Truth (57 page)

“
Can we work this
out?”

She thought about the news release. Had he
seen it? Were there pictures of her and Tony on the internet? What
did he think happened? A tear fell from her eye as she replied, “I
hope so.”

“
I’ll be
waiting.”

She nodded into the phone as the connection
ended. He didn’t say good-bye. She couldn’t remember a time in the
past when he hadn’t said good-bye. Claire leaned her head against
the seat and watched the lights of the highway. She thought about
checking the messages and missed calls. Instead she watched the
lights.

Power resides only where
men believe it resides.
―
George R.R. Martin
, A Clash of Kings

Chapter
37

Sophia gripped tightly to Derek’s elbow as
they walked past the crowd of onlookers. The bright lights of the
hotel’s canopy illuminated the night. A gentleman wearing a black
uniform opened the door of the Shedis-tics’ limousine. Gracefully
Sophia lowered herself into the spacious compartment and settled
into the plush leather seat. Once Derek was beside her, the door
closed and the car eased forward. It was the same car which brought
them to the gala. Sophia whispered in Derek’s ear, “I like some of
the perks with your new job!”

Momentarily closing her eyes, Sophia enjoyed
the silence of the limousine. Compared to the gala, the tranquility
was heaven. With the multitudes of people talking, the music,
people dancing, and the paparazzi outside the hotel, for the past
three hours noise had been constant. Suddenly she remembered the
presidential suite. Sophia struggled with her mixed emotions. She
was angry she’d missed part of the gala, sad at disappointing her
husband, and excited about the mystery buyer’s newest offer.

Derek’s familiar touch warmed her hand and
brought her thoughts back to the man beside her. She leaned against
his sturdy shoulder. Her cheek brushed the sleeve of his new tuxedo
while her fingers played with the satin lapels.

“
Are you tired?” Derek
asked.

“
I am, but I enjoyed the
dancing very much.”

“
Me too.” He kissed the
top of her head.

Sophia exhaled; she’d already apologized a
hundred times for missing the meal and speeches. Nevertheless, she
felt the need to do it again, “Derek, I’m so sorry I missed part of
the gala.”

“
You don’t need to keep
apologizing. I understand. It’s your job.”

Sophia nodded. She rarely
thought of herself as employed. Yet, Derek was right; art was
her
job
. She
reasoned he understood job responsibilities and equating her
temporary absence in that way made it easier for him to
justify.

Derek continued, “I just wish you could have
met Mr. Rawlings. Roger said he doesn’t visit often.”

“
How was his
speech?”

“
Excellent. What surprised
me was how much he knew about
my
projects. The ones I’m currently working on. He
asked specific questions. I had this strange feeling I was being
quizzed.”

Sophia grinned, “Well if you were, my guess
is you responded appropriately and received an A.”

“
I don’t know. I hope
you’re right.”

“
Hilary sure likes to
gossip.” Sophia said, stifling a yawn.

“
Yes, I noticed. She was
in seventh heaven with Mr. Rawlings’ ex-wife.”

“
I think she was
disappointed the ex-Mrs. Rawlings didn’t sit at our table. However,
I think that poor woman is lucky. Hilary would’ve eaten her alive
with her relentless questions.”

Derek replied, “Well, I only said hello to
Ms. Nichols, but she seemed nice enough.”

Sophia sighed, leaning into her husband’s
arm. “I missed so much. According to Hilary, the whole thing will
be all over the gossip pages, probably before we’re home. I’m
usually not into that kind of thing, but I may make an
exception.”

Derek lifted his arm and placed it around
her shoulders. Sophia again lowered her head to soft material of
his tuxedo. His words rang clear and true, “I think people deserve
privacy, no matter who they are...”

Nodding in agreement, his voice faded away
as she closed her eyes. Her mind filled with thoughts of the moving
art exhibit. She hadn’t had the chance to mention it to Derek. The
gentle vibration of the car soothed her. Sophia decided she didn’t
have the energy to discuss it now. It could wait until morning.

