Inferno Anthology (253 page)

Claire expected the recent events to increase the frequency of her nightmares. Surprisingly they diminished. Her theory: her consciousness now shared the stress that only her unconscious had endured.

After the repercussions and some passage of time, she tried to talk to Tony about Simon. He didn’t care or want to hear her perspective. His only notion remained: at a public event she left his side, her husband, to spend time with her ex-lover. To Claire that was a ludicrous observation. Her interpretation went more like: at a public event, to allow Tony the ability to be accessed by fans, she escorted Simon aside and discussed issues with him for a sliver of time. The dissimilar interpretations didn’t have common ground presently or in their future. The subject was closed.

As they rode home from Bettendorf, Claire wondered what Tony thought of the silent auction and what consequences she’d now endure that her presence wasn’t required in a public venue. It wasn’t until they were almost home that Tony finally spoke, taking her from her thoughts. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“The auction was a complete success.”

“Thank you. I’m pleased. Courtney’s happy. I wanted to make you happy, too.”

“And now you don’t?”

“No. I do.” She was sincere.

“I’ve told you before. You continually surprise and amaze me with your abilities.” And, as an afterthought, he added, “Some more than others.”

Claire didn’t react, that was what he wanted. Instead, she sat dejectedly and thought about the date, October 8. Her thoughts went many different directions. She thought about the auction, someone bid seventy thousand dollars for the two-day use of Tony’s plane and pilot. It was a great donation; he’d thought of it. Other donations like stays in resorts, entertainment packages, NBA, and NFL tickets helped in surpassing their goal.

She also remembered they were supposed to be in Malibu the following weekend for Eli and MaryAnn’s party. She’d been looking forward to it since they received the invitation. The Simmons and the Millers were all going. The film was a thriller. Claire knew of the actors, but she mostly looked forward to seeing their home.

Another thought was her family. John’s deadline was less than a month away. She hadn’t spoken to Emily since before
Simon
. So many other freedoms had disappeared. The idea of talking to her sister seemed preposterous. Claire didn’t have the resolve or strength to follow through on such a request.

Selfishly, she thought about her upcoming twenty-eighth birthday and contemplated the truth of her life. She rode in her limousine, to her estate, with her wealthy, handsome husband. Amused, she decided that was the
Vanity Fair
version. For the unabridged version: she was secluded in Tony’s limousine, she would prefer to drive her own car, to his house—her prison on multiple occasions, with her husband who was handsome and cruel, sadistic, manipulative, and controlling. Even Tony’s success as a businessman had lost its luster since talking to Simon. Tony ruined lives, futures, and dispensed consequences to make money. Simon had fun and made games. People spent less than two dollars for one of his games, but with enough people, that added up. The reality saddened her. She didn’t know for sure, but predicted there were forty-six people in Pennsylvania without jobs.

Her life wasn’t worse than that of many others. On the contrary, it was better in many ways. She realized injustice was a widespread problem, yet many of the same questions remained: how did she end up here? How had her life’s goals been so radically modified?

When she took the time to think about it, none of it made sense.

ON OCTOBER 14,
in a Rawlings Industries jet Claire happily flew across the continent with the Simmons, the Millers, and Tony. A week earlier she would’ve considered the likelihood of their California trip occurring improbable; however, she’d spent the last week at home with her devoted husband. Each evening, the man she married returned home from his office.

The stress of his unpredictability was making her insane. Since the auction, he’d been attentive, loving, and caring. With the weather turning cooler, the days shorter, and the stress of the dual
Tonys,
Claire believed she was teetering literally on the edge of sanity. A strong wind was all it would take to blow her one way or the other. Iowa had its share of storms, strong winds, and tornadoes. They were all unpredictable. It made an ironic parallel for her life.

Courtney remained true to her observant promise. She
knew
something was askew with Claire and Tony. She didn’t know what. Claire thought the less she knew the better. Tony didn’t understand their connection. Claire tried to facilitate his misconception by complaining about Courtney. “She’s fun, but she talks so much…”

It was a ploy she prayed would work. She really needed Courtney in her life. Their plane touched down in Los Angeles on Friday night. The party was the following evening. During their flight they shared wine, laughed, and shared stories of Eli’s previous parties. Apparently, the sky’s the limit regarding behaviors with the Hollywood scene. Claire waited anxiously to experience it for herself. The Simmons and Millers were dropped off at a five-star hotel while the Rawlings went to their apartment.

The LA housekeeper met them at the door, while a driver took their luggage to their room. Tony explained they would like a light dinner, as soon as possible. Claire wasn’t hungry. Her head ached. She only wanted to unpack and go to sleep. Once alone, Tony assumed his alternate persona. “Tomorrow evening we will be in an overtly public arena. It wasn’t long ago when a
glitch
occurred in a setting such as this.”

