Consequences (26 page)

Friends made 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 that her reminiscing made her sad. She wondered where those friends were today. She became so busy concentrating on her career. 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 should concentrate on great times in Chicago. But 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 seven thirty in the morning. 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. Filled with excitement, 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 that took place all summer long.

She didn’t speak. Tony was occupied on his cell phone. He’d been in a conversation with someone 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 that 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 they arrived, Tony informed her she could rest at his apartment. He hadn’t mentioned the location or when he would 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 that separated the two compartments and gave Claire the first information on her destination. “Ms. Claire, Mr. Rawlings’s 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 around to the left. You will see a security desk. They will help you reach the apartment. I will park the car and bring your and Mr. Rawlings’s 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?”

“No, thank you, Eric. I will be fine.” Then she waited while he stopped the car and came around to open her door. Only having five hours sleep, Claire felt like a mouse placed in a maze. Would she be able to find the cheese?

A cool lake breeze hit her legs as she stepped from the car and proceeded into the Trump Tower. She thought about her appearance, the blouse, skirt, sophisticated heels, and hair pulled up and back. She didn’t resemble the college girl that used to roam these streets with her friends. Doors opened and the bellman nodded as she passed. She looked like she belonged in a limousine. The guard at the security desk didn’t question her as she spoke with confidence, “Hello, I am Claire Nichols. Please show me to Mr. Rawlings’s apartment.”

“Yes, Ms. Nichols, we have been expecting you. We hope your flight was enjoyable. Please follow me this way.” The guard tried his best to make small talk, but Claire’s mind lingered six years behind.

Once the elevator reached the eighty-ninth floor, Claire tipped the guard, thanked him, and entered the open door to the apartment. Immediately, a charming gentleman greeted her, “Hello, Ms. Claire, my name is Charles. I am very pleased to meet you.” He showed her to Mr. Rawlings’s room. Would she be interested in some breakfast, coffee, or anything else?

Tony’s room reminded her of his apartment in New York, more of the masculine natural colors. The shades were drawn and Claire asked Charles to open them. The room felt dark and dreary and she knew on the other side of the shades the sun shone brightly. The view as he opened the drapes took her breath away. The windows faced north toward the lake. Far above most of the city, she could stand close to the window and look down at the buildings. Just a little to the left she could see Navy Pier and out on the lake boats. The beautiful vista hypnotized her. She loved Chicago, and there it was eighty-nine stories below.

“Ms. Nichols, will you be staying or going out?”

Pulled from her trance, she knew her desire and reality differed. She and Tony hadn’t discussed her activities. “I believe I will be staying here for now, and I would like some coffee please.”

Charles returned with coffee and their luggage. If she were back in Iowa she could be on her way to her lake. Instead, she was sequestered in Tony’s apartment. She lay down on his big luxurious cold bed, covered herself with blankets, and fell asleep. When she awoke the clock said 12:30. Tony may not be back for at least five hours. If only she could contact him, find out his plans. Instead she investigated his apartment.

Not surprisingly it was magnificent and apparently took the entire eighty-ninth floor. Like his New York apartment there were floor-to-ceiling windows throughout the dwelling. She found an office that contained computers and telephones, no doubt Tony’s
home
office in Chicago. She opened the office door, looked around, and closed it. Under no circumstance was she permitted in his home office without him. There was no reason to believe the rules would be different here.

It occurred to Claire that perhaps Eric would be able to contact Tony and find out his expectations. Charles informed her that Eric was with Mr. Rawlings. He didn’t know when they planned to return.

Next Charles served lunch. It bore a striking resemblance to her everyday lunches in Iowa. Claire knew that there were restaurants with various delicious foods just an elevator ride away. Her appetite disappeared, and she settled onto the sofa in the living room with a book. Between the stunning view and the undeniable yearning to be in the city, she had difficulty concentrating. Finally, at four thirty, Charles informed her that Mr. Rawlings called. They had dinner reservations for six and tickets to the theater, the eight thirty showing of “Wicked.”

As she prepared for the evening, Claire opened her garment bag to a Nicole Miller taupe strapless dress with sequins. She’d never seen the dress before, but of course it would fit perfectly. The matching Gucci shoes and handbag completed the ensemble. It even had a small jacket with matching sequins, just right for an autumn evening. She piled her hair on top of her head with large spiral curls dangling down her neck.

As she completed the finishing touches to her makeup, Tony entered the bedroom, greeted Claire, and went to the adjoining bath for a quick shower. She smiled. His tone sounded chatty, like other people were near, and his eyes were milk chocolate. He emerged from the bath clean-shaven, hair wet, and a towel around his waist. The aroma of aftershave filled the bedroom.

Watching him, she momentarily thought about an ongoing conversation she’d been having lately with herself. It usually started with thoughts of him, pleasant thoughts. Then she would think about the way he made her feel or how much she liked to see him happy. It would then turn to questioning, something like,
Are
you
completely
crazy
or
only
unstable.
She didn’t know how she could be feeling this way about
him.
After all, he kidnapped her. He hurt her, but when he was good . . . Claire tried to remember, there was a song or something that said: when he is good, he is
so
good—and that summed it up.

