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.
Chapter Seven
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
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.
Chapter Eight
A strong positive mental attitude will create more miracles than any wonder drug.
—Patricia Neal
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.
Thr
ee days earlier she’d 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.”
Claire’s tranquility evaporated into the afternoon haze. “No, it looks like you caught me, and I promise to be back before 5:00 PM.”
“Ms. Claire, I just received a call from Mr. Rawlings. He has an engagement tonight in Davenport. It’s a fund-raiser for the Quad City Symphony at the Adler Theater.”
“So, he won’t be back tonight?” she asked, thinking that perhaps she could stay out in the woods later than 5:00 PM.
“No, miss, he’ll be back.”
“What?”
“He’ll be here at 6:00 PM to pick you up. You are to accompany him to the symphony.”
Claire stared at Catherine in disbelief. She’d just been permitted outdoors, and now she was going to Davenport to the symphony. Saying no, thank you, didn’t seem to be an option. Her mind swirled. “Catherine, I’ve never been to a symphony before. Can you please help me?” Claire prayed that this wasn’t another test about appropriate dress.
“Of course, I will, miss. Now, let’s go up to your room, and we’ll get started.”
They did. Catherine went directly into the closet and came out with a long black evening gown. It was simple, yet amazingly beautiful. Claire showered again. Catherine helped with her make-up and hair. They straightened, pinned, and curled her long chestnut locks until they were piled on her head with cascading curls dangling down her neck. There were even exquisite sparkling earrings for Claire to wear. Securing them in her pierced ears, she thought how long it had been since she’d worn jewelry and how nice they looked with her hair up.
Another accessory that surprised Claire was the handbag. She hadn’t gone anywhere or needed a handbag in months, but tonight Catherine had one for her. Anthony would be home and ready at 6:00 PM. Apparently the symphony began at 8:00 PM, with cocktails at 7:00 PM. Catherine explained that it took one hour to drive to Davenport, and Eric would chauffeur them in the limousine.
Before she dressed, still wearing her robe with her hair done and make-up perfect, Claire sat on the edge of the large marble tub, fighting the queasiness boiling within. Looking to Catherine, she asked, “What does Mr. Rawlings expect of me this evening? How should I act? If he has rules for being out, he hasn’t told me; and if you know, I would truly appreciate being informed.”
Catherine’s eyes shone with care and concern. Claire truly believed she wanted to help her, and she’d do anything to make this evening a success for both Claire and Mr. Rawlings. Sitting next to Claire, she gently took Claire’s hand in hers and said, “Ms. Claire, you are to look beautiful, and you do.” Her smile reassured Claire who nodded as Catherine spoke. “Mr. Rawlings is a very influential businessman. He’s a fervent believer in appearance. If things look right on the surface the underside is rarely questioned; however, things may be great in reality, but if one perceives them to be amiss, it is difficult to change that perception. Therefore, Ms. Claire, you are expected to be the perfect companion: beautiful, polite, contented, and appreciative.”
Claire thought to herself: well, perfect… okay, no pressure.
Catherine continued, “A man of Mr. Rawlings’s standing is constantly observed by others. Some watch to imitate, others to mar. That is why he requires his home to be a place of quietude. He must do so much for so many that he needs a place to repose and refuel. That is where you have been so good for him.”
Claire looked into Catherine’s eyes. She was sincere. Claire believed Catherine had Mr. Rawlings’s best interests at heart; however, she was sure Catherine didn’t understand the ways he expected to be helped.
Catherine continued, “But, above all, Mr. Rawlings requires confidentiality on the part of anyone who works for him or is near to him.” Claire pondered that thought. “Ms. Claire, you have had the rare opportunity to get to know Mr. Rawlings in a way most do not. The information you hold must not be shared with anyone. He has allowed you to see a more intimate side of himself. The Mr. Rawlings the world knows is much more guarded. He has placed a trust in you. You should know he does not fully trust many people. Do not ever discuss Mr. Rawlings or your relationship with anyone.” Catherine smiled and squeezed Claire’s hands. “I know you will be wonderful, Ms. Claire. Mr. Rawlings will be proud to have you on his arm.”
For a moment, Claire sat silently contemplating Catherine’s words: a rare opportunity? a trust? an intimate side of himself? She hadn’t asked for any of this. With all honesty, she considered the possibility of bolting from the symphony. Did Catherine expect her to feel honored? She mostly felt… well, conflicted.
