S.E.C.R.E.T.: An Erotic Novel

by L. Marie Adeline

  If Tracina’s tactic bothered Will, he tried hard not to show it. Besides, Pierre Castille’s attendance was never a sure thing. At one of the organizational meetings, I overheard Kay complain that he wouldn’t give an exact time of arrival, nor would he allow promoters to mention he was coming, nor would he participate in the auction or even commit to attending the meal.

  Will glanced down at me looking about as miserable as I’d ever seen him. I gave him a sympathetic shrug and hoisted the hem another inch higher, reminding myself that Will was another woman’s man, regardless of whether Tracina was as engaged with him as he was with her, something I was beginning to question. For the past few weeks, she’d disappear and be unreachable for hours, and I knew Will well enough to sense his jealous funk.

  “She probably had an appointment for her brother,” he’d say, craning his neck, watching the parking spots in front of the Café, waiting for her to pull up. “Or maybe she’s shopping. She’s always running off to shop.”

  I’d smile and nod, careful not to contradict him, finding it fascinating the way we lie to ourselves when we don’t want something to be true. I’d done it for years with Scott. But one of the many gifts of S.E.C.R.E.T. was that my experiences were teaching me to stop lying to myself. In the middle of the kitchen while I was hemming Will’s pants, his eyes met mine for a little longer than usual. I told myself it meant nothing. When he offered to drive me home later, I reminded myself that my place was on his way home.

  But when he idled the truck while waiting for me to get safely inside the Spinster Hotel and playfully blew me a kiss from the cab, I wondered if I was lying to myself all over again.

  The New Orleans Revitalization Society was one of the oldest of its kind in the city, dating back to post–Civil War days. Back then it used to raise money to build schools in the neighborhoods where freed slaves began to settle. After the devastation of Hurricane Katrina, the Society made rebuilding schools in disadvantaged wards its focus, because waiting for the government to do it meant waiting forever. My volunteering for the Society was part of my attempt to make this city my home, and to make friends beyond the Café and its environs. My job for the evening was to work the donation booth, to collect checks and run through credit cards. No costume and dancing for me. I wanted to take this event seriously. In exchange for my time, Kay allowed us to hang a Café Rose banner on the skirt of the table.

  This year the ball was being held at the New Orleans Museum of Art, one of my favorite buildings in the city. I loved its four-columned Greek Revival facade, and its square marble foyer surrounded on all sides by a high balcony. I used to wander in its echoing rooms when I was still married to Scott and things were tense between us. I would visit Degas’ Girl in Green painting, because she seemed mournful to me, facing away, either worried about the past or afraid of the future. Or maybe I was just projecting. I had an hour to assemble the booth and to get a rundown from Kay. I found her, dressed like the Red Queen from Alice in Wonderland, yelling in the middle of the white marble foyer.

  “Move the ladder!”

  Two young men were trying to suspend giant sparkly snowflakes from the ceiling. Kay wasn’t a big fan.

  “I don’t know how snowflakes fit the ‘Make-Believe’ theme, but what else can we suspend from the ceiling? Fairies?”

  An image of Tracina dangling from a thread brought a smile to my face, interrupted only by Kay eyeing me over her reading glasses.

  “Where are you setting up the booth? Not in here, I hope!”

  “I think over there,” I said, pointing to an area near the back of the room.

  “No! I don’t want people to confuse our beautiful dinner with a grubby cash grab! Near the coat check, please. And where are your tools?”

  “Tools? I didn’t realize that—”

  Kay let out an exasperated huff. “I’ll get a couple of the maintenance guys to help.”

  By the time Tracina arrived, fully decked out in her white tutu and tiara, the booth was up and running and I was comfortably hidden behind its high skirt.

  “Where’s Will?” I asked, as casually as possible.

