“I ordered wine from room service,” she said, as she walked to the door. This time she looked through the peep hole.
“That must be why you opened the door earlier. You obviously didn’t look the last time.” He smirked.
“You’re right; it’s a habit I need to work on.” She opened the door. A young man dressed in a burgundy uniform entered, pushing a linen covered cart. Upon the cart was a bottle of Merlot and two glasses. He smiled politely at them.
“Ms. Nichols.” He acknowledged. Claire confirmed. She realized the scene looked far different than reality. The young man requested, “Please sign this.” He presented her with a small black folder, a smile and a slight bow.
Claire took the binder and opened the small folder. To her surprise the paper within wasn’t a receipt, it was a note. Ms. Nichols, I’m entrusting your silence. Just making sure you are all right. P. She looked to the waiter, who watched expectantly. Nervously, her gaze went to Tony who too was watching. She took the pen and wrote: Yes – Thanks C. and closed the folder. Finding the ten dollar bill, she handed both to the waiter.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, ma’am. May I open the bottle?”
Claire nodded. After releasing the cork, he bowed again. Claire thanked him, and he left with his small black folder.
Claire returned her gaze to Tony as she thought, Your creepy stalker, Phil Roach, is concerned. It’s almost comical. She didn’t know if this declaration was good or bad. The ludicrousness made her giggle. If she’d been alone, it may have bordered on hysteria, but as it was, Tony’s voice returned her to present.
“Did you order two glasses?”
She shook her head and tried to focus, her words came through muffled laughter, “No, but since they’re here, would you like some Merlot?”
He approached her warily. “You know, you are the only person who can have me pissed off one minute and completely dazzled the next. Why are you laughing?”
Claire shook her head, “I don’t know, shock, absurdity? It seems I never know what’s coming. As much as I plan, I’m continually blown away.”
Tony poured wine into each glass and handed one to Claire. “Do you remember when we had wine at the Red Wing?”
Claire closed her eyes, recalling the scene from a lifetime ago, and nodded. “I do.”
“I’d been watching you for years. I was so nervous that night. I thought I was planning your acquisition.” He looked into his red liquid.
Her stance straightened, “If you’re using business metaphors, may I suggest hostile takeover. It’s more appropriate.”
He took a sip of wine and exhaled, “Yes, Claire,” standing close he looked solemnly down into her emerald eyes, “and I have apologized for that.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “What I didn’t know, despite all my research, as we sat talking was you. I mean, I knew everything about you.” He shook his head reflectively, walked back to the sofa and sat down. His long legs stretched out in front of him. Claire noticed for the first time, how tired he looked. It was after all, almost two in the morning in Iowa. “Yet, I didn’t know you. Truthfully, at first, I had no desire to.”
“Oh, really?” She asked with intended sarcasm. “Because, I recall some pretty up close and personal contact.”
Tony smirked, “Yes, I wanted that. I didn’t want to know you, like the real you. I fought it for months. But you were this light that kept sucking me in. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. We weren’t supposed to happen.”
“What was supposed to happen?”
“Well, the takeover,” he emphasized the use of her term, “was supposed to stop you. I never expected anyone to flourish under such circumstances.” He looked at Claire with a gaze of admiration as he continued, “You didn’t just flourish. You conquered.” He took another drink of his wine. “I’ve continually underestimated you or perhaps I should say, you’ve continually exceeded my expectations. You still do. You are the only person who has ever derailed me. And more than anyone, you know me, not Anthony Rawlings, me.”
Claire knew she’d had the rare opportunity, as Catherine so eloquently told her once. She pushed forward, “The real you. Would that be Anton?” His expression morphed. Sadness fell like shadows over his face. The despair reached into her chest, physical ache came at seeing his expression.
He exhaled, “I suppose, yes, but not anymore. I had it legally changed. So, you see, I didn’t lie. My legal name is Anthony Rawlings, and it has been for a long time.”
Claire stood. She wouldn’t allow herself to feel pity. Instead she did what people do when trying to avoid their true emotions; she lashed out, “You share this with me now, but not when we’re married. That tells me that you never trusted me, the only person to really know you.” The last clause emphasized. “Plus, you threw me away and left me to rot in prison.” She exhaled in exasperation, “You say you love or loved me, past or present. You don’t know what love is. You have an obsession and it really needs to stop. Stop watching me. Stop having me watched. Your fun is done. It’s over.”
He returned his gaze to the red liquid, slowly swirling it within the confines of the crystal globe. His words weren’t rushed, instead a slow release, divulging hidden truths that only recently he’d come to know, “I don’t know how to explain it. It was a loop hole. Don’t you understand?”