She didn’t want to hear him. “Tony, please don’t start this again.” The flight, wine, and aching head contributed to Claire’s irritability. Her insolent retort stunned him momentarily. Recovery didn’t take long. As she carried clothes to the dresser, he seized her arm and turned her to face him.

“Claire, I do
not
appreciate your flippant attitude. There’ll be many more journalists present than you’ve experienced at one time.”

His grip hurt. She looked directly into his eyes and stood tall, as he glowered over her. “I assure you my attitude is
not
flippant. It’s just that you are increasingly repetitive. I know the speech and I know—” She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence.

It was the first strike since her
accident
. She remained standing, but temporarily dazed—more by disbelief than pain.

He spoke again, as if he hadn’t just shattered his promise and her security, leaving her house of glass lying in a pile of shards. “You have a responsibility and I expect you to behave appropriately.” He let go of her arm, walked to the suitcase, and pulled out Claire’s hiking boots. “By the way, would you like to know why these are packed?”

Her mind wheeled as he changed subjects. She was having difficulty keeping up. Refusing to cry, she exhaled and took the bait. “Why do I have my hiking boots?”

“As a surprise for your birthday, I made reservations for Sunday and Monday night at the presidential suite of a very exclusive hotel, inside Yosemite. I thought you’d enjoy the Sierra Nevada Mountains and National Park. After last year, I didn’t want to miss celebrating your birthday.” His tone became stern. “However, instead of surprising you like I hoped, our romantic birthday getaway now rests in your hands.”

Claire tried to follow his words: her hands? What did he mean?

“If your memory isn’t failing, if you can remember my concerns and rules, and if you can obey the few requests I’ve made, then we’ll be able to keep the plans for your birthday. If, however, you’re unable to handle your responsibilities, I’ll have no choice but to cancel the reservations, and we’ll concentrate on ways to help facilitate your memory for the future.” He stared at his wife as she sank to the edge of the bed. “What is your choice? You want to be a partner. Tell me what you want to do: go to Yosemite, or go home and review appropriate behavior?” This was another of those offers you can’t refuse type questions.

God she hated the dance: a blow to the cheek one minute and discussing a romantic getaway the next. It was the one step forward, two steps back waltz. She wanted to scream. Sitting on the side of the bed, Claire allowed herself tears and swallowed. Her voice revealed her distress, yet she tried to sound composed. “I’ve never been to Yosemite. I’ve heard it’s beautiful. That sounds like a wonderful birthday.”

Unmoved by her tears, he stood waiting for a response to his question. Seeing her husband’s stare, feeling a too-familiar twinge of panic, Claire realized she hadn’t answered his question. “I’d like to go to Yosemite. I’ll do as you say.”

He moved closer, took her hands, and helped her stand. Their chests touched as she looked up at his still too-dark eyes. She didn’t look away. “Claire, I don’t want to break my promise, but at the risk of sounding
repetitive
public failure is
not
an option.”

“I understand. I’m sorry for making you break your promise. I’ll do better.”

THAT NIGHT WHILE
lying in bed next to his sleeping wife, Tony remembered a scene from his childhood. It was one of many that shaped so many of his decisions. His grandfather’s booming voice: “Boy, you will
not
be joining us at dinner this evening.”

Surprised, he noticed the absence of his place setting. Anton asked why. His grandfather didn’t speak, but removed a letter from the breast pocket of his jacket and placed it on the table. Anton retrieved the letter and unfolded the page. It was his grades from the last semester of classes. He’d taken seventeen credit hours: a very full load for a freshman. There were five A’s and one B+, in Calculus. That seemed good to him.

He remembered still not comprehending his grandfather’s tone. “You plan to succeed in this world, boy?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Then don’t let this happen again. Failure has consequences. Perhaps some time alone, eating in your suite, will help you remember perfection is the minimum requirement for success.” His grandfather then turned his eyes away and took a drink of wine.

“Nathaniel, perhaps he did his—” His grandfather’s dark eyes stopped his grandmother’s plea. She looked down at her plate. The subject was closed. Tony looked at his parents. They too were looking down.

He remembered walking out of that dining room vowing to make Nathaniel proud. It wasn’t easy, but today he believed he’d seized opportunities and created others. If his grandfather were alive, which he should be, Tony believed he would be proud.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING
, Tony left the apartment early to golf with friends. During her morning shower, Claire noticed tenderness on her right arm. While drying, she saw a large purple hand print. Claire’s concern wasn’t that she endured her husband’s wrath. It was that the physical evidence would be visible. She felt relieved to find Catherine had packed blouses with sleeves. She rationalized if the purple bruise was seen, it would break multiple rules: appearances and private information. Most importantly, Tony wouldn’t be happy. Thinking ahead, Claire checked her party dress: sleeveless.