Claire decided to start at the beginning: Nathaniel Rawls, born 1919. Served in U.S. Army, WWII deployment, returned to USA 1943. Married Sharron Parkinson Rawls 1943. Began working for BNG Textiles in 1943. 1944 Samuel Anton Rawls born. 1953 BNG Textiles became Rawls Textiles. The company expanded. 1975 Rawls went public, traded on the NYSE. At this point records are easier to obtain. The biggest problem was lack of technology in 1975.
Today a wealth of information was available on every publicly traded company: assets, liabilities, ownership equity, profit and loss sheets, management analysis and much more. The same information was presumably available in 1975 but not at a click of a button. Claire debated traveling to New Jersey to access microfiche files. The woman on the telephone told her they should have it. However, the state of New Jersey does not have the inclination, time, or manpower to track the old information. She invited Claire to come and investigate the bowels of their storage. Although a lovely invitation, Claire hadn’t decided if it were necessary.
January 1986 rumors involving Rawls Corp resulted in a drastic drop in stock price. Investors wanted their money returned. 1987 Nathaniel Rawls was convicted and incarcerated at Camp Gabriels, a minimum security state prison, located in northern New York. He was sentenced to thirty-six months, one of the heaviest penalties dispersed for a white collar crime. 1989, twenty-two months after conviction, Nathaniel Rawls died of a heart attack.
Harry found a list of civil cases involving Nathaniel during his incarceration. He said it wasn’t uncommon for prisoners to be sued. Many wronged investors want blood from a turnip, so to speak. Claire hadn’t read the various cases. Harry admitted he’d only scanned them, but believed many stemmed from rumors Mr. Rawls hid money prior to his incarceration. Although he may have had the opportunity while remaining outside of prison, on bond awaiting trial, the allegations were unproven. Judging by the lengthy list of plaintiffs, there were many bidders for a piece of his hidden bounty.
Claire read a blurb suggesting his money was hidden outside of the United States. However, those closest to Mr. Rawls, vehemently denied this, stating Nathaniel was known for his American bravado. They speculated he’d never trusted foreigners with his money.
After hours of reading, and not finding anything she hadn’t read before, Claire decided to move on to Samuel. Reaching for his stack of information, she noticed the faint sunlight leaking from around the blinds. Refocusing on the clock at the corner of her laptop, she saw it was almost seven thirty.
Claire decided to table – or bed -- the Samuel reread and opt for a shower. She wasn’t sure, after the way she left Harry last night, but he usually came over for coffee about eight. She moved stiffly from the soft chair and lifted her empty coffee cup. If she were to survive her incredibly long day, Claire needed more caffeine.
Feeling almost human after another cup of coffee and shower, Claire decided to dress causal, wearing yoga pants, a camisole, and an oversized t-shirt. Not wanting to be busy with the hairdryer when Harry arrived, she combed her wet hair back into a low ponytail and managed a little mascara, lip gloss, blush, and perfume. Claire wasn’t the stunning model from last night, and although she wanted to tell him she was sorry, if he walked in and saw her dressed to the nines for coffee, he’d rightfully be suspicious. She wasn’t sure of her daily plans. However, as her bare feet padded along the wood floor of the cavernous condo, she smiled at the sunshine streaming through the unblocked windows.
Some research, coffee, warm shower, and fog-free blue skies did wonders to put her life in perspective. Claire’s dinner with Tony momentarily sent things off-kilter, but all was neutralizing again. She needed to focus on her mission involving Tony. And that mission wasn’t sex! It was retaliation. He may not have sent that box, but her research continued to validate its contents.
As Claire set her laptop on the kitchen table she typed in Newsweek. Like so many other publications, Newsweek required a subscription in order to access previous editions. That was fine, she thought, Phillip Roach can have fun figuring out why I’m suddenly so interested in news magazines.
