Truth (23 page)

“
I apologize, this is
rude. It’s just that I’m expecting some very important
information.”

“
Please, go ahead and
check your phone.” Phil wondered if he called the number he’d given
to Mr. Rawlings if the phone in her hand would ring. He doubted it.
The glow in her eyes and the obvious smile indicated her
satisfaction with the information in the text.

Still holding her phone, Claire took her
wine goblet and slowly sipped the red liquid. Setting the glass
upon the small table she looked directly into his eyes. “Phil?”

“
Yes?”

“
I believe given the
circumstances, I’d feel more comfortable addressing you as Mr.
Roach.”

His back straightened. He hadn’t told her
his last name. “Excuse me?”

“
Yes, Mr. Roach,” she
paused for effect. “I mean, I don’t really know you, not as well as
you know me -- since you’ve been following me for the last month.”
She allowed her lips to linger upon the glass’s rim teasing the
liquid. Her eyes stayed on his.

He contemplated his options: lie, act
ignorant, or come clean. “I’m not sure what you’re talking…”

“
Let’s cut to the chase
Mr. Roach. You were hired by my ex-husband to keep tabs on me.
You’ve done your job quite well, that is until you lost me last
Monday. Now, the way I figure it, you have two choices: be honest
with Mr. Rawlings, tell him you don’t know where I was, or lie and
give him just enough information to keep him pacified?” She sat the
glass down. “How am I doing?”

“
I assure you, I don’t
know…”

“
Given your inability to
be honest with me – I’d assume you chose deception with your
employer as well.”

“
Ms. Nichols, I’m not sure
how you’ve reached your conclusions.”

“
For starters, I never
offered you my last name.” She waited, he remained silent. Claire
continued, “I decided to confront you tonight -- or should I say to
have you confront me – for this discussion. Mr. Roach, I do not
wish my where-a-bouts for the last four days to be known. Let’s
both say I’ve been here in San Antonio alone, and you’ll confirm
that, as the truth.”

“
Ms. Nichols, tell me why
I would possibly agree to this?”

Her broadening smile made her sun kissed
cheeks rise. Without saying a word, Phil knew she had a plan. “Let
me show you the text I just received. Actually it’s a multi-media
attachment.” Claire extended her hand, with her iPhone angled for
his maximum viewing pleasure.

Phil looked down onto the small screen and
saw a picture of him standing near her table. She brushed the
screen and another photo appeared; him sitting across the small
table from her. She brushed the screen again; they were leaning
toward one another across the small void.

“
I don’t understand,” he
confessed.

“
Come now, Mr. Roach. You
infringe upon people’s privacy for a living. That information is
often used in less than scrupulous ways. Surely you recognize the
same being done to you.” She waited; he remained silent. “You
haven’t divulged the truth to Mr. Rawlings over the last four days.
He’s suspicious and asking questions. I’d be glad to forward these
pictures to the press. They do seem to enjoy writing about me. Or,
perhaps I could send them directly to my ex-husband with
information regarding our secret rendezvous.”

His mind spun.
Shit! This isn’t happening
. “Why would you do that?”

“
To get you fired Mr.
Roach. I don’t appreciate having a shadow everywhere I
go.”

“
I’d deny everything;
explain that I was only talking to you for information.”

“
That sounds plausible.
However, I presume you were instructed to keep me in sight, not to
make contact.”

She was right. That was his instruction. He
bowed to her manipulation. “What do you want me to do?”

“
I want you to report
exactly what I told you. I’ve spent the last four days relaxing in
sunny San Antonio and enjoying the sights.”

“
Why haven’t I sent
photos?”

“
You were having problems
with your computer, or your SD Card, or your camera… I don’t care.
Tomorrow I’ll gladly don different clothes and allow multiple
staged photos… adjust the date on your camera, and your story will
be complete.”

“
What’s in this for
me?”

Claire stood, “Would you like to join me on
the terrace?”

Phil stood. They slowly stepped through the
open French doors onto the crowded stone terrace illuminated by
large lit torches. The spring air blew warm against their faces,
and their attention moved to the magnificent view. San Antonio was
before them. Below, the Riverwalk and cypress trees faded into
shadows. In front of them, the buildings beamed with artificially
induced colorful hues accentuating the wondrous architectural
structures. Claire continued their conversation. “It’s a beautiful
city. I think it would be nice to spend four days here.”

