Consequences (58 page)

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget
what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Anthony added, “I have had many years of living on my own, making my own decisions, and doing everything for my benefit. I have learned that people remember most how you make them feel. I try to work my business with that in mind. When I negotiate with someone, they will forget what I say or what I do, but they will not forget how I make them feel. Do they feel important to the deal? Do they feel central to the transaction? I wanted our honeymoon to be special because it would benefit me.” His smile looked mischievous to this reporter. “However, I wanted it to be special so that Claire would feel special and know how important she is to me.” He no doubt had her full attention during his statement, and this reporter would guess during their stay in paradise.

Mr. Rawlings seems to have the gift of making everyone feel special. Claire agreed he has made her feel special since they first met.

VF:
Vanity
Fair
would like to thank you for taking the time to allow us into your home. Now is it true you have other homes besides this one?

Anthony answered, “Due to my multiple business sites and intensive travel schedule we do own a few apartments here and there. It makes traveling much easier.” (Insert text box of real estate holdings of Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Rawlings.)

VF
: Mr. Rawlings, your answer about “we” owning brings VF to another more controversial subject. May I ask about the debate regarding the lack of a prenuptial agreement prior to your marriage?

“I would prefer you didn’t. However, the only way to stop the rumors is to address them. First let me say there was no debate. We did not consider a prenuptial agreement, much less debate one.” Taking his wife’s hand in his, he continued, “I am elated to have the world get to know my wife. Mrs. Claire Rawlings is an amazing woman. She did not know who I was when we met. She has told me exactly what she thinks of me or of my actions and not always in a complimentary manner. She did not anticipate a marriage proposal on that
cold
,” he smiled at Claire, “night in Central Park. I trust her implicitly. I have worked my entire life to build a business empire. It means nothing without someone with whom to share. I did not feel it was fair to ask her to sign something that would restrict her partnership with me in any way. She is my wife and I am her husband. It may not be PC to say this today, but we believe in forever, in trust, and in love. A piece of paper is not going to matter when we are old and gray. We decided together that our commitment to one another is stronger than any legal agreement.” Mrs. Rawlings squeezed his hand. “Like it is said in a movie,
she
completes
me
.”

VF
: Thank you again for the brief glimpse into your life. Below is a quote that was recited during your wedding ceremony. To our readers, it was meant as a dual statement to both of them, from each of them.

I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am
when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have
made of yourself, but for what you are making of me.
I love you for the part of me that you bring out.

—Roy Croft

(Photo collage at the end includes photos of home: grand hall, sitting room, library, office, dining room, recreation room, exercise room, theater room, and indoor pool. Also included are wedding photos: of ceremony, reception, with cake, talking with guests, and dancing. There are a few of Fiji, the private island where the couple stayed, the beach, infinity pool, lounging decks, and outdoor shower.)

Claire read the copy and imagined the photos that would be inserted. It truly
appeared
perfect.

Three days later, on the eighteenth of March, Tony surprised Claire with a long weekend getaway to Lake Tahoe. The beautiful snowy mountains filled with skiing, roaring fires, and hot coffee made for a great escape. The ski resort, literally a mile above sea level, had crystal-clear air that permeated deep into their lungs. The mountains provided the most amazing skiing with over a hundred inches of base and freshly fallen powder. The tall majestic evergreens bowed to the weight of the snow that layered each branch. Their small private chalet held amazing views, warm fires, and no cook. For the first time in a year, despite limited supplies Claire managed to keep them from starving. With the intensity of their exercise, both indoors and out, she was pleased he liked her cooking. A while ago she’d heard some advice.
Eating
is
important
to
keep
up
their
strength.

Warm, naked, and covered with a soft blanket, she rested her head against his chest. Claire contemplated the significance of
this
weekend as they rested in the afterglow of their love and the glow of fireplace. Three hundred and sixty-six days ago she’d been a different person in a different life. It wasn’t that her life now was bad. It was just that the transition had been unplanned, unwanted, and well, brutal. She needed to hear her husband’s answer to the question that lingered in her mind. “Tony, why are we here
this
weekend?”

They both watched the crackling blaze, his strong arms encircled her petite body, and he took a deep breath and replied, “I didn’t want you home in your suite this weekend. I wanted you outside in fresh air.” He felt her chest lift then drop and heard the soft sniffles. Damn, the crying was what he’d been trying to avoid. Nuzzling his face in her hair, he kissed her head. “If it hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be here now. There is a reason for everything.”

He tenderly turned her to face him and then rolled her over onto her back. Her blonde hair fanned out onto the rug like a halo. He looked down at her angelic face. Even with the moisture, her eyes were stunning. The tears only made the green more intense in the firelight. Tony couldn’t help himself, she was beautiful and he wanted her. His bare chest pushed against her supple breasts. He caressed her pink cheeks and her soft shoulders as he looked into her eyes. “I’m not sorry that we are together, but I am so sorry when I think about . . . remember the things I—”

Claire stopped him. Shaking her head
no
, she put her hand to his mouth. He stopped talking and kissed her hand, gently sucking the tips of her fingers. “Please, Tony. Don’t. I don’t want to remember or think about that.” Her voice sounded amazingly steady despite the tears that now streamed from the corners of her eyes. “I want to think about now.”