The next thing Sophia knew, Derek was gently
shaking her. His soft voice slowly infiltrated her dreams, “Hey,
sleepy head, we’re home.” Her eyes fluttered; she saw her husband’s
sweet smile.

The Shedis-tics’ driver opened the door and
cool night air filled the limousine’s cabin. Derek thanked the kind
man, and they made their way up the walk to their condominium.

At such an early hour the street was quiet
and a velvety dark sky concealed the stars above. Derek leaned down
to his wife’s ear. With her hair pinned back he had easy access. In
a deep sexual voice he whispered, “Have I told you how beautiful
you look tonight?”

Her gray eyes sparkled as she looked up to
his loving expression. “Yes, but I like hearing it.”

Stepping into the foyer of their new home,
Derek turned from the closed door and traced his finger from
Sophia’s ear to the apex of her plunging neckline. The light touch
sent chills throughout her body. Suddenly sleep didn’t seem
important. She was very glad she’d napped. With his hands caressing
the gathered waist of her evening gown, his lips lingered near her
ear and her breath quickened.

“
I was wondering,” his
words contacted her skin in hot bursts of air, “if perhaps -- you
need – help -- getting out -- of this -- amazing dress?”

Sophia nodded as the silk chiffon gown
molded against his black tuxedo. Despite the layers of material she
could feel his intention against her hip. “I do,” she
whispered.

Once within the confines of their new
bedroom, the day’s disappointments and satisfactions melted away.
Derek no longer remembered the frustration of sitting alone as
everyone else sat in pairs. Sophia forgot the stress of waiting for
a mystery buyer who never arrived. Derek’s excitement at speaking
to Mr. Rawlings faded. Sophia’s exhilaration at the new amazing
offer waned. Their joy came in each other, the ecstasy of pleasing
and being pleased.

When they finally settled into the soft
satin sheets and gave into sleep, calm contentment relaxed them.
They both glowed with the serenity associated with compete trust in
the person by your side.

*****

Text message sent: May 25: 01:17 AM – To:
Anthony Rawlings

MS NICHOLS JUST EXITED
GRAY MERCEDES. SHE SAFELY ENTERED HER BUILDING
.

Claire didn’t need to knock on Harry’s door.
When she turned the corner in the hall, she saw him leaning against
the jam in his open doorway. She sighed in relief at the sight of
him; his casual appearance made her cheeks rise. She saw his
customary faded jeans and black t-shirt had replaced the tailored
tuxedo from earlier. His blonde hair now lay in waves, unrestrained
by the earlier gel.

Prior to entering the
building Claire gave Harry the opportunity to avoid this meeting.
She sent him a text message. After all, it was almost one thirty in
the morning. It said:
MINUTES AWAY. DO YOU
STILL WANT ME TO COME BY?

His short reply appeared
almost immediately,
YES
.

It wasn’t possible to read emotion or
attitude in a text message. Nevertheless, as Claire neared and her
eyes met Harry’s, his unhappiness loomed omnipresent, surrounding
them in a cloud of despondency. His hardened expression cooled her
progress, almost stopping Claire in her tracks. Instead of summer
skies, Claire saw ice in his light blue eyes. She searched for
miniscule signs of acceptance. Instead she found frost. His lips
pressed together in tight straight line.

As her glistening high heels propelled
toward him, the scent of whisky filled her lungs.

“
Well, if it isn’t the
belle of the ball?” he asked cynically.

He gestured for Claire to
enter. Initially she planned on kissing him
hello
. Even with his bare feet and
her shoes, he stood several inches taller. In order to contact his
lips or cheek she’d need to stand on her tip-toes, or he’d need to
bend. The furrowing of his brow, as she neared, weakened her
resolve. Claire looked pleadingly into his cold eyes, as she
passed, entering his foyer.

