Inferno Anthology (215 page)

Claire’s spa appointment would be the following Wednesday. Initially, she didn’t want to go, but now she thought about Chicago and Tony’s apartment. “How many apartments do you have?”

“As many as I need. I don’t like hotels much.” They both drifted off to sleep.

TONY WOKE BEFORE
his alarm. Hearing Claire’s soft and delicate breathing, he saw her covered only by a sheet and curled into a ball on the far side of the bed. With the pale light of the lingering moon, he noticed her chestnut hair fanned around her head, damp and wavy, her body petite, soft, and supple. He carefully lifted the blankets and covered her. As he watched, the warmth of the blankets allowed her to unconsciously relax and settle into a deeper slumber.

This was not his plan. Things had been in the works for so long and now emotions were wreaking havoc. It was supposed to be easy. Her only purpose was for physical enjoyment, release of energy, and personal pleasure. He’d watched her for so long. He told himself he deserved that. Yet somehow, now while at work, in a meeting, on a plane—anywhere, without warning, he would recall something she said or did, and a smile would come to his lips. Tony even noticed strange looks from Brent, a visible sign his thoughts were revealing themselves.

This was wrong. Tony didn’t want to have feelings. The sex was great. It was okay to want her, dominate her, and control her. It was
not
okay to
want
to be with her,
please
her, and
love
her. Yet every one of his senses desired Claire. Watching her sleep, he wanted to see her emerald-green eyes that flared when she was upset, her neck that straightened with defiance even when her words accommodated his demands, and her body that filled his every waking thought. He wanted to touch her skin, warm, soft, yet firm, and her long silky hair. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to smell her scent when he first came home: clean and fresh with her chosen perfume and the aroma of her after sex: warm, moist, and exhausted. He wanted to hear her. At this moment, he heard her faint breathing, but he also liked to hear her endless talk. He knew she longed for companionship and camaraderie. He also knew he was currently her only choice. He tried desperately to appear uninterested, but her voice filled him with an intense desire he’d never experienced. That desire had a sexual component, but it also contained a desire to fulfill her yearnings. Anthony Rawlings never previously considered fulfilling someone else’s desires. His entire adult life had been about
his
wants, goals, ambitions, and needs.

As his mind pondered these dilemmas, he thought about her just a few feet away. He wanted her again. He knew he could wake her, and she would accommodate his demands. Laying his head back on the pillow he remembered the sex they’d experienced and wondered, when did this happen? He no longer wanted to dominate, but to satisfy.

This situation was completely unplanned. His entire life, business, everything was calculated. How could this happen?

He hadn’t realized until he heard himself apologize. When he entered her suite, he knew what he was going to say. It wasn’t what he said. Anthony Rawlings could count on one hand the people to whom he’d apologized. Now this woman, a piece of his plan, was on that shortlist.

At the Simmons’ she performed beyond his expectation. Then his overreaction almost ruined everything. Claire’s strength: standing up to him, explaining the situation, and then not complaining, yet complying with his punishment, touched him. But when she was relieved by his realization instead of upset by his overreaction, she melted him.

In reflection, he berated himself. He should have stayed indifferent, dominant, and in charge. The words from his past echoed in his memory. “Only the weak apologize.” He reconsidered waking her, fulfilling the indifferent domineering qualities that would prove he wasn’t weak. Then he saw her peaceful expression and thought of her giving and surrendering herself over and over. Quietly, he got out of bed, put on his jeans, and left her suite.

Stepping into the corridor, he decided to workout.

There is something perverse about more than enough. When we have more, it is never enough. It is always somewhere out there, just out of reach. The more we acquire, the more elusive enough becomes.

—Unknown

CLAWSON EXPLAINED ONE
more time. “It’s very easy. Textiles have made you a fortune, a fortune you can now plant and invest to grow a lot more. This is 1977. The real money isn’t in creating. It’s in owning and selling. See these figures?” He handed Nathaniel the reports. “You have capital not only in profit margins, but also in secured retirement plans. That money’s just sitting there, waiting for those employees to get old. Hell, many of them won’t be eligible for retirement for another twenty years. Use that money, invest it. Grow it. Right now it’s just rotting away in these accounts.”

Samuel stayed quiet as long as he could. His father’s dark eyes were starting to flash dollar signs. “Clawson, the problem with your plan is that our employees own that money—not us. They’ve entrusted us to keep that money for them, so it will be available when they retire. And it’s growing interest.”