“But you should know—”

“All I know is that I love you today. I hated you then. It is too much of a contrast for my mind to accept. I want to concentrate on today.”

“I love you today too. Tell me what I can do to help. Claire, anything you want, it is yours.”

He couldn’t take away her memories. That was what she wanted more than anything. “I want you. I want you to love me and fill me with so many good memories that I don’t have room for the others.” She kissed her husband. “Tony, fill me completely.”

Claire wasn’t thinking. Her body was in control; more accurately, out of control, moving in sync with desire. She didn’t think, because she feared if she did it would be about the past and not the present. Instead, she surrendered her body and her mind to her husband. There was a time she’d tried to keep her mind, but no longer. He possessed them both.

His lips found her soft skin and watched as her eyes responded. He wanted to see the spark, to have it be there. Briefly he thought about the saying
the
end
justifies
the
means
. If that were true, then he wasn’t sorry. In his arms, beneath his body, responding to his touch, was the woman he’d watched for so long. He suckled her hard nipples, and she moaned deeply, wanting—no, needing
him
. At that moment and time, sorry was not at all what he was feeling.

Nothing
improves
memory
more
than
trying
to
forget.

—Unknown author

 Chapter 38

It was happening again. The satin sheets dripped with sweat as Claire gasped for breath. Trembling, she concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, convincing herself that she
could
breathe. This was only a dream or a nightmare. Once over, she never remembered the scenes, just the terrible feeling of helplessness. It always ended when she heard the beep and woke. It was the same damn beep she’d heard when she first arrived. It meant her suite was locked. When the dreams first started, she could roll over, find her sleeping husband, curl up next to him, and fall back to sleep. Now regulating her breathing, she knew that wasn’t possible. Like so many times before, she needed to get out of bed and complete her new routine.

The steady breathing from a few feet away told Claire that Tony was sleeping peacefully. Quietly, she lifted the covers and eased out of bed. Her hands shook as she tied her robe and tiptoed to the hallway door. “This is dumb,” she whispered as her feet crossed the lush carpet. However, it was now her reality. She knew sleep wouldn’t be possible without completing this new drill. Gripping the metal lever, she pulled, and the door easily opened. She closed it and went to the balcony. Moving the draperies aside, the French door opened without hesitation. The rush of fresh air filled the room and her lungs. She walked through the opening, gently closing the door behind her.

Her perspiration-drenched body relished the cool night breeze. Standing at the rail, she inhaled the spring air and lifted her hair to dry the perspiration from her neck. It wasn’t that she wanted to remember the feelings of a year ago. Truly she didn’t. When she stepped onto a patio, terrace, or into the backyard and memories would start to surface, she could stop them. It was at night while she slept that the compartmentalization of her interment would come rushing back. Then in the minutes or hours that followed, she would attempt to calm her lingering fear. It was the one she tried to keep away, the terror that at any moment, without warning, history could repeat itself. The sickening realization that she would be completely helpless to stop it was what robbed her of sleep.

The cool cement under her feet brought her back to present. She shivered, pulled her cashmere robe tighter, and wished that she’d grabbed slippers. But the trembling wasn’t caused by the cold. She knew it was her dream. Looking up she noticed the clear black velvet sky peppered with stars. Absentmindedly, she thought,
That’s
why
the
temperature
dropped.

Sighing, she fell into a chair. This knowledge would never matter again. Her job was her name, Mrs. Anthony Rawlings, meteorology was gone—forever. She’d left the suite in such a panic she hadn’t looked at the clock. It really didn’t matter, sleep was out of reach. Pulling her legs into her chest and covering them with her soft robe she began her mental therapy session. Her still rapid heart rate told her that tonight it would last hours instead of minutes.

Self-therapy consisted of a mental list of reasons that her nightmares were ridiculous and she had no basis for her fears. Claire believed that if she could convince her conscious self, her subconscious self would be forced to agree. When she allowed her mind to go back to the spring of a year ago she could rationalize that now her life was significantly dissimilar. She now had more liberties than she’d experienced since her arrival.

Tony stayed true to his word about her e-mails. He even decided that she needed her own address, [email protected]. This made printing easier. He was also correct about the numerous requests for interviews, money, and endorsements she received daily from people she’d never met. Having Patricia respond to those requests was easy. She also received personal e-mails. And now she had a voice in the responses. Overall, when asked Tony agreed to requests regarding Courtney, Sue, Bev, or MaryAnn. If he had other plans for the day in question, this occurred from time to time, his plans trumped. But the act of requesting was the crucial portion of her negotiations. If she wanted to reply to someone or to go somewhere, as he had said many months ago, she simply needed to ask. She’d become accustomed to this component. It was a daily reminder of Tony’s authority.