Her Cheshire grin infuriated Phil, he
repeated, “You haven’t answered my question. Why would I agree to
your plan? What’s in it for me?”

She responded ever so
coyly, Phil thought he heard the faintest evidence of a southern
drawl. He’d read she lived in Atlanta for a few years. “That should
be painfully obvious, Mr. Roach.” The word
painfully
stretched for four or five
syllables. “For starters you get to keep your job.”

Phil considered her threat. If she followed
through and sent the compromising photos to Mr. Rawlings or the
press, he would undoubtedly loose his assignment. “For starters?
Are you insinuating there’s another benefit... to me?”

“
I’ll allow you to ponder
the possibilities.” She lifted the bulbous goblet to her lips
intentionally savoring the rich dry liquid. “My ex-husband is a
powerful man. I do not believe he would take kindly to you
moving in
on me,
your
assignment
.
I’m not saying that to imply a mutual affection. Rather your mere
presence indicates his sense of proprietorship. Not only will these
photos imply a relationship between the two of us, but your recent
inability to confess your short comings in the area of
trailing
will support
the claim.” Claire gazed out over the Riverwalk. “Mr. Roach, let me
be the first to warn you. Lying to Mr. Rawlings is not recommended.
That said -- getting caught lying is even worse. My plan will have
mutual support and after tomorrow’s photo shoot, substantiating
evidence.”

“
What are you trying to
hide?”

Claire finished her wine and sat the glass
on a nearby tray. “My plane leaves before one tomorrow afternoon.
Of course, you know that, don’t you?” Phil smiled and she
continued, “I’d like your decision regarding my proposal. I need to
plan my wardrobe for your photos.”

Phil stood at least six inches taller than
Ms. Nichols. He glanced at her feet. The golden sandals had tall
heels. He wasn’t sure of how tall but wondered why women chose to
walk in such uncomfortable shoes. As his eyes scanned upward
settling on her intense emerald eyes, he fought the new feelings he
had for Claire Nichols. Contempt and respect were currently
contending for first place. How could this petite polished woman so
easily reduce him to her accomplice? He leaned down to lower his
voice. “For such a beautiful woman who appears deceivingly meek,”
She turned toward him, stupid grin still intact. “You really are a
bitch.”

“
Thank you, Mr. Roach.”
She extended her right hand. After only a moment’s hesitation, he
accepted. “I’ve had a marvelous teacher. I believe we have a deal,
am I correct?”

“
Yes, Ms. Nichols, we have
a deal. I certainly hope you’ve enjoyed your relaxing stay in San
Antonio.”

“
Thank you, I have. Oh,
Mr. Roach. If you’re considering tampering with the GPS in my
rental car, let me save you the trouble. The data’s been
permanently deleted. Shall we begin tomorrow with breakfast, let’s
say 7:30?”

Phillip thought how helpful that information
would have been earlier this evening, before he spent forty five
minutes trying to extract recent destinations from the built-in
Global Positioning System within her Chrysler 200. There was no
question in his mind – he’d seriously underestimated this woman. He
wondered if he were the only person to make that mistake. He truly
doubted it. “I’ll be lurking in the shadows at 7:30. Forgive me; I
don’t want to be included in future photos.”

“
Then we’ve never met.”
Claire turned to leave then glanced back, “Until
tomorrow.”

He nodded and watched her
walk away. Her posture exuded confidence, straight spine and
slightly raised chin. The backless dress exposed her feminine lean
body. A faint white line from a slender bathing suit strap was
visible across her tanned back. Below the bare skin, covered with
the soft white material was one of the most perfect round behinds
he’d ever seen. Watching it sway with just the perfect amount of
sultry yet aristocratic movement, he concluded:
she does a fine job walking in those shoes
.
A clandestine four days with her
in this five star hotel wouldn’t be a bad tour. Hell, it might even
be worth losing his job.

