless, his voice hardened as his posture straightened. “Then you will do as I say.”

  Her resolve was spent. She once again lowered her head to her lap and asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  Entrepreneurs are simply those who understand

  that there is little difference between obstacle and opportunity

  and are able to turn both to their advantage.

  - Niccolo Machiavelli

  Chapter 34

  Sophia listened as Hilary Cunningham described Anthony Rawlings’ marriage to Claire Nichols. Hilary’s excitement built as she spoke about both of them being present at this function. Sophia didn’t need to feign interest; this was better than a TV show. She couldn’t believe this kind of intrigue existed in real life. She anxiously awaited Claire Nichols’ presence at their table. According to Mrs. Cunningham, Ms. Nichols was a surprisingly attractive and friendly woman.

  Occupied with sipping her champagne, tuning out the crowd, and listening to Hilary’s words, Sophia almost missed the vibrating sensation coming from her handbag. Excusing herself from the conversation, Sophia looked at her phone and read the screen: Mr. George 3 missed calls. Walking tentatively from the ballroom into the quiet hall, she returned his call. He answered on the first ring.

  “Mrs. Burke, I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “I’m rather busy this evening, Mr. George. What can I do for you?”r />
  “The mystery buyer, he wants to meet with both of us... tonight.”

  Sophia collapsed against the wall, allowing her shoulders the relief of a sturdy anchor. “Tonight? I’m with my husband at a very important event. I can’t leave.”

  Mr. George continued undeterred, “He’s at the Saint Regis Hotel in San Francisco and wants both of us there in fifteen minutes. Maybe I can pacify him until you arrive.”

  Sophia looked toward a group of waiters with wheeled carts and stacks of covered plates. “Mr. George, I’m at the Saint Regis. Where are we supposed to meet?”

  “Consigner’s desk, before 8 PM.”

  She looked at her delicate watch, 7:46 PM, and asked, “Will you be here in time?”

  “Yes, I’m in a cab as we speak. I’ve been trying to reach you for over a half an hour.”

  “I’ll be there.” Sophia disconnected her call and gathered her nerve. She needed to explain to Derek; she’d only be gone from the festivities for a very short time. Seriously, what luck the buyer wanted to meet at this hotel?

  *****

  Though the large hand which held hers radiated warmth, the unyielding grip was not intended to be misconstrued as comfort. It was undeniably a warning. Tony made it clear; Claire would again follow his rules. Magnanimous as ever, he kindly reminded her of the most important ones: do as I say, public failure is not an option, and be the perfect companion.

  Tonight’s duties required obeying all three. In order to assure SiJo Gaming’s complete recovery from its current troubles, Claire must attend the National Center for Learning Disabilities Gala as Anthony Rawlings’ companion. The silk wrap covering her shoulders failed to keep the trembling at bay. Claire stared at their perfect reflections upon the mirrored door of the private golden Penthouse elevator. With each floor of their descent, her mind reeled with this new reality.