“WITH ALL DUE
respect, Mr. Rawls, have you seen the interest rates? Your employees will have their money, because you aren’t going to lose it. You’re growing it. Then when the day’s done, they’ll have their retirement, and Rawls Corp. will have additional profits.” Clawson spoke to Samuel, but hoped Nathaniel was the one listening.

He was. Nathaniel said, “Jesus, Samuel, have you looked at these reports? Where are the figures on Hong Kong Industrials?” Clawson handed Nathaniel the reports. “Since the exchange-trade options change of 1973, it’s a cake-walk to manipulate these options. We set our strike price. If the stock price starts to move out of the option near expiration, we set the cap.”

Clawson smiled. The old man was finally getting it. “You have the capital to do that.”

Samuel threw a report on the table. “It
isn’t
our capital.”

Looking first to the suddenly disorganized stacks of papers, then to his son, Nathaniel’s brown eyes darkened. “Like hell it isn’t. It’s my Goddamn company. I built it from nothing. Do you think those employees you’re so damned concerned about would have a job if I didn’t work my ass off thirty years ago?”

Who will tell whether one happy moment of love or the joy of
breathing or walking on a bright morning and smelling the fresh
air is not worth all the suffering and effort which life implies.

—Erich Fromm

A WEEK AFTER
the barbeque, they flew to Chicago. Tony absorbed himself in his work and his laptop as Claire sat quietly and thought about the city. It had been a frequent haunt during her college days, with Valparaiso being only an hour and twenty minutes from the Loop. She and her sorority sisters would spend entire afternoons or evenings enjoying the sights. They’d shop, dine, or go to the theater and knew their way to all the best deals.

Claire recalled the fun as they rode the L or the train around the city. Sometimes they’d go with guys to a baseball game, usually the Cubs. Since she’d never really been a baseball fan, she liked warm evenings with a group of friends, enjoying hot dogs and cold beer and watching people at Wrigley Field. They would all pile into someone’s vehicle and road-trip. It really didn’t get better than that. They were even known to blow off classes for a day at Wrigley. Claire rationalized it as academic research. Her major was meteorology and baseball was outdoors. It all made sense.

Friends made Chicago and baseball fun. To Claire, the guys, all from the same fraternity, were more like brothers. After a brief romance her freshman year, she decided to concentrate on school instead of love. Suddenly, Claire realized her reminiscing made her sad. She wondered where those friends were today. She’d become so busy concentrating on her career that she lost touch with most of them. Maybe if they’d stayed connected, they would have noticed her missing last March.

As the jet approached the private airport, Claire saw the skyline against the blue of the lake
.
She told herself to put the sadness away
. Compartmentalize
. She wondered, when driving there in an old minivan, she knew fun times were ahead. Now leaving the private jet and entering the backseat of the leased limousine, what was in store?

Eric chauffeured the limousine as they drove toward the lake at 7:30 AM. Claire could see the buildings, smell the exhaust, and feel the vibration of the road as the car turned north on Lake Shore Drive. She felt more at home than she had in months. She wanted to talk about everything they passed:
McCormick Place, Soldier Field
, and
Grant Park
. As they approached
Millennium Park,
she thought about the concerts which took place all summer long.

Despite her new enthusiasm, she didn’t speak. Tony was occupied on his cell phone. He’d been in a conversation with someone ever since they landed. His voice sounded amicable, but she could see his body language. It told another story. Listening to Claire give a tour of Chicago wouldn’t help his disposition. She also worried, he may not approve of her comfort level with Chicago. Originally, she didn’t want to join him on this trip. Now she couldn’t wait to enjoy the city.

The limousine pulled up to the
Reliance Building
and Tony gathered his briefcase, laptop, and cell phone. Eric came around and opened the door. Still talking on his phone, Tony nodded to Claire and got out. She found herself in the familiar situation: being chauffeured to a completely unknown destination.

Before the jet arrived, Tony informed Claire she could rest at his apartment. He hadn’t mentioned the location or when he’d return. She took a deep breath and waited while Eric moved the car through the crowded streets. In a short time, the limousine idled in a line approaching the front entrance to the
Trump Tower
.

Eric lowered the window separating the two compartments and gave Claire the first information on her destination. “Ms. Claire, Mr. Rawlings’ apartment is the eighty-ninth floor of
Trump Tower
. Security has your name and will allow you access. As you enter the main doors, walk to the left. You’ll see a security desk. They’ll help you reach the apartment. I’ll park the car and bring your and Mr. Rawlings’ bags up as soon as I can. The staff of the apartment will be available to assist you once you reach the eighty-ninth floor. Do you have any questions, miss?”