Anthony told her that she would have bathing suits tomorrow. Apparently, he was a man of his word. That earned him one on the positive column. The negative column had more tallies than Claire could count.
Peeking out from under the white cover up was a wrapped gift. It was a small box wrapped in white paper with a gold foil ribbon. Claire usually liked gifts, but she didn’t feel good about this one. What did it mean? Was it because of how he had been or because of how he would be? She picked it up and decided she didn’t want to know. Sitting the gift on the corner of the bed, she wearily entered the bathroom to soak in the tub.
After the bath she chose the same soft robe she wore before. It felt warm. With some slippers, she would be comfortable until she retired. Combing out her wet hair, she chose to not put on make-up. It was only 5:30 PM but she was exhausted.
Anthony said he would look for her before he left. She expected to find him in her suite. If she opened the door and he wasn’t there, would she be disappointed? Only because she wanted him to leave, so seeing him one more time would be a means to that end. Upon opening the door, she wasn’t disappointed, and his presence didn’t startle her. He was seated at the table with the gift in his hand. “You haven’t opened your present.”
“I knew it was from you and thought you might want to see me open it,” she lied.
He set the gift on the table and walked toward her. Although his height dominated her small frame, she held her ground and looked up at him as their bodies touched. He pulled her close and held her there with his strong, solid arms. She knew her emerald eyes appeared weary as he examined her face. His soft brown eyes gleamed while his musky fragrance overwhelmed her senses. She wasn’t afraid, only tired. Silently she prayed, Dear God, if he wants me to do something, I hope it’s over soon.
In one swift yet gentle motion he lifted her and carried her to the bed. Although he had a trip to take, he didn’t seem rushed. Instead, he laid her on the bed and leisurely untied her robe. Claire remained still as he stood and looked at her body—completely nude—pink from the warm bath—and smelling of bath beads. Neither one spoke. There were no instructions, no insults, and no rules. Attempting to conceal his burning carnal desire, Anthony’s fingers moved slowly as his light touch traced over her breasts, down her stomach, and over her hips.
The heat intensified as his touch turned to caresses. She didn’t want to respond. Wanting to remain unfazed by his actions, she reminded herself, this is the man that hurt me; however, when his lips contacted her soft skin, beginning at her neck, nuzzling her collar, and suckling the flesh of her breasts—her body stirred deep inside. Fighting the sensations, she remained stoic until his tongue tenderly teased her nipples and his fingers explored new depths. Unconsciously, she pushed away the absurdity of the situation, as well as the abrasiveness of his five o’clock shadow. Her nipples hardened while her back arched, pushing her breasts upward.
The open drapes filled the room with natural light. As his mouth tantalized her skin, she sat forward allowing him to gently remove her robe. It was then—Anthony gasped.
Claire froze—unsure why he made such a sound, and turned to see his face. His features were softer and more concerned than she’d ever witnessed. He didn’t say a word but tenderly caressed her neck and back. His actions were sensual, careful, and tender.
Slowly, he joined her on the bed, and only after ensuring that she was moist and ready did he enter her body. He’d been there before, but this was different. The only sounds from his mouth were incomprehensible noises that made their meaning clear. Soon, she responded in the same language. This time he wasn’t the only one to experience fulfillment—Claire did too.
After they were both satisfied, she rested on the satin sheets while he walked to the table, completely nude. From her vantage point she saw his muscles defined from exertion, and firm skin glistening with perspiration, as he picked up the gift and turned back toward her. Lifting her head from the pillow, her long damp brown hair cascaded in waves around her face. Anthony handed Claire the gift and watched as she removed the wrapping from the black velvet box. Inside was a Swarovski wristwatch. She smiled.
“It’s meant as a way to avoid glitches in the future,” he said softly.
“Thank you. I would really like to avoid those.”
She handed him the box and lowered her head to the pillow. Completely drained of energy, she closed her eyes and felt the soft warmth as Anthony lifted the covers over her body. She could still smell his musky scent as she drifted into unconsciousness. She didn’t wake until Monday morning.
