Текст книги "Truth "
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 42 страниц)
When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.
—Helen Keller
Chapter 10
Most mornings Claire sat at the table, perused the web, and waited for the others to arrive. She enjoyed the quiet time, as much as the morning ritual of coffee and pleasantries. Of course, she was usually the first in the kitchen; after all, Amber and Harry needed to get ready for work. Claire only needed to be dressed to workout.
Her options for connectivity continued to expand. Whether she used her laptop, her tablet, or her phones, she could stay in touch with the world, anytime – anywhere. This also allowed her to see her personal life laid out for everyone whenever she chose. Having technology denied in past, she now felt compelled to read everything. And apparently since her unusual prison release, Claire Rawlings Nichols was once again deemed newsworthy.
Often her face would appear on the cover of esteemed magazines, the kind which lined the check-out lanes of the grocery stores. Today she saw her picture in a thumbnail on her homepage. Still alone, Claire scanned the link and found the corresponding article: The Rawlings Moving On. It claimed to enlighten the reader on their lives after marriage, complete with pictures. Tony appeared exquisitely dressed with a pretty woman on his arm. According to the article, she was associated with a large hospital in Iowa where her father was CEO and Administrator. The article alluded to the implications of this affluent union, since Mr. Anthony Rawlings was among the top contributors to the hospital. In the opposing frame Claire sat with Harry eating at a café in Palo Alto. According to the article Claire, left penniless, was unemployed and living with Harrison Baldwin, a security guard at SiJo.
The clicks of Amber’s heels upon the hardwood combined with the opening and closing of the front door brought life to the quiet kitchen. Looking up from her laptop, Claire apologized, “I’m so sorry for bringing the two of you into this media mess.”
Amber snickered, as she finished making her cup of coffee, “I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous. I can’t believe reporters think this is news!”
Leaning against the counter, Harry brushed his tussled blonde hair from his eyes and puffed his chest. Claire chuckled, the pictures and article before her forgotten. She found it amusing, no matter the occasion, his golden curls continually fell softly across his face. She wondered if he owned a comb or brush, anything that could possibly tame his unruly mane.
Musingly she fought a new desire to reach out and brush the curls away, to better see his soft blue eyes. The impulse surprised Claire. She gripped the handle of her mug in an effort to stop her hand. Thankfully, her momentary insanity went completely unnoticed by Harry as he postured in preparation for his speech.
In reality, only a second or two had elapsed. However, the rush of blood to her cheeks made Claire lower her face, in a feigned attempt to inspect the contents of her ceramic mug. Slowly, she raised her eyes as Harry spoke, “Actually, I saw today’s article, and I’m honored. I’ve never been a celebrity before.”
Laughing, Amber brushed her brother’s shoulder and glanced toward Claire with a sly smile, “Guess what, Harry? You aren’t one now!” Amber started to walk back toward her bedroom and turned to Claire, “Don’t worry about it. Life’s much more exciting with you around.”
Avoiding Harry’s gaze, Claire looked toward her computer’s homepage, until Harry’s jovial voice brought her back to reality, “So, what do you think? Just in case I end up in People magazine or something, is this shirt all right? Or, do I need something nicer?”
She returned her gaze to the man before her. From behind the soft curls she saw small lines surrounding his sparkling cobalt eyes, and his cheeks raised in a boyish smirk. Claire looked at his collarless black woven shirt with the SiJo Gaming emblem. The shirt wasn’t tight but accentuated his muscular abdomen, broad shoulders, and defined arms. Her eyes scrutinized his attire as they descended to the khaki slacks emphasizing his trim firm waist.
Slowly she realized he was teasing her. “Actually, I think you should change.” Her smile radiated emerald shimmers.
“You do?”
“Yes, maybe something like the jeans you wore last night. You know the ones with holes – it highlights my penniless status.”
