Текст книги "Truth "

Chapter 16

Arriving thirty-five minutes early, Claire noticed the parking lot wasn’t as busy as normal. She’d only eaten at Bon Vivant once, but found the service exceptional and the food delicious. It was a popular and highly acclaimed destination in Silicon Valley. Her last visit was a weekend, and it had been packed with patrons. Claire reassured herself, this was a week night; many people were still at work.

The maître d' politely greeted her as she entered alone, “Good evening Mademoiselle, do you have reservations?”

Claire looked around the nearly empty restaurant. “Oui, deux pour Nichols.” (Yes, two for Nichols)

“Oui, Mademoiselle. Your table is not yet ready. Perhaps you would like to wait for your companion in our lounge. I will personally inform you when your table is ready.”

“Thank you, I left specific instructions for a conspicuous table, near the center of the main dining room.”

“Oui, we will do everything we can to accommodate you and your companion. The lounge is to the right.”

“Merci.” Thanking the maître d’, she followed the piano music and made her way to the posh lounge. Years before, when Claire accompanied Tony to a French restaurant, she was at a complete loss as he spoke to the wait staff. While in France, she began to pick-up a few words. However, it was while in prison, she had time to study both French and Italian. She wouldn’t be considered fluent in either; however, she could understand what was said around her. Undoubtedly, her speech held a very American accent.

The lounge was beautifully contemporary, mostly white with colored lights, creating an awe-inspiring ambience. She noticed a few other couples at nearby tables. Claire checked her watch, as the other couples were escorted from the lounge. At two minutes before seven, she found herself sitting alone, in the great expanse of the lounge. Maintaining her mask of calm she watched as the archway filled with the man from her past.

Memories of their last meeting in the Iowa City jail flooded her consciousness. Tony’s presence filled the otherwise empty room. The earth no longer rotated on its own axis, but on him. She had compartmentalized away his utter dominance. As much as she tried to appear aloof, the mixture of emotions raging through her, threatened to propel her from the soft luxurious seat. Unconsciously, she gripped the arms of the chair, hoping for stability. Claire feared, if not for the anchor, she might possibly become airborne.

Her breathing labored as his gorgeous form advanced closer. With each step, he narrowed the vast fifteen month divide. He hadn’t changed. His perfect appearance was just as she’d remembered, from his dark thick hair masterly styled in place, to his brown eyes sparkling with electricity. His cheeks were raised, revealing a closed lip grin. And of course, his suit was silk, tailored specifically for him, with cuff links shining from the edge of his jacket sleeves. If anyone else had been in the room, they would have disappeared into his all-encompassing aura. But alas, no one else was present, except the piano player. And momentarily, even the music dissipated.

From the archway to Claire’s table could be traveled in a few seconds; however, it seemed as though Tony’s casual stride fought an unseen tide. The seconds lasted minutes, hours, or perhaps days. During the elapsed expanse of time and space, Claire remembered every moment of their time together. Three years of memories compressed into a fraction of time. Finally, accomplishing his journey – because Claire knew Anthony Rawlings rarely failed at any endeavor – he stood before her table. She fought diligently to remain calm and serene, as he politely nodded in her direction.

His voice filled the cavernous room, engulfing the otherwise empty molecules and stirring the cauldron of emotions within her chest. “Good evening, Claire.”

She’d fought this fight before. Admittedly, she’d rarely won, but nonetheless, the battle was familiar. Claire pressed on, “Good evening, Tony. Won’t you please have a seat?”

“Thank you.” He pulled the chair from the table and lowered his tall lean body into cushioned seat. She watched as his dark eyes remained fixed on hers. Perhaps the rest of the world was gone. It was the most plausible answer. Heaven knows she couldn’t see or think of anyone else. That must be the answer, they were the only two people left, as the Earth spun into a timeless abyss.

Claire once read time doesn’t pass at normal speeds within a black hole. If one were to travel into a black hole for only moments and return again, centuries would have passed. That explained the sensation she felt, once again peering into his dark gaze. She wouldn’t look away; she’d trained herself better than that. Then again, she reasoned, it wasn’t an option. She couldn’t divert her gaze if she wanted. The hold upon her stare was stronger than any ropes or chains made by man. Claire knew from experience, submitting to the hold was her best chance at survival. Fighting was a futile waste of energy.

As she felt herself slipping into her old station, she remembered her cause. Claire remembered her friends and their support. She recalled the advice of a good friend. She needed to ask herself, am I in fear of upsetting him? Does he make me smile? She thought about her cellphones in her purse and her car in the parking lot.

