Catherine finally broke the spell, “Ms. Claire, please come in. We need to shut the windows. You will get wet.”

Claire came in and went to her suite. The howling of the wind electrified her emotions. She knew he would return today. She hated him with every bit of her being. She detested his patronizing demeanor, his callous attitude, and above all his abusive mentality. And she hated being alone. She liked Catherine very much, but she treated Claire like a guest or a superior. Claire longed for someone to talk to, to laugh with, and to just be near. With all her heart and soul, she didn’t want that person to be Anthony Rawlings. So when five o’clock arrived and Claire waited for word of his arrival, she should have been pleased with Catherine’s report, “Mr. Rawlings is delayed a day due to the storm fronts. The pilot will not fly west of Chicago due to high cloud banks. He will be home tomorrow evening and plans to dine with you at that time, you will know more tomorrow.”

Claire thanked Catherine for the information, ate her dinner, read a little, and went to bed.

After Anthony returned, the schedule he discussed went into full gear. She was in her suite at five each evening to learn his plans. Things were very busy with his work, and many nights he didn’t visit at all. Sometimes they ate in her suite and sometimes in the dining room. Sometimes he called upon her for her duties, other times he said he had work to do. The days turned to weeks and the weeks to another month.

The positive aspect had to be that there’d been no more glitches. That didn’t mean that Claire experienced anything like the afternoon in her suite. On the contrary, each task to fulfill her contractual agreement was about him. Nonetheless, she felt content to avoid the explosive unpredictable glitches.

At some point during the beginning of May after Anthony was finished with Claire, he chose to stay in her bed. She realized this after she fell asleep and woke in the middle of the night to the sound of his breathing, steady and rhythmic. The consciousness of his presence frightened her. Did he have additional plans? Should she be doing something? She was too afraid to wake him and ask. Instead, she quietly slowly moved to the edge of her side of the bed and fell back to sleep. When she awoke in the morning, he was gone.

On May 12, a Sunday, Catherine informed Claire that she and Mr. Rawlings would be eating on the back patio. The temperature had steadily increased and the backyard was vibrant with color, intense shades of greens, ruby reds from the red bud trees, and pure white from the dogwood trees. Anthony employed groundskeepers that had been busily planting thousands of annual flowers in the gardens, beautiful clay pots, and flowing hanging baskets. The pool was recently opened with ever-flowing fountains. At night they produced a colorful light show that changed the water from clear to pink to blue to green to red and back to clear.

Claire remembered the day because as they sat to eat Anthony asked her if she had swum in the outdoor pool yet, it was heated. After so much time following his rules and being incarcerated inside, her bravado failed her, she started to cry. Her reaction obviously surprised him. Through muffled tears Claire replied, “This is the first time I have been outside in two months. I didn’t think I was allowed to go outside.”

If he had been moved initially at her emotional response, he quickly recovered. “Yes, that is correct. I do know exactly how long it has been since you have been outside.” His voice resumed the authoritative tone she despised. “And I am happy to see that you still remember who is in control of your access to additional privileges.”

Claire nodded her head ever so slightly to indicate yes, she understood. Anthony cleared his throat. She looked into his eyes trying to blink the tears away from hers. “Yes, I understand. But I truly love being outside.”

“Surely you are smart enough to figure this out,” Anthony teased.

Confused and upset by the loss of her falsely perceived equality, she said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Claire, I am an important man. I have hundreds of thousands of people in hundreds of companies that depend upon me for their livelihood. I balance a lot on my plate. Being observant to your wants and whims is not on my priority list. If you want to go outside, ask.”

The simplicity startled her and the reality made her ill. She was an adult and she was asking permission to go outside. Her memory seemed foggy, but she couldn’t recall doing that since she was maybe ten or eleven. It was one of his tests. Would she surrender to his authority or would she refuse and spend the summer inside? If she surrendered was it really submission or was it her way of controlling the situation? The internal debate continued for such a short time.

“Anthony, may I please leave the house and go outside?”

“You may be outside. Do not leave the property without me or my permission.” His tone continued, but Claire’s only concern was his meaning, “Remember to be available to me whenever I am here. Therefore, no wandering the grounds if I am present. And you must be in your suite at five each evening for instructions. Can you follow these rules?”

“Oh yes, I can.” It may still be a prison, but it had just multiplied in size.

  Greed, for lack of a better word is good . . .

Greed in all its forms for life, for money, for love,

forknowledgehasmarkedtheupwardsurgeofmankind. —Gordon Gekko, Wallstreet

 Chapter 7

The cloud of smoke levitating near the suspended ceiling created a haze, making the florescent lights appear dim within the small office. Nathaniel clenched his teeth while analyzing the figures. Since taking the company public, the numbers showed profits. The stock continued to grow, and industry reports were favorable. Rawls Corporation was in the black. And considering the current economic climate of the seventies, that was good. The problem is Nathaniel Rawls doesn’t want good. He isn’t content with black. He wants more, a lot more. The sound of the furnace blowing warm air created a hypnotizing hum. He leaned back, took a long draw on his cigarette, and rubbed his temples. How could he make the figures in the profit column multiply? Hell, others are doing it. He wanted to too.

Punching the black button on the small box, he said, “Connie, get Samuel in here now.”

The crackling voice responded immediately, “Yes, sir, Mr. Rawls.”

Samuel entered the small paneled office inhaling the suspended cloud. The sight of his father hunched over the books and spreadsheets meant only one thing: he was in for the “We can do better” speech. “Yes, Father, did you want me?”

“Have you seen the latest figures?”

“Yes. Sales to major distributors are up 18 percent.”

“That is chicken feed. Textiles can’t make shit in the United States. We have to revisit the idea of moving operations out of country. In Mexico, we can produce the same merchandise for less than a quarter of what it costs here. Hell, the unions here in Jersey are costing us a fortune.”

Samuel learned long ago to pacify his father, let him blow off some steam and things would settle. “We have looked into that. The problem is that we would lay off hundreds of workers who have been loyal through the years. Besides, as I said, we are in the black.”

Nathaniel blew a cloud of smoke toward his son. “I’ve decided to hire Jared Clawson as CFO, chief financial officer. The man has some innovative ideas.”