Secret Shared: A S.E.C.R.E.T. Novel (29 page)

Matilda was handling all the press, all the questions and all the follow-up. We were told to relax, mingle and eat. A Committee meeting was struck for the following day. That’s when we’d find out how much money was left in the S.E.C.R.E.T. coffers. That’s also when I planned to formally resign, but not before profusely thanking each and every one them for my good fortune and my lovely life.

We ducked past a throng with clacking cameras and into the narrow foyer that led to the main dining area. The room was filled with the highest echelons of New Orleans society, including, much to our shock, a very solo and newly re-elected District Attorney Carruthers Johnstone, mopping his brow and greeting guests in a too-snug tux, his PR person hovering close by, fielding questions.

“Are you going to be okay with him here?” I asked, pulling Will away from the greeting line, avoiding Carruthers. It had been almost a month, and while I’d been several times to see the sweet baby, and a very humbled Tracina, Will still felt like a chump. He still harbored some ill feelings I hoped would fade soon so Tracina could freely bring the baby to the café she was named after.

Eyeing Carruthers, Will said, “It’s okay. Mostly I feel sorry for the poor bastard. He has to take on all that crying and screaming …
and
a new baby on top of it all.”

News of Carruthers’ dalliance had come too late to affect his re-election, but its consequences were trickling in. There were a lot of questions, of course, most of which he
was avoiding while his wife moved his things out of their mansion in the Garden District and into a lovely cottage on Exposition Boulevard, facing Audubon, where he and Tracina could raise the baby in relative privacy until the worst of the scandal blew over.

City councilwoman Kay Ladoucer was also there. She had chaired last year’s Revitalization Ball, and tonight she was behaving like a queen bee, greeting guests and posing for pictures, even though this was Matilda’s event. Will made a point of saying hello to her, knowing his final building inspection was soon, after which, assuming he’d pass with flying colors, the only things stopping us from opening Cassie’s (
Cassie’s!
) were securing the liquor license and cutting the ribbon. Kay had blocked every attempt he’d made in the past to expand upstairs, citing too much growth on Frenchmen Street. So he was taking no chances now, and even went so far as to compliment her hair and her dress, feeling my elbow in his side when he started in on her shoes.

We gathered with Dauphine and Mark for a minute, she in a stunning jet blue off-the-shoulder cocktail dress, her hair a Veronica Lake tribute; he in a tux, with jeans, of course, both wearing dopey grins, a match made in heaven if there ever was one.

“Cassie! So fucking good to see you,” Mark said, throwing his arms around me and lifting me off the ground. In my ear, he whispered, “I owe you big-time.”

I had long reassured Will of my “friends only” status with the “skinny boy” who had stopped into the Café that day
to invite me to hear him play. And I think he believed me. But Mark’s enthusiastic greeting had Will instinctually putting a warm hand on my back.

“You look gorgeous, Cassie,” said Dauphine, leaning towards me and out of Will’s earshot. “And promise me you’ll come by the store more often. This isn’t goodbye. You changed my life.”

“And you two better be regulars in
my
restaurant,” I said, announcing its new name. Will looked as chuffed as I felt. “Congratulations,” they both said. And after Mark promised to hold court in the corner with a guitar on opening night, they left to navigate the crowd back to the bar. I turned to slide my arms through Will’s jacket, wending them behind his back in an embrace.

“You have nothing to worry about,” I said, looking up at him, my chin on his chest.

“What? I know that,” he said, moving a strand of stray hair behind my ear.

“I never thought you were the jealous type, Will.”

“I’m not. I’m just … I guess I’m a little sensitive these days. I’ll get over. And soon, I’ll start taking you completely for granted.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” I said, kind of meaning it.

The evening was unfolding so beautifully. Even after Angela Rejean strolled by in a criminally short silver mini-dress that tilted the attention of the entire room in her direction, including Will’s. Her legs had me spellbound, so much so, I didn’t notice the light hand on my shoulder. I
assumed it was Will again, his touch becoming such a lovely constant, I almost noticed it more when he didn’t have a hand on me.

“Cassie Robichaud, how nice it is to see you again. And looking ravishing in black satin.”

