SECRET Revealed (25 page)

“I have to go,” I said flatly, closing my eyes and reaching up and back to rake my fingers through his messy hair.

“Then you should go,” he whispered, sliding his fingers into the front of my panties, finding me, unsurprisingly, very wet. “You should definitely leave.”

With one swift movement, he spun me onto the bed face down, my limbs splayed. He tugged down my panties, leaving them askew across the backs of my thighs. I could feel
him hovering over me, taking in the sight of my ass in the air, his knees knocking my thighs apart. Then, without warning, he entered me fiercely, all thrust and muscle, like he was taking something from me, something I was instantly reluctant to hand over. But my resistance didn’t last. I couldn’t help it. I clutched the sheets and arched my back, giving myself over to him, as he plunged deeper and deeper, his hard fingers bruising my hips, his cock pinioning me onto the bed, my whole body tightening around it. My clitoris was perfectly positioned against the coverlet and he knew it, timing his rhythm and thrusts to make me come. Even if this was all I ever got from him, it was everything I wanted in this moment.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his fingers entwining my hair and tugging my head back a bit. The intensity of his thrusts increased.

I nodded, mute with pleasure, the build accelerating.

“I love fucking you, Cassie.”

And with that I exploded around him, my body convulsing as I arched to pull pleasure from his thrusting cock. I could see his veined shaft in my mind’s eyes, easing in and out of me as he spurted across my ass and back. Our bodies were moving together, each taking something from the other until we both began to plummet from the heights, back down onto the rumpled bed.

“Holy shit,” I said, collapsing across the sheets. He rolled onto his back next to me, breathless, laughing lightly. “I’m going to be late.”

“No you’re not,” he said, suddenly rising and clapping like a sergeant. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Shower, dress, I’ll start the truck.”

I leapt to my feet, seeing stars in my peripheral vision. The fastest shower on earth was followed by frantic dressing, and Jesse was on the porch by the time I threw my wet hair into a low ponytail. We were quietly distracted as he made his way across the city to the Garden District, taking a detour down Frenchmen. It felt weird to just pass by the restaurant, my neck craning to catch sight of people,
my
people.

The Café was in its mid-Sunday slump. I saw Maureen’s arm sweeping a table clean. Claire had the day off, too, so she’d be at Will’s, maybe watching TV, maybe reading, hopefully not sad and hopefully on the mend. She’d made the difficult decision to skip summer school, preferring instead to split her time between working at the Café Rose and Cassie’s. She loved helping with the prep, Dell regularly commenting that she was naturally gifted in the kitchen. Will was adamant, though. As long as she wanted to live with him, she had to go back in September to some kind of school. I would never tell Will it was actually Jesse who suggested that Claire enroll at the Culinary School of the Arts. He had even offered to write her a letter of recommendation. When I mentioned it to Claire as an option, her face lit up. She squeezed me breathless, and for a brief moment I could see what she must have looked like as a child—happy, unburdened, her future wide open before her.

By now, I thought, resting my head against the window of Jesse’s truck, Will would be upstairs, running through the menu with the wait staff, replacing the plastic liquor decanter tops that would have soaked overnight. That was about the only business disagreement we’d had in five months, Will being baffled as to why you’d take
all
the decanters off at night to reseal
all
the bottles.

“So they don’t gum up,” I said. “So fruit flies don’t get in the booze.”

“Every bar I’ve ever been in my whole life leaves the plastic spouts screwed on.”

“Oh? Which ones? So I can remind myself
never
to go there.”

He gave in. We gelled at work, Will taking on parts of running a restaurant I didn’t love (marketing, operations, scheduling), leaving me the parts I loved (accounting, customer service, menu planning). And because of our split duties, we really hadn’t spent much time alone. Our interactions often involved a brief schedule handoff, or a meeting in the hallway to finalize a shopping list or one in the kitchen to give a quick verdict over a simmering pot of something amazing Dell was cooking up.

Then yesterday, something weird happened. Will emerged from the staff dressing room having freshly showered. He was on days. I was on the floor that night. But showering at work was something he had never done, even during the messiest renovation days. Dell and I were in the kitchen, perched on stools, flipping through a spice catalogue for fish rub recipes. Normally clad in dark
chinos and a plain blue or white dress shirt, this time Will was in all black: black button-down dress shirt with French cuffs, black flat-front slacks and a new pair of black suede shoes. He smelled so good and looked so damn sexy he took my breath away.

