Consequences(187)

The cool cement under her feet brought her back to present. She shivered, pulled her cashmere robe tight, and wished she’d grabbed slippers, but her 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 tonight it would last hours instead of minutes.

Self-therapy consisted of a mental list of reasons her nightmares were ridiculous and she had no basis for her fears. Claire believed 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 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, as 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.

Regarding that authority—it hadn’t asserted itself, as it had a year ago. She reasoned, perhaps it was because her behavior didn’t warrant that type of implementation. No matter the cause, life was undeniably better.

Watching the moonlight on the budding trees, Claire recalled the outings she’d recently enjoyed. They included lunches in Iowa City and Cedar Rapids, Red Cross meetings in Davenport, and shopping in Chicago. A few weeks ago MaryAnn suggested a catch-up day in New York, as she and Eli were there for business. Tony reviewed all of the e-mails before Claire, and she didn’t expect permission to spend the day in New York, but she asked. Surprisingly, he acquiesced. Smiling and feeling her pulse slow, she remembered flying off to a beautiful April day in New York City in a Rawlings company jet, with Courtney and Sue. All of the women had a marvelous time, and Claire made it home before 7:00 PM. He was home first, but she was home for dinner. He wasn’t unhappy.

Calming, as the gentle breeze blew her hair, she listened to the voice in her head and remembered a recent unexpected freedom. Secretly coveting the chestnut hair which kept trying to return, she informed Tony she needed an appointment to maintain her blonde. He said they had no overnight plans in the near future, so she should just go. If he had the private plane she could take one of the company jets, just plan to be home before dinner. Shocked, she remembered questioning, “Are you saying I can go by myself?”

“My dear Claire, is there any reason you should not?”

She assured him there wasn’t. He or Patricia arranged the appointment; Claire went to the airport and boarded a company jet—by herself. She landed in Chicago, took a waiting cab to the Trump Tower where she spent the rest of the morning being pampered. Then she ate lunch and shopped for a few hours and came home. Blushing in the cool night air, she thought about being back in her suite before 6:00 PM and how she did her best to show her husband the meaning of a statement she’d made months earlier—coming home to a wife who wants to be home is better than coming home to a wife that has to be home. He caught on pretty quick—the first indication was the spark in her emerald eyes and the next clue involved a black satin robe and a warm waiting tub of water. Truth be told—she couldn’t remember eating dinner at all that night.