I turned around and there he was, Pierre Castille, holding a glass of red wine, his frustratingly handsome face lighting up when I met his gaze. With his free hand he clasped an upper arm to kiss my two cheeks, my skin beneath his touch becoming goose-fleshed and chilled. He’d been drinking. Quite a bit.
Oh God, what is he doing here?

“Hello, Pierre,” I said, my voice faltering. I looked around for Dauphine, suddenly worried for her.

“And that
dress
. Oh, and if it isn’t my old childhood pal, Will Foret. Seeing
you
in a tux—now that’s worth the price of admission!”

“Pierre, I see you’re still always happy to attend the opening of any old envelope,” Will said, giving me a
what the fuck is he doing here?
kind of look.

I shrugged, looking around frantically for Matilda.

“I could hardly miss tonight, Will, my man. After all, it is—or rather
was
my fifteen million that this organization is giving away.”

Will turned to me. “
His
money?”

“But what can you do?” Pierre continued, doing his best to camouflage a slight slur. “You try to support causes you care about and sometimes they just don’t want your help. Women! Am I
right
? A man can only deal with so much
bullshit from them … Speaking of which, here’s our lovely Matilda Greene now.”

Thank God
, I thought, as Matilda stiffly approached us.

“Mr. Castille, what a
surprise
to see you here,” she said. Her voice was steady, but I knew her; I could tell by the way she fussed with her charms that this was throwing her for a loop. Sweat broke out across my brow.

“I bet it is. I can only assume my invitation was lost in the mail. I don’t think, considering my
passionate
patronage of S.E.C.R.E.T., that you’d have deliberately left my name off the guest list.”

“You’re kind to forgive the oversight,” she said, wincing at the smell of his breath when he leaned close to kiss her cheek.

She turned to Will. “And it is so nice to see you again, Will. And Cassie … why I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you do look a little flushed. Forgive me, but you might have the same thing Dauphine has. Poor thing just left. I hope it wasn’t the shrimp.”

Matilda’s face was imploring, her words sounding as though she were pressing them into firm clay. She placed her hand on my forehead.

“In fact, you’re quite clammy. I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you wanted to duck out of this shindig a little early too, before all the boring speeches. I know how much you hate these things.”

That’s what she said instead of
Pierre’s here to do damage, serious damage, not just to S.E.C.R.E.T., but to you. Leave now. Take Will.

“Are you okay?” Will asked, picking up on Matilda’s concern. “If you’re not feeling well we can—”

“Yes, let’s. I am a little—”

“Thirsty?” Pierre said, grabbing a glass of ice water from a passing waiter’s tray and handing it to me. “If you leave now, you’ll miss the best part, Cassie. And I know you,” he said, poking Will in the chest, “
you
will be very interested in how the night unfolds. No more secrets. No more lies. They’re so toxic, wouldn’t you say, Will?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Pierre?”

But before I had a chance to say,
Will, please take me home now before you hear something that might kill you, kill
us, Pierre drained his wineglass and deposited it on another passing tray.

“What am I
talking
about? I’m talking about the sexy little group these ladies belong to. Has Cassie told you how it’s financed? They sell off paintings. Valuable ones. I bought one recently for fifteen million dollars. But turns out they don’t want my money. And I’m not giving them the painting back. So they’re donating all of it. So generous. So magnanimous. So
sanctimonious
.”

“Pierre, you’ve said enough,” Matilda said, trying to signal Security. We were a small group, just Matilda, Will, Pierre and me, but ears around us were pricking up, and not those belonging to members of S.E.C.R.E.T.

“And they
need
the money. Sex fantasies are not cheap, Will. Especially when they come with little prizes in little boxes,” he said, snatching my wrist and holding my bracelet up in front of Will’s face. “Did Cassie ever tell you how she
earned these charms? Or where? Wasn’t this one with
me
, in the back of my limo?”

His fingers were roughly digging through my charms, trying to find the one he was talking about. I wrenched free of his grip.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Will hissed.

“Will, let’s just get out of here,” I said, my whole body now pressing him away from our little circle, this awful place. He must have felt it, me vibrating with anger and fear.

