Secret Shared: A S.E.C.R.E.T. Novel (13 page)

“But he wants to meet
you
. He barely looked at me. What if he won’t give me his number?”

Matilda stood and peered across the pitch, like a lioness lazily eyeing a gazelle.

“All you need to do is ask. In the meantime, be kind to yourself. This one-night stand’s got you in a bit of a tumult. Don’t let it derail all the progress you’ve made. You’re coming into your own. I see it.”

Matilda sauntered to the Saint Charles exit, missing Dominic’s assisted goal. He carved a victory lap from the net to center field, where he messed up a redheaded opponent’s hair, made one more circle to slap hands with sitting opponents, then finally landed at my bench.

“Hey,” he said breathlessly. “Where’d your friend go?”

“She had to leave,” I said, quickly adding, “but she did ask me to get your number.”

“What? Very cool.” He beamed.

All you have to do is ask.
I was punching his number into my cell phone when his ginger friend came running up behind him.

“Meeting and greeting your fans, Dom? Does this one have a name?”

Was he looking at me? Yep. He was.

“Cassie,” I said, shielding my eyes and squinting into his face, which, upon closer inspection, was cute. Added to that, he had a thick Scottish accent and freckled, muscular forearms.

“I’m Ewan. Listen, lose this bugger’s number and take down mine.”

“How ’bout this,” I said, trying to keep the butterflies in my stomach from affecting my voice. “I’ll give Dominic’s
number to my friend, and maybe I’ll keep yours for myself.”

“Can’t imagine a better plan,” he said.

Their numbers safely locked in my phone, I stood to leave.

“Well, fellas, it’s been lovely.”

Walking towards Magazine Street, I marveled at the fact that I had just made contact with two incredibly sexy men whose own fantasies S.E.C.R.E.T. might unlock. And if they were amenable and discreet, they’d be trained by one of the Committee members. Then they’d be lined up with a lucky candidate, perhaps Dauphine. I glanced around the park, now packed and buzzing with fit joggers, cute dads and hot cyclists. Had these men always been here and I’d never noticed them before? Or were they noticing something in me for the first time?

Matilda’s words rang in my mind:
You’re coming into your own. I see it.

ELIZABETH WAS THE
first to notice a stale petroleum smell wafting around outside the store. You couldn’t blame Katrina or any of the other famous hurricanes. The infrastructure in New Orleans was long compromised before those epic storms laid bare its awful issues. But a possible gas leak would mean wholesale evacuation, and that meant shutting down eleven stores and restaurants in one of the most pedestrian-heavy parts of town. The Funky Monkey was looking at a month-long shutdown to replace old gas lines buried under the sidewalks out front.

“You do realize, Cassie, when they say a month in New Orleans, it could mean six. I have not been unemployed since I was a teenager.”

My whining was taking place over margaritas at Tracy’s. I must have been anxious; I was out-drinking Cassie two to one. We’d become friends. She had even filled me in on her drama with her boss, Will, and how she almost ended up with him. Maybe that’s why I so boldly inquired about
Mark Drury. We were talking about men, sex and dating, so it didn’t seem like I was prying about my weird crush.

“Yeah, we met. His name’s Mark. A musician. Who. Talks. About. Music. Non. Stop,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We’ve been out once but …”

“But?”

“He’s just … he’s not for me,” she said. “I don’t know why, or
what
I have to do to get Will out of my head and my heart for good. But Mark’s not going to help me.”

I hated to admit my relief. Not that I thought I had a chance with Mark. And I certainly wasn’t interested in pursuing anyone while a stack of fantasies awaited me. But still. Then a look crossed her face, like a new and singular idea had just taken her brain hostage to the detriment of all other thoughts.

“Wait one sec. Let me make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”

When she returned a minute later, she was still talking on her cell.

“Yup … yeah … she’s right here. Hold on.” She covered the receiver, her face open and hopeful. “Matilda wants to talk to you.”

Baffled, I took her phone from her.

“Hi, Matilda. What’s going on?”

“Dauphine, honey, I understand you might have some time on your hands. I have a rather exciting mission for you to consider, and at the same time, you’d be doing S.E.C.R.E.T. a big favor.”

Then she laid out what to a normal person would be a dream vacation: a free trip to Buenos Aires, where I’d stay in a five-star hotel and attend the auction of a rare painting, with plenty of time to see the sights and do some shopping. It sounded heady, glamorous and exciting. Except for the part about the plane.

“We’d pay your expenses and give you ample spending money, Dauphine. The auction is already arranged—you just have to show up and sign some papers on behalf of S.E.C.R.E.T.”

I thanked her and told her it all sounded amazing, incredible even, adding I was flattered and humbled to even be considered. In fact, Buenos Aires was a city I’d always hoped to see. But there was one small problem.

“The thing is, Matilda, I don’t fly. Ever.”

Cassie was listening to our conversation, and when she heard that, her eager smile turned to a frown.

“Oh, honey,” Matilda said, laughing. “Is that all that’s holding you back? Once a fear is exposed it’s no longer a fear. It’s an opportunity for a decision—to stay stuck or to go forward.”

I protested further, trying to explain.

“I hate being a passenger. I need to be at the wheel of things. I just … I can’t give up that control.”

“But you’ve let folks drive you around in a car, haven’t you?”

I told her at least with a car, I knew I could force it to the side of the road and get out. “A plane ride is not only a
full-on commitment, it’s an act of faith, both in the plane’s ability to remain aloft and in my ability to trust a pilot to keep it there. And as silly as it sounds, I don’t have a lot of faith in either of those things, Matilda.” I added, “I don’t even have a passport.”