With his grin in full gear, he reached out and covered Claire’s hand. Never before had this familiarity ignited the tightness she now felt. Claire fought between the desire to turn her hand over and return the contact and the need to pull away and run to her room. Seemingly unaware of her sudden mixture of feelings, Harry said, “If I ever do live with a penniless woman, I can only hope she has a portfolio like yours.”
“Oh, is that your only requirement?” Her brows rose in question.
“No…” his gaze captivated her, holding her prisoner. “It’s probably the least of my requirements. The first is that she doesn’t tell me what to wear.”
Pulling her stare away, she nonchalantly replied, “Hey, you asked. But, I guess that leaves me out. Should I alert the press?”
He winked, “No, let me enjoy my fifteen minutes for a while.”
Claire shook her head, “Okay, our secret living arrangements are safe with me. Oh, and about fifty other people who live in this building and know the truth.”
“They won’t tell.” With that Harry walked toward the front door, toward his true home.
When the door closed, she exhaled and scolded herself. The easy atmosphere of Amber and Harry’s company was a gift. The last thing she wanted to do was complicate it with feelings which surpassed friendly. In an attempt to dismiss the unfamiliar tightness, she refocused on the article.
Claire knew she should share the nonchalant attitude of Amber and Harry. It was only she’d been taught an engrained fear of public failure, appearance, and opinion. Unconsciously, while out – at a store, a café, or walking on the street – Claire found herself scanning the crowds for cameras. On some occasions she would think she’d see one from her peripheral vision, and then upon second glance, the perpetrator would disappear. The photographers had to be there. How else could she grace so many magazines? A new laissez faire perspective would take time.
Claire knew her star status would soon extinguish. After all, California was inhabited by many famous people. That meant if her story was to be newsworthy, she needed to strike while the iron was hot. That was her thought process as she reached for her telephone.
Claire’s heart beat rapidly as she considered the repercussions of her intended actions. For once, she wasn’t being impetuous. She’d thoroughly debated this decision, knew her guidelines, her limits, and even wrote them down. Her stipulations were sitting on the counter in front of her as she dialed the phone.
Justifiably shocked and surprised, Meredith Banks willingly dropped everything to speak with her old sorority sister. Sounding businesslike, yet friendly, Claire explained her desire to get her story out with someone she could trust.
Candidly Claire asked, “Meredith, is that you?”
Without hesitation, Meredith replied, “Claire, I never doubted your innocence; yes, I would be honored to help you with this.”
Claire knew Meredith saw dollar signs and the potential for fame. She needed to know if she could trust her. To that end, she presented Meredith with a litmus test. “Before any interviews or work on my story, I want you to publish a very overdue retraction regarding our 2010 interview. I want you to tell the truth and explain it wasn’t an interview, but an ambush, resulting in an unauthorized article. The retraction must also clarify that during our conversation I never mentioned the name Anthony Rawlings. You made assumptions based solely on conjecture.” Before Meredith could respond, Claire added, “If and when I read your published retraction, the exclusive rights to my story are yours.”
Verbally Meredith agreed. Claire had heard verbal promises before. She informed Meredith everything would be summarized in a written contract. The breach of said agreement, by either side, would result in a hefty financial penalty.
Claire agreed to one concession. Meredith could promise a real interview with Claire Rawlings Nichols in her printed retraction. Without a doubt, that piece of journalism would reach Tony’s publicist Shelly, and in essence – Tony. Eventually they would learn of her interview and impending article anyway. This plan put Claire in control of the timing and gave her visibility. She reasoned visibility gave the world cause, if she suddenly disappeared, making Anthony Rawlings the most likely suspect.
Claire was no longer hiding or being played by Tony; for once, she was in control! The two women agreed to meet for a series of interviews and editorial sessions, after the publication of the retraction. They left the specific details in flux.
Smiling, Claire disconnected the call with a sense of satisfaction. She believed it was the right decision at the right time. The public had too many misconceptions. They needed to know the truth. They needed to know the real Anthony Rawlings before he repeated history with her, or heaven forbid with someone else.
