SECRET Revealed (10 page)

I made a sex tape! A fucking sex tape!
Then came the part where Erik pumped into me, harder and faster, mercilessly, the shaft of his thick penis inching in and out while his fingers dug shadows into my hips. I could tell exactly when I was coming on the video, and I was coming again, now, my own fingers retracing his path as I watched myself being watched by him, his eyes on my back, while he drove into me again and again, calling my name, “Solange,” and saying, “Yes, oh yeah, oh god, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come now” … and he did. And so did I—again—falling back into the pillows of my bed in my own home, my eyes rolling back again in utter bliss. I froze the shot on Erik collapsing across my back, his arms wrapped around my waist, because there it was, evidence of my courage to do something I had never thought I’d do.

And it was all kind of beautiful.

In the morning, before I headed to work, I watched that video one more time, while the dishwasher hummed and the coffee brewed. Then I smashed that lovely USB stick into a thousand pieces in the backyard, burying the shards under an old pine.

W
hen Matilda finally called and explained the dilemma, I just couldn’t say no.

“Cassie, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency,” she said. “We need someone who wasn’t at the induction.”

She explained how Bernice was facilitating a very elaborate fantasy involving a photo shoot for S.E.C.R.E.T.’s new participant but she fell ill. They desperately needed a volunteer to be there, someone whom the new candidate didn’t know and wouldn’t recognize. And just like that, I was back in S.E.C.R.E.T., this time not as a guide but as a fantasy facilitator. I didn’t have time to be a full-on Committee member, not yet. Maybe once the restaurant was up and running, and I had more time on my hands. It was the least I could do after all that S.E.C.R.E.T. had done for me.

My instructions for my first fantasy were to go to the Warehouse District that following Sunday. Matilda suggested
I wear a blond wig and heavy makeup just to make sure I wouldn’t be recognized. The task: act as a photographer’s assistant. I was excited, thrilled for the distraction, though I had to admit, when Matilda told me the new S.E.C.R.E.T. participant was
the
Solange Faraday from Action News Nightly, I was gob-smacked. She was someone you’d never think would need an organization like S.E.C.R.E.T., but I had to remind myself that she was a woman just like the rest of us—like me, like Dauphine, like Kit and Angela once, too, a woman who needed a little sexual boost.

This fantasy indeed had been an elaborate undertaking. First, S.E.C.R.E.T. had to convince the network to hire a new photographer named Erik Bando to shoot its billboards, without giving away the ruse. Angela recruited and trained him. Erik charged the network nothing, S.E.C.R.E.T. covered Erik’s costs, and the network photos, in the end, were stunning. Plus, Matilda was right. Helping with Solange’s fantasy was a total trip and it (mostly) took my mind off Will. There was just one problem. I had to do her makeup! What a mess I made of that! I was grateful Solange took charge and slapped my hands away.

In fact, she impressed the hell out of me. And playing the part of a bossy blond, becoming this other person, someone more daring, sexier and more confident than I really was, was not just thrilling; it inspired an idea, one I desperately needed to run by Will before the opening night of Cassie’s.

We had decided to open on New Year’s Eve. And the weeks leading up to the big night were a blur of menu
planning, food testing, equipment buying, plus hiring and training new floor and kitchen staff. And somehow, through it all, Will and I were mostly able to avoid each other, communicating almost entirely by text. Many of the tasks we did separately: Will purchased the steamers and fryers, I interviewed chefs, hired the sous chef and the bartender. Will negotiated discount parking at the lot up the street; I made batches and batches of homemade praline ice cream, trying to perfect a unique house recipe, until Dell thankfully stepped in to help. All the while I worked a few shifts at the Café training Maureen, Claire filling in here and there.

I was so busy I forgot to make plans for Christmas. I would have been happy spending it with Dixie, batting her away from the recipes and supplier lists strewn about my kitchen table. But Matilda convinced me to spend it with her and Jesse, who was at his own loose ends because his son would be at his ex’s.

It was a cozy affair, if a little awkward. We gathered in the eat-in kitchen at the Mansion. Matilda thought it would be fun to use the house for purposes other than sex. After all, it was a stunning location, and the kitchen featured top-of-the-line appliances. She answered the side door in jeans, slippers and a sweater, looking radiant and eerily young without any makeup, her red, shiny hair down around her shoulders. I was overdressed in my sparkly top and heels.

“Cassie, you look lovely,” she said, taking my coat.

“Suddenly I feel like a walking Christmas tree.”

“I should have told you pajamas would be appropriate.”

I handed Matilda a bottle of mid-price champagne and marveled at the smells wafting out of the kitchen.

“Claudette made a beautiful turkey,” Matilda said. Claudette was the live-in help at the Mansion. She was not only discreet but clearly a talented cook. As I followed Matilda to the kitchen, I took in the enormous appliances working overtime and the pine table already set with a basket of biscuits, a tureen of soup and a big bowl of salad.

“Last time I was in this room …” I said, not able to finish my sentence because just then Jesse walked out of the powder room, where my fourth fantasy had played out, the one with the famous hip hop star, the one that involved oral sex while a big pot of gumbo simmered on the stove.

Jesse wiped his wet hands on his sweatshirt. “Last time you were here, what?” he said, kissing the side of my head. “Nah, don’t tell me. I prefer to imagine it. Hope you brought your appetite.”

