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

“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 bag

gy 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.