Catherine insisted that Claire eat a light dinner before dressing. The beaded silk gown with the halter bodice fit like it was custom made for Claire. With the Ralph Lauren black high-heeled shoes the dress’ length was perfect. The beading made the material heavier than Claire had anticipated. Watching herself in the mirror, Claire turned ever so slightly and the skirt pitched that direction. It was the most stunning dress Claire had ever seen, much less worn. Next, Catherine assisted Claire with a lightweight black silk wrap and matching handbag. Inside the handbag she placed lipstick and powder.
Catherine reminded her, “There will be people everywhere. Remember appearances are everything. Ms. Claire, you are striking!” Catherine’s eyes shone in approval.
Claire looked at herself again in the mirror and felt like she was viewing someone else. Tentatively smiling at that person in the mirror, Claire agreed she looked beautiful.
At 5:50 PM they left the suite for the foyer. Instead of the usual route, Catherine took Claire the longer way, forcing them to descend the grand stairs. When they reached the top of the stairs Catherine coughed ever so slightly. She looked up at Claire, taller than her in her heels, and gave her one more reassuring smile. Catherine gestured for Claire to descend the staircase first.
Waiting by the front door, iPhone in hand—texting, stood Anthony. He emitted confidence and animal magnetism. His tuxedo, obviously tailored specifically for him, looked exquisite as it accented his broad shoulders. There wasn’t a piece of his dark hair out of place as it was gelled and combed to perfection. His face was smooth like he’d recently shaven. Claire couldn’t help but think that he looked incredibly handsome. Following the sound of Catherine’s cough, he glanced to the top of the stairs. Suddenly, the business that demanded his attention appeared to be forgotten. He watched as Claire gracefully descended the flight of steps. As his eyes beheld her every move, she wondered if she should smile. She wasn’t sure how he would react. His expression emanated favor. Claire wanted his approval. She told herself she didn’t need it. She was happy with the way she looked, but she knew she wanted it.
Once at the bottom of the stairs she proceeded to Anthony’s side. He didn’t speak at first, then not to Claire but to Catherine. “My dear Catherine, you have outdone yourself. You’re an artist.” He bowed to her at the waist.
“Mr. Rawlings, an artist is only as good as her canvas. You are accompanying a beautiful canvas.”
“Or…” he said. “…should we say, she is accompanying me.” Now to Claire, he commanded, “We must go, Eric is waiting.”
If Claire were concerned about conversation topics on the drive to Davenport, she needn’t have been. After assisting Claire into the back of the limousine, Anthony once again became engrossed in his iPhone and multitasked with his iPad. On days he worked from home, Claire was often expected to stay in his office in case her services were required. She overheard many business calls, web conferences, and webinars. Therefore, listening to him discuss some dealings on the phone on the way to the symphony seemed strangely comfortable.
Claire wanted to thank him, tell him how excited she was to leave the estate and see something—anything; however, his work preoccupied him throughout the ride. She was busy too: watc
hing out the tinted window, seeing different views and different things. Even the sensation of being in a car exhilarated her. She’d never ridden in a limousine. The interior was exquisite, and she could smell the soft leather seats that formed a horseshoe.
They approached Davenport as the sky filled with a mixture of pink and purple. It reminded her of vibrant paints swirled together. Soon the sky began to darken and the lights of the city illuminated the horizon. It was the most splendid combination of sky and skyline she’d ever seen.
Minutes before their arrival, Anthony ceased his business and turned to Claire. “Has Catherine prepared your behavior for the evening as well as she has your appearance?”
Claire thought to herself: somewhere in that statement is a compliment. I’m going to take it. “She’s given me her advice, but I’d feel better if I heard yours.”
“Very well, when we arrive there will probably be photographers. Don’t act surprised or shocked by the attention. Just flash a beautiful smile and radiate confidence. Stay next to me at all times. There will be reporters who’ll try to learn your identity. I have a publicist who’ll know the time to release any necessary information. That is not you. I will do most of the talking; however, common sense will need to be with you. If spoken to, you will respond, but do not share information that is privileged. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“I’ve been asked to attend this event because of a donation I made to the Quad City Symphony and the Support the Arts Foundation. Have you ever been to a symphony before?” Claire said that she had not. Anthony continued as the limousine snaked and crawled along narrow streets. Traffic was stop and go. Claire thought this meant they were getting closer. “The symphony is a delightful evening. I believe you’ll enjoy the music. This conductor is incredibly talented.”
The Consequences Series Box Set Page 9