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CLAIRE
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Claire sat in the backseat of her uncle's silver Rolls-Royce, feeling satisfied with herself. Officially, she did not have an actual position with Uncle Maynard's record label. Since arriving in London a little over a month ago, she set herself up as a talent scout. She was young, barely twenty-two, and knew the kind of music teenagers liked.
Sure, Uncle Maynard did, too. After all, he'd started in the music field in 1962 and had become one of the best labels in London. Throughout the years, he signed many of the greatest-known bands and musicians. However, as a young woman, Claire believed she had the edge. She knew how to spot talent and congratulated herself on discovering Maxwell in the rundown café.
She only stepped inside because she was cold. James, Uncle Maynard's driver, was late—as usual. Claire's shopping spree that morning ended in failure. Nothing in the shops appealed to her. Maybe because she wasn't into it, her mind was far away, contemplating other things.
Claire stood on the sidewalk for a long time, waiting for James. Heavy traffic clogged the thoroughfare, and horns blared continually. She wrapped her arms around her slim body and shivered. Her mind urged James to hurry, but the Rolls still did not appear. Her thick winter coat did little against the biting cold. Desperate to get inside, she stepped through the door behind her and into Oliver Weeks' café.
Hesitating in the doorway, Claire surveyed the rundown bar and the shabby booths. The faded tiles looked clean, but they peeled on the corners. She pushed at the door to the exit and caught sight of the guitar propped against the counter. Her eyes shifted to the youth sitting on the stool. Although he appeared tired and unkempt, she noticed his good looks and a sultry glimmer in his grey eyes. If he possessed talent along with sex appeal, she considered herself in luck.
Maxwell proved his talent when Claire asked him to play. He possessed a smooth, sensual voice, and the glimmer in his eyes turned to a sparkle. If Uncle Maynard approved her choice, she could gain an official capacity at the record label.
Claire longed to prove herself and do something with her life. Until she left NYC for London, her life wasn't worth living. She couldn't complain about her childhood. All the advantages came her way. Through middle school, she attended the identical Catholic girls' school from which her mother and grandmother graduated.
Her family wasn't particularly religious, but they did believe in tradition. However, when Claire reached high school age, she protested loudly. She hated the plaid jumpers and white Peter Pan blouses she wore. Her knee socks and black patent Mary Jane shoes made her look childish. She begged her mother to attend the local high school, and surprisingly, her mother promptly agreed.
On the first day of public school, Claire donned a pair of brown corduroy Levis with large, yellow-faced white daisies on the back pockets. She untucked her burgundy and mustard plaid blouse when she noticed other girls wearing theirs that way. When she passed a group of boys on the sidewalk, she wiggled her derriere at them provocatively. They wolf-whistled and high-fived each other.
"Don't pay attention to the juveniles," a girl remarked, falling into step with Claire. "You're new around here. I'm Ginny Revelle. You got your class schedule?"
Claire glanced at her new companion, Ginny. She wore a short neon pink skirt with plaid leggings and short black boots. Her blonde highlighted hair was frizzed, her lipstick bright red, and she wore blue eyeshadow. Claire instantly liked her.
"I have to pick it up at the principal's office," Claire stated, rushing her steps. Beside her, Ginny quickened her pace also.
"I'll show you the way."
As they trotted along the sidewalk, a yellow Plymouth Duster slowed and matched their pace.
"Yo, Ginny," a young man hollered. The car halted, and scooting across the bench seat, he flung open the passenger door. "Who's your friend?"
"New girl," Ginny sang, grinning. "Name's… what's your name?"
"Claire Ogilvie," Claire answered promptly.
"Claire Ogilvie, this is my brother, Gerald," her new friend introduced. "Gerald Revelle," she added unnecessarily.
Gerald, Claire reflected, sinking against the Rolls' leather backseat. They became a couple—too quickly. How naïve she was during her first days in public school. Eager to fit in, she accepted Gerald's invitation to the fall dance and bought a hot pink sheath dress. When her father noticed her new togs, he complained that he thought she had her slip on.
"It's too short," Clarence Ogilvie stated, "Take it off and put something decent on."
"But it's the fashion, dad," Claire exclaimed, rolling her eyes. At that moment, the doorbell rang. She grabbed her clutch and ran for the door.
Gerald's eyes bulged when he saw her dress. She pressed herself against him during the first slow dance and felt his hands grope under her short skirt. When a chaperone tapped Gerald on the shoulder and shook her head, 'No,' the young couple sneaked out of the gymnasium and climbed into the Duster's backseat.
Claire ran her hands through Gerald's thick black hair. He grabbed her derriere and pulled her against him. She spread her legs invitingly. It happened too quickly. Overcome with sexuality, they merged as one without the benefit of foreplay.