No! She could fight and survive. She had! Within the milliseconds that transpired, she clawed her way out of the abyss, time had not elapsed. She continued their dialogue. “It was nice of you to accommodate my change in plans.” Taking a sip of her water, she fought the dryness threatening her mouth and gestured toward a bottle of wine. “I took the liberty of ordering us a bottle of wine.”

Tony smiled a devilish grin. Claire’s insides tightened. His eyes lightened as he lifted the bottle and assessed the label. “Excellent choice.”

Before their conversation could continue, the waiter appeared at their side. “Monsieur and Mademoiselle, your table is not yet ready. May I open your wine?”

Claire spoke before Tony could answer, “Oui, grazie.” She noticed Tony’s smile broaden. In the past she learned amusement wasn’t always a good thing. A small voice in the back of her head warned her to proceed with caution.

After the waiter poured the wine, he left them alone, literally. Claire couldn’t help notice the absence of others. She tried diligently to keep her increased unease hidden.

“My, Claire, you continue to amaze me. I see you’re trying to show me the new independent Claire Nichols.” She didn’t speak. He continued, “You don’t need to work so hard. I’ve been observing you from a far and am already impressed.”

“Tony, my goal is not to impress. My goal is to show that I don’t need your observation. I’m doing quite well on my own.”

“I believe you have surpassed my expectations, once again.”

“And for the record, I was independent before our encounter.”

“Yes,” pause, “I can see how you would think that.” He sipped his wine, “Now tell me, what the point was with the change in venue?”

“No point. I’ve eaten here and thought you’d enjoy the cuisine.”

“I see,” he continued to sip the wine. “That’s good. I was afraid you were trying to manipulate our visibility...”

Before he could continue the maître d’ approached their table. “Excusez-moi, your table, it is ready.”

“Gaize,” Tony replied as he stood. While Claire gathered her handbag, Tony politely helped her with her chair.

As she stood, she continued to fight the old pull. It was as if she were slipping into Mrs. Anthony Rawlings, perhaps not slipping, pulled – by an irresistible force. She needed to remain diligent to be the independent woman she longed to be.

Walking across the empty lounge, Tony placed his hand in the small of her exposed back. She didn’t fight the contact. Actually, she fought the sudden desire to melt toward it. Memories came rushing so fast, she barely had time to blink – the feel of his caress – his ability to elicit emotions and desires – the warmth and security of his embrace. Although her resolve diligently fought, her heartbeat quickened and fantasies interlaced her recollections. Not only did she remember his large strong hands; she also remembered his tender mouth, firm steady chest, and tight abdomen. The slight touch evoked memories of ecstasies they’d shared. Highs, which before him didn’t exist, and elations she feared were forever extinct.

When his tall body inclined, allowing his lips to hover near her ear, her body tingled. Then, without warning he whispered, and her fantasy evaporated. Reality struck with a slap that only real life can elicit. “I’m glad visibility was not your goal for this evening. I would hate to disappoint you.”

Before Claire could respond, they stepped from the lounge into the dining area. She gasped. Her neck stiffened as she took in the empty restaurant. No longer was her subconscious filled with memories of love and pleasure, but control and manipulation. The harshness deflated her lungs. Claire fought to breathe, battling the sensation of suffocation she’d suffered during the years of his domination.

With new found determination, she turned toward the sly smirk of her ex-husband and asked, “What have you done?”

“I wanted to spend time with you, without the diversion of others.”

“Where are the other people?”

“I believe they accepted an unbelievable offer. In essence, I rented the entire restaurant. After all, you said it was delicious, and I wanted to enjoy the food and company.”

Claire stared incredulously, “You bought-out the entire place?”

“Yes, Claire. Shall we sit? I believe you requested this central table.”

Her blood boiled, looking around she wondered about Phil, where was he? She’d become accustom to seeing him periodically throughout her day. Feeling incredibly vulnerable she sat, allowing Tony to push her chair under the table.

Fighting her instinct to run, Claire straightened her neck and met her ex-husbands smug expression and sparkling darkening eyes head-on. The waiter delivered their wine, including glasses to their new location. After he left, Tony lifted his glass and proposed a toast, “To you, the only person in this world, who can keep me on my toes.”

Claire held her glass. Tony moved the goblet to his lips. Slowly, she raised the rim to her mouth. Just before she took a drink, he laughed. Placing the glass back onto the linen tablecloth, Claire said, “I hope you’re amused. I believe I’m getting a headache. We’ll need to postpone this dinner for another time.” She placed her hands on the table to push back her chair.

