Secret Shared: A S.E.C.R.E.T. Novel (7 page)

Something in me knew that Cassie and Matilda hadn’t come to the store just to buy dresses or earrings, a fact confirmed when Cassie returned on her own two days later, just before closing time.

“I thought I’d take you up on the offer to help me accessorize,” she said, pulling a little black dress out of a shopping bag.

“Oh great, yeah.”

I was surprised at how happy I was to see her. She followed me to the dressing rooms, my nervousness making me uncharacteristically chatty.

“I have a pair of gold hoops and a cuff that’ll look amazing with that dress. What size are your feet? You need to try everything on with shoes.”

“Eight,” she said, slipping into a stall.

I dashed to my office ahead of her, catching myself in the mirror: cat glasses, cream-colored twinset and A-line plaid skirt. I looked like an extra on
Happy Days
. I didn’t even
need
glasses. Ugh. Why did I suddenly care what I had on? I flipped through my index cards and cross-referenced them to the second drawer of the third filing cabinet where I stored my gold hoops; the drawer below held my cuffs. I was saving the big hoops for a Cher-type outfit, but on Cassie, with a simple black dress, they’d be stunning. Cassie poked open the office door, trying not to look shocked at my hive of inventory.

“Wow. There’s a whole other store back here.”

“Trust me,” I said. “I know it looks like a lot of stuff, but I know exactly where everything is.”

I pulled her in front of the nearest mirror.

“The top is a little snug. I haven’t worn it since Jazz Fest,” she said, tugging at the halter.

She looked gorgeous in black and I said so. I was about to snap the cuff around her wrist when I noticed her charm bracelet; it was unlike anything I’d seen before.

“That’s a
stunning
piece,” I said, holding up her wrist to get a better look at it. Normally, charm bracelets did nothing to charm me. They were often so trinket-y, but this one was distinctive. It was made with my favorite kind of gold too, pale yellow, with that rough hammered finish. The chain was thick, almost masculine, and each charm had a Roman numeral engraved on one side, a word on the other.

“
Curiosity … Generosity … Courage
—where did you get this?” I asked.

Cassie gently pried her wrist free.

“It was … given to me.”

“It’s about as beautiful a thing as I’ve ever seen. Whoever gave this to you thinks very highly of you.”

“I think you might be right about that,” she said. “But does it go with this dress?”

“Mmm … Not really. It overwhelms it. Why don’t you try this—?”

I traded a simple cuff for her bracelet. When she dropped it in my palm, it felt heavy, pleasing; it took everything in me not to slip it on my own wrist.

“No necklace?” she asked, sliding the cuff over her bare wrist.

“Not with a halter dress,” I said with authority, my attention still drawn to the bracelet in my hand. “These hoops will add a bit of sparkle. But I would keep the sides of your hair up.”

She took the earrings from my other hand and held them next to her lobes.

“See? Perfect,” I said.

“You’re right. That’s perfect. Wrap them up.”

She passed me the earrings and held out her hand. It was the strangest sensation, my reluctance to return her bracelet.

“I’ll tell you how I got it,” she said, noticing my hesitation. “In fact, to be honest … that’s why I’m here. Can I sit for a second?”

She took a deep breath, looking about as nervous as I was alarmed. What was going on?

“What I’m about to talk about is pretty strange, so bear with me. It involves an adventure of sorts.”

I felt a surge go through me.

“I’d love to do more traveling, but I don’t fly,” I said preemptively. “Plus, I’m the sole proprietor, and that makes it hard for me to leave—”

“I’m not talking about a trip, though some travel might be involved.”

Her voice and demeanor became steadier and steadier.

“Maybe it would help,” she added, “if I tell you about my own adventures.”

And that’s when she began to recount her life, how the death of her husband almost seven years earlier had upended her life completely. Not because she loved her husband, but because she realized she hadn’t for a long time, which made her even sadder. For years she’d been numb from head to toe. I knew about that feeling and told her so.

“Yes. Matilda talks about a sort of ‘aura of sadness,’ that settles around people. She says she can see it. She saw a bit of it on you. I don’t have that ability, but I do believe you might know something about feeling stuck.”

I don’t know how to explain why it suddenly felt so easy to pour out my heart to Cassie. Maybe it was her stillness, her compassionate eyes. But I found myself telling her about Luke’s betrayal, his book, and how he and Charlotte broke my heart, making it difficult for me to trust not only men
but women too. She listened patiently, and I knew without her even saying so that she understood.

“So, tell me what you’re really here for,” I said.

“I’m here to make you an offer. But to accept it, you’re going to have to place your trust not just in men but in a whole bunch of women.”

And that’s when she said the name—S.E.C.R.E.T.—and described its incredible mandate: to orchestrate sexual fantasies that make women feel great about themselves again, or in some cases, for the first time ever.

“S.E.C.R.E.T.,” she said, “introduced me to part of myself I had never known before. In your case, I think it’s more about reigniting a part of you that’s just been dormant—am I right?”

“Yeah, for about eight years,” I said.

“Oh. That’s a long time. I didn’t have sex for
five
years and I thought that was bad!”

“What? No! No no no no. I’ve had
sex
since then, just not very good sex, and not with very good men. I meant that it’s been about eight years since I felt any real passion, any
connection
with a man.”

