Consequences
Page 47
With the attendees waning, Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Rawlings stood, still surrounded by a handful of eager entrepreneurs. Claire seemed to know that Tony’s personal time clock was about to expire and graciously moved each man or woman on as soon as possible. There were still a few people waiting for their chance to speak with him when a blonde-headed young man approached. “Hello, Mr. Rawlings, I’m pleased to meet you. Your speech was remarkable and inspiring.” Tony shook his hand and politely thanked him, and then the young man continued, “I have an unusual request. May I speak with your wife for a few minutes?”
Tony’s glare immediately went to his wife. Moments earlier she’d been the perfect companion, yet in a split second, he saw her well-polished mask shatter into a thousand pieces. There was something in her eyes, a look, a feeling, one he’d seen in pictures, and then it was gone.
It all happened so fast. Then, she seemed to remember her place and worked to recover. She placed her hand gently on Tony’s arm and stuttered, “O-Oh my,” “A-Anthony,” “S-Simon.” She swallowed. “Anthony, may I introduce Simon Johnson. Simon and I were students together at Valparaiso—a million years ago.” Each word came faster than the last. “Simon, may I introduce my husband, Anthony Rawlings.”
The two men locked eyes and shook hands again. Tony hadn’t seen Simon Johnson in years. He’d actually spoken to him a few times in California. Although he remembered the man was truly gifted in the world of gaming, that wasn’t forefront in Tony’s mind. He remembered pictures from the private investigators—pictures of two young people, practically children, head over heels in love. Suddenly, Tony’s world came to a screeching halt. Was the love he’d seen in those pictures ever anything he’d seen in the woman who professed her love for him? Even her smiles today were different. Was it age and maturity, or did this man possess a piece of Anthony’s wife’s heart that Tony would never have? Summoning his most affirmable voice, Tony replied, “I believe that’s Mrs. Rawlings’ decision.”
It didn’t take Claire long to choose Simon over Tony. She willingly, without regret, excused the two of them and left him standing all alone. Before he brought Claire to these events, Tony would usually bring Patricia. He didn’t enjoy her company nearly as well; however, Tony was sure she’d never have left him hanging in the middle of a room of people all alone.
Anthony Rawlings continued to smile and shake hands. He listened to questions and proposals and said all the right things; however, his eyes and mind were constantly pulled to a table not terribly far away. To Claire’s credit, when Simon attempted physical contact, Tony watched her pull away. For what seemed like hours the two of them appeared engaged in a soul-searching discussion. When Claire finally returned, he scrutinized her expression. It was perfect and empty. He never realized that he’d been denied that look, until he saw it bestowed on someone else. Stoically he nodded and addressed his wife, “Mrs. Rawlings.” They had more attendees to meet, and her name was his subtle reminder of her title and her duty. She belonged to him!
Tony glanced at his watch. Claire had only been gone for eight minutes. It was the longest eight minutes he’d endured in a lifetime. The rest of the evening, she performed beyond expectation. She spoke politely and moved people along. It was her eyes: they were far away in another time and another place.
As they stepped to the curb and waited for Eric, Tony’s hand rested in the small of Claire’s back. He, too, was seeing memories—flashes of photos. He remembered pictures of Claire and Simon on the Valparaiso campus and reports of her staying in Simon’s room, or vice-versa.
When they were settled into the limousine, Tony waited. He waited for Claire to talk, to apologize, or to say anything. She didn’t. Her normally chatty demeanor was gone; instead she stared aimlessly toward the window, seemingly mesmerized by the lights of Chicago. Time didn’t register as Tony’s blood boiled. How dare Simon Johnson approach Anthony Rawlings’ wife in a public setting? Claire knew her role; it was that of the perfect companion. How many rules had she successfully broken in a matter of seconds? By leaving him and going off with Simon, she’d not fulfilled her obligation, in essence, not doing as she’d been told. She did it in public! It was public failure! Tony wondered how many tabloids would jump on this.
Finally, he spoke, “Mrs. Rawlings.” He moved closer. Their noses nearly touched when she turned to face him. “What is your name?”
It was as if his words weren’t registering. He wanted—no needed for her to understand. Tony grasped her chin, not allowing her to turn away, and repeated his question. “Your name. What is your name?”
He watched as the fire in her eyes began to burn away the fog of memories. “Tony, what are you doing?”
He held tight. “I’m asking you a question. One that you seem unable to answer.”
Claire’s neck stiffened. “My name is Claire … Claire Rawlings.”
“Please, Mrs. Rawlings, explain to me 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.”
“Tony, please let go of my face. You’re hurting me.”