Tony reached across the table and covered her hand. The touch ignited her skin. She wanted to hate the man with her entire being; yet, his touch, the sound of his voice, smell of his cologne, and sight of his incredibly handsome face turned her insides to jelly. The two contrasting memories of love and domination, played simultaneously within her head. Unwillingly, she looked into his soft chocolate eyes and sighed.

In a much gentler tone he said, “Claire, I would like you to stay. Your plans are to be commended. You probably know, but even without the clothes I sent, you are stunning. Now, if we are done with this ridiculous posturing, I’d like to talk with you for a while.”

“This was not meant as posturing! And I assure you, my head does hurt.”

“I have missed you terribly.”

She stared. What did he just say? It didn’t make sense. She was gone from him, from his life, due totally to him.

He continued, “I have missed your voice, your strength, your smile, and mostly your eyes. My god, Claire, you have the most amazing eyes!”

“Stop it.”

Abashed, he asked, “Excuse me?”

“I said, stop it!” Her voice was harsh yet hushed. “The last time we spoke, in person, I begged to go with you back to your home, our home in Iowa City. As I recall, you offered me a psychiatric institution. So why would I be interested in listening to your drivel today?”

“Well, first, because you accepted my invitation.”

“I accepted your invitation for one reason, to convince you to leave me alone. We are done.”

“My dear, it is not that simple.” His expression revived a suppressed fear.

She fought to steady herself as the room wobbled off center. It was the finality with which he spoke, as if his comment were beyond reproach. “It is.” Her voice less convincing than she’d hoped. She inhaled to emphasize her next word, “Anton.”

His back straightened, and his eyes intensified, “My name is Anthony. You may still address me as Tony.”

“That’s very gentlemanly of you. Do you not think as your wife, I deserved to know your true name was Anton Rawls?” Claire watched an internal battle launch and rage within her ex-husband. She knew him and could read his non-verbal clues. Others may not recognize the scene before her, but she did.

Externally Tony remained stoic as he fought for control. Finally he spoke, his voice deceivingly calm, “Where could you possibly come up with such a story?”

“Why, Anton, it was in your box of confessions.”

Tony stared in utter shock and disbelief. Claire wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen his facade shatter as quickly. Though he remained still, she imagined him scurrying to pick-up the pieces of his usually intact veneer. His voice gained strength with each syllable. “I assure you, I have no idea what you are saying.”

“The information you sent me in prison.”

Before they could continue, a waiter appeared beside their table with menus. Placing the binders in front of each, he asked if they were interested in hearing about the specials. Concurrently, they answered, “No.” The waiter apologized for the interruption and meekly backed away from the table. Tony reached for the leather folder; his fingertips blanched, as he squeezed the helpless menu.

It didn’t make sense. The writing on the note was his, as was the writing on the photos. Although Claire was reasonably certain he’d ended this conversation, she decided to go ahead and ask the question screaming in her head, “Are you saying you didn’t send me a box of information?”

He didn’t need to answer; his expression and body language spoke louder than words. Nonetheless, he managed to articulate, “I can assure you, I did not send you anything while you were in prison.” Continuing to regulate his external calm, he added, “And, speaking of prison, congratulations on your early release.”

Sarcasm dripped from his final statement; however, Claire was still mulling-over his first declaration. If he didn’t send me that information, then who did? When his words registered she decided to dial down the conversation. Yes, her old instincts were guiding her through this mine field. Those instincts saved her life in the past. He’d changed the subject, and experience warned her to take heed. Any discussion of his box or his alternate persona would need to wait. “Thank you, I promise, I was as surprised as you must have been.”

He harrumphed as he took another drink of his wine. The contents disappeared. He poured himself another glass. “That, my dear, is debatable.”

Claire smiled; he may have manipulated her plans. Nonetheless, she’d just acquired invaluable information. He didn’t send the box; he hadn’t known she knew about his past or his vendetta, and she could obviously influence his demeanor. That knowledge seemed more powerful today than it’d ever been. She looked at the menu and discussed the entrees she found appetizing.

Truthfully, neither of them possessed much of an appetite; nevertheless, the dinner progressed. As expected, Tony ordered their meals. However, as he spoke to the waiter, in French, Claire smiled when he ordered the selection she’d suggested.

After the waiter left, Tony turned to Claire and continuing in French and said, “I see you have broadened your language portfolio.”