In that time between sleep and wakefulness, Claire wondered if yesterday evening had been real. How could it be real if Saturday was too? Could Anthony Rawlings really be two such different men? As the fog began to clear she realized that whoever he was—he was gone for the next two and a half days. This comprehension gave her a renewed vitality. She didn’t know what she would do with her sixty-five hours of freedom, but she knew she would find something.
Her breakfast sat on the table when she exited the bathroom and the drapes were opened. The sky radiated a very light shade of blue, and there seemed to be clouds forming in the distance. It was spring in Iowa. The weather could be unpredictable. After breakfast she decided to try the indoor pool. She swam laps for forty minutes and rested in the hot tub. It felt wonderful to push her muscles beyond their limit. Other than her duties, she’d done nothing to exercise in almost three weeks. Surprisingly, the lack of physical activity didn’t seem to cause weight gain. She didn’t have a scale, but she could tell in the mirror and with her new clothes. If anything she’d lost weight. She lay back and closed her eyes amid the hum and bubbling of the tub and realized it was her diet. In three weeks she hadn’t had any alcohol—not even a glass of wine. She also hadn’t consumed one ounce of dessert—not a cookie, brownie, or even a piece of dark chocolate. Now that the realization hit her, Claire craved chocolate.
The sixty-five hours passed without event. She thoroughly investigated the house. It was luxurious, vast, and held many amenities; however, the more she explored, the more she realized, it was still a prison. She couldn’t leave. She couldn’t go outside. It may be bigger and grander than her suite, but it still had walls.
Claire made an effort to get to know the names of the staff. The young lady who brought food was Cindy. The young man who speaks little English was Carlos. Anthony’s driver was Eric. There were others that cleaned, cooked, did laundry, and tended the grounds, but Claire rarely saw them, so she didn’t have the chance to learn their names, yet whenever she passed one or encountered them in a hallway, they would nod and acknowledge her, “Ms. Claire.”
On Wednesday, before Anthony was scheduled to return, Claire watched from the sun porch as nimbostratus clouds formed in the west. A month earlier this weather phenomenon would have thrilled her. Watching storms form, either in person, or on the radar screen, had always filled her with excitement. As the dark clouds approached, she began to hear the distant rumbling of thunder and felt the distinct drop in pressure. Claire knew that Iowa, like Indiana, had its share of tornadoes. Despite the drop in pressure, her instincts told her this was going to be just a good old-fashioned spring thunderstorm, the kind that’s loud and boisterous, but usually blows over with little damage. Momentarily, she became mesmerized as she watched and listened. In the past, she’d been too busy to just watch and listen to the weather. Now, with the time, she just stood.
Catherine finally broke the spell. “Ms. Claire, please come in. We need to shut the windows. You’ll get wet.”
Claire came in and went to her suite. The howling of the wind electrified her emotions. She knew Anthony would return today. She hated him with every bit of her being. She detested his patronizing demeanor, his callous attitude, and above all his abusive mentality, and she hated being alone. She liked Catherine very much, but she treated Claire like a guest or a superior. Claire longed for someone to talk to, to laugh with, and to just be near. With
all her heart and soul, she didn’t want that person to be Anthony Rawlings. Therefore, when 5:00 PM arrived and Claire waited for word of his arrival, she should have been pleased with Catherine’s report, “Mr. Rawlings is delayed due to the storm fronts. The pilot won’t fly west of Chicago, due to high cloud banks. He’ll be home tomorrow evening and plans to dine with you at that time. You’ll know more tomorrow.”
Claire thanked Catherine for the information, ate her dinner, read a little, and went to bed.
After Anthony returned, the schedule he discussed went into full gear. She was in her suite at 5:00 PM each evening to learn his plans. Things were very busy with his work and many nights he didn’t visit at all. Sometimes they ate in her suite and sometimes in the dining room. Sometimes he called upon her for her duties, other times he said he had work to do. The days turned to weeks and the weeks to another month.