Satisfied with her call, Claire sipped her coffee and noticed the blinking icon on her iPad indicating an email. It was the confirmation of her impending trip. She’d paid for both the airline and hotel reservations with her new Visa. That wasn’t done recklessly. Claire knew her plans were now visible. She even felt a twinge of pride showing her ex-husband her new found independence. Of course, it was all a ruse; instead of flying into Corpus Christi where she’d spend her holiday, Claire was flying to San Antonio, where she’d rent a car, check into a very nice hotel, and then slip away and drive three hours to the coast. The deception was for Courtney. The two friends wanted time together, and their relationship needed to remain clandestine.
Although Claire wasn’t sure, she believed her movements were being monitored. After all, Courtney said Tony hired a private detective. And in the two weeks since Tony’s call, she’d received two lovely floral arrangements. The first came a few days after their short conversation. It contained cherry brandy roses, lilies, dark blue delphinium, hot pink larkspur, silver dollar eucalyptus and no card. Nevertheless, the meaning was clear... Tony knew exactly where she lived. The second arrangement came a week later with a card simply stating: I have business in California soon. Perhaps we could dine?
Although Amber called it a waste of beautiful flowers, Claire threw both arrangements directly into the trash. After her reaction to his call, Claire decided she wasn’t ready to face him or talk to him, in person or on the telephone. She could eliminate his voice by disabling her voicemail. Unfortunately, she still received his text messages. They mostly consisted of polite greetings to which she never replied. She hated to admit; even his typed word affected her. Sometimes she missed the pleasant Tony.
Contradictorily, the voice on the phone that sent chills down her spine and sent her running to the bathroom. That Tony she didn’t miss. Besides, Silicon Valley was beautiful in April with flowers at every turn. They didn’t need flowers indoors too.
Claire spent her favorite part of each day walking outside. True, the Palo Alto streets weren’t like hiking in the Iowa woods. But, it was outside, and as much as she tried, Claire couldn’t shake the memories of her incarceration. Yet, when the breeze blew her hair and the sun warmed her face, the chains of her imprisonment melted away and her wounded spirit began to heal. With each step in any directions she chose, her lungs filled with fresh air, and she felt her strength grow beyond that of pre-prison, to a place – pre-Tony.
*****
Unbeknownst to Claire, her outings were diligently photographed and submitted to Mr. Rawlings along with her daily activities. Phillip Roach had never been paid so well for so little. Claire’s predictable routine, as well as traceable internet usage, made for detailed reports and photos. He would often sit within the same coffee shop or cafe while Ms. Nichols lived in her own world. A few times Phil worried she saw his camera, but with the paparazzi vying for her image, he blended into the crowd.
Mr. Rawlings seemed pleased with his reports, although not always with their content. The disclosure regarding the source of Ms. Nichols’ new found fortune (the sale of her jewelry) was met vehemently. Following Mr. Rawlings’ directives, Phil returned to Mr. Pulvara’s office. And although the price seemed extreme, Phil followed orders and retrieved the rings at any cost. Not trusting couriers, Phil personally delivered the rings to Rawlings Industry corporate offices, in Iowa City.
While he’d seen the tycoon’s picture and talked with him on the phone, it was their first face-to-face meeting. Admittedly, within seconds of entering the CEO’s regal office, Phil sensed Mr. Rawlings’ commanding dominance. The expression Phil witnessed as Mr. Rawlings opened the velvet box was contrary to the millions of photos he’d seen. Obviously, the sale of his ex-wife’s rings upset him. Thankfully the sparkling diamonds satisfied Mr. Rawlings and verified Phil’s willingness to complete directives.
For a split second, Phil worried about the sweet looking woman who’d become his new dedication. He wondered how she could end up with someone like the man before him. Although he’d read every bit of published information, she seemed no match for Mr. Rawlings’ power.