  “Parking the truck. I’m going to get a drink. You want one?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  The first of the guests started to arrive. I spotted a Snow White, several Scarletts, a Rhett Butler, two Draculas, an Ali Baba and a Harry Potter. There was a Dorothy, a Mad Hatter, a Black Beard the pirate and a Blue Beard, the murderous aristocrat. I glanced down at my A-line skirt and plain blouse. Maybe I should have put more effort into the occasion. Did I really need to wear a waitressing apron? Well, there was the matter of storing pens and credit card slips. And I wasn’t there to meet men. I was there to work for a charity. But just as I was securing the second Café Rose banner to the back of the booth, I heard, “Cassie, over here!” A beautiful woman in a Scheherazade costume waved at me from the crowd forming near the booth. It was Amani, the tiny Indian doctor who sat next to me my first day at S.E.C.R.E.T. headquarters. She looked magnificent in layered red and pink scarves enhancing a nearly sixty-year-old body, one that still had formidable curves and definite presence. It was her eyes, though, that stood out above all else—sparkling with mischief, black-lined, framed by a vivid red veil.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. It was odd to see a S.E.C.R.E.T. member out in the community.

  “Believe it or not, our little group gives very generously to this cause every year, but not under our name. Here,” she said, thrusting an envelope at me. I thanked her for the donation. “Matilda’s on her way too. You won’t miss her. She’s dressed as a fairy godmother. Naturally.”

  Before I could say anything, Kay was by my side, watching as guest after guest slipped envelopes into the box on the table.

  “Dr. Lakshmi,” Kay said, offering a hand. “You look absolutely stunning.”

  “Thank you, Kay,” Amani said with a slight bow. “See you soon, Cassie, I hope.”

  Kay didn’t ask how I had managed to be on a first-name basis with an esteemed member of the community.

  “The auction hasn’t begun yet and it sure looks like we’re going to reach our quota!” she said.

  “Here’s hoping.”

  Dinner was a six-course extravaganza of local specialties: lobster étouffée and grits with truffles and brandy. Filet mignon with crab béarnaise. Dessert was a rich bread pudding topped with crème fraîche and gold flakes. Once the plates were cleared, it was my cue to leave. But I was curious about the auction, curious to see who would win Will.

  “Okay, it’s time to start the bidding!” Kay said, hurrying to the front of the room. “We can’t keep waiting for him.” She meant Pierre Castille. Tracina wasn’t the only woman hoping to spend some time with him.

  I watched as the female bidders gathered closer to the stage where Kay had gathered the men for auction. Besides Will, the bachelor auction included our very young state senator, whom I would have cultivated a crush on had he been a Democrat. There was an aging but still handsome municipal judge who had taken up marathon running after his wife died, earning the sympathy and the eye of every single single woman over fifty. And an attractive African-American actor from a TV show that was shot in New Orleans. You’d have thought the hot actor would garner the highest bid, but in fact, the esteemed judge went for $12,500 to the president of the Garden District Historical Society. The actor scored a distant second, bringing in $8,000.

  Watching all the raucous fun and the bawdy energy of the auction from behind the booth, I started to feel like a wallflower again. Why did I always observe life in action instead of being a full participant? When was I going to learn?

  “And our final bachelor,” Kay announced, “is Will Foret, the second-generation owner of the esteemed Café Rose, one of the finest on Frenchmen. He’s thirty-seven years old, ladies, and he’s single. Who will start the bidding?”

  Will looked mortified, but still sexy in his Huck Finn costume, with the fishing pole and the bag
gy pants held up by suspenders. The room seemed to agree. When the bidding heated up, Tracina began to panic. When the tally reached $15,000, Tracina grabbed the mike from Kay’s hand.

  “This man isn’t actually single,” she said. “We’ve been dating for more than three years and we’re thinking of moving in together.” She’d been drinking too much champagne, and if I thought that Will couldn’t be more embarrassed, I was wrong. He now turned dark crimson.

  Finally, an elderly woman in a tarnished tiara made the winning offer of $22,000, to which Kay issued a resounding, “Sold!” Will, the highest priced bachelor of the night, was escorted to his awaiting purchaser.

  “That ends the men’s auction,” Kay said with a smack of her gavel. “But please refresh your drinks. The ladies’ auction is next and we need another $75,000 dollars, friends. So don’t put your checkbooks away!”