The positive aspect was that there’d been no more glitches. That didn’t mean that Claire experienced anything like the afternoon in her suite. On the contrary, each task to fulfill her contractual agreement was about him. Nonetheless, she felt content to avoid the explosive unpredictable glitches.
At some point during the beginning of May after Anthony was finished with Claire, he chose to stay in her bed. She realized this after she fell asleep and woke in the middle of the night to the sound of his breathing—steady and rhythmic. The consciousness of his presence frightened her. Did he have additional plans? Should she be doing something? She was too afraid to wake him and ask. Instead, she quietly, slowly moved to the edge of her side of the bed and fell back to sleep. When she awoke in the morning, he was gone.
On May 12, a Sunday, Catherine informed Claire that she and Mr. Rawlings would be eating on the back patio. The temperature had steadily increased and the backyard was vibrant with color—intense shades of greens, ruby reds from the red bud trees, and pure white from the dogwood trees. Anthony employed groundskeepers that had been busily planting thousands of annual flowers in the gardens, beautiful clay pots, and flowing hanging baskets. The pool was recently opened with ever-flowing fountains which at night produced a colorful light show that changed the water from clear—to pink—to blue—to green—to red—and back to clear.
Claire remembered the day, because as they sat to eat Anthony asked, “Have you been swimming in the outdoor pool yet? It’s heated.”
After so much time of following his rules and being incarcerated inside, her bravado failed; she started to cry. Her reaction obviously surprised him. Through muffled tears Claire replied, “This is the first time I’ve been outside in two months. I didn’t think I was allowed to go outside.”
If he had been initially moved at her emotional response, he quickly recovered. “Yes, that’s correct. I know exactly how long it’s been since you have been outside.” His voice resumed the authoritative tone she despised. “And I’m happy to hear you still remember who’s in control of your access to additional privileges.”
Claire nodded her head ever so slightly, she understood. Anthony cleared his throat. She looked into his eyes trying to blink the tears from hers. “Yes, I understand, but, I truly love being outside.”
“Surely you are smart enough to figure this out,” Anthony teased.
Confused and upset by the loss of her falsely perceived equality, Claire said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Claire, I’m an important man. I have hundreds of thousands of people in hundreds of companies who depend upon me for their livelihood. I balance a lot on my plate. Being observant to your wants and whims is not on my list of priorities. If you want to go outside—ask.”
The simplicity startled her, and the reality nauseated her. She was an adult, and she was asking permission to go outside. Her memory seemed foggy, but she couldn’t recall doing that since she was maybe ten or eleven. It was one of his tests. Would she surrender to his authority or would she refuse and spend the summer inside? If she surrendered was it really submission or was it her way of manipulating the situation? The internal debate continued for a short time.
“Anthony, may I please leave the house and go outside?”
“You may be outside; however, you may not leave the property without me or my permission.” His tone continued; nonetheless, Claire’s only concern was his meaning. He continued, “Remember to be available to me whenever I’m here. Therefore, no wandering the grounds if I’m present, and you must be in your suite by 5:00 PM each evening for instructions. Can you follow these rules?”
“Oh, yes, I can!”
It may still be a prison, but it had just multiplied in size.
Greed, for lack of a better word is good Greed in all its forms for life, for money, for love, for knowledge has marked the upward surge of mankind.
—Gordon Gekko, Wallstreet
Chapter Seven
‡
The cloud of smoke levitating near the suspended ceiling created a haze, making the florescent lights appear dim within the small office. Nathaniel clenched his teeth while analyzing the figures. Since taking the company public, the numbers showed profits. The stock continued to grow, and industry reports were favorable. Rawls Corporation was in the black, and considering the current economic climate of the 1970’s, that was good. The problem was Nathaniel Rawls didn’t want good. He wasn’t content with black. He wanted more—a lot more. The sound of the furnace blowing warm air created a hypnotizing hum. He leaned back, took a long draw on his cigarette, and rubbed his temples. How could he make the figures in the profit column multiply? Hell, others were doing it. He wanted to too.