Also in French, she replied, “Yes, I decided to capitalize on my gift of time.”

He grinned and shook his head ever so slightly. Now in English, “Claire, how is your headache?”

“I believe the wine is helping.”

“That’s good. Tell me about San Antonio.”

Momentarily, she savored the robust thick liquid that contained a hint of sweet floral flavor, and contemplated her response. If his obvious knowledge of her whereabouts was supposed to threaten or alarm her, she disappointed him again. Meeting his gaze she smiled, “It was lovely. I’ve always enjoyed sunshine and warmth.”

“Yes, I can see your lovely tan.”

Maybe, he could make her smile. Yes, there was a twinge of concern about upsetting him. But even empty, they were in a public place. She knew he wouldn’t do or say anything harmful while in the sight of others. Truthfully, she felt a new sense of empowerment. If it had been present before, she’d been too close to see it. But now, Claire sensed her ability to affect him. She could upset him and she could calm him. Few people held that power. Perhaps, others did, but were not brave, or stupid, enough to try.

Claire chose to use the word brave.

When Claire entered her condo she heard unexpected noises resonating from the den. Making her way down the hall, she found Harry lounging on the small loveseat watching a baseball game. The way his long legs hung off the end of the sofa added to the comedy of the scene. Especially considering the large comfortable couch and five times larger television in his condo. “Is your television broken?”

He turned to speak. Her appearance momentarily muted him. Eventually he managed to answer, “No, it’s fine. I just thought you might need some moral support.”

“Tell me you aren’t here to be sure I came home.”

Harry stood and approached one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. “Not like you may think. I really wanted to be sure you were all right. I know I haven’t asked directly. And I don’t need to know anything you don’t want to say, but I get the feeling there were times in your past, your ex-husband didn’t treat you well.” He tried to read her eyes; they were changing into that stoic noncommittal stare. “Claire, stop the pretense.”

She backed away from his sudden harsh tone. “Excuse me? I haven’t said a word.”

“No, you haven’t. But you’re doing what you always do. You’re hiding behind some mask of indifference.”

The night was overwhelming. Her head did hurt. She’d just left dinner with Tony and was suddenly in another confrontation. Claire honestly wasn’t up for more conflict. Plus, his word: mask. That’s what she used to tell herself to wear with Tony. Did she really wear one with Harry too?

“My head is aching. I’m sorry if you find my expression unappealing. I appreciate your concern. I’m home safe and sound. And, I did learn some valuable information. Perhaps, I can share it with you tomorrow.”

He stepped closer and placed his hands on her waist. She didn’t back away. Yet, she filled with guilt as her thoughts centered on the man at the restaurant, not the one before her.

When Harry touched her waist, his fingertips landed on her warm skin. He hadn’t realized the back of her dress was open. He leaned around her shoulder and took in the stunning view. “You look lovely. I’m sure this will be on every magazine in a day or two.”

“No, it won’t.”

Surprised by the finality of her statement, Harry asked, “How can you say that? We go to Starbucks and make the internet. You looking this gorgeous will warrant the cover of every national gossip magazine!” He continued to hold her gently around the waist. Claire shook her head back and forth. Then half-jokingly he whispered, “Apparently, I’ve not warranted such an amazing dress.”

Her neck stiffened, “It’s not new. I wore it in Texas. And I can assure you, you won’t see my picture in this outfit or any other with Anthony Rawlings, at least not until he is ready to have it out there.”

“What happened to your plan for visibility?”

“I was trumped. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t.”

“What happened?”

“I promise to tell you all about it, tomorrow. Right now, I want out of this dress and these shoes.” Harry moved ever so slightly toward her warmth, until her next words changed his plans. “If you’d please lock the door on your way out, I’m going to bed.” She pulled away from his embrace and turned toward her room.

Before she passed the door frame she heard Harry’s voice. “I would really like the chance to understand you better, the real you.”

Softly she said, “Good night, Harry,” and proceeded to her room. Truthfully, his comment regarding a mask caught her by surprise. She didn’t mean to hide her feelings, well not usually. Nevertheless, tonight she couldn’t possibly look into his soft blue eyes or feel his gentle touch and not think about the man that challenged her sanity. It wasn’t fair to Harry, be with him and think about Tony.

It wasn’t fair to Claire to have to make decisions about her true feelings. She needed time; time to sort out the mayhem that continued to be her life. Luckily, the medicine cabinet in her attached bath contained a big bottle of acetaminophen. Finally, she settled into her welcomingly cool and pleasantly lonely, comfortable bed.