The body of Mr. Roach’s email was short and
simple:

Mr. Rawlings, I apologize for the
inconvenience and delay. My laptop decided to reject the SD card
from my camera. I’m glad to say the kinks have been resolved. As
you will see, I have multiple photos of Ms. Nichols from throughout
her four day holiday. I honestly expected to see her with someone.
However, it seems this was truly a four day get-a-way meant only
for her personal rest and revitalization.

I have a return ticket on her plane. We
should arrive in San Francisco at approximately 5 PM PST, 7 PM CST.
I’ll be available by telephone after that, if you need to reach me.
Again, I’ll remain dedicated to this assignment until I learn
otherwise. Thank you, Phillip Roach

Tony clicked the
attachment. A parade of pictures: Claire eating breakfast, lounging
at the pool, at dinner, in a bar… After a fast pass through all
fourteen photos, Tony went through them again, slowly digesting the
contents. He wondered about San Antonio.
Why? Why would she go there? It didn’t make sense. But then
again why not? She’d always enjoyed warm weather and
sunshine.

A man growing old becomes a
child again.
–
Sophocles

Chapter
14

1984...

Marie combed Ms. Sharron’s thinning hair and
talked endlessly about nothing. Mrs. Sharron Rawls enjoyed hearing
her talk. When Marie would momentarily pause, to collect her
thoughts or take a breath, Ms. Sharron would gently tap her arm,
indicating for her to continue. Marie wondered if the sweet elderly
lady understood the words being said, or if she just liked the
sound of her voice. Heaven knows, even with the large staff, the
enormous house could be incredibly quiet and lonely. There were
times Ms. Sharron would allow the sounds to be the radio or the
television, but without a doubt, she preferred voices. When Marie
spoke, Ms. Sharron’s breathing would regulate and her expression
would calm.

It would seem that after a year and a half,
Marie would have run out of things to say, but she hadn’t. She
could ramble at length about nothing. Truthfully, she hadn’t
planned on staying with the Rawls for this long. She, of course,
never saw herself as a nurse maid. Yet, given her circumstances,
this job was a god send. And now, barely twenty–three years old,
she feared it would end too soon. After all, Ms. Sharron was barely
a shell of who she’d been when Marie began.

In the beginning, it was sad to see the way
she struggled for words and their meaning. Nevertheless, as Marie
spent day and night by her side, she found humor in the most
unlikely places. Surprisingly, Ms. Sharron found humor too. This
shared bond and most absurd witty view of an unfortunate reality,
bound these women despite their drastic differences. The rest of
the family was too serious. Especially Mr. Samuel Rawls, Ms.
Sharron’s son. Marie shuttered to think how he would react if he
knew the way they laughed at some of her mishaps.

Marie never had formal
caregiving training. Then again, is someone formally trained
to
care
? Wasn’t
it as simple as being observant to needs and fulfilling them? If
Ms. Sharron looked toward her cup, she needed a drink. If she
fidgeted in her bed or seat, she needed to get up and move. It
wasn’t rocket science, yet other than Mrs. Amanda Rawls, whose
presence for some reason agitated Ms. Sharron, the men in this
family were hopelessly incapable. Even when they tried, they were
often too self-absorbed to notice the slight clues Ms. Sharron put
forth.

Marie’s duties transformed
as Ms. Sharron’s disease progressed. In the beginning, Ms. Sharron
tried diligently to maintain certain responsibilities. Being that
she always oversaw the household staff, she felt it necessary to
maintain that assignment and appear competent to her husband. After
all, he ran a million dollar business. With tears in her eyes, she
explained – over and over, it was her duty to be sure
his
home ran
efficiently. Marie caught-on quickly to the roles of the different
employees. She helped Ms. Sharron not only monitor job performance,
but payroll. Ms. Sharron didn’t write checks, but she compiled the
information for Mr. Rawls’ accounting staff; Marie made sure Ms.
Sharron’s figures were correct. Eventually, Mrs. Amanda Rawls took
over the responsibility. In actuality, it happened before Ms.
Sharron became aware. Ms. Sharron believed she and Marie were still
in charge, but they weren’t. In time, she forgot about the staff
and household responsibilities. After all, in her mind she wasn’t
the wife of a tycoon, but of a handsome young soldier.