  Just then, a hush fell over the room. Two security guards entered the ballroom, parting a sea of people. They were followed by a tall man wearing a smart tuxedo, black bow tie, black shirt and aviator glasses tinted light blue. He had a motorcycle helmet under his arm, which he quickly handed off to a security guard standing next to him. He removed his sunglasses and folded them into his pocket.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” he announced. “I couldn’t find anything to wear.”

  It was Pierre Castille, his sandy hair slightly tousled by the helmet. He casually greeted the handful of people who’d gathered to say hello, including a clearly flustered Kay, who left the microphone to race across the floor meet him. His easy grin made him look less like a reclusive scion than a stylish indie rocker. When he turned away from Kay and made for my booth, my heart raced. I cursed Tracina for abandoning me. I looked down and busied myself with credit card slips, trying not to appear starstruck.

  “Is this where I can leave my donation?”

  When I glanced up, he was leaning on the booth with one hand. He didn’t look entirely uncomfortable in a tuxedo, which was refreshing. For a second I forgot how to speak.

  “I—yes, you can place a check in the box if you like, or I can take a credit card.”

  “Wonderful,” he said, holding eye contact with me for what felt like forever. My God he was sexy. “What’s your name?”

  I actually looked over my shoulder to make sure he was talking to me. The whole room was watching, including Will, who moved through the crowd towards us.

  “Cassie. Cassie Robichaud.”

  “Robichaux? Of the Mandeville Robichauxs?”

  By then I was shocked to see Will at the booth, offering his hand to Pierre.

  “She spells it with a Northern D, not a Southern X,” he said.

  “Well, if it isn’t Will Foret the Second. What’s it been? Fifteen years?”

  I watched in amazement as my Will shook hands with the Pierre Castille, Tracina pushing through the crowd to reach them.

  “About that long, yeah.”

  “Good to see you, Will,” he said. “Too bad our fathers aren’t around. They’d have been happy to see this.”

  “Yours, maybe,” Will said, tipping his Huck hat. “Cassie, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

  I watched him walk right past Tracina and out the door.

  “So, Cassie Robichaud, not from Mandeville. Where were we?”

  “Funnily enough I live on Mandeville Street in Marigny, but I’m from Michigan. But it’s a French name from my dad’s side. But I’m not sure really about its origins …” You’re talking too much, Cassie!

  “Right. I’ll be sure to stop by the booth to make a donation before I leave,” he said, bowing slightly.

  Rich, powerful people didn’t easily dazzle me, but this man had charisma.

  Suddenly, Tracina was eager to volunteer. “I’ll take over from here,” she said, ducking behind the booth. “Will left, so I can stay and help. You can go home now. Besides, you don’t have a costume.”

  “Did you know Will knew him?” I asked.

  “They’re childhood friends.”

  “I see. Okay, then. Um, I guess it’s time for me to leave.”

  “Yes, run really fast,” she said, not looking at me, watching Pierre take a seat near the front of the room.

  The bachelorette auction would soon be under way. I looked down at my outfit. Tracina had been right all along. I was just the scullery maid. Now that the dishes were done, it was time to go. I made my way through the lobby, looking for Will. Instead I spotted Matilda talking on a cell phone, heading straight for me. She said goodbye to whomever she was speaking with and snapped the phone shut. That’s when I noticed her costume, a stunning mermaid dress covered in emerald sequins, a small crown perched on her head.

  “Cassie! Wait! Where are you going?”

  “I finished my shift at the donation booth. I’m going home. Thanks by the way for the donation. It was very gen—”

  “No, you’re not going home,” she said, grabbing me by the arm, turning me around and trotting me towards a door marked PRIVATE. “I realize we’ve kept this well under wraps, but tonight is … well, it’s your special night, Cassie.”

  “Tonight?” I said, realizing with a shock that she meant she had a fantasy in store for me. “But I’m wearing—”

  “Don’t worry. Help is on the way.”