Desperately, Claire clung to Gerald and buried her head in his shoulder. Her spent body glowed with perspiration. He captured her mouth again and played with her tongue. She welcomed him into her body again.
The following Monday, Gerald passed Claire a note that said, 'Sex education?' She wrote back one word: 'YES!'
They skipped class and slipped into an unused closet on the third floor. Claire wrapped her legs around Gerald's thighs and pressed her back against the door. Their palpitating bodies merged with insatiable love. Gerald enjoyed rough sex and experimented with different positions and postures. Naïve Claire reveled with her new carnal knowledge. It excited her to beg for sex and cling to her boyfriend until he relented and took her. The relationship never matured beyond their heightened sexual appetites.
"I'm pregnant," Claire whispered into Gerald's chest. In a few weeks, they would graduate from high school. The couple sprawled in the Duster's backseat on a dirt backroad. She'd kept her secret for a few weeks, trying to get the nerve to tell him.
Gerald scowled at Claire. Neither of them thought to use precautions. Neither of them considered the consequences after four years of unadulterated sex.
"We'll get married right after graduation," Claire continued without noticing her boyfriend's cold attitude. She felt confident in the love neither of them felt.
Gerald's menacing silence didn't penetrate Claire's plans. She rambled about a big wedding and the guest list. Her Catholic upbringing led her to believe marriage was inevitable. Her boyfriend threw the car into reverse and sped onto the main road, showering dirt from the spinning wheels. He deposited her at her front door, still wearing a glowering expression.
"Gerald and I are getting married," Claire announced, facing her parents.
"You're too young," her father protested from his easy chair.
"We're in love, daddy," the teen girl announced, heedless of Gerald's reaction. She stormed upstairs and slammed her bedroom door. Sprawling on her bed, she repeated 'Mr. and Mrs. Revelle' in a state of bliss.
The wedding took place two weeks after graduation. Claire wedeled Gerald into accepting the situation with promises of sexual adventure. She would become his for all time, to do with as he chose. She knew little about her new husband and his plans for her future.
Claire noticed the first inkling of trouble during their honeymoon. Gerald had used her as his plaything before the wedding. During their first celebratory night, he used her as a punching bag. Dropping her like a ragdoll onto the bed, he flopped on top of her. Rolling up in her blanket afterward, she sobbed, realizing her mistake. She lost her precious baby in the wee hours of the morning.
Claire grew numb to her situation. She endured her husband's sexual abuse in a state of shock. Her once bubbly attitude dissipated. Gerald used his fists as foreplay, and Claire's beaten body showed his marks. She lost her pride and her will to survive.
Glancing out the Rolls' window, Claire noticed a prostitute leaning against a wall. The emaciated woman's frizzled blonde hair reminded her of Bubbles. She drew the line when Gerald brought the whore home.
Gerald barely introduced his companion when he returned from the corner bar with her in tow. Grabbing Claire by the arm, he dragged both women into the bedroom. Throwing them onto the mattress, he faced the desk chair toward them and straddled it.
"Well, whatcha waiting for? An invitation?" her husband shouted, twirling his arm in a 'get going' attitude.
"Not on your life, Gerald," Claire exclaimed, leaping from the bed. Wraith-like, she stood above him. "It's not gonna happen."
Her husband's fist connected with her stomach. He pummeled her until her nose bled and her lips swelled, then he forced himself onto her. Neither of them noticed their 'guest' disappear in the flurry.
Claire threw her meager belongings into a carry-on bag the following morning. After four years of unblissful marriage, she looked down upon her drunken husband while he slept and spat in his face. Satisfied, she hailed a cab and headed for JFK. Several hours later, she sat in the back seat of Maynard Ogilvie's Rolls with James at the wheel.
Her uncle welcomed her into his flat, but she quickly felt like a third wheel. Although she wasn't uncomfortable with her relative's long-term partner, Vince Harvey, Claire wanted to do something with her life.
Pushing her unsuccessful marriage from her mind, Claire began changing her image. A shorter haircut and platinum color made her feel like a new person. Using an expense account, Uncle Maynard set up, she bought a new wardrobe and expensive cosmetics. Night after night, she danced in the clubs and flirted freely. Nevertheless, her new life lacked substance. She wanted more.
If Claire could prove to Uncle Maynard that she knew talent, he would give her a position at the record label. She began scouring the clubs for new faces and fresh sounds. Nothing appealed to her. Almost giving up, she finally stumbled into the café and noticed Maxwell Stoddard.
James drove her to Ogilvie Records, and Claire burst into Uncle Maynard's office unannounced. Describing Maxwell in detail, she begged her relative to consider him. Her overindulgent uncle agreed but told her not to get her hopes up. Musicians were a dime a dozen in London, mostly without talent or personality. Claire assured him that Maxwell was different.
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