Matilda tried to calm Pierre, to shut him up, as though there were time to rescue the evening, as though the damage hadn’t already been done. But Will’s eyes were wild with confusion. Angela and Kit sidled over, using their bodies as shields to prevent onlookers from watching the drama, to keep more details from leaking beyond our group into the party at large.

“Sometimes at events like this, Pierre,” Matilda said, grabbing his elbow, “when the drinks flow more freely than the food, we say things we don’t mean, and we hurt people terribly, people who don’t deserve it.”

“And sometimes, Matilda, we tell the truth,” he spat, releasing his arm. Turning to Will, he said, “I hear the truth’s been in short supply in your life lately, buddy. Heard about old Carruthers and your little girlfriend, or rather, ex-girlfriend. Again my money backed the
wrong
candidate. Family values my ass. Not that you suffered for long. Must have been the happiest day of your life, Cassie, when you found out that his ex was a bigger slut than even
you.
”

Wham
came the punch, which sailed over my shoulder, landing hard, then sealed with a good kick to his ribs even before Pierre hit the ground. Will’s arm was cocked, loaded, about to launch, or so I thought. But when I got over my shock, I realized I wasn’t looking at the back of Will’s tux standing over Pierre’s writhing body, but rather chef whites belonging to Jesse Turnbull.

Time seemed to stop in that instant, allowing me to feel for a brief second like an observer, hovering eerily over the events, watching Angela and Kit holding Will back from completing the job that Jesse had started, seeing two burly bodyguards scoop up a bleeding Pierre, still yelling, despite the blood and the missing front tooth, “Just
ask
her, Will! Ask how she got those charms, how all of them did!” “Asked” sounded more like “asstht,” something that would have been funny, might one day, in some faraway future,
still
be funny, to other people unaffected by his drunken tirade. Even after he shook his arms free of the security guards, Pierre wouldn’t stop.

“Because they just use men, Will, they use them for their pleasure and then throw them away and she’ll do that to you too, buddy! So goodbye, whores,” he said, giving a flaccid salute, before getting hustled out the door and thrown into the back of his own waiting limo.

Everyone heard that, heard a drunken Pierre Castille sounding more like a jealous ex than a bitter man rejected by a group of women he now deeply resented. So beyond some whispers and stares, the party instantly recognized
the sight, then healed over when the limo drove away and returned to their drinking and hors d’oeuvres. I silently thanked Jesse with teary eyes, then took hold of Will’s lapels, pushing him gently away from the crowd, down a dim hallway leading to the washrooms. There I pressed him up against the wall, holding him upright with my forehead in the middle of his chest for a second, where I left a little prayer, something to help him better listen while I desperately tried to explain things.

He was breathless.

“I’m very confused, Cassie,” he said, his voice up an octave. “I’m
confused
by some of the things that were just said by that asshole. Can you … enlighten me?”

“I don’t know. I think, I guess … Pierre wants to ruin us.”

“Ruin who?”

“Ruin S.E.C.R.E.T., our organization, me, us.”

“Why? What does he fucking
care
?”

“Because … I rejected him.
We
rejected him.”

Will laughed, genuinely laughed.

“Sorry. Let me get this straight. You rejected the richest man in the city, so he bought a
fifteen-million
-dollar painting from your …
group
. But you don’t want the money because he’s a bad man. So he’s mad and called you sluts and whores—”

“I know it sounds like a ludicrous story.”

“Not ludicrous, just
incomplete
,” he said. “You know, Tracina once said Angela and Kit did some freaky-deaky things in some mansion in the Garden District. Those were
her words—
freaky-deaky
. I never pressed her because we’d been out and she was drinking. And I never thought it was any of my business. But tonight I see that Kit and Angela and you all belong to this same little group, this S.E.C.R.E.T. thing. Is that what Tracina was talking about?”

Tears that felt like shame started streaming down my cheeks. Why? I had done nothing wrong. But there it was in Will’s eyes: disgust.

“Will, don’t look at me like that.”

“Tell me, Cassie? Because I’m telling you this: one more fucking lie, one more secret, and I
will
snap directly in half. Yes or no. Do you belong to some kind of … sex group?”