“Mr. Pulvara, these items were given to me by my ex-husband. I have no plans to contact him. If you are not interested in purchasing them, I will gladly look elsewhere. Thank you for your time.” Claire began to reach for her jewelry.
The broker gently touched the top of Claire’s hand, stopping her movement. She looked up to his face. He said, “I am very interested. It is just -- I believe this wedding set is of the highest quality and quite valuable. The cut alone is extremely rare. I must be sure…”
She cut him off, “I have no proof of my ownership. I will take them …”
“Ms. Nichols, may I ask Mr. Nichols’s first name?”
Claire hesitated. “Mr. Pulvara, am I certain of your confidentiality?”
“Of course, I would not have the customers and reputation I currently enjoy without complete confidentiality.”
“Forgive me, but I would like that in writing. I don’t want to see on tomorrow’s news that I sold my wedding rings.” She recognized such information could make headlines.
“That can certainly be arranged. Now Mr. Nichols?”
“Nichols is my maiden name. My married name was Rawlings, as in Mrs. Anthony Rawlings.”
The broker stood silently for a few seconds taking in her words and looking at her anew. Claire watched as the light of recognition filled his eyes. “Ms. Nichols, you’ve changed your hair since your wedding. I saw a picture today…”
“Yes, Mr. Pulvara, many things have changed since my wedding, including my desire to wear these rings. Are you interested in assessing their value and sharing that amount with me?”
“Please, Ms. Nichols, have a seat and allow me some time. May I remove the stones from the settings?”
“If I do not like your price, will you put them back?”
“Of course.”
Claire saw chairs against the wall. She nodded to the broker, sat, and watched as he weighed, measured, and performed other tests. Then he consulted his computer and made notes. Claire remembered Vanity Fair estimated the value of her engagement ring around $400,000. She honestly had no idea if that was accurate or sensationalism. If it were accurate, it would make one bit of information in that article factual.
Almost forty minutes later, Mr. Pulvara finally spoke, “Ms. Nichols, if you would please join me, I’ll explain my appraisal.”
Claire stepped from the bank onto the sunshine warmed afternoon sidewalk. The multitude of people filled her with exhilaration. She’d just met with the bank’s investment specialist and diversified her new found riches. Employment was still desired. However, the need was no longer dire. Tony’s desire for quality and appearance now allowed Claire time. It was the time she would use to complete her research.
Before entering the parking garage Claire removed her iPhone, checked the time, 4:32 PM and typed a text: IS ANYONE AVAILABLE TO CELEBRATE? DINNER IS ON ME! She entered Amber and Harry as recipients and hit: SEND.
A few hours later the three sat chatting at an authentic Brazilian steakhouse in the heart of downtown Palo Alto. Neither Amber nor Harry argued with Claire’s declaration to purchase dinner. They ordered wine, read the menu, and debated appetizers and entrees. Although they were surrounded by other patrons, the three talked and laughed about their day’s activities. Their goblets touched in a toast to Claire’s transaction.
Amber entertained them with multiple stories of SiJo focus groups. Apparently a recent group had extreme varied opinions on one of their newest games. It amused Claire how Amber could laugh about negative reviews and joke about comments. That wasn’t to say the creators didn’t consider the opinions of the focus groups. They did.
As their celebration concluded and Claire added cream to her coffee, her disposable cellphone buzzed. Pulling it from her purse, she apologized, “I’m so sorry, but this is probably Emily. She said she’s getting a new phone. I need to answer it.” Her chair scooted back as she hit the CALL button. She hadn’t noticed the number on the screen as she said, “Hi.”
Claire intended to move to a hall or outside to speak, but the voice in her ear caused her knees to buckle and her face to blanch. She recognized it immediately, “Good Evening, Claire.”
She collapsed into her chair. Both Amber and Harry watched in horror. “Are you all right?” They asked in unison.