“Pfft. Details. We can get you one in twenty-four hours. Trust me when I tell you, Dauphine, that you can and will transform this fear into faith. Trust us. Trust this process.”

While Matilda continued to underscore the principles of flight, highlighting its best features and those also of Buenos Aires in the fall, Cassie carefully turned her paper coaster into an airplane, which she proceeded to fly over the top of my head. With sound effects.

What can I say? They wore me down, reminding me that I had told the Committee to surprise me.

After I accepted the trip and hung up, Cassie gave me a standing ovation in the middle of Tracy’s. Later, when I told Elizabeth I was getting on a plane, she was so proud of me she dragged a piece of vintage luggage, the kind without wheels, to my apartment to help me pack. In my preemptive terror I told her where all the important papers were, with strict instructions that if the plane went down, the store and all its assets would go to her, not to my sister, Bree.

“She can have a fur,” I said. “But not one of the minks.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth said. “But I’m sure it won’t come to divvying up your estate.”

“You never know. Life is weird. It throws things at you,” I said, tossing a pair of kitten heels into the suitcase. Indeed,
I’d traveled from my initiation into S.E.C.R.E.T. to this, packing for a transcontinental flight. My eventual “yes” to Matilda came from the same place I found my yeses for my fantasy men so far, on a shelf below my doubt, in front of all my fears. Hopefully, there were a few more yeses left before boarding time.

Having never flown before, I so far hadn’t found much about travel to recommend it. The airport was both chaotic and bovine, generating this awful “hurry up and wait” syndrome that triggered stress sweats and the jitters.

“Heading to Buenos Aires?” a deep, accented voice asked, poking through my trance and startling me.

I turned to face a crisp white dress shirt, stretched over the fit chest of an exceptionally tall, exceptionally attractive black man. He was behind me in line, loading his plastic bin with a heavy platinum watch, a black eel-skin wallet and a carefully folded suit bag. Though dressed like a casual businessman, he had an easy smile that made him look more like a movie star.

“How do you know where I’m going?” I asked. I dropped my S.E.C.R.E.T. bracelet in my bin with a clang. I had thought of leaving it behind, but now that I had a couple of charms dangling off it, I enjoyed wearing it.

“I guessed.” He had a British accent, Cockney maybe. “Actually, it’s on your ticket. And it’s the first flight out this morning.”

If the gods were truly on my side, they’d give me this man to lean on during turbulence.

“Is that where you’re going too?” I asked, and yes, eyelashes were batted.

Before he could answer, a brusque security officer motioned me through the full-body X-ray. I stepped into the chamber, threw my hands in the air and spun, and then was reunited with my belongings. By the time I turned around to continue my conversation, the man was being ushered ahead of everyone in line, flanked by two men in uniform. He must have been someone important. He was definitely well dressed. Being in the fashion business, I noticed good buttons and well-chosen cufflinks and how a shirt that’s been properly tailored hangs spectacularly down a man’s V-shaped back as he walks away from you—turning back once, as this one did, to glance at you over his shoulder.

From the moment I sat down in my aisle seat in First Class, the cool blond flight attendant seemed specifically assigned to me.

“I’m Eileen. We were told this was your first time,” she said. “You let me know how I can make this less stressful for you.”

She brought me a hot towel, a small footrest and a stack of celebrity magazines, each time placing a reassuring hand on my forearm. During the taxi, she addressed her safety demonstration directly to me. And when the plane sucked me back into the seat on takeoff, a most shocking and intoxicating feeling, Eileen winked at me from her saddle seat. I almost
burst into tears at her kindness, let alone at the thoughtfulness of Matilda to let them know of my first-timer status. Still, it wasn’t until we leveled off that I loosened the grip on my armrests, my fingers numb from clasping so tightly.

The seat-belt light went off, but I had no interest in unbuckling. In fact, my plan was to pass on every beverage, lest I had to pee while flying thirty thousand feet over Peru. I decided if I sat very, very still, I could get through this ordeal, a few hundred miles a minute, never leaving my seat, never looking out the window, even though the seat beside me was empty.

An hour and a half into the flight, we were all still alive, and I began to move my legs a little, tilting my seat back to settle in for the night flight. People began to close their windows, and Eileen dimmed the cabin lights before passing out extra blankets. When she kneeled in front of me, I thought for a moment that she was literally going to tuck me in. Instead, she deposited a folded blanket on my lap and leaned in to whisper, “Miss Mason, the captain would be happy to honor your request to visit the cockpit while the plane’s on autopilot.”

I burst out laughing. Never had anyone so seriously mistaken me for someone else.

“Oh, I didn’t ask for any such thing. I would never—”

Before I could finish my sentence, Eileen gently removed an envelope from the folds of my blanket and left it on my lap. “I’m sure we’re not mistaken,” she said, eyeing me steadily. “I’ll return in a few minutes to escort you.”

The envelope was unmarked, but I recognized the paper’s creamy color. My heart started to race. Was I facing Step Three at thirty-five-thousand feet in the air? My hand was shaky as I ripped open the envelope. Sure enough,
Step Three
scrolled on one side of the heavy card stock and just one simple word was on the other:
Trust
. But who was doing the trusting—me, or every one of the passengers on this plane who wouldn’t care to know how I was about to distract the pilot? I slipped the Step card into my purse and shook out a half-dozen Tic Tacs, which I barely had time to finish before the flight attendant returned.