It had been more than two months since Latrobe’s, and I hadn’t seen much of Jesse. We’d texted now and again, and made vague plans to see a movie, but nothing solidified. We were both ridiculously busy, but mostly I didn’t want to know too much about his involvement in S.E.C.R.E.T. Problem was, though helping with Solange’s fantasy had taken my mind off Will, it sent my thoughts right back to … sex.

Now, with Jesse on my right looking all kinds of hot in
his red plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos, hair slicked back, face cleanly shaved, it was hard not to sneak glances at him. I squirmed in my seat, watching the muscles in his jaw clench as he chewed on a breadstick. God, he was sexy. I forgot how much I loved watching him eat. He worked with food, so he had a passion for it, and he was nothing if not a man of appetites.

After dinner, he reached over and poured more wine for Matilda, then for me, before refreshing his own glass.

“To Christmas misfits,” Matilda said, raising a glass for toasts. “May we always find comfort in one another’s company.”

“And to ex-lovers. May they be ever in our hearts,” Jesse said, “even if they’re not in our beds.”

I felt my face redden. “Jesse Turnbull, you are drunk,” Matilda scolded. “That’s not proper dinner talk. Apologize to Cassie immediately.”

“To whom?” he said, a weary smile on his face. Without waiting for her reply, he turned to me and placed his hand over my forearm. “Cassie, forgive me, I am a little drunk and that was rude. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I will make us some coffee,” Matilda said, rising from the table.

I turned to Jesse, who suddenly seemed agitated. “Are you okay?” I whispered. He couldn’t possibly still be upset about our breakup, if you could even call it that—could he?

“I’m fine, but I think it’s time for me to fly,” he said. “Matilda, tell Claudette dinner was amazing.”

I expected her to insist he stay, at the very least for a coffee. But without replying she buzzed for the limousine.

“I got my truck.”

“And I have your keys,” she said. “You’ll get your truck tomorrow. Good night, Jesse.”

Jesse rose, stretched, kissed both our hands good night and left without saying another word.

“Something’s got him all knotted up,” I said.

“Well, wine doesn’t mix well with resentment,” she said, placing the pot of coffee on the table.

“I didn’t realize he was still so … vexed.”

Matilda gave me a warm smile. “You know I don’t like gossip, Cassie. And chatting about a newly departed guest is the worst kind.”

I knew better. She was right. I changed the subject.

“Matilda, there’s something I want to run by you. It’s about Will. And the new restaurant.”

I told her Will had insisted on calling the restaurant Cassie’s. “So. I’ve made a decision. I want to invest in it. I want some skin in the game. I have that insurance money from Scott. It’s tied up in other stuff, but it wouldn’t be hard to extricate. You’re a businesswoman. What do you think? Is it stupid?”

Matilda carefully weighed her response.

“I thought that was your retirement money, Cassie. That’s all you have. It’s difficult for restaurants to turn a profit, even at the best of times. There are less risky places to put your money.”

“I know, but—”

“And what would happen if the place went under? How would you take care of yourself then?”

“It won’t. If I invest, I’ll bust my ass to make that place work.”

She laughed. “I say this with great reluctance, but knowing you, you’ll make it work. But please, do this for yourself, not for Will. He’d be a fool not to partner with you.”

I threw my arms around her and thanked her. Now I just had to convince Will.

On Boxing Day, as Claire and I were polishing the new restaurant’s silverware, my mind was occupied with practicing my pitch to Will. I was growing closer to Claire, who was in the middle of clarifying some romantic drama at her new school, the kind teenage girls of every generation seem to create.

“No. Olivia likes Ben, but she thinks
I
like him just because we had sex, like, once? Well, twice. But I don’t like him. Well, I like him as a friend. And if he likes Olivia, why does he hang around me more? And why should I stop hanging around him just because he
might
like her? It’s
so
stupid. And all the girls are mad at me. If they have to be mad at anyone, why aren’t they mad at Ben for having sex with me if he likes Olivia?”

“It all sounds very confusing, sweetie” was my only answer. I still thought of her as a kid, with the kind of problems that just blow over. And, frankly, I was distracted.
I checked the clock. It was almost four. I had agreed to see Jesse that afternoon, after his sheepish morning apology for the drunken outburst at the Mansion the night before. I wondered if Matilda had put him up to it.

“Confusing? Know what’s confusing? You and Uncle Will,” she said, jumping up on the metal kitchen table, the one that never failed to remind me of my fantasy with Jesse. “So, like, why aren’t you guys together anymore?”

Claire had received no effective answer from Will beyond “It’s none of your business, kiddo,” so I kept my answer equally vague.

“We decided we’re better off just being friends.” I wanted to add,
And hopefully, business partners
. He was supposed to close up that night, but there was still no sign of him.

“Yeah. Right. Whatever,” Claire said, snapping her gum.

Just then Will walked into the kitchen, holding a box of plastic sleeves that would house our new menu cards. Though I still loved the sight of his face, I hated that even now he managed to take the air right out of my lungs.

“Sorry I’m late. Hot off the presses,” he said, pulling out a menu sleeve and handing it to me. I plucked the sleeve from his hand. It was still warm.

“They’re perfect,” I said, aware that our fingers had touched as he passed me the card. While I had to make an effort not to register a reaction to this casual connection, Will seemed utterly nonplussed.

“So is the new dishwasher still leaving spots?” Will asked Claire, pulling away from me.