Starting the coffee maker for another high octane injection, she typed 1975, the year Rawls went public. She remembered a magazine article with a picture of Nathaniel and his family in front of a house like Tony’s. She wanted to find that picture, to verify – if only to herself -- that Tony was indeed Anton Rawls. If it wasn’t in Newsweek, she assumed it must be Time. She had an online subscription to that publication, too.
Two hours later she found the picture with the house, Nathaniel, Sharron, Samuel, Amanda, and Anton. Claire couldn’t wait to show Harry. She’d tell him about Tony’s denial, and then show him the picture to validate her suspicions.
Then Claire realized -- two hours. It was almost ten. Surely, Harry’s at SiJo by now. He hadn’t come over for coffee. Claire staggered at the sudden disappointment flowing through her. She hadn’t realized how much she enjoyed their morning chats, until now, when he didn’t show.
There was no question; it was her fault. She’d been rude last night. Would she have ever treated Tony that way? The answer was no, not because she didn’t want to, but because he’d never have allowed it. Had she really spent half the night fantasizing about someone who dominated her entire life, including emotions and reactions, when there was a kind understanding man in real life?
Claire went to the bedroom to find her phone. She wanted to send Harry a text, tell him she missed him this morning. Hopefully he’d respond, and maybe she could meet him for lunch.
The screen indicated four missed calls. Picking up her Emily phone she had texts, one each from Emily and Courtney. They both wanted to be sure she was all right, after her dinner.
Darn, she’d meant to call them last night. The whole evening just messed her up. She sent a text telling them she was fine and would talk to them, when they had time. Walking toward the kitchen, she added, I HAVE SOME NEW RELEVANT INFO TO SHARE!
Honestly, she hadn’t checked her Tony phone. That could wait. She needed more time in the sunshine, without his voice and the darkness that swallowed her into its abyss. Smiling, she checked the iPhone. Two calls were from Amber; oh yeah, she’d forgotten to check in with her, too. One call was from Harry, no message. At least he called. She didn’t recognize the other number, no message.
When almost to the kitchen she heard a knock at the door. Wow, Harry must be upset, if he is knocking. Claire didn’t care, as long as he was there. Smiling her biggest grin, she opened the door with a light hearted, “Did you forget your key?”
Her heart stopped beating, and the air dissipated from her lungs. She wasn’t staring into Harry’s soft blue eyes, wavy blonde hair, or his SiJo fitted black shirt. No, it wasn’t his chest with the nicely stretched Under Armor across his wide pecs in front of her. This one was covered by an Armani tailored suit. Claire’s smile shattered, as dark eyes once again sent her world into a spiral. The axis which had taken her most of the night to correct was once again wobbling uncontrollably.
Straightening her neck, she suddenly wished for shoes, preferably heels. It was a stupid wish. If a Genie had just given her three, it would be a waste. However, as he loomed, at least six and a half feet high in her doorway and she stood barefooted, she felt incredibly small. Claire didn’t like the sense of vulnerability rushing through her nervous system, sending off flares of panic at every synapse.
His voice registered deep, “I don’t have a key, but I’d be glad to get one. Just tell me where to sign-up.” After so much time of evaluating his looks, eyes, movements, and voice, she immediately assessed: he sounds restrained, yet amused.
She wanted to say, “Go to hell, and let me know when it turns cold – because, that’s when you can expect to receive a key!” However instead, she squared her shoulders and tried to display a small amount of decorum, “How did you get up here. You can’t be on this floor without a key.”
He was still standing in the hallway. Claire held the edge of the door, ready
to slam it, if necessary. “Perhaps you could invite me in, and we can discuss it?”
“Tony, why are you here?”
He smirked, “If we’re playing one hundred questions, I admit defeat. May I come in?”
Momentarily, Claire stared. Her stomach twisted with the realization, he’d asked the same question twice. It was another of his old pet-peeves. As much as she didn’t want to allow him entry, she didn’t want risk him asking her a third time. She stood back and nodded. He walked in and surveyed his surroundings with an air of approval.
“My, Claire, you are living much better than I expected. When I first learned of your release, I pictured you destitute.”
“I’m sure you enjoyed that scenario. I’m sorry to disappoint.”