Claire managed to shake her head. No, she wasn’t all right. She still hadn’t spoken.
The husky, deep, baritone voice coming through the ear piece did. “Now Claire, we’ve been through this before. It is customary for one person to respond to the greeting of another. I said, good evening.”
“Hello,” she managed, finding her voice. It was difficult to allow her voice to exit while keeping her food down.
“Very good. I thought perhaps we would need to review common pleasantries.” Tony’s voice was smooth, strong, and domineering. She closed her eyes and saw him, looming near the fireplace in her suite. It wasn’t the Tony Rawlings she married. Her vision was of Anthony Rawlings, her captor. The time and place continuum shattered. She was no longer with her friends in a bustling restaurant; she was three years in the past. Visions played like Tony’s surveillance videos behind her closed lids as her body trembled.
Forcing her eyes to open, she searched for her friends. She fought to inhale as she sought desperately through a dense fog. Faceless people spoke. Their voices were a background din to the deep voice in her ear. Her head shook in response to her ex-husband’s comment. The movement was so slight that without the movement of her hair, it would have been unperceivable. Conversely, inside she shook vehemently. No, I can talk, review isn’t necessary.
Swallowing the overwhelming mixture of emotions and food fighting the natural peristalsis, she summoned a stronger voice. “Good bye, Tony.”
“Claire, you should know, I learned of your release less than twenty-four hours ago. As you can hear, I already have your telephone number. How long do you think it will take for me to learn your location?”
Sitting straight and squaring her shoulders she found strength. It was a strength she’d always possessed, but in the past it was used to keep Tony pacified. Today she used it to declare her thoughts. With each word, her voice gained resilience. “It seems you have lost the ability to perceive meaning. Good bye means this conversation is over. For the record, that includes future conversations. I’m sure you remember, once a discussion is closed, reopening it is not an option.”
The response came in the form of a laugh, a deep, resonating laugh, and then words. “I have always admired your strength. Such a brave speech from someone hiding across the country…” Claire didn’t hear any more. She removed the phone from her ear and hit END. The fog of isolation lifted; she saw the saucer sized eyes of her concerned friends.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in the restroom.” Claire stood, “If you see the waiter, I believe I’m ready to leave.” She walked away from the table before her friends could voice questions. Halfway to the bathroom the trembling resumed and tears escaped her eyes. Nevertheless, not until she was inside the stall did she allow herself to take a ragged breath. Unintentionally, an audible sob seeped from her chest.
Again her purse vibrated. She needed to look; it could be Emily. The screen read Blocked Call. It stood to reason, if Emily were getting her own disposable phone, a blocked number wouldn’t be necessary. Claire hit ignore. Thirty seconds later the symbol indicating a text message appeared. Hesitantly she opened it. ONLY I CLOSE DISCUSSIONS. THIS ONE IS STILL OPEN. I LOOK FORWARD TO RESUMING IT IN PERSON…
I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there.
― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
Chapter 6
1980...
Anton made his way to the lower level of his family’s estate. The scene he just witnessed between his grandfather and father ran in a continual loop through
his mind. With each step toward the entertainment center of the mansion, he tried desperately to forget his family and think about life back at Blair Academy. More than anything he wanted to be back on the campus of his boarding school, away from the charade he called family.
It wasn’t like he had many good friends at Blair. It would be easier if he were part of a group, if he participated in extracurricular activities. Heaven knows his stature benefitted him in the area of sports. He continued to grow taller and broader each year. Anton enjoyed intermural lacrosse and basketball. The coaches watched his obvious talent and asked him repeatedly to join one of the Blair teams. And, although his refusal met animosity from fellow students, little did they realize, it wasn’t his choice. The other boys thought he was too stuck-up to participate. The truth was, grandfather forbid participation. Of course, Anton didn’t admit that to anyone. If he did, it would show others he wasn’t allowed to make his own decisions. That wasn’t something Anton was willing to reveal. Go ahead -- think Anton Rawls was a jerk; he didn’t care. He would make the only man whose opinion mattered proud. Besides, he would show those other boys one day.
