S.E.C.R.E.T.: An Erotic Novel (20 page)

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 baggy 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 P
RIVATE
. “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?