Punching the black button on the small box, he bellowed, “Connie, get Samuel in here, now.”
The crackling voice responded immediately, “Yes, sir, Mr. Rawls.”
*
Samuel entered the small paneled office inhaling the suspended cloud. The sight of his father hunched over the books and spreadsheets meant only one thing: he was in for the—We can do better—speech. “Yes, Father, did you want to see me?”
“Have you seen the latest figures?”
“Yes, sales to major distributors are up eighteen percent.”
“That’s chicken feed! Textiles can’t make shit in the United States. We have to revisit the idea of moving operations out of country. In Mexico we can produce the same merchandise for less than a quarter of what it costs here. Hell, the unions here in Jersey are costing us a fortune.”
Samuel learned long ago to pacify his father, let him blow off some steam and things would settle. “We’ve looked into that. The problem is that we would lay off hundreds of workers who’ve been loyal through the years. Besides, as I said, we are in the black.”
Nathaniel blew a cloud of smoke toward his son. “I’ve decided to hire Jared Clawson as CFO, chief financial officer. The man has some innovative ideas.”
“Didn’t he just leave New England Energy amid allegations of illegal activities?”
“Nothing was proven. Besides, I’ve seen the figures. When Clawson was assisting with finance at NE Energy, their profits were through the roof. Since his departure, they’re doing well to keep the grids going.” Samuel remained silent. “The man is a damn genius. We’ve met a few times. He believes Rawls has potential, and he has some great ideas.”
Samuel knew his opinion didn’t matter. If Nathaniel’s mind was made up, Jared Clawson was coming on board. The only thing he could do was watch, and do his best to stop anything illegal before it began. “The contracts with Huntington House are in their final stages. They have plans for a new clothing line. The potential for revenue is huge. They have distributors all up and down the East Coast.”
“Damn chicken feed,” Nathaniel grumbled.
A strong positive mental attitude will create more miracles than any wonder drug.
—Patricia Neal
Chapter Eight
‡
Survival for the last two months was facilitated by a technique Claire called compartmentalization. She couldn’
t bear the entirety of her situation, but she could handle a part at a time. The colossal lapse in judgment that brought her to this circumstance; the treatment, punishment, or consequence that he felt he had the right or ability to carry out—the duties he could tell her to do, and the fact that she obeyed—were all too much. She had to separate them and deal with them in small manageable bits. Some days that was possible—other days it was more difficult.
Her morning workouts now included swimming and weight training. Exercise supposedly produced endorphins and endorphins helped elevate mood. That seemed like a good idea.
Before she was allowed outside, Claire spent many afternoons with a blanket and a good movie. The lower level of the house contained a movie theater. With Anthony’s busy schedule, she wondered if he ever used the theater. It held hundreds—if not thousands—of digital movies. Claire loved the classics, especially musicals. They were a magnificent escape from reality. She could lose an entire afternoon curled up in a large soft recliner watching happy people sing and dance.
It was near the end of May, and Claire had taken advantage of her outdoor liberty every chance she could by lounging at the pool, walking in the gardens, or reading books in the yard. Now, she wanted to explore. The woods held the possibility of both plant and animal life. It had been a few years since she studied Earth science, but she believed it would come back. Anthony said his house had been on this land for fourteen or fifteen years. Claire believed no one had been back in the woods for years. The potential for real undisturbed wildlife excited her. Not that there would be bears or lions, but deer, rabbits, birds, and rodents. In her current situation, self-preservation encouraged her to find happiness wherever possible.
Three days earlier she asked Anthony for hiking boots. Now she was tying them and preparing for her new adventure. Inhaling the sweet smells of nature, Claire contemplated her path as Catherine came rushing toward her. “Ms. Claire, I’m so glad I didn’t miss you.”
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 8