S.E.C.R.E.T.: An Erotic Novel (5 page)

“Be right back with your green tea,” I said. “Menu’s on the wall there.”

“Thank you, Cassie,” she said as I walked away.

I felt gut-punched. She knew my name. How did she know my name? I did sign my bills.
And Pauline was a regular. That’s how. Surely.

The rest of my shift was uneventful. Matilda sipped her tea, looking out the window.
She ordered the egg salad sandwich, pickle on the side, half of which she ate. We
didn’t say much beyond the pleasantries of a waitress serving a customer. I gave her
the bill and she left a nice tip.

That’s why I was shocked the next day to see Matilda come in after the lunch rush
died down, this time alone. She waved at me and pointed to a table. I nodded, noticing
that my hands shook a little as I made my way over to her. What I was so nervous about?
Even if she knew I’d lied, what was so bad about what I had done? How could any normal
person have resisted reading a notebook with such compelling content? Besides, it
was Pauline who might feel wronged, her privacy a little violated, not this woman.

“Hello, Cassie,” she said, smiling a genuine smile.

This time I noticed her face. She had bright wide eyes, dark brown, with flawless
skin. She wore little makeup, which had the added effect of making her look younger
than what she probably was, which I now suspected was closer to sixty than fifty.
She had a heart-shaped face, which drew to an acute point at her chin, and she was,
frankly, extraordinarily beautiful, in the way women with unusual features can sometimes
be. She wore all black—tight pants that outlined a very fit body and a knit black
top that twisted around her in an alluring way. And that
gold charm bracelet, now glinting against the black sleeve of her top.

“Hello again,” I said, sliding a menu onto the table.

“I’ll have exactly what I had yesterday.”

“Green tea, egg salad?”

“Right.”

I brought the tea and sandwich a few minutes later, and later still refilled her hot
water when I was asked. When she had finished and I went to clear her plate, she invited
me to join her at the table. I froze.

“Just for a second,” she said, nudging the chair across from her.

“I’m working,” I said, feeling clenched and a little cornered. I could see Dell in
the kitchen through the cutout window behind the bar. What if this woman asked me
questions about the notebook?

“I’m sure Will won’t mind if you sit a bit,” Matilda said. “Besides, the place is
empty.”

“You know Will?” I said, sinking slowly into the chair.

“I know a lot of people, Cassie. But I don’t know you.”

“Well, I’m not that interesting. I’m just me. I’m just a waitress and … that’s it,
really.”

“No woman’s just a waitress, or just a teacher, or just a mother.”

“I
am
just a waitress. I guess I’m a widow too. But mostly I am just a waitress.”

“A widow? I’m sorry to hear that. You’re not originally from New Orleans. I detect
a slight Midwestern accent. Illinois?”

“Close. Michigan. We moved here about six years ago. My husband and I. Before he died.
Obviously. Um, how do you know Will?”

“I knew his dad. He owned this place before—it’s twenty years ago now that he died,
I think. Probably the last time I was a regular here. It hasn’t changed much,” she
said, looking around.

“Will says he’s going to renovate. Expand upstairs. But it’s expensive. And right
now it’s all any restaurant can do in this city to stay open.”

“That’s true.”

She glanced down at her hands and I got a better look at her bracelet, which seemed
to have a lot more charms than Pauline’s. I was going to comment on its beauty, but
Matilda spoke again.

“So, Cassie, I need to ask you something. That book that … 
Dell
found. My friend is a little worried that someone might have read it. It’s a diary
of sorts with lots of very personal stuff in it. Do you think Dell would have read
it?”

“Oh God, no!” I said, with a little too much conviction. “Dell’s not the type.”

“The type? What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I mean, she’s not nosy. She’s not really interested in other people’s lives.
Just this place, the Bible, maybe her grandkids.”

“Do you think it would be odd to ask Dell? To see if she read the book or showed it
to anyone? It’s important that we know.”

Oh God! Why didn’t we get a story straight? How
Dell
found the booklet, and how
she
stored it in her work locker until its rightful owner was found? Because I never
thought there’d be an interrogation, that’s why. Just a grateful owner making a beeline
out of the restaurant, never to be seen again. Now this Matilda woman had my guts
in a vise grip.

“She’s
super
busy right now, but why don’t I go back there and ask her?”

“Oh, I don’t mind asking her myself,” she said, rising from the table. “I’ll just
go poke my head in the back—”

“Wait!”

Matilda slowly sat back down, her eyes homing in on me.

“
I
found the journal.”

Matilda’s face relaxed a little, but she made no reply. She just clasped her hands
on the table and leaned in a little closer.

I looked around the empty Café and continued. “I’m sorry I lied. I just, I read a
little bit of it—but only to find a name, some sort of contact information. But I
swear, you can tell Pauline I stopped after a page … or two. And, well, I was … embarrassed,
I guess. I didn’t want her to be any more uncomfortable than she already seemed. So
I lied. I’m sorry. I feel like such an idiot.”

“Don’t feel bad. On Pauline’s behalf, I thank you for returning the book to her. Our
only request is that you say nothing about what you read, to anyone. Absolutely nothing.
Can I trust you to do that?”

“Of course. I would never. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Cassie, you don’t understand how important this is. You must keep this secret.” Matilda
pulled a twenty from her wallet. “Here’s for lunch. Keep the change.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Then she proffered a card with her name on it. “If you have any questions about what
you read in that book, I urge you to call me. I mean it. Otherwise I won’t be back
here. Nor will Pauline. This is how to reach me. Day or night.”

