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.
Chapter Forty-Three
Any idiot can face a crisis. It is day to day living that wears you out.
—Anton Chekhov
The silence within the limousine intensified with each mile, as Tony and Claire rode from Bettendorf toward home. The silent auction unofficially raised over a half of a million dollars net. The cost of the event had been less than ten thousand dollars due to Claire’s clever procurement of donated services and goods. The noiselessness of the ride was a stark contrast to the convention center.
Before they left the conference hall, Courtney spoke ecstatically about Claire’s ability. “This turned out so well! I just can’t believe the final figures. Honey, together we are going to raise money for every organization west of the Mississippi.”
Although she felt uneasy regarding her future philanthropic activities, Claire hugged her friend and wore her smile. “Oh, goodness, we’ll have to see.”
“Well, enjoy this success for a little while, because I have plans!” Courtney’s enthusiasm was contagious. Claire smiled and nodded her head.
Mrs. Rawlings’ more recent hostess duties aided her efforts. She shrewdly mentioned the auction, both for donations and possible attendance, whenever possible. She found it interesting how Tony’s business associates were willing to participate in one or both when personally approached. The fact that they were in her home, eating her food, and receiving her attention didn’t hinder her efforts. The current president of the Red Cross of the Greater Quad Cities thanked Mrs. Rawlings and Mrs. Simmons profusely.
Many of Tony’s associates, from out of town, attended the event. Claire hadn’t realized when she invited them that this had an additional impact on the Quad Cities. These important people needed places to stay and food to eat while in Bettendorf. According to Courtney, the media estimated their event reaped over a quarter of a million dollars windfall to the Quad Cities. Claire hadn’t seen the coverage. She didn’t like television, and any other form of communication was still forbidden.
As a matter of fact, since the Chicago Symposium, Claire had lost many of her newfound freedoms. She still saw e-mails, but only after responses had been sent. No longer a freedom, they were merely a blatant illustration of what was now prohibited.
During the final preparations of the auction, it was undeniable that Claire and Courtney needed to communicate and see each other; however, contact and endeavors with others had dramatically decreased. Tony decided Claire needed time to decide what was really important to her.
The night in Chicago was reminiscent of her first encounters at the estate. Tony was excessively domineering, controlling, and demanding. Even the sadistic, cruel sexual tendencies, from before her accident, reappeared. Once back at the apartment, Claire tried to reason with him. “Please think about what you’re doing.” It was as if his black eyes couldn’
t register her voice. She pleaded, “Tony, remember your promise. I’m your wife. Think about what you’re asking me to do.”
Unaffected, his demands continued, “You are my wife; however, I’m not asking.”
When she awoke the next morning, feeling the too familiar aches from a year before, she dreaded his presence. Lying silently, she listened for his breathing. Relieved, she heard the sound of his shower in the adjoining room. Slowly, she sat up and thought about her options. Up until seeing Simon, things were progressing well. Even in Italy when she broke his rule, he responded with kindness, not cruelty, yet on this morning as she listened to the running water, Claire debated leaving him, the apartment—everything.
She didn’t know how. Where could she possibly go where he couldn’t find her? She fell back against the soft pillows and allowed herself a few tears. Momentarily, she had difficulty filling her lungs with a sufficient amount of air and remembered her nightmares. This wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. It was her reality. Although she didn’t want to see or talk to him, she recognized the helplessness surging through her veins. Her only way forward was through the man in the next room. Slowly, she eased back the blankets, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the mirror. The steely determination propelling her feet didn’t come from courage, more from a sense of powerless necessity. The reflection before her had been worse. It’d been much worse. Yet seeing the red and blue markings made her stomach twist. She reached for her robe and covered the evidence.
Minutes later, Tony stepped into their bedroom. The man before her seemed completely ignorant of the previous night’s events. He casually kissed her cheek and said, “The shower’s all yours.” She just stared. Who is he? He grinned, “I would have stayed longer, if I’d known you were awake.”
Later that morning, he helped her prepare to leave Chicago and kindly discussed daily pleasantries.
The incident forced Claire to recognize that she’d deluded herself into believing the other Tony was gone. He wasn’t gone. In fact, he was incredibly close to the surface. That morning she had no idea with whom she was flying or even with whom she shared a home. Every night, she’d wait as her stomach twisted into knots, wondering who would walk through the doorway.
Claire expected the recent events to increase the frequency of her nightmares. Surprisingly they diminished. Her theory: her consciousness now shared the stress that only her unconscious had endured.
After the repercussions and some passage of time, she tried to talk to Tony about Simon. He didn’t care or want to hear her perspective. His only notion remained: at a public event she left his side, her husband, to spend time with her ex-lover. To Claire that was a ludicrous observation. Her interpretation went more like: at a public event, to allow Tony the ability to be accessed by fans, she escorted Simon aside and discussed issues with him for a sliver of time. The dissimilar interpretations didn’t have common ground presently or in their future. The subject was closed.
As they rode home from Bettendorf, Claire wondered what Tony thought of the silent auction and what consequences she’d now endure that her presence wasn’t required in a public venue. It wasn’t until they were almost home that Tony finally spoke, taking her from her thoughts. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“The auction was a complete success.”