Nathaniel never experienced the benefits of a private education. He wasn’t able to offer that luxury to his own son. Now, he expected his only grandson to reap the benefits only money could buy. Nathaniel expected Anton to succeed. To Nathaniel, academics should be Anton’s only focus. Therefore, it was.
Well, except for Anton’s past-time of following his family’s company. Anton may only be fifteen, but he could read financial reports, follow the NASDAQ and Dow Jones. He understood investments and could dissect quarterly reports. He never discussed this with anyone. His father treated him like a child and would never take Anton’s thoughts seriously. His grandfather was too busy to discuss business with a fifteen year old. Anton yearned for the day when he was the one on the other side of the desk, discussing profits and losses with his grandfather. Someday, Anton knew -- Nathaniel would see him as his greatest asset.
Enduring his fellow students’ snide comments was better than listening to his father and grandfather’s argument. When Anton was Nathaniel’s top advisor, he fantasized they wouldn’t argue; they would work together, conspire and collaborate to make Rawls Corporation the greatest industry America ever saw. Exxon, General Motors, and Mobil wouldn’t hold a candle to the possibilities of Rawls with Nathaniel and Anton at the helm.
Just before reaching the entertainment center of the house, Anton turned the corner to meet his grandmother. “Anton, where are you headed in such a hurry?”
“Grandmother, I didn’t mean to be going so fast. I guess I’m just thinking about other things.”
“Of course you are. You’re a growing young man. You probably have a lot of things on your mind, perhaps a young woman?” Anton didn’t reply. Sharron continued, “Are you planning on watching television downstairs?”
“Yes, it’s the final season of Hawaii Five-O. I didn’t want to miss the show.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that show. May I watch it with you?”
Anton feigned a smile, of course he wouldn’t tell her no. Nevertheless, he didn’t want her there. Not because he didn’t love his grandmother, but because she’d talk throughout the entire program. He much preferred quiet. Nonetheless, he responded, “Sure, come on down.”
Sharron followed her grandson toward the seldom used television room. Once they reached their destination, Anton turned on the large television, and Sharron settled onto the soft sofa. It was then she asked, “Nathaniel, what is it we’re watching?”
Anton exhaled and turned to his grandmother, “We are watching Hawaii Five O and I’m Anton.”
She smiled lovingly at her grandson, her expression a combination of love and confusion. Slowly the clouds passed from her gaze, and she stared directly at his deep brown eyes. “Yes, Hawaii Five O and of course Anton, why would you tell me your name? You are the light of our lives.”
He smiled. It wasn’t a smile of happiness, more a pacifying act to quiet her reasoning. He’d heard it before. She could talk her way out of any misstep. Actually, as long as he could remember she’d been doing that: saying something totally off base, or doing something weird, and justifying it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Half way through the episode, Anton gave up on hearing the actors speak. “Grandmother, I just remembered my mother wants me upstairs. I think I should go up there.”
She smiled, “Yes, of course. Please give Margarete my love.”
He walked to the television and turned off the set. It wasn’t worth the correction or explanation. Margarete was his great-grandmother, Nathaniel’s mother. Dying before Anton’s birth, she was someone he’d never met. “I will Grandmother. I’m sure she feels the same.”
His grandmother snickered, “We both know that isn’t true. But, please tell her anyway.”
“I will.”
Anton wondered if his grandmother was talking about her relationship with her mother-in-law or her daughter-in-law. He didn’t wonder enough to question. The answer would take longer than he was willing to commit. Besides, Anton knew from experience, at the end of the conversation, his question could easily remain unanswered.
You gain strength, courage and confidence
by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.
You must do the thing you think you cannot do.
