Consequences (7 page)

“Okay, if you let me know what it is, I can look around and call you back. First let me get your number.”

“Oh, you definitely have my number. First I think you should know what I left.” Claire waited impatiently. He sounded mysterious, but there were people waiting. Finally, he said, “You, Claire . . .”

Her cheeks flushed. “Excuse me?”

“I have been thinking about you and would be honored if you would agree to accompany me to dinner.”

Claire’s mind scrambled. She tried to think, but the bar was filling with patrons all looking to her for service. Anthony was waiting for her to respond. Last night, he was so handsome and charming. The prospect of someone like him, older and successful, taking the time to call her after a few hours of chatting was flattering. She worked to sound resilient. “I am sorry, I work until close. That is too late for dinner.”

“Someone named Crystal who answered the telephone earlier said you work the early shift tomorrow. Or will you turn me down again and send me home heartbroken?”

Claire sighed. This was outside her comfort zone, but then again, she didn’t want to be responsible for sending some poor successful gorgeous businessman home heartbroken. “I am supposed to get off tomorrow at six, but if you recall from last night, it isn’t always prompt. I could be ready by seven, if that isn’t too late for you?”

His tone was lighter and quicker. “Wonderful. Should I pick you up at the Red Wing or your place?”

Oh god, she wasn’t ready for him to know where she lived. “I can meet you—”

He cut her off. “I am sure you can, but let me pick you up in style. I will see you at seven at the Red Wing, and we are going to Chez Czar. Until tomorrow, Claire.” The telephone disconnected.

For the next sixty to seventy minutes, the barrage of orders and customers needing pacification kept her mind from fully registering her actions. She’d accepted an invitation to one of the top dining spots in Atlanta with someone she barely knew. She broke her “
no
dating
a
customer
” rule and her “
no
going
in
the
same
car
on
a
first
date
” rule. But maybe the first date was in the booth at the Red Wing. Then this will officially be the second date, which is totally acceptable. Oh my, what would she wear?

At six fifteen, she officially clocked out, her register balanced. In the back of the bar, there was a small locker room where the female employees kept their purses, coats, and extra clothes. Claire knew her Red Wing T-shirt and jeans wouldn’t make the Chez Czar cut. Besides, the last time she saw Anthony, he was wearing a very nice suit.

Opening her locker, she pulled out a black dress. She hadn’t had much time this morning, but after shaving her legs, she decided to run to Greenbriar Mall and see if Macy’s had anything in her price range. It turned out there was nothing for free, but she did find a simple black dress on its second markdown. It was shorter than she normally wore, but it fit, and she didn’t have time to be picky. After a quick run through Burlington’s, a pair of simple black heeled sandals was purchased. She had a black cotton half sweater that complemented the dress well and would be perfect for a cool spring evening.

After changing her clothes and stuffing her T-shirt and jeans back into the locker, she looked at herself in the mirror. She immediately felt silly. This wasn’t her. She was jeans, T-shirts, and tennis shoes.

Some eyeliner, mascara, and lipgloss accompanied by a quick brush through her hair were as good as it would get. Judging by the hoots from both sides of the bar when she entered the front of the Red Wing, she did all right. “Check you out, hot stuff. Where are you going all dolled up?” Claire’s manager had a variety of voices in his repertoire. This was his flirting one.

Feeling playful, she decided to throw it back to him and respond all
Southern
belle
, “Why, sir”—the syllables drawn-out—“I don’t know what you mean.” He raised his eyebrows and stared. “Well, goodness gracious, I do have a little ‘ole date with a tall dark, handsome stranger.”

A few minutes later, Claire saw a shiny black Porsche pull up to the front of the bar. “See y’all later. Don’t wait up.” The coworkers behind the bar did some more hoot’n and holler’n. Claire smiled as the voices faded into the sounds of the night on the other side of the door.

Anthony got out of the driver’s side. Immediately, she was pleased that she decided to find a dress. His light-colored Armani suit was perfectly tailored. His greeting was polite as he once again kissed her hand and escorted her around to the passenger’s door. The simple act seemed elegant.

Being a four-star authentic Italian restaurant in the heart of Atlanta, everyone knew Chez Czar had a reputation for being a difficult place to get reservations for. However, the hostess immediately guided them to one of their best tables.

When the waiter arrived with menus, Anthony immediately asked for their best bottle of Batasiolo Barolo. After the waiter departed, Claire began to look at the menu. She couldn’t help notice there were no prices. What did that mean? When she looked up from behind the large leather-bound folder, Anthony was looking at her, not his menu. Once again, Claire felt her cheeks flush. “Do you already know what you want?” she asked.

“I believe I do.” He reached for her menu. Claire released it, although she hadn’t had a chance to really see her choices. The whole “
no
price
” thing had her a little be muffled. “And I can’t see you behind that big menu.” Claire smiled. She’d never met a man like Anthony. She felt like she had his full attention, and it was nice but unsettling. When the waiter returned with the wine, he poured a small amount into a glass. Anthony tasted the liquid and replied, “Ahh, yes.” The waiter poured two glasses.

Claire wondered if this was what people talked about on a cruise ship with amazing service. Goodness knows no one was treated like this at the Red Wing or Applebee’s for that matter. Before she realized what happened, Anthony ordered dinner. “Well, thank you.” Her tone was tentative.