“Thank you. I’m pleased. Courtney’s happy. I wanted to make you happy, too.”
“And now you don’t?”
“No. I do.” She was sincere.
“I’ve told you before. You continually surprise and amaze me with your abilities.” And, as an afterthought, he added, “Some more than others.”
Claire didn’t react, that was what he wanted. Instead, she sat dejectedly and thought about the date, October 8. Her thoughts went many different directions. She thought about the auction, someone bid seventy thousand dollars for the two-day use of Tony’s plane and pilot. It was a great donation; he’d thought of it. Other donations like stays in resorts, entertainment packages, NBA, and NFL tickets helped in surpassing their goal.
She also remembered they were supposed to be in Malibu the following weekend for Eli and MaryAnn’s party. She’d been looking forward to it since they received the invitation. The Simmons and the Millers were all going. The film was a thriller. Claire knew of the actors, but she mostly looked forward to seeing their home.
Another thought was her family. John’s deadline was less than a month away. She hadn’t spoken to Emily since before Simon. So many other freedoms had disappeared. The idea of talking to her sister seemed preposterous. Claire didn’t have the resolve or strength to follow through on such a request.
Selfishly, she thought about her upcoming twenty-eighth birthday and contemplated the truth of her life. She rode in her limousine, to her estate, with her wealthy, handsome husband. Amused, she decided that was the Vanity Fair version. For the unabridged version: she was secluded in Tony’s limousine, she would prefer to drive her own car, to his house—her prison on multiple occasions, with her husband who was handsome and cruel, sadistic, manipulative, and controlling. Even Tony’s success as a businessman had lost its luster since talking to Simon. Tony ruined lives, futures, and dispensed consequences to make money. Simon had fun and made games. People spent less than two dollars for one of his games, but with enough people, that added up. The reality saddened her. She didn’t know for sure, but predicted there were forty-six people in Pennsylvania without jobs.
Her life wasn’t worse than that of many others. On the contrary, it was better in many ways. She realized injustice was a widespread problem, yet many of the same questions remained: how did she end up here? How had her life’s goals been so radically modified?
When she took the time to think about it, none of it made sense.
On October 14, in a Rawlings Industries jet Claire happily flew across the continent with the Simmons, the Millers, and Tony. A week earlier she would’ve considered the likelihood of their California trip occurring improbable; however, she’d spent the last week at home with her devoted husband. Each evening, the man she married returned home from his office.
The stress of his unpredictability was making her insane. Since the auction, he’d been attentive, loving, and caring. With the weather turning cooler, the days shorter, and the stress of the dual Tonys, Claire believed she was teetering literally on the edge of sanity. A strong wind was all it would take to blow her one way or the other. Iowa had its share of storms, strong winds, and tornadoes. They were all unpredictable. It made an ironic parallel for her life.
Courtney remained true to her observant promise. She knew something was askew with Claire and Tony. She didn’t know what. Claire thought the less she knew the better. Tony didn’t understand their connection. Claire tried to facilitate his misconception by complaining about Courtney. “She’s fun, but she talks so much…”
It was a ploy she prayed would work. She really needed Courtney in her life. Their plane touched down in Los Angeles on Friday night. The party was the following evening. During their flight they shared wine, laughed, and shared stories of Eli’s previous parties. Apparently, the sky’s the limit regarding behaviors with the Hollywood scene. Claire waited anxiously to experience it for herself. The Simmons and Millers were dropped off at a five-star hotel while the Rawlings went to their apartment.
The LA housekeeper met them at the door, while a driver took their luggage to their room. Tony explained they would like a light dinner, as soon as possible. Claire wasn’t hungry. Her head ached. She only wanted to unpack and go to sleep. Once alone, Tony assumed his alternate persona. “Tomorrow evening we will be in an overtly public arena. It wasn’t long ago when a glitch occurred in a setting such as this.”
She didn’t want to hear him. “Tony, please don’t start this again.” The flight, wine, and aching head contributed to Claire’s irritability. Her insolent retort stunned him momentarily. Recovery didn’t take long. As she carried clothes to the dresser, he s
eized her arm and turned her to face him.
“Claire, I do not appreciate your flippant attitude. There’ll be many more journalists present than you’ve experienced at one time.”
His grip hurt. She looked directly into his eyes and stood tall, as he glowered over her. “I assure you my attitude is not flippant. It’s just that you are increasingly repetitive. I know the speech and I know—” She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence.
It was the first strike since her accident. She remained standing, but temporarily dazed—more by disbelief than pain.
He spoke again, as if he hadn’t just shattered his promise and her security, leaving her house of glass lying in a pile of shards. “You have a responsibility and I expect you to behave appropriately.” He let go of her arm, walked to the suitcase, and pulled out Claire’s hiking boots. “By the way, would you like to know why these are packed?”
Her mind wheeled as he changed subjects. She was having difficulty keeping up. Refusing to cry, she exhaled and took the bait. “Why do I have my hiking boots?”
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