Secret Shared

had been pretty dead too. Tracina was glad for it, so pregnant now that people didn’t really feel comfortable having her wait on them because she looked like she could drop the baby right at their table. It was only a matter of weeks before she’d be off her feet entirely.

Will had posted for a replacement, but then his brother Jackson from Slidell asked if he’d take on his oldest daughter, Claire, a quirky, dreadlocked seventeen-year-old who wanted to finish high school at the New Orleans Center for Creative Arts, which had a campus not far from the Cafe. Between piercings and poetry readings, she promised she could work two nights a week and weekends, more shifts during the summer. Will was reluctant at first to have his unruly teenage niece also living with him, until Tracina pointed out the convenient babysitter possibilities once their child was born. So Claire started immediately, and immediately fit in at the restaurant by pissing off Dell and getting underfoot.

Matilda wasn’t finished listing all the caveats of recruiting Mark.

“If Mark passes all the tests, he’ll still have to be trained, Cassie. And the other women have to weigh in. It has to be unanimous.”

“He’ll appeal. And Dauphine has a thing for musicians.”

“And then there’s the matter of you and Jesse. He could turn you down, you know. I mean, he has one last go through S.E.C.R.E.T. and he may want to savor that opportunity. Are you ready for potential rejection?”

“Sure. Yeah. Of course.” I shrugged, taking a sip of my beer.

I flinched because I was lying. S.E.C.R.E.T. had given me many gifts, but the ability to withstand rejection wasn’t one of them. After all, there was no possibility of being rejected in S.E.C.R.E.T., only of turning others down. Of course Jesse could turn me down, and why wouldn’t he? What was he going to be offered, anyway? A plain old date with me, a woman he slept with once in a fantasy scenario, more than a year ago, one who balked when the possibility of more presented itself. Or the thrill of a new fantasy and new flesh pressed against his skin. Given the choice, wouldn’t most men want the novelty? Wouldn’t I? Well, no. I had had that novelty with Mark, and more than that with Will. Mark I didn’t want. Will I couldn’t have. And so, in my mind, that left Jesse.

“I’ll meet with Jesse tomorrow,” Matilda said. “If he says yes, you’ll hear from him. If he says no, you won’t. Either way, we’ll pull him off Dauphine’s roster this time, just to prevent any tension between you and Dauphine. That relationship is sacred. And whatever happens, she does not need to know about this conversation.” Matilda paused to let this sink in. “Oh,” she added after a few seconds, “by the way, Dominic passed. He’ll be a new recruit.”

“The soccer player?”

“He’s actually a contractor. He’s taken the tests and he’s almost done with his training. If Mark doesn’t work out, we can put Dominic next.”

“What about Ewan, that sexy redhead friend of his?”

“He didn’t pass the initial round. Funny that. We rarely get a unanimous vote on a ginger, which as a redhead I find rather bigoted. Marta just wasn’t that into him.”

“But he was so cute.”

“Well, if you’re on the Committee next year you can resubmit him, if he’s still interested.”

After splitting the bill and saying goodbye to Matilda, I decided to walk home. It was a balmy night, but spooky—no moon in the sky. I could hear sirens in the distance, discordant jazz pouring out of every other door, which got louder and stranger when Magazine became Decatur in the French Quarter. I shivered. Fall was coming; I could feel it in my bones. In fact, the whole city felt suddenly as dark and unsettled as did I.

The next morning, I was barely out of the shower when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, lady,” the male voice said in a sweetly familiar Southern drawl.

It truly didn’t occur to me it would be Jesse. Not so soon. Not at 10 a.m. Surely Matilda would have only just called him, would have only just offered him his options. Surely he’d need some time to think.

But it was him. My nerves ricocheted through my body, making the receiver go instantly sweaty in my hand. Now what?

“Who’s this?” I asked. When I’m afraid, I push things away with both hands. I don’t let go of them; I hold them at arm’s length to gain the upper hand, hoping they’ll come to me. I did that with Will; I was now doing that with Jesse.

“You know exactly who this is, Cassie Robichaud.”

The S.E.C.R.E.T. Steps quickly ran through my mind; yes! I had access to all these attributes, I’d felt them, I’d experienced them. I could do this.

Surrender.

“I’m kidding. I know it’s you.”

“Yeah. So … Matilda says you wanted to see me?”

Courage.

“I do.”

“Where are you?”

Trust.

“I’m at home.”

Generosity.

“I was wondering … are you free for dinner next Saturday? I could cook.”

“I have to wait a week? Where do you live?”

Fearlessness.

“In the Marigny, not far from where I work.”

Confidence.

“I mean, if you’re not available next Saturday, the Saturday after is fine,” I added.

“I usually take care of my son on Saturdays,” he said. “But I think I can figure something out.”

Curiosity.

“Right. You have a son. How old is he now?”

“He’s six, actually. I have him every Wednesday, and every other Friday and Saturday until six. Then I drop him at his ma’s. His birthday was four days ago.”

Bravery.

“Aw. Sweet. Well, why don’t you come over after you drop him off next Saturday? I’ll make us something to eat. Bring a bottle of wine or whatever you want to drink.”

“I will do that, Miss Robichaud.”

Exuberance.

“Great! I’m looking forward to it. I’m in the green house on the corner of Chartres and Mandeville. Second floor. See you then.”

I must have leapt two feet in the air when I hung up. I had a date with a virtual stranger, a guy whose last name I did not know, a tattoo-covered single father whom I’d met during an amazing, anonymous sexual encounter because of our mutual membership in an underground group that orchestrated sex fantasies for affection-starved women. And I couldn’t have been more excited.

“I did it,” I said to Dixie, flat on her back, playing with the charms on my bracelet.

14 DAUPHINE

I SHOULD HAVE known something was off when a different driver, not Ernesto, arrived twenty minutes later than the appointed time. I sat in the lobby of the Palace Alvear Hotel, in my new side-buttoned, black brocade dress with three-quarter sleeves, the better to show off my bracelet. I had found the dress buried in a rack in a shop in San Telmo, a gorgeous, form-fitting cocktail confection that stopped just below the knee, a conservative