To camouflage my reaction, I gave him a pursed, thin-lipped smile, and with as much flatness as I could muster said, “That’s a nicely made shirt.”

“Thanks,” he said, smoothing it down. “It cost enough. By the way, Dell, that seafood gumbo is outstanding. They’re in for a real treat tonight.”

“Thank you muchly,” Dell answered, waving over her shoulder.

Will headed out the back door without saying good-bye and my heart plummeted. He probably had a date. I hadn’t asked. I didn’t want to know. But I knew. He had a date. Or a lover already. The promise of sex was all over him.

But what business was it of mine? None. After all, at that moment, my own lover was driving me to a place where people gather to plan sex fantasies with the same commitment and concentration countries put into hosting the Olympics. Jesse took St. Charles Avenue to Third, instead of the usual route along Magazine Street, something I didn’t notice until I saw the clanging streetcars rolling over the high grass along the boulevard. I had a postcard of an old streetcar pinned to my fridge. I bought it the day Scott and I moved here, now almost a decade ago. Had I really lived in New Orleans that long? I thought owning a
business would make me feel more rooted, but there were times I still felt like a tourist in this city.

We pulled up to the Mansion.

“Have fun today at Sex Club,” Jesse said, pulling me in for a kiss. “Call you later.”

“Okay.”

That feeling of nostalgia followed me up to the Mansion’s front portico. How much had changed since I first came through this gate! Back then I had been so scared, shy, completely unsure of myself. Why had I felt discarded? It wasn’t only because I didn’t have a man in my life. It went deeper than that. I had separated from myself and seemed to be running on a different set of rails than the rest of the world. Today, life wasn’t easy or always happy, but it was full and it had purpose.

I pushed the wide doors open just as Angela was exiting the powder room and crossing the checkered-tile foyer, dressed casually in a T-shirt, jeans and pumps.

“Hey, Cassie,” she said, kissing me on both cheeks. Sometimes I forgot how tall she was until I was standing right next to her. “Been meaning to come to the restaurant. How’s it going?”

“Good. We’re having a busy spring. Makes me wish we had a patio.”

“They’re overrated. You know how hot the city gets in summer. Everyone wants the AC.”

“I guess you’re right. But we
are
thinking of clearing out the bar area and maybe putting a band there. So …?”

“Yes. I’ll do it. And I know a great accompanist who plays on this little portable keyboard, so we wouldn’t take up too much room.”

I was pleased. Will and I had had Angela on our wish list for possible performers. I hadn’t been sure she’d deign to sing at our little joint.

“Everything good with you and Jesse?” she asked.

It was common knowledge that we were an item of sorts without being an item at all. Still, I wasn’t sure how to reply.

“Jesse’s good. He’s fun.”

“So I hear,” Angela said as she walked ahead of me through the dining room’s double doors.

Ouch.

I watched her make her way around the long oak table to greet Bernice, Michelle and Brenda. Matilda was at the side table talking to Kit, both of them nibbling from the impressive array of food laid out—spring rolls, pakoras, wine and cheese. Amani was refreshing the shrimp platter. I began to wonder who else among the Committee had had sex with Jesse during some training session or another. At Tracina’s baby shower last year, I found out Pauline had “freshened up Jesse’s oral skills.” Even Matilda’s name had come up as a possible partner, though I found that hard to believe—not because she was almost twenty years older than him but because she was so particular, so elegant, so refined … and he was so … Jesse. I could imagine Michelle with her blond curls tumbling across his chest, or bisexual Kit, who could easily lure a third into their bed. Damn, I
felt it, that old stream of jealousy coursing toxically through my blood. I had been warned about Jesse. It was never a secret. I knew what this thing was. I understood our limitations. Still, I was shaking as I took a seat between Matilda and Maria, doing my best to hide this sudden bout of insecurity. In two minutes, I’d gone from feeling grateful and hopeful to fraudulent and useless.

Shake it off, Cassie. This isn’t about you
.