Phillip Roach learned years ago, not to include emotions in his line of work. This was emphasized during military training, reinforced in special ops, and ingrained as he covertly monitored person after person. Expectantly, his targets during military and special op usually ceased to exist following their discovery. Phillip even followed orders and aided in their demise. This training and dedication earned him the kind of money he currently demanded. On more than one occasion his work required his own disappearance. With no personal connections, that wasn’t a problem. If he relocated or moved for a year or two, it was just part of the game. His alliances could fulfill any necessary relocation – for a price.
This assignment was different. He’d located his assignment, yet his orders remained reconnaissance. As opposed to setting the sights of a high powered rifle on the enemy of a high rolling gambler or a threatening politician, this was well paid babysitting.
*****
Claire made her way through the crowd and settled at a small round table near the bar of a local Palo Alto restaurant. Although Harry and Amber weren’t due for another fifteen minutes, Claire was ready. Tony made it clear early on, he had no patience for tardiness. Now, punctuality was her mantra. She really didn’t think about it, it just was.
While waiting for her friends she ordered a martini and thought about her ensemble: a pair of slacks and blouse from Neiman Marcus and a pair of Dior pumps from Saks. Truly, she was allowing the press to get to her. She wanted to look like Mrs. Rawlings… to quiet their attack. Suddenly, she worried she was being photographed from every side.
Last night, when they talked about getting together before Claire left on her trip, Claire suggested eating at home. She even offered to cook. She liked cooking and contributing to the household duties. Her life in Palo Alto was a beautiful meeting of her previous two, not as tedious as her day to day survival in Atlanta, nor as opulent as her life in Iowa. It was real and comfortable – a perfect restart.
However, her friends insisted on going out to celebrate her impending vacation. They knew the press thing bothered Claire but argued she needed to be free to live her life, without worrying about other’s perception. After a deep sigh, Claire agreed.
Lost in her thoughts, Claire didn’t see Harry until he was right before her with his hand on her shoulder. Looking up to acknowledge him, she noticed how nice he looked, wearing a sports coat and button down shirt. His hair was even gelled and combed back in an attempted style. Before she could speak, he bent down and kissed her cheek. She felt warmth flow from her face to her insides as he took a seat across the small table.
“Well, hello. That was an interesting greeting.” She mused.
Harry’s blue eyes sparkled, illuminated in the low light of the restaurant. “I noticed how nice you look. Is that a new outfit?” Then he leaned a little closer, “And, that you’re being watched from a table to your left.” He reached for her. “Don’t look, it’d be too obvious. I thought I would give them something to write.”
“Maybe we should go somewhere else.” Claire really wanted to say, I want to go home.
“This won’t last long. We can leave, if you want, but I think your plan to make yourself visible is working. You shouldn’t run from it now.” He squeezed her trembling hand.
Claire looked at his serene expression and took comfort in his calmness. She exhaled, “Thank you, for being such a great sport about this.”
“Well, like I said, I’ve never been a celebrity before.”
“And, how do you like it?” She couldn’t help notice the twinkle in his intensely blue eyes.
“I’m getting used to it. Just this morning, the barista at Starbucks recognized me and gave me free coffee.”
Claire giggled, “Are you serious? I’m supposed to be the penny-less person. Why don’t I get free coffee?”
“Well, I’m not exactly destitute. But,” he mused, “I won’t turn down free java.”
The waiter came and took Harry’s drink order. When he asked if they were ready to order, Harry turned to Claire, “Do you know what you want? Or, do we need some more time?”
Claire turned to the waiter, “I believe I’d like a little more time, please.” She slowly picked up her martini and took a long sip, suddenly unable to make eye-contact.
Harry saw her sudden change in mood, “What’s wrong?”