He snickered, “Disappoint? On the contrary, your ingenuity is to be praised.”
Still standing on the marbled floored entry, Claire asked her question, again. “Tony, I will repeat myself, at the risk of being redundant.” She could sense the increased intensity in his stare. “Why are you here and how did you access my floor.”
“I gained access by the security guard on the first floor. He tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.” Claire thought about that unknown number. She needed to program Security into her phone. “I explained, we are old friends, I’m leaving town, and since I had recently talked with you, I knew you were home and expecting me.”
As he spoke her iPhone rang. It was the unknown number again. “This is security. I’ll tell them I don’t want you here, unless you quickly tell me why you’re here.” The phone rang again.
Rarely, if ever, did Anthony Rawlings receive an ultimatum. Now faced with one, he didn’t anger or hesitate, he answered, “I want to know more about your prison delivery.”
She eyed him, more assessment: honesty. Apparently the conversation wasn’t closed the night before, only tabled until today. After the fourth ring, she brushed the screen and answered. “Hello.” “Yes, this is Ms. Nichols.” “Yes, he did.” “Thank you.” “Yes. I will. Good-bye.” Tony watched intently as she spoke. She had the sensation of a bird, being evaluated by a cat. Should she fly away, had she just thrown away her only chance of ejecting him from her home, or would she be consumed by a power greater than she could manage?
After her conversation with security ended, she turned back to her guest, “I have plans today. Please make this quick.”
His eyes scanned up and down her petite form. “Yes, I see you are dressed for business. What do they call that, business casual?” The vulnerability of her light weight pants and top made her uneasy. Refusing to take his snide bait, Claire remained silent. His tone turned sultry, “I’m not complaining. I always found the casual Claire as sexy as the one who rocked designer dresses.”
Dreaming or awake, we perceive only events that have meaning to us.
- Jane Roberts
Chapter 18
Claire looked up into the sparkling velvety brown eyes. Damn, she’d been seeing those same eyes and that Cheshire expression all night long. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she exhaled, “Please, I have lunch plans, and I’d like to change. Question what you want and go.”
“Do you only entertain in the entry, or may we sit?”
His gentlemanly tone was difficult to resist. “We may sit.” She led him to the living room. As they sat, him on the sofa and her in a chair, she added, “I know you enjoy coffee, I’d offer you some. But, the last time I got you coffee, it didn’t work out so well for me.”
Tony smirked, “God, Claire you’re something else. I can’t imagine anyone else joking about that.”
“Well, see, you misinterpreted. I wasn’t joking. I’m actually still pissed as hell.” This wasn’t something she could have said while they were married. And definitely not something she would have said in a restaurant, even a restaurant devoid of other patrons. Some details of their life could only be discussed in private. His rules regarding privacy and appearance were as ingrained as punctuality.
“Good for you.” He leaned toward her, his eyes devouring her entirely, until she questioned her own presence. “Your ability to admit your displeasure is refreshing. It encourages me to be honest, too.”
Claire did her best to glare, “Honesty. That would be a refreshing change.”
His expression remained soft and so were his words, “You should know ...I am sorry.”
The world as Claire knew it, shifted. Perhaps it was an earthquake, they do happen in California. Why couldn’t he be domineering or abrasive? That she could resist. But, apologetic, in the depths of her soul, she never expected to hear those three words.
“What?” She tried unsuccessfully to subdue the overpowering trembling. The volume of her voice rose exponentially with each phrase, “You’re sorry?” The years of submission, incarceration, and domination bubbled out. No, not bubbled -- gushed. This was not his house. She was not sequestered away from the love and support of others. She’d say whatever she wanted, and then tell him to leave. If he didn’t – she’d call security. They were after all, on her call log. “Well, Tony, I believe I need a little clarification. Tell me what exactly you’re sorry about. I’ll gladly give you a few options.”
