Secret Shared

4 DAUPHINE

I COULD NOT get away from Ignatius’s fast enough. Back at the store, I darted past Elizabeth to my office and slammed the door behind me, lifting my sunglasses to peer into the makeup mirror on my desk. My cheeks were red from my encounter with that dark-haired woman on the patio. For the first time, I spotted tiny wrinkles forming around my eyes, my mother’s frown lines etching into my cheeks. Was I fading? Was my desirability leaving me for good? Mark had sat with her, not me. He had flirted with her, given his number to her, not me.

“You merely have the ‘sads,’ darling. They’re from your father’s side of the family,” I could hear my mother drawl. This was a particularly Southern take on depression, one that felt more like the burden of inheritance than anything to do with serotonin levels.

I fell into my chair and looked around my office. I had too much stuff, I knew that. But I told myself that because I was obsessively neat and obsessively organized I couldn’t be a hoarder. Everything was in its place, everything had a label, right down to the paper punch. And yet I couldn’t let go of a thing. What if I lost weight and finally fit into that one-of-a-kind purple pantsuit? What if I put together the perfect outfit for a customer but didn’t have that owl pendant that would pull it together? What if I absolutely needed something and it was longer there? Hence the six filing cabinets and wall-length closets, all filled with “marvelous finds” I could neither bring myself to wear nor bear to sell.

Shake it off, Dauphine. Shake it off.

Elizabeth stuck her head into the office.

“Okay. Store’s empty. I quickly threw it on. Be honest,” she said, walking into the frame to reveal her long body in a black jumpsuit and white go-go boots that I had set aside for her anniversary date. “So?”

She was a teenager when I hired her part-time on weekends. She was twenty-four now, studying psychology part-time at Tulane, practicing some of her theories on me. She told me I was fear-based and rigid. I told her, while picking up five sugar grains on the glass countertop with the very tip of my index finger, that she sounded a lot like my mother.

She stood now in front of the mirror looking absolutely lovely, head to toe.

“Amazing,” I said.

“You think?”

“I do. You need a Pucci scarf. And pale lipstick,” I said, fetching both. And I was right. We moved towards the full-length mirror behind the door. I stood behind her, my chin on her shoulder. “Yes. A home run.”

“Are you sure I don’t look like a go-go dancer?”

“No! You’re breathtaking.”

“You should be the one wearing this, Dauphine,” she said, squirming. “You put it away for so long, and you have the curves for it. You keep talking about getting back out there. When is that going to happen?”

“I’m fine. And you are almost set,” I said, pulling out a lint brush from a drawer labeled “Lint Brushes.”

“I’ll wear it for the rest of the day, if that’s okay,” she said, while I finished rolling over her legs.

“Yes. Now go. I’ll be out front in a minute.”

As I watched her trip back to the front of the store I felt a maternal flush of pride. In the years I’d known her, I had helped her polish no less than ten online dating profiles, styling her for most of the pictures and some of the dates. Her current boyfriend, Edward, was no dreamboat, but they were clearly smitten with each other. Elizabeth had a vitality about her that she attributed to incredible sex. She and Edward were celebrating one year together with dinner at Coop’s that night, followed by live music on the patio at Commander’s Palace. Elizabeth, with her short blond hair, too-close eyes and gangly limbs, was not traditionally beautiful, yet she was never single for long. Eight-year gaps between serious boyfriends would be unthinkable for her. Life was too short for that kind of nonsense.

I looked at myself in the mirror, loosening the belt of my blue dress. Maybe I should change too. I could try on that green sundress now hanging from a coat rack, waiting to be labeled and stored. I could have Elizabeth pin the hem. Nah, too much trouble, and I’d never wear it anyway. Then why was I keeping it? I forced myself back out to the floor, passing an overstuffed rolling rack of outfits, some to be sorted, some priced. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, but Elizabeth was occupied with a couple of customers near the display case. As I approached them, I realized she was helping the two women who had been sitting next to me at Ignatius’s, the one who stole Mark Drury from me, and the attractive older woman with red hair a shade or two lighter than mine—the one I had smashed into. The redhead dressed crisply and professionally, like my mother, and didn’t look like the type that scoured second-hand racks. The dark-haired woman dressed a little too plainly to be a Funky Monkey shopper, let alone a musical genius’s future girlfriend.

“There you are!” said Elizabeth, making it difficult for me to duck into the men’s side of the store to avoid them. “These two ladies were gushing about my outfit and I told them you picked it out for my date tonight. They were very impressed.”

“Hi,” said the redhead, her hand jutting towards me. “Great taste. Love the boots. I’m Matilda.”

“Hi. Dauphine,” I said, smiling stiffly.

“And I’m Cassie,” the dark-haired woman said, seeming a lot shier than the woman who had snagged Mark Drury’s attention half an hour ago. She could barely meet my eye.

“It’s a charming store,” Matilda said, looking around. She was definitely the chatty one. “Nicely curated. Secondhand stores can be such a hodge-podge.”

“Thank you. I like to think we know what we’re doing,” I said.

“And your name. Is it like the street?”

“My parents came to New Orleans for their honeymoon and named me after the street.”

“Oh? Where are your people from?” she asked, using the word people as in “tribe,” tilting her accent to signal that she was not only Southern but knew Southerners were obsessed with geography and lineage.

“Baton Rouge. Mostly Louisiana, with some Tennessee stock thrown in.”

“Ah. A bit of ‘cotton in the roux,’ as they say. Cassie’s from the north,” she added. “She has no idea what we’re talking about.”

Matilda yanked out a sparkly blue, floor-length, strapless number and a yellow, more diaphanous gown from the formal rack.

“I’m going to try these on,” she said, looking directly at Cassie. “Cassie, I believe you are looking for something special too. Perhaps Dauphine can help you?”

“I’ll take you back there,” Elizabeth said, gathering up the dresses.

After they left, I stood awkwardly for a few seconds with Cassie, feeling like we were two school kids forced to play together.

“So you’re from the north,” I said.

“Michigan. Yeah. But I’ve been here almost eight years, so I feel more and more like a local.”

Her eyes landed on the glittery tower of clip-on rhinestone earrings on the display case.

“Those are what I’m looking for!” she said. “I have this thing to go to.”

She removed a heavy pair of clip-on clusters, almost tipping over the whole tower.

“Oh, sorry. I’m so clutzy.”

I could not picture this woman being invited to the kind of event that would require these earrings. She was too casual, too down-to-earth.

“This is a really nice store,” she said, struggling to center the earrings on her lobes. “Do you own it?”

“I do. Almost ten years now. Here, let me help.”

“Wow. Ten years.” She moved her hair back so I could clip the earrings into proper place, one then the other.

I stood back.

“So do you have a business partner or is it just you?”

“Just me,” I said, turning her around to look in the mirror. I quickly changed the subject. “What else are you wearing to your event?”

“I … don’t think I’ve decided yet … It must be hard to run a business all on your own.”

“I have Elizabeth and a few part-timers.”

Her questions were inching to places where she wasn’t invited.

“You’re doing things a little backwards,” I said. “You shouldn’t start with the earrings. Start with the dress. Bring it in and I’ll help you find the right jewelry.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you when I asked if you were running your own business. I’m sure you’re quite capable of operating on the planet without a partner. I certainly have.”

“Yes, but that could change,” I said. “That guy from the patio? He was cute. Maybe that’ll turn into something.”

Should I tell her who he was? Can she sense my jealousy? I did mean it as a compliment, but I seemed to have alarmed her. Oh god, I was coming across as peculiar!

“Trust me, talking to cute guys is not a skill I was born with. I had to learn how to do it. And frankly, I’m still quite new at it. When you’ve been single for a long time, like I have, you forget how to approach men, you know? But it’s really just muscle memory. I just needed a little … boost.”

I felt her words slice right through me. Yes. That’s exactly it. That’s what I need. A boost.

She lowered her voice. “I had to get some help in the ‘men’ arena. Big-time. That’s how I met Matilda.”

I could hear Matilda and Elizabeth laughing and chatting at the back of the store.

“Is she a dating coach or something?” I asked.

“You could say that,” Cassie said, spinning the earring rack, examining a pair of gold hoops that seemed more suited to her. “She has a lot of confidence, a lot of knowledge about this stuff.”

“Well, sign me up for the next round of lessons,” I said, laughing.

“I will!” she said, as though it were a real thing, these lessons, this kind of coaching.

Matilda and Elizabeth returned from the dressing room, triumphant.

“I never knew I looked so good in yellow,” Matilda said, the gown draped in her arms. “You can find out all sorts of things about yourself in a place like this.”

Something in me knew that Cassie and Matilda hadn’t come to the store just to buy dresses or earrings, a fact confirmed when Cassie returned on her own two days later, just before closing time.

“I thought I’d take you up on the offer to help me accessorize,” she said, pulling a little black dress out of a shopping bag.

“Oh great, yeah.”

I was surprised at how happy I was to see her. She followed me to the dressing rooms, my nervousness making me uncharacteristically chatty.

“I have a pair of gold hoops and a cuff that’ll look amazing with that dress. What size are your feet? You need to try everything on with shoes.”

“Eight,” she said, slipping into a stall.

I dashed to my office ahead of her, catching myself in the mirror: cat glasses, cream-colored twinset and A-line plaid skirt. I looked like an extra on Happy Days. I didn’t even need glasses. Ugh. Why did I suddenly care what I had on? I flipped through my index cards and cross-referenced them to the second drawer of the third filing cabinet where I stored my gold hoops; the drawer below held my cuffs. I was saving the big hoops for a Cher-type outfit, but on Cassie, with a simple black dress, they’d be stunning. Cassie poked open the office door, trying not to look shocked at my hive of inventory.

“Wow. There’s a whole other store back here.”

“Trust me,” I said. “I know it looks like a lot of stuff, but I know exactly where everything is.”

I pulled her in front of the nearest mirror.

“The top is a little snug. I haven’t worn it since Jazz Fest,” she said, tugging at the halter.

She looked gorgeous in black and I said so. I was about to snap the cuff around her wrist when I noticed her charm bracelet; it was unlike anything I’d seen before.

“That’s a stunning piece,” I said, holding up her wrist to get a better look at it. Normally, charm bracelets did nothing to charm me. They were often so trinket-y, but this one was distinctive. It was made with my favorite kind of gold too, pale yellow, with that rough hammered finish. The chain was thick, almost masculine, and each charm had a Roman numeral engraved on one side, a word on the other.

“Curiosity … Generosity … Courage—where did you get this?” I asked.

Cassie gently pried her wrist free.

“It was … given to me.”

“It’s about as beautiful a thing as I’ve ever seen. Whoever gave this to you thinks very highly of you.”

“I think you might be right about that,” she said. “But does it go with this dress?”

“Mmm … Not really. It overwhelms it. Why don’t you try this—?”

I traded a simple cuff for her bracelet. When she dropped it in my palm, it felt heavy, pleasing; it took everything in me not to slip it on my own wrist.

“No necklace?” she asked, sliding the cuff over her bare wrist.

“Not with a halter dress,” I said with authority, my attention still drawn to the bracelet in my hand. “These hoops will add a bit of sparkle. But I would keep the sides of your hair up.”

She took the earrings from my other hand and held them next to her lobes.

“See? Perfect,” I said.

“You’re right. That’s perfect. Wrap them up.”

She passed me the earrings and held out her hand. It was the strangest sensation, my reluctance to return her bracelet.

“I’ll tell you how I got it,” she said, noticing my hesitation. “In fact, to be honest … that’s why I’m here. Can I sit for a second?”

She took a deep breath, looking about as nervous as I was alarmed. What was going on?

“What I’m about to talk about is pretty strange, so bear with me. It involves an adventure of sorts.”

I felt a surge go through me.

“I’d love to do more traveling, but I don’t fly,” I said preemptively. “Plus, I’m the sole proprietor, and that makes it hard for me to leave—”

“I’m not talking about a trip, though some travel might be involved.”

Her voice and demeanor became steadier and steadier.

“Maybe it would help,” