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.
She made an effort to get to know the names of the staff. The young lady who brings food is Cindy. The young man that doesn’t speak much English is Carlos. Anthony’s driver is Eric. There were others that clean, cook, do laundry, and tend 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 sunporch as nimbostratus clouds formed in the west. This would have thrilled her a month earlier. Watching storms form, either in person or on the radar screen, had filled her with excitement. As the dark clouds approached, she began to hear the distant rumbling of thunder. She could feel 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 is loud and boisterous but usually blows over with little damage. It mesmerized her, she watched and listened. Didn’t it seem that she’d been too busy to just wait and listen to the weather? Now she had the time and she just stood.
Catherine finally broke the spell, “Ms. Claire, please come in. We need to shut the windows. You will get wet.”
Claire came in and went to her suite. The howling of the wind electrified her emotions. She knew he 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. So when five o’clock arrived and Claire waited for word of his arrival, she should have been pleased with Catherine’s report, “Mr. Rawlings is delayed a day due to the storm fronts. The pilot will not fly west of Chicago due to high cloud banks. He will be home tomorrow evening and plans to dine with you at that time, you will 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 five 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 had to be 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. At night they 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 her if she had swum in the outdoor pool yet, it was heated. After so much time following his rules and being incarcerated inside, her bravado failed her, she started to cry. Her reaction obviously surprised him. Through muffled tears Claire replied, “This is the first time I have been outside in two months. I didn’t think I was allowed to go outside.”
If he had been moved initially at her emotional response, he quickly recovered. “Yes, that is correct. I do know exactly how long it has been since you have been outside.” His voice resumed the authoritative tone she despised. “And I am happy to see that you still remember who is in control of your access to additional privileges.”
Claire nodded her head ever so slightly to indicate yes, she understood. Anthony cleared his throat. She looked into his eyes trying to blink the tears away 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, she said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Claire, I am an important man. I have hundreds of thousands of people in hundreds of companies that depend upon me for their livelihood. I balance a lot on my plate. Being observant to your wants and whims is not on my priority list. If you want to go outside, ask.”
The simplicity startled her and the reality made her ill. 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 controlling the situation? The internal debate continued for such a short time.
“Anthony, may I please leave the house and go outside?”
“You may be outside. Do not leave the property without me or my permission.” His tone continued, but Claire’s only concern was his meaning, “Remember to be available to me whenever I am here. Therefore, no wandering the grounds if I am present. And you must be in your suite at five 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 7
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 seventies, that was good. The problem is Nathaniel Rawls doesn’t want good. He isn’t content with black. He wants 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 are doing it. He wanted to too.
Punching the black button on the small box, he said, “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 me?”
“Have you seen the latest
figures?”
“Yes. Sales to major distributors are up 18 percent.”
“That is 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 have looked into that. The problem is that we would lay off hundreds of workers who have 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 have 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 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 whole new clothing line. The potential for revenue is huge. They have distributors all up and down the East Coast.”
“Damn chicken feed.”
A strong positive mental attitude will create
more miracles than any wonder drug.
—Patricia Neal
Chapter 8
Survival for the last two months was facilitated by a technique Claire called compartmentalization. She couldn’t bare 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—all were 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 it. It held hundreds, if not thousands, of digital movies. Claire loved the classics, especially musicals. She could lose an entire afternoon curled up in a large soft recliner watching happy people sing and dance. It was a magnificent escape from reality.
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, and 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 am so glad I didn’t miss you.”
Claire’s tranquility suddenly evaporated. “No, it looks like you caught me. And I promise to be back before five.”
“Ms. Claire, I just received a call from Mr. Rawlings. He has an engagement tonight in Davenport. It is a fund-raiser at the Alder Theater for the Quad City Symphony.”
“So he won’t be back tonight?” she said, thinking that perhaps she could stay out in the woods later than five.
“No, miss, he will be back.”
“What?”
“He will be here at six to pick you up. You are to accompany him to the symphony.”
Claire stared at Catherine in disbelief. She’d just been permitted to be outdoors, and now she was going to Davenport to a 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 will get started.”
They did. Catherine went directly into the closet and removed a long black evening gown. It was simple, yet amazingly beautiful. Claire showered again. Catherine helped her with her makeup and hair, piling it upon her head with cascading curls. She even had exquisite 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.
One accessory that surprised Claire was the handbag. She hadn’t gone anywhere or needed a handbag, but tonight Catherine had one for her. Anthony would be home and ready at six. Apparently, the symphony began at eight, with cocktails at seven. 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 makeup perfect, Claire sat on the edge of the large marble tub and asked Catherine for advice. What did Mr. Rawlings expect of her this evening? How should she act? If he had rules for being out, he hadn’t told her; and if Catherine knew, Claire would truly appreciate being informed.
Catherine’s eyes shone with care and concern. She wanted to help Claire. She would do anything to make this evening a success for both Claire and Mr. Rawlings. Catherine sat next to Claire and gently took her hands in her own. “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 is 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 watch to mar. That is why he requires his home to be a place of quietude. He has to do so much for so many, that he needs a place for repose and to 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. “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 and 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: rare opportunity? A trust? Intimate side of himself? This wasn’t something she asked for. 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 had been 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. There would be people everywhere, remember that appearances are everything.
“Ms. Claire, you are striking!” Catherine’s eyes shone in approval. Claire looked at herself again in the mirror. She felt like she was viewing someone else. Tentatively smiling at that person in the mirror, Claire agreed she looked beautiful.
At five fifty 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.