“It’s really stupid.” She said as she sat her drink back on the linen tablecloth. Peering above the flickering candle she saw his concerned expression and gained strength to continue, “I know I don’t talk about my life with Tony very much. Maybe I’m not sure how I feel. But, from very early on, actually the first time we ever went out, he ordered my meal. He ordered my drinks, everything.”
“Well, some men do that. Did you like it?”
“Not at first. I mean, he never asked me what I wanted. Even on that first date. How could he possibly know what I liked? Then later, I guess I got used to it. Other than the first time, I never questioned it.” Claire became transfixed by the flame of the candle, flickering in the center of their private haven, moved by some unperceivable breeze.
Harry didn’t know if he should encourage this conversation. It seemed to make Claire sad. However, it was the first time she’d opened up about any personal aspect of her life with Mr. Rawlings. He pushed, “Why?”
Claire looked up from the orange and blue glow. “Why what?”
“Why didn’t you question it? I mean if you didn’t like it, if you wanted to order for yourself, why didn’t you tell him?”
Claire exhaled.
Harry watched as her eyes and face which were deep in thought, slowly took on perfect features. He recognized what she was doing. She was becoming the pretend Claire, the one who kept others at arm’s length and said everything perfect.
“It’s very complicated. Let’s just say, no one tells Anthony Rawlings what to do or how to do it.” She picked up her menu, “So what do you think sounds good?”
“I think it all sounds good. You should order whatever you want.”
The smile Harry spotted behind the large leather bound menu, made his chest thump with pleasure. It wasn’t the pretend one.
As they discussed their cuisine options, both of their phones buzzed: a text message from Amber. SORRY. SOMETHING HAPPENED AT WORK – NOTHING SERIOUS. CAN’T MAKE DINNER. Claire felt a twinge of guilt. Truthfully, until that moment, she’d forgotten Amber was absent.
By the end of their meal as they sipped coffee, Claire also forgot about the reporters. She’d been listening to Harry talk about things at SiJo. She didn’t know anything about electronics or gaming and even mentioned she hadn’t played a video game since college.
Shocked, Harry replied, “Then, it’s settled. We’re going back to my place and you’re getting a lesson on the advances in gaming.”
Claire smiled and shook her head. “I don’t really think I’d be very good, I mean it’s been years. Everything I knew is outdated. Besides, I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
“What? More important than playing video games, are you kidding? Besides, just because you haven’t done something in a while, doesn’t mean you aren’t good at it. With a little encouragement I bet you’d be very good.”
“Are you that good of a teacher?” she asked. Harry’s sly smile suddenly made Claire rethink her question. Perhaps the subject had changed without her realizing.
“I guess that remains to be seen.”
Although, she could feel the blood in her cheeks and her increased pulse, she tried diligently to keep the conversation in check. “Well, the most advanced system I ever played was the Nintendo Game Cube, over ten years ago. Has it gotten more complicated? As I recall,” she peered over her cup, “I was pretty awesome at Zelda.”
When they stood to leave, Harry casually placed his hand in the small of Claire’s back. She considered moving away but consciously decided to continue the contact. Harry joked, “That is an impressive resume. I’m not sure why SiJo hasn’t snatched you up as a gaming specialist before a competitor learns of your secret talents.”
Phil’s camera caught it all.
“Oh sure, make fun. I bet I can beat you at Zelda, and I might even remember Mario’s secret chambers, if I try.”
“You’re on!” They stepped into the spring air.
The next day Claire surveyed her new luggage and stacks of clothing. One benefit of Claire’s time with Tony was Catherine. She possessed the uncanny ability to think of everything Claire needed. Looking at the items before her, Claire wondered if Catherine would think of something she’d forgotten. There were sundresses, shorts, shirts, beach cover-ups, flip flops, and sunscreen… it seemed like all the essentials for sun and fun.