Though the red seeped, he remembered his promise and released her chin; however, relinquishing her completely was out of the question. His large hand slid behind her neck, tightly holding her head, and purposely pulling the hair that dangled down her neck. Tony did not like repeating himself, and he’d already done it once since they entered the limousine. For Claire’s sake, he didn’t want to do it again. 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?”
Tony’s glare immediately went to his wife. Moments earlier she’d been the perfect companion, yet in a split second, he saw her well-polished mask shatter into a thousand pieces. There was something in her eyes, a look, a feeling, one he’d seen in pictures, and then it was gone.
It all happened so fast. Then, she seemed to remember her place and worked to recover. She placed her hand gently on Tony’s arm and stuttered, “O-Oh my,” “A-Anthony,” “S-Simon.” She swallowed. “Anthony, may I introduce Simon Johnson. Simon and I were students together at Valparaiso—a million years ago.” Each word came faster than the last. “Simon, may I introduce my husband, Anthony Rawlings.”
The two men locked eyes and shook hands again. Tony hadn’t seen Simon Johnson in years. He’d actually spoken to him a few times in California. Although he remembered the man was truly gifted in the world of gaming, that wasn’t forefront in Tony’s mind. He remembered pictures from the private investigators—pictures of two young people, practically children, head over heels in love. Suddenly, Tony’s world came to a screeching halt. Was the love he’d seen in those pictures ever anything he’d seen in the woman who professed her love for him? Even her smiles today were different. Was it age and maturity, or did this man possess a piece of Anthony’s wife’s heart that Tony would never have? Summoning his most affirmable voice, Tony replied, “I believe that’s Mrs. Rawlings’ decision.”
It didn’t take Claire long to choose Simon over Tony. She willingly, without regret, excused the two of them and left him standing all alone. Before he brought Claire to these events, Tony would usually bring Patricia. He didn’t enjoy her company nearly as well; however, Tony was sure she’d never have left him hanging in the middle of a room of people all alone.
Anthony Rawlings continued to smile and shake hands. He listened to questions and proposals and said all the right things; however, his eyes and mind were constantly pulled to a table not terribly far away. To Claire’s credit, when Simon attempted physical contact, Tony watched her pull away. For what seemed like hours the two of them appeared engaged in a soul-searching discussion. When Claire finally returned, he scrutinized her expression. It was perfect and empty. He never realized that he’d been denied that look, until he saw it bestowed on someone else. Stoically he nodded and addressed his wife, “Mrs. Rawlings.” They had more attendees to meet, and her name was his subtle reminder of her title and her duty. She belonged to him!
Tony glanced at his watch. Claire had only been gone for eight minutes. It was the longest eight minutes he’d endured in a lifetime. The rest of the evening, she performed beyond expectation. She spoke politely and moved people along. It was her eyes: they were far away in another time and another place.
As they stepped to the curb and waited for Eric, Tony’s hand rested in the small of Claire’s back. He, too, was seeing memories—flashes of photos. He remembered pictures of Claire and Simon on the Valparaiso campus and reports of her staying in Simon’s room, or vice-versa.
When they were settled into the limousine, Tony waited. He waited for Claire to talk, to apologize, or to say anything. She didn’t. Her normally chatty demeanor was gone; instead she stared aimlessly toward the window, seemingly mesmerized by the lights of Chicago. Time didn’t register as Tony’s blood boiled. How dare Simon Johnson approach Anthony Rawlings’ wife in a public setting? Claire knew her role; it was that of the perfect companion. How many rules had she successfully broken in a matter of seconds? By leaving him and going off with Simon, she’d not fulfilled her obligation, in essence, not doing as she’d been told. She did it in public! It was public failure! Tony wondered how many tabloids would jump on this.
Finally, he spoke, “Mrs. Rawlings.” He moved closer. Their noses nearly touched when she turned to face him. “What is your name?”
It was as if his words weren’t registering. He wanted—no needed for her to understand. Tony grasped her chin, not allowing her to turn away, and repeated his question. “Your name. What is your name?”
He watched as the fire in her eyes began to burn away the fog of memories. “Tony, what are you doing?”
He held tight. “I’m asking you a question. One that you seem unable to answer.”
Claire’s neck stiffened. “My name is Claire … Claire Rawlings.”
“Please, Mrs. Rawlings, explain to me 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.”
“Tony, please let go of my face. You’re hurting me.”
Though the red seeped, he remembered his promise and released her chin; however, relinquishing her completely was out of the question. His large hand slid behind her neck, tightly holding her head, and purposely pulling the hair that dangled down her neck. Tony did not like repeating himself, and he’d already done it once since they entered the limousine. For Claire’s sake, he didn’t want to do it again. 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?”