Cassie winced and nodded. Then she described exactly how this group of women went about reigniting passion.

“We orchestrate sex fantasies. Yours. Nine of them, which take place over the course of a year, a charm for every step,” she said, holding up her bracelet. “The tenth is also a decision—to remain in S.E.C.R.E.T., as I did, or to go out on your own, maybe try a real relationship if you’re ready. See this?”

She flipped through her charms until she came to one that said
Step Ten
on one side
Liberation
on the other.

“I completed my steps, which liberated me from so many things, mainly fear and self-doubt. And staying in S.E.C.R.E.T. was a free choice, and it remains so.”

“Secret sex fantasies? In New Orleans?” I asked, barely stifling a giggle. “Forgive me, Cassie, but it’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Part of me wanted to stand up, call the police and escort her out of the store. The other part was welded to my seat, my eyes, ears and heart wide open.

“I know it sounds ludicrous. But I’m telling you, it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. All that’s required of you is to either accept or decline the offer.”

“And you did this?”

She nodded.

“Last year?”

She nodded again, this time a smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

“You experienced
nine
different sex fantasies with
nine
different men?”

“I
did
,” she said, looking almost as astonished with herself as I was with her.

“And you made the decision to stay in this … group, and to help other women?”

Her features fell slightly and her eyes darkened. “Actually, no. I made the decision to leave S.E.C.R.E.T. because I thought … well, I fell in love. With an old friend. But
timing is everything, as they say, and ours was disastrous, really. Things fell apart. Being a member of S.E.C.R.E.T. is really the only thing getting me through.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

The silence that followed was heavy in the room, both of us contemplating the strange words just spoken.

“Holy shit” was all I could eventually mutter. “Why me?”

“Timing. We saw you and met you. And, well, I think we might be right—that you need this.”

I looked around my over-stocked, over-organized office.

“I guess I do,” I admitted. “But why do you think experiencing wild sex fantasies will fix everything?”

“It won’t fix everything. But it does the trick of fixing one thing, which creates a sort of cascade effect in your life. At least, that’s how it has worked for me. I shouldn’t tell you much more than that. You’ll hear more at the Committee meeting, if this intrigues. A year ago, I was barely able to make eye contact with anyone, let alone chat up some cute random guy. And now here I am sharing one of my most intimate secrets with a total stranger.”

She glanced at her watch. “I have to get to work.”

I felt suddenly panicked, like if she left I might never see her again. “Now what? What do I do?”

“Are you interested?”

“Yes! No! A little. Oh … I need to think about it.”

“Take your time. If you decide to accept the offer, call me. I’ll arrange everything. And then … it’ll all begin.”

What
would begin, and how, and with whom, and where?
And how often? And what time of day? The control freak in me needed to map this out carefully. I had to have all the exits covered and the downsides discussed, everything measured and weighed and balanced out. As a kid I stood on the end of every dock and pool for much longer than the other kids, brow knitted in deep contemplation. Could I see the bottom? Could I touch it? If not, I didn’t leap. And now, here was an offer from this confident, assured woman who claimed to once have been as lost and confused as I was now.

We went to the cash register, passing a flustered Elizabeth, who was manning the floor alone. I mouthed
I’m sorry
, pointing theatrically to Cassie as she walked in front of me.

“I’m glad you liked the bracelet and earrings, Cassie,” I said, a little too loud, while punching in the purchase. What was I trying to camouflage?

“Think about everything I said,” Cassie whispered, handing me her credit card along with her personal card, her name and number beneath the word
S.E.C.R.E.T.
At the door, she gave me a quick wave, then disappeared down Magazine Street towards the French Quarter. I pulled my sweater in a tight hug around me.

Did I want to continue working seven days a week, opening up then closing an empty store to go home to an empty apartment and an empty fridge? Did I want to live life with nothing to look forward to? I looked down at her card. For once, I wasn’t going to make an easy decision difficult. First thing tomorrow, I’d call her. Right after I finished with the
estate-sale boxes. But before the lunch crowd. Or maybe later, when the store was quieter. Or maybe when Elizabeth started her shift. Or before I opened the store. Yeah. That’s when I’d do it. I’d call her then.

WE DIDN’T GET
a lot of customers in that quiet time between lunch and dinner, when the staff was whittled down to just me waiting for Tracina to spell me off. And we definitely didn’t get a lot of handsome six-foot six-inch African-American district attorneys in three-thousand-dollar suits coming into the Café Rose at that hour. But Carruthers Johnstone was campaigning for re-election, his face on billboards all over town. I told myself he was probably there to drop off pamphlets. But when he asked if a “pretty little black gal, long legs, about ye high”—he held his hand at his chest—worked at the Café, my brain started humming.

I knew exactly who he was: the guy I’d seen Tracina straddling in that dark garage after the Revitalization Ball, the night I fell under Pierre Castille’s charms. While nearly naked in the back of Pierre’s limo, I spotted Tracina, her arms and legs around this man, kissing him against a big white Escalade. Ever since, I’d tried to put that scene out of
my mind, filing it under “absolutely none of my business.” But now this “business” was standing right in front of me, wiping his brow and looking around the Café uneasily.

“Tracina’s not in. May I mention who is looking for her?” I played dumb, afraid of becoming somehow complicit in whatever drama he had brought through those doors.