“Oh. Okay,” I said, holding the card cautiously as if it were radioactive.
Matilda Greene
, and her phone number. On the back was an acronym,
S.E.C.R.E.T.
, and three sentences:
No Judgments. No Limits. No Shame
. “Are you, like, a therapist or something?”

“You could say that. I work with women who reach a crossroads in life. Usually midlife,
but not always.”

“Like a life coach?”

“Kind of. More like a guide.”

“Do you work with Pauline?”

“I don’t talk about my clients.”

“I could probably use some guidance.” Had I said that out loud? “But I can’t afford
it.” Yes, I had.

“Well, this might surprise you, but you
can
afford what I charge because I work for free. The catch is I get to choose my clients.”

“What do those letters stand for?”

“You mean
S.E.C.R.E.T
.? That, my dear, is a secret,” she said, a sly smile playing across her lips. “But
if you meet with me again, I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Okay.”

“You’re someone I’d like to hear from. And I mean that.”

I knew I was wearing my skeptical expression, the one that made me look a lot like
my father, the man who had told me that nothing in life’s free, nor is it ever fair.

Matilda stood up from the table. When she put out her hand for me to shake, her bracelet
glinted in the sun.

“Cassie, it was quite lovely to meet you. And now you have my card. Thank you for
your honesty.”

“Thank you for … not thinking I’m a complete idiot.”

She let go of my hand and cupped my chin like a mother would. I could hear the charms
tinkle against each other, they were so close to my ears.

“I hope we meet again.”

The door chime signaled her goodbye. I knew that if I didn’t call her, I’d never see
her again, which made me feel unaccountably sad. I placed the card carefully in my
front pouch.

“Making new friends, I see,” Will said from behind the bar. He was emptying a case
of sparkling water into the refrigerator.

“What’s wrong with that? I could use a few friends.”

“That woman’s a little off. She’s like a Wiccan-hippy-vegan or something. My dad knew
her back in the day.”

“Yeah, she told me.”

Will began a long diatribe about stocking more nonalcoholic beverages because people
are drinking a lot less, but that we could charge more for sparkling water and those
special sodas and ciders and probably still make good margins, but all I was thinking
about was Pauline’s journal, and the two men, the one behind her and the one beneath
her, and the way her sexy boyfriend traced his firm hands down her forearm and how
he pulled her into his embrace on the street in front of everyone—

“Cassie!”

“What? What is it?” I said, shaking my head. “Jesus, you scared me.”

“Where did you go just now?”

“Nowhere, I’m here. I’ve been here all along,” I said.

“Well, go home, then. You look tired.”

“I’m not tired,” I said, and it was true. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been more
awake.”

I
t took me a week to call Matilda. A week of the same old thing, of walking to work
and of walking home, of not shaving my legs, of yanking my hair into a ponytail, of
feeding Dixie, of watering the plants, of ordering takeout, of drying dishes, of sleeping,
and then of waking and doing it all over again. It was a week of looking out over
Marigny at dusk from my third-story window, realizing that loneliness had blotted
out any other feeling. It had become to me like water to a fish.

If I had to describe what propelled me to call Matilda, I guess I could say it felt
as if my body was having none of this anymore. Even as my mind was reeling with the
idea of asking for help, my body forced me to pick up the kitchen phone at the Café
and dial.

“Hello, Matilda? This is Cassie Robichaud, from Café Rose?”

Five Years pricked up its ears.

She didn’t seem at all surprised to hear from me. We had a brief conversation about
work and the weather, and then
I made an appointment for the next afternoon at her office in the Lower Garden District,
on Third, near Coliseum.

“It’s the small white coach house next to the big mansion on the corner,” she said,
as though I’d know exactly where that was. In fact I always avoided the tourist spots,
crowds, people in general, but I said I’d have no trouble finding it. “There’s a buzzer
at the gate. Give yourself a couple of hours. The first consultation’s always the
longest.”

Dell entered the kitchen as I tore the address off the back of the paper menu on which
I wrote it. She peered sternly over her reading glasses at me.

“What?” I barked.

What kind of help was this Matilda woman going to offer? I had no idea, but if it
was the kind that would end with an ardent man sitting across from me at a table,
it was the kind of help I welcomed. Still, I worried.
Cassie, you don’t know who this woman is. You’re okay on your own. You don’t need
anyone. You’re fine
. That was my mind talking, but my body told it to shut up. And that was the end of
that.

The day of our meeting I left my shift early, instead of waiting for Tracina or Will.
As soon as the dining room died, I yelled goodbye to Dell and headed home to shower.
From the back of the closet, I pulled out the white sundress I had bought for my thirtieth
birthday. Scott had stood me up that night, and I hadn’t worn it since. Five years
in the South had darkened my skin and four years of waitressing had toned my arms,
so I was shocked to see that it actually looked better on me now. Standing in
front of the full-length mirror, I kept a hand over my nervous stomach. Why was I
nauseous? Because I knew I was letting something into my life, some element of excitement,
maybe even danger? I tried to recall those steps from the journal,
Surrender, Generosity, Fearlessness, Courage
. I couldn’t remember them all, but pondering them this last week had created such
an incredible pull, straight from the gut, that making that phone call had been more
a compulsion than a decision.