Thoughts of Catherine made Claire sad. She truly loved the woman. Catherine was like a mother to her during a very difficult time in Claire’s life. The idea to call and talk occurred more than once. Yet, Claire was afraid. She knew Tony’s staff was incredibly devoted. What if Catherine believed Claire tried to kill Tony? The fear of hearing rejection in Catherine’s voice stopped Claire from attempting communication. She didn’t want anything to change the kind loving Catherine in her memories.
As Claire’s trip approached, her excitement at seeing her old friend grew. Courtney’s first choice of destination was Cancun. Claire would have liked that; she’d never been. Unfortunately, Claire hadn’t applied for a new passport. That was fine. Corpus Christi was a beautiful destination in mid-April – prime Spring Break time. The hotels and resorts would be bustling with patrons. Two women in a suite, walking the beach, and enjoying the pool would blend in. The last time Claire enjoyed a beach was in Hawaii, eighteen months ago. Allowing her mind to uncompartmentalize the months locked away from sunshine only added to her exhilaration as she contemplated white sand, hot rays, and blue waters.
Her items weren’t bulky – the smaller suit case worked well and would be easier to negotiate through the busy airport. Claire glanced at her watch. Her flight left San Francisco International at three-thirty. With security regulations she planned to arrive by two-thirty. Currently a little after eleven, she had time for lunch.
On her way to the kitchen, the doorbell changed her direction. Her thoughts were already basking in the Texas sun; they weren’t thinking about unwanted telephone calls or reporters with cameras.
Their condominium building was secure. In order to enter, one had to pass a security guard in the garage or one in the lobby. If you weren’t a resident, an ID and signature were required for entrance. This could be perceived as inconvenient, but for inhabitants it was reassuring.
Opening the front door Claire could only see a stack of boxes labeled Neiman Marcus. With a sudden overwhelming dread, she realized the boxes obscured the delivery person’s face. However, before she could shut the door, she heard a young man’s voice and noticed inexpensive scuffed shoes.
“Ms. Nichols?”
She remembered to inhale. “Yes.”
The young sandy haired man moved the boxes to the side and peered around the bounty. “These are for you. Could you please sign the delivery confirmation?”
Relief lowered her defenses. “I’m sorry, there’s been a mistake. I didn’t order any merchandise.”
The young man struggled to balance the boxes and his electronic pad. He surveyed the information and confirmed her name and address. Pity overtook her, she finally responded, “All right. Bring them in and place them in the foyer.”
Claire signed the electronic clipboard and accepted the unknown merchandise. She shut the door and moved the boxes to the dining room table. An envelope was attached to the top box. Claire debated: open the envelope or the boxes? Choosing the envelope she read:
I’ll be in town after you return from Texas. Shall we dine? Perhaps you would enjoy wearing something more appropriate for our reservations? Since you seem unable to answer your phone, I’ll send a car to your condominium, Wednesday 7PM. I look forward to our reunion.
Her fingers forgot to grip; the card floated to the floor.
A revolt erupted within Claire’s stomach. The contents of the boxes were still undetermined; however, the meaning of his words came through loud and clear. Translation… I know everything about you. I know about your trip. We’re going to dine on Wednesday. It wasn’t a request – his customary mandate.
She contemplated leaving the boxes sealed and throwing away the merchandise. However, curiosity won. Reluctantly, she opened each one. The small top one contained shoes; beautiful, high-heeled, Sergio Rossi, black sandals. The next box was larger; tentatively, she opened the lid. The black and white, Christian Dior, off-the-shoulder dress took her breath away. The final box contained a Chado Ralph Rucci trim coat, crepe with sheer chiffon at cuffs and hem. As Claire’s fingers caressed the chiffon, she fought the desire to try it all on with the need to send it all back. Settling for somewhere in between, she stacked the boxes in her closet, and compartmentalized any thoughts related to them away for another day.
It was a lesson learned from Scarlet O’Hara, Fiddle de de, I’ll think about that tomorrow. Today she wanted to concentrate on her impending vacation. Her ex-husband’s invitation and clothes could wait. She’d deal with those later.