Throughout the entire car
ride, Claire divided her time between reliving the evening’s
confrontations with Tony and imagining her reunion with Harry. It
was at least thirty minutes into the trip before she realized she
and Eric were driving in complete silence. It wasn’t as if they’d
ever chatted, but in the past their relationship was cordial.
Nevertheless, when Claire recalled his
persuasive
behavior from earlier,
she felt no desire for familiarity. Besides, her mind was too full
of thoughts and memories; the outside world seemed temporarily
irrelevant. It was when those thoughts incited tears that Claire
asked Eric to turn on some music. Truly it was an attempt to
conceal her crying from Tony’s informant.

Interestingly, Claire noted Eric never asked
her where she lived. Perhaps more thought provokingly, she never
questioned his knowledge. Music was their only topic of
conversation. Eric’s only words during their entire drive were
those in his reply, “Yes, ma’am, do you have a preference?”

She shook her head to the eyes in the
rearview mirror and turned again to the side window. The interior
of the Mercedes filled with the sounds of Doc Severinsen and Louis
Armstrong. Claire doubted the moisture on her cheeks and occasional
ragged breath escaped Eric’s observation. Nevertheless, she took
comfort in the fact the jazz music muffled her involuntary
sounds.

In Claire’s likely
scenarios for their reunion, she imagined Harry sad, hurt, or more
optimistically
relieved
that she’d made it back. She imagined his
supportive embrace as she explained the events of the night. Not
once during her hour long journey did she foresee anger. Why would
she? In the three months she’s known Harry, she’d never witnessed
him upset.

Stepping into his entry, Claire saw and felt
the aura of his fury. After dealing with Tony’s anger, she was now
face-to-face with an obviously irate Harrison Baldwin. Her imagined
scenarios paled in comparison. This was worse than she’d
predicted.

He displayed the source of his
discontentment on the table near the sofa. Laid out for her viewing
pleasure were pages of information, multiple internet stories
complete with photos featuring her.

Shit
, she thought,
this stupid gala only
happened five hours ago. How did all of this get out
already?

Claire walked silently to
the table and scanned the headlines: Rawlings’ Reunited, Anthony
Rawlings Asks for Privacy, Innocent? Anthony Rawlings’ New Claim.
There were more but she just couldn’t stomach to read each one.
Each article contained pictures. There was one photo of them during
the introductions, Tony’s arm behind Claire’s back. They were both
smiling. Another picture was during the meal. He appeared to be
smiling at something she was saying,
a
friendly conversation.
There was another
picture of them standing together talking to another couple. The
other couple was not identified. Claire read the
caption:

EVERYONE IS TALKING! The big news at this
year’s National Center for Learning Disabilities Fundraising Gala,
in San Francisco, is not the millions of dollars raised for a
worthy charity. It is the reunification of Anthony Rawlings and
Claire Nichols. Their unexpected inseparability during the
festivities begs the question: is this merger only personal or will
it include Shedis-tics and SiJo Gaming?

She put down the page and another photo
caught her eye. It was one of Tony kissing her hand. The look on
her own face made Claire uneasy. The woman in the picture was
staring into Tony’s eyes with a blushed radiance. Claire
remembered; it was right after his speech.

“
Yeah, that one caught my
attention, too.” Harry’s emotionally ladened voice returned Claire
to present. “I’ve never seen that look in your eyes. You’re acting
skills are amazing!”

Tentatively she looked up to Harry. His blue
eyes cried out with unspoken angst. She laid the papers back on the
table and struggled with her own emotions. Claire needed to feel
understood. Instead she felt challenged and fought the urge to
launch her defenses. When she spoke, her voice came out flat. “Do
you want to hear what happened? Or have you already made your own
conclusions?”

He stared in silence.
Finally, shrugging his shoulders, he walked to the kitchen, and
returned with a partial bottle of Blue Label and an empty tumbler.
Pouring himself two fingers of whiskey, he sat down in his
recliner, gestured to the sofa and replied, “By all means, make
yourself comfortable and fill me in. I can’t wait to hear how
this
isn’t how it looks
.” She sat; he took a drink of the amber liquor and added,
“It never is, is it?”