– Eleanor Roosevelt
Chapter 7
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Courtney’s apprehension came through Claire’s newest disposable cellphone. It was her second pay as you go phone. Only Emily and Courtney had this number, and Emily had a new similar phone she used to communicate. Of course, Courtney would also only call with a pay as you go phone, and yes, she had a new one. None of these numbers could be traced back to the number Tony knew.
“If you won’t give it to me, I’ll get it some other way.” Claire’s voice rang strong and resolute.
After Claire collected herself from her meltdown in the bathroom stall the night before, she decided to meet her problem head on. Her problem: her ex-husband Anthony Rawlings.
“Seriously Courtney, don’t you understand? I’m not going to live my life running. I won’t let him have that control. If I flee every time he’s near, he wins. I’m making a life out here. I want to live it.”
Courtney sat in her kitchen and stared into her backyard. The Iowa spring was struggling to break through the gray veil of winter. Patches of ice and snow speckled the pale remnants of lawn. In another month the grass would begin to green and life would renew. Courtney contemplated her friend; she deserved renewal too. “Claire, how will having his private number help that?”
“Because he thinks he can call and disrupt my life. The only way to stop him is to turn the tables. I need to have equal opportunity to initiate contact.”
“I guess I understand. But, don’t you think he’ll wonder how you got it? I mean – it’s blocked. I know you know that.”
“I do. I’ve seen his contact list, it has lots of people. He isn’t as isolated as he thinks. It just takes one of those many people.”
Courtney continued to watch the scene outside of her window. Near her elbows on her table sat a list of Saturday afternoon activities. Julia, her future daughter-in-law, would be over soon they had many things to accomplish before the quickly approaching wedding. Next to her half full mug of coffee was her list of proposed guests. She glanced at the list of rehearsal dinner locations and caterers. They had appointments with three of them this afternoon.
Their son, Caleb, recently started his own investment company in a Chicago suburb. It was the only plausible reason he would leave Tony’s employment. Luckily, Caleb was convincing when explaining to Tony his desire to - make it on his own. Being an entrepreneur himself, Tony actually encouraged Caleb’s independent spirit. This scenario also gave credence to the removal of some of Brent and Courtney’s Rawlings stock options. They wanted thei
r capital to help finance their son’s endeavors. Courtney’s thoughts kept her from responding.
Claire misinterpreted the silence, “I understand. I really do. If you can’t help me, I’ll find someone else…” her disappointment audible.
“No, I will. Let me get my other phone, it’s programed in there.”
Claire quickly replied, “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Before Courtney could respond to Claire’s gratitude, the sound of multiple voices came through Claire’s receiver. She sat cross legged on her bed fifteen hundred miles away listening to the conversation.
Courtney was so caught up in her conversation and thoughts she didn’t hear the doorbell or her husband’s voice, until he and Tony reached the kitchen.
Brent spoke first, “Look who stopped by.”
“Hello Courtney, I’m sorry for the intrusion. I was on my way home and wanted to talk to your husband for a few minutes.” His deep voice contained its usual friendly tone he used with Courtney.
She covered the phone with her hand and smiled her brightest smile, “Oh Tony, so nice to see you.” Courtney stood to give him a customary hello hug and hoped he wouldn’t notice her accelerated heart rate. “I’m just trying to finalize some wedding plans, if you two will excuse me. It’ll just take another minute.” The two men nodded and looked at the papers on the table. Brent opened the refrigerator, handed Tony a bottle of water, and noticed Courtney’s small black phone, not her usual Blackberry.
“Come on Tony, let’s go to my office. Believe me; you don’t want to be in her way when there’re wedding plans to finalize.”
Tony laughed. “That’s fine. This will only take a few minutes.” Turning back to Courtney, “It’s nice to see you.”
She nodded toward the men as they left the kitchen. Courtney grabbed her Blackberry and stepped through an archway to the sunporch, increasing the distance from her husband’s office. “Shit.” She whispered into the small telephone.