“Do you not like Caesar salad and shrimp linguine?” he asked, dismayed.

“Oh, I do. I just have never had anyone order for me without asking me my preference.” Claire thought to herself,
But
then
again,
I
have
never
met
anyone
like
you.

The tips of his lips moved upward, and his eyes shone. “If you do not like your food, we can certainly send it back for something else.”

She did like the food. As soon as the linguine arrived at the table and the aroma of garlic and butter penetrated her senses, she knew the taste would be even better. When the shrimp touched her tongue, she relished the seasoned flavor. Anthony was incredibly charming and polite. After dinner, as they waited for the valet, he gently placed his arm around her waist. He was much taller than she realized at the Red Wing. Leaning down to her ear, he whispered, “May I kiss you?”

Feeling the unstoppable sensation of his stare, Claire only nodded. As his lips touched hers, they were soft and full. Momentarily, she felt the rest of the world disappear. It ended too soon. When he pulled away from the contact, Anthony smiled, and Claire felt her cheeks flush. Once they were back in the car, he asked, “Are you ready to go back to the Red Wing, or should I take you to your home?” Claire contemplated her options. He offered her a third alternative. “Or would you like to join me in my suite, perhaps for some more wine, or we could call room service for dessert?”

Smiling, she responded, “I like dessert.”

The hotel’s foyer was exquisite—marble floors, large glowing chandeliers, and huge floral arrangements. Claire tried not to look around. She’d never entered such an exclusive establishment. His suite at the Ritz Carlton was large like an apartment, and once inside, he remained suave and sensual. His eyes were deep. They gave her the sensation of chocolate, dark and melted. Although she didn’t know him that well, she agreed to romance and sexual pleasures. He was romantic and attentive. There was something about him that made her break all her own rules.

It was after midnight when Claire lifted her head to meet Anthony’s now milk-chocolate eyes. “I really need to get back to my place.” Claire had enjoyed the soft 700-count sheets too much. “I don’t want to disturb you, so I can get a taxi downstairs.” She started to shift away, when he gently reached for her.

“If I promise you a ride in the morning, would you consider some more dessert?” Anthony’s expression as well as another of his features informed Claire that he wanted her to choose the dessert. She knew she wasn’t scheduled to be at work at all the next day.

“I don’t want to disrupt your schedule. I am sure you are busy.”

“I promise this is not a disruption. And maybe after more dessert, we could have another glass of wine. There is still some in the bottle from room service.” The last time she looked at a clock; it was 1:15 a.m. Even at that moment, Claire didn’t realize the consequence of their
napkin
agreement
.

As Claire lay on the sofa recalling the events that led her to this place and this situation, she couldn’t recall traveling. She remembered a car but couldn’t recall any other part of this house. She couldn’t remember any other memories of Atlanta. That time, 1:15 a.m. was her last conscious memory of her life.

From the other windows near the bed, she could see only trees. She must be at the end of the dwelling because she couldn’t see more of the house. Her windows were far from the ground. Even if they opened, she would break something from this height. Day after day, the sky would lighten to shades of gray and then darken too soon, keeping track of the days became difficult.

Wondering where she was, Claire told herself that when Catherine returned she would ask about their location. Catherine didn’t come, the young non-English speaking man did. Day after day, no one came to talk to her. The food came and the room was cleaned. Clothes were miraculously washed and returned to her closet or drawers, but no person was ever seen. She was alone. The isolation was hell. It may not leave physical markings, but it was a neater form of Anthony’s abuse.

Claire was never a TV watcher, and the TV in her suite didn’t receive many stations. However, she did check the news each morning to learn what day it was. They had begun to blend. On April 2, she finally heard a repeated knock at the door.

The past thirteen days hadn’t been a total loss. After two or three, Claire realized the weather channel would do
local
weather. The first time she sat to watch, she was stunned. The midnight announcer, Shelby, graduated from Valparaiso the year before her. Claire watched in disbelief. How could Shelby be on the Weather Channel and she be held prisoner in a house in Iowa? The local weather came from Iowa City, Iowa.

She discovered her windows faced southeast. The sun shone on a few of the thirteen days of her seclusion. The hours of sunshine grew in length by minutes each day, but it still looked cold. With the insulated windows and warm fireplace, Claire’s only knowledge of outdoor temperature remained Shelby and her coanchors.

As a means of escape, Claire turned to reading. The built-in bookcases were filled with current bestsellers. There were series and individual books. She loved to read when she was a child, but life had become too busy. That didn’t seem to be a problem any longer.

She also discovered a small refrigerator that was always stocked with water and fruit. No one ever asked what she wanted to eat. Truly she wasn’t hungry considering she didn’t do anything to build an appetite. She showered, dressed, and primped a little. The rebellion seemed meaningless with no one to rebel against. One sign of progress, the bruises faded from red, to blue, to purple, to green, and now a very indistinct yellow.

The knock came again. Food usually entered after the first knock, this person was waiting for an invitation. She didn’t think it was Anthony, he didn’t knock. Could it be Catherine? Slowly, Claire approached the door.

“Yes? Who’s there?” The anticipation of actually hearing a voice respond to her was stimulating.

Disappointment
to
a
noble
soul
is
what
cold
water
is
to
burning
metal.
It
strengthens,
tempers,
intensifies,
but
never
destroys
it.