S.E.C.R.E.T. (Secret 1)

Without listening to the rest of her reply, I hopped into the limo and then put on my shoes. I had a funny thought: imagine if Anna knew what I was up to! I wanted to yell out: I’m not a spinster! I’m alive for the first time in years!

As the limo sped me to Canal, I looked down at my dress, a snug black number, tight at the bodice, flaring out at the skirt, leaving off just below the knee. The top held me up in the right places and did a few favors for my breasts, which even to me looked full and appealing against the black contour of the halter. My shoes pinched a bit, but I knew they’d ease up as the night went on. Black pumps will go with just about everything, I told myself, rationalizing how much I’d spent on them. I had parted my hair to one side and dried it straight, holding the front in place with a gold barrette. That was the only piece of jewelry I had on, except, of course, my S.E.C.R.E.T. bracelet with its singular charm.

“You look lovely tonight, Miss Robichaud,” the driver said. I had the impression S.E.C.R.E.T. staff members were told to keep a professional distance, something I imagined Danica found hard to do. She seemed so irrepressible. My “thank you” barely made it through the window opening before it closed between us.

My heart beat faster as we made turn after turn. I tried to clear my mind as Matilda had instructed. Try not to anticipate. Try to be in the moment.

The limo came to a stop in front of The Saint. My hand was so sweaty it slipped on the door handle, but the driver was already on the job, getting out and coming around to open the door and help me out of the back seat.

“Good luck, my dear,” he said.

I nodded my appreciation and then stood for a moment, watching the beautiful people of the city stream in and out of the main doors—leggy, bold women, trailing perfume and confidence, the men, looking so proud to be seen with them. Then there was me. I realized

I’d forgotten to wear perfume. My hair, pulled straight an hour ago, was starting to frizz up. The thought that this fantasy would play out in public made my fearful heart drop. That’s where hearts should sit, I thought, deep in the gut, where there is more insulation to hide their anxious beating. And yet, nervous as I was, I was also … curious. I took a deep breath and headed inside and straight for the elevators.

A small man in a hotel uniform appeared on my left.

“Can I see your ticket?”

“Oh, yes,” I said, digging in my clutch. “Here.”

He eyed the ticket, then me, clearing his throat.

“Well, then,” he said, pressing the up button. “Welcome to The Saint. We hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

“Oh, I’m not staying here. I’m only meeting … well, seeing … hearing, just hearing the music.”

“Of course. Have a lovely evening,” he said, bowing and then backing away from me.

The elevator swallowed me up, its ascent wreaking havoc with my already churning stomach. I closed my eyes and leaned up against the cool mirrored wall, holding tight to the rail. As the elevator car neared the penthouse club, I could hear muffled music, many voices. The doors opened to dozens of smartly dressed people clustered in the dim lobby, more still in the dark bar beyond the glass doors. It took superhuman strength for me to peel my fingers from the rail, leave the safe confines of the elevator and launch myself into the crowd.

Each person was holding a glass of champagne and was engaged in what seemed to be an interesting conversation. Some women glanced over their shoulders at me the way you’d look at a potential opponent. Their male companions assessed me too. Were those looks of … interest? No. Couldn’t be. No way. I moved slowly through the crowd, keeping my eyes lowered, yet wondering what the hell I was doing in such a swishy place. I saw some local luminaries, Kay Ladoucer from city council, who also chaired several prominent charities. She was carrying on an animated conversation with Pierre Castille, the handsome billionaire land developer known for being a reclusive bachelor. He looked my way and I averted my eyes. Then I realized what he was actually looking at. Beside me were gathered several young and coltish daughters of Southern gentry, the kind of girls whose photographs you see in the Times-Picayune society pages.

The Smoking Time Jazz Club band was going to be playing tonight, but they hadn’t yet taken the stage. I had heard them before at the Blue Nile. I loved the lead singer, a quirky girl with a partly shaved head and a powerful, hypnotic voice. But I wasn’t here just to enjoy the music. Who was I meeting, and how would things unfold? Despite my nervousness, I could not avoid noticing a tall, attractive man talking with a long-legged woman wearing a brave red dress. As I watched (discreetly, I thought), he dismissed her and made his way over to me. All the air left my body as he blocked my path to the bar.

“Hello,” he said, smiling. With his green eyes and blond hair he looked as though he’d stepped out of a magazine. He wore a beautifully tailored charcoal gray suit with a white shirt. His tie was thin and black. He seemed a little younger than the masseur, and more muscular too. I glanced over at the woman in the red dress, whose posture seemed to suggest defeat. He had left off talking to her to cross the room and greet me? Was he crazy?

“I’m … I’m Cassie,” I said, hoping he couldn’t sense my anxious thoughts.

“I see you don’t have a drink. Let me get you one,” he said, placing his hand on the small of my back and guiding me through the thickening crowd towards the bar.

“Oh. Yes. Why not?” The band was taking the stage. I could hear them warming up.

“What about your … companion?” I asked.

“What companion?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.

I glanced over my shoulder to where the woman had stood. She was gone.

He pulled out an empty stool at the bar and gestured for me to sit. Then he leaned towards me, moving a strand of hair behind my ear so that he could put his mouth close to it. I felt his warm breath. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and lean into him.

“Cassie, I’ve ordered you some champagne,” he said. “I’m going to check on something. While I’m away, I want you to do me a favor.” He put a finger to my jawline and gently traced it. He was looking deep into my eyes. The man was beguiling, his beautiful mouth just an inch away from my own.

“While I’m gone, take off your panties. Drop them on the floor under the bar. But don’t let anyone see.”

“Here? Now?” I caught my reflection in the mirror over the bar and saw my eyebrows shoot up.

A wicked and perfect smile played across his mouth. Two days’ worth of stubble didn’t take away from his polish either.