I nodded hellos to the assembled gals, including Pauline, whose presence could still make me blush a bit.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Matilda began. “I know this is a last-minute gathering, but we have a couple of things on our agenda. As some of you are aware, Solange’s threesome fantasy did not, as we say, pan out.”

Damn
. I had been meaning to ask, but I figured no news was good news.

Matilda turned to me, reading my mind. “Cassie, don’t blame yourself. She changed her mind. It happens.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” I said.

“Me too,” Pauline said, poutily.

“We all are. But remember that this is a process of discovery, and Solange learned something valuable by not following through. Don’t cry for Solange. She has a couple of heady adventures lined up for her. In Paris.”

“And I’m more than happy to help with any of them,” Angela said, raising her hand.

“I’m afraid this one’s Bernice’s,” Matilda said, signaling for Bernice to empty a manila envelope of photos onto the
table. Oohs and
ahhs
for Paris became oohs and
ahhs
for the pictures, which showed what looked like the first-draft lineup for a team of the Best-Looking Black Men on the Planet.

“Ladies, before you scramble through that pile, take a look at
this
photo.”

Matilda pushed back a screen on the wall to display a blown-up shot of a handsome black man, older, hands on his hips, standing in what looked to be Jackson Square. He had a light salt-and-pepper goatee and was wearing sunglasses pushed up on his closely shaved head. He was smiling to someone off camera to his left, a dimple in his left cheek. The look on his face suggested he wasn’t aware that this photo was being taken.

“See this man?”

“Indeed we do,” someone muttered, causing a fit of giggles.

“This man is Julius Faraday, Solange’s ex-husband.” There were more oohs and ahhs and
Did you say “ex”?
and
Go, Solange
.

“All right, now listen,” Matilda said, trying to scold, but she, too, was having a hard time hiding her grin. “For reasons that might be obvious, we need to find among these headshots the man who
best
resembles Julius, but Julius as a younger man, the way Solange would have known him when they first met.”

I got up to join the cluster in front of the board and take a closer look at Julius. He was shockingly well assembled in his turtleneck and leather jacket. His front teeth had the
barest hint of a gap. Were it not for his connection to Solange, I would have suggested him as a recruit. I also would have offered to train him. But he was her ex, and exes were off-limits. Or so I thought.

“Him,” Michelle said, pinning one of the headshots next to the photo of Julius.

“Nuh-uh,” said Angela. “
This
dude.”

The man in the photo she indicated had a smile similar to Julius’s, but his hair was longer. After some debate about a smile being more important than eyes, Angela’s pick won in a landslide vote, after which Bernice disappeared with the headshot to “make overseas calls.” The rest of us got up to leave because we thought we’d completed the task of the evening.

“Hold on, ladies. We have one more order of business,” Matilda said, reaching under the table for another manila envelope. “We’re selecting one more recruit this evening. And in an unusual twist, this recruit approached us. Well, he approached me.”

There was confusion around the table. Matilda rarely accepted applicants who approached S.E.C.R.E.T. because it was usually through an indiscreet recruit who’d broken the rules and told one of his friends. Too much eagerness was frowned upon and it threatened our anonymity.

Matilda placed the envelope in front of me.

“Cassie, would you please open it?”

Why me? Maybe this time I would be chief fantasy facilitator! Maybe I was going to Paris! I snatched the
envelope off the table and impatiently ripped it open. Out slid a glossy black-and-white headshot of a handsome new recruit.

What followed happened in a few seconds, five tops, but time seemed to slow. I took in the recruit’s studied stance, and the way he leaned against the rough cement wall. I thought,
Hmm, he’s very good-looking. But I know this guy from somewhere
. Three seconds in, I realized this man was famous. But for what? Then, in the space of time it took for me to inhale and exhale, it dawned on me: this recruit
wasn’t
famous. It was just that his face was so deeply familiar, he felt famous.

I was looking at the face of Will,
my
Will, his brooding features in quiet repose, his dark blue eyes relaxed but serious, a kind smile playing across his lips. He was wearing that black shirt with the French cufflinks from the other day. He stood with his hands in the pockets of those flat-front slacks. He looked sexy. Very, very sexy.