She pondered the many puzzling sides of this enigma as she watched him in the mirror. First, looking at him as he removed the towel, her pulse quickened and she forgot about her primping. No one could deny his incredibly handsome physique. Hell, he was gorgeous. Despite the almost twenty-year age difference, she observed his defined muscles, broad shoulders, and firm abdomen. Momentarily, she fantasized about the feel of his skin against hers. Second, he was undoubtedly an extremely successful businessman who desired to keep his life private. Third, he utterly and completely believed in appearances. Fourth, he had an insatiable sex drive. In that arena Claire had come to terms with his varying approaches, anywhere from tenderness to domination. However, the side of Tony that bothered Claire the most was his unpredictability. His temperament could shift without warning, making an Indiana tornado seem docile.

Due to his position, his desire for privacy and appearances were understandable. It was the swiftness with which he could go from serene to furious that concerned her. Nevertheless, as Claire watched him dress, smelled his cologne, and heard him chat, her body tingled in anticipation. She looked forward to being on his arm, enjoying Chicago’s nightlife.

Their dinner reservations were for Sixteen, a fine restaurant on the sixteenth floor of the Trump Tower. Their table had an amazing view of the Wrigley Clock Tower. Tony ordered their wine, appetizers, and meals. The reputation for outstanding cuisine proved true, everything tasted delectable. They chatted throughout the meal, mostly about Chicago and its many possibilities. Claire didn’t complain about spending the day in the apartment, but she mentioned that after the spa she would like to do some shopping. After all, wasn’t it Tony that kept encouraging her to shop?

After dinner Tony suggested they walk the short distance from Trump Tower to Cadillac Palace Theater. Having wanted outside all day, Claire thought his idea was fantastic. Feeling the warm city breeze, walking arm in arm down South Street through the crowds of people, gave her a rush of anonymity. They talked and laughed as the evening faded into night. Claire’s deprived senses filled with sounds of traffic, the feel of a crowd, and visions of buildings transforming into monuments of architecture as darkness descended and lights illuminated.

Claire could have walked forever. Even the sensation of her shoes hitting the hard concrete delighted her, but their journey ended too soon. Upon entering the theater, she saw the show bill high above their heads. She’d long been a fan of the “Wizard of Oz” and immediately became excited about watching the performance of “Wicked.”

Of course, they were seated in prime seats. Claire remembered shows she saw in the same theater years earlier, sitting somewhere near the top of the balcony. Currently, they had an excellent view of the stage and orchestra. For the next few hours, Claire was lost in the performance: the acting, the dancing, and the singing. When Elphaba sang “Defying Gravity,” Claire was absolutely mesmerized, her life disappeared into the performance. Every now and again she would notice Tony watching her, not the show. She chose to ignore his gazes and enjoy the show. She believed her behavior was appropriate and knew without a doubt that if it weren’t he would let her know.

After the show they walked back to Trump Tower. Tony talked about Claire’s appointment scheduled for nine in the morning. She had a massage, facial, and hair services scheduled, but if she wanted more she only needed to let them know. Everything would be billed to Tony’s apartment. Her only concern would be generous tipping, and he would give her all the cash she needed. The spa was actually in the tower and Charles would be available to help her find it. They would provide lunch if her services took that long and they probably would.

That night Tony’s bed wasn’t cold like it had been earlier in the day. Claire believed that his business in Chicago must be going well. That night he was generous, demonstrative, sensual, and erotic. Perhaps he felt apologetic for his quick judgment the week earlier. Whatever the motive, Claire loved the results!

In the past, during the nights Tony stayed in Claire’s bed, it seemed like they slept on polar-opposite sides. Tonight’s finale concluded differently. They fell asleep with Claire’s cheek on his chest, his arm around her bare shoulder, and her arm over his tight abdomen. She could feel his warmth as his chest hair tickled her nose, her head rose and fell with each of his breaths, and the sound of his heartbeat in her ear. She inhaled his intoxicating scent and drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The next morning, she awoke alone. Due to the heavy draperies the room was dark: making it difficult for Claire to judge time. The clock read 7:10. She hadn’t heard Tony get out of bed, shower or dress, and had no idea how long he’d been gone. Putting on a robe, she decided to find coffee. At home it would have been brought to her immediately upon waking. Then she thought—no, hoped—perhaps this room didn’t have the quality surveillance of her room in Iowa. In the dining room Charles poured coffee and informed her that Mr. Rawlings left thirty minutes earlier for his Chicago office.

Sipping the rich bold liquid, Claire’s mind recalled the pleasures of last night. Not just the sex, which was great, it was memories of his voice and expressions. Blissfully walking back to the bedroom Claire told Charles she would wait until after she dressed for breakfast.