The fury surging through her veins wouldn’t allow her to remain seated. She stood and paced, around the coffee table, in front of the large windows, back to the chair and again to the coffee table. She felt his eyes on her, as she made multiple slow and methodical loops. Her mind was a whirlwind, a tornado, of words. Each syllable vehemently rushed to get out. Instead of opening the flood gate, Claire took a few deep breaths. She wanted to proceed slowly, clearing away the debris cluttering her mind, and choose the right words. Finally, she began, “First, you’re sorry for invading my privacy for years, years before I even knew you existed. Second, you’re sorry for kidnapping me, isolating, controlling me, and manipulating me. Third, you’re sorry for lying to me, pretending you cared and oh yeah, marrying me. Fourth, listen carefully Tony, this is a big one... you’re sorry for framing me for attempted murder, resulting in incarceration in a federal penitentiary.” She sat back down, arms once again crossed over her breasts. It was the most direct she’d ever spoken to him, and it felt liberating. Unfortunately, the resentment coursing through her veins wouldn’t allow her to relish her new found independence.
She expected her words to incite anger; after all, she’d experienced his anger before. Nevertheless, carelessly and unapologetically Claire forged ahead, “I would prefer the words, but you are welcome to say, one through four, if that’s easier for you.”
He leaned forward. Cautiously she looked up into his face. Her body trembled. The cause may have been the fury she’d just released, or perhaps fear of his anticipated reaction. Then she took in his expression and without warning the trembling stopped. His eyes were soft, the color of melted chocolate -- even sad, overflowing with regret. He reached for her hand and gently tugged. Slowly, Claire released her appendage, allowing it to sit in his large palm. Tenderly he closed his fingers encasing her petite hand.
“I am deeply sorry for one and four.” He rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb. “I did provide you with an alternative destination for number four.” Claire exhaled audibly, Tony continued, “I am not proud of two, but three would never have happened without it.” His tone deepened and slowed, “I am not, and never will be sorry for three. And, for the record, I never lied about or pretended to love you. I didn’t realize it at first, but I have loved you since before you knew my name.” He slowly lifted the hand he held and lowered his lips to the firm soft skin. “And, you forgot our divorce. I am sincerely sorry for that also. Had I known you would be released so soon, we could still be married.” He placed her left hand on her knee, and stroked her empty fourth finger. “You could still officially be mine.”
Was he implying that unofficially she still was? He waited.
As Claire contemplated Tony’s words, she thought about her rings. Did he know she’d sold them? Th
en she noticed him eying the two cellphones on the table, in front of her. She quickly reached for her Emily phone and slid it into her camisole between her breasts. Yoga pants don’t have pockets.
Tony closed his eyes and gently shook his head. “If I didn’t want to see that phone before, I sure as hell do now.”
“It’s my work phone.” When had lying become so easy?
“Oh, I was unaware of your employment.”
“Really, I guess I forgot to inform you or your spies.” She didn’t think it was appropriate to use Phillip’s name.
“Claire, I want to show you that I can change. Have as many damn phones as you want. Two seem excessive, but go for it.”
“Thank you for your permission. I don’t need it. I can have fifty phones, if I want.”
Tony nodded, with a stupid grin and a spark in his eyes. Claire continued, “It’s documented, when a person is forbidden something, once it’s made available, they tend to overindulge.”
Tony met her gaze, his tone a sultry melody, “Before it is made available, a person may dream of it, long for it, and fantasize about it. Especially if they once had it and know how amazing it is.”
God she hated him, and not! Her insides tightened as the feelings from last night returned. The inappropriate sensations, deep inside, threatened her irrelevant tone. “I don’t recall availability being an issue for you.”
“Be careful, Claire. That could be interpreted as an invitation.”
“Then once again, you would be misinterpreting.” She stood.
He stood and stepped toward her. She remained strong and defiant, straightening her spine and standing as tall, as her five–four frame would allow. At the same time, she wanted to crumble. Their bodies stood resolute, untouching, separated by inches. Those inches might as well have been miles. The space created a deep chasm, filled with a magnitude of baggage and memories. Impassable, the gorge served as an insurmountable barrier.