  She waved a card at a small white security box on the wall and a door clicked open. Inside was a cozy dressing room where Amani and another woman I vaguely recognized were perched on silk-covered stools. They stood when we entered, agitation on their faces. To their left was a dressing table with a mirror framed by lightbulbs, makeup carefully organized on a white towel. Hanging on a rack nearby was a beautiful pale pink dress that hung to the floor. I wasn’t really a girly-girl, but this satiny ball gown tickled something very ancient in my DNA. Beneath it was a pair of stunning sparkly pumps.

  Matilda cleared her throat.

  “We’ll explain later, Cassie, but for now, we have to get you ready. Fast. It’s about to begin.”

  “What’s about to begin?”

  “Never mind,” she said.

  This was all meant for me? The dress, the makeup. I was going to be on display, but for whom, and to what end?

  “You remember Michelle? From S.E.C.R.E.T. headquarters? She’s your stylist.” I did remember her round angelic face and easy giggle. Stylist? What were they getting me styled for?

  “Cassie, I’m so excited for you, but we have to hurry. Undergarments first. Off with them.”

  Before I had a chance to react, Michelle shoved me behind a bamboo dressing screen, and tossed a gossamer silk bra, thong and pale stay-up stockings over the top.

  “I bet you thought birds and butterflies would be helping you,” she said, laughing. I had no idea what she meant.

  Once I had the garments on, Michelle gave me a bathrobe, then seated me in front of the mirror. She gathered my long hair into a low chignon at the nape of my neck. Amani painted my cheeks and lips light pink, then gave the rest of my face a natural glow with a big brush. After adding a hint of mascara, we were done.

  “Time for the dress,” Michelle said, carefully plucking the pink confection off the hanger and ushering me behind the screen again.

  All the while, Matilda kept coming and going from the room.

  “How much longer?” she asked Amani.

  How much longer for what? I lifted the heavy dress over my shoulders and felt it slide easily down my body and fall perfectly around my hips. I stepped out to get help with the zipper, and when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I was rendered speechless. The dress was beautiful, a pale pink like the lining of a seashell. It cinched me so snugly at the waist, I realized I actually had one. The sheen was the barest sateen, and the dress was strapless and cut sweetheart-style across my chest, showing off my shoulders and arms. The skirt flared out like a ballerina’s, with a soft crinoline underneath to keep its shape.

  “You look … beautiful,” said Matilda.

  “But how is this goin
g to play out? People know me. My boss’s girlfriend is still here. The whole city’s here!”

  “Trust us, Cassie. It’ll all be fine,” Matilda said, glancing at her watch.

  Admittedly, some of the other fantasies had taken me by surprise, especially Jesse, but this was different. This was the first time I was around people I knew, in my real life. It was exciting and dangerous, but it also filled me with anxiety. Michelle gently removed a tiara, a delicate twist of silver and sparkle, from a small velvet bag. She nested it across the top of my head, framing my tousled chignon.

  Matilda and I looked at each other in the mirror.

  “Stunning, my dear. But don’t forget these,” she said, handing me the sparkly white pumps.

  I slid my feet into them and took a few practice steps in my heels, feeling utterly ridiculous and overjoyed at the same time. Yes, I could dance in these; in fact, I suspected I would be doing just that after the auction, which by my estimation should be over by now. I was glad to have missed that part.

  “It’s time!” Matilda announced, taking me by the arm and tugging me across the foyer towards the ballroom.

  “What? Where are we going? The dance hasn’t started,” I protested.

  But Matilda wasn’t listening. We were moving so quickly, I had to place a hand on my tiara to keep it from falling off. We reached the ballroom and I entered behind Matilda, making sure she was screening me from view. As I peeked around her shoulder, I saw a line of beautiful women, each taking a seat onstage. Among them was an attractive local news anchor, a model who looked like a young Naomi Campbell, an actress from the same TV show as one of the men who had been auctioned, a pretty blond cellist from the New Orleans symphony, two beautiful Italian sisters who owned one of the top spas in town, a few “daughters of” … and Tracina, who was now more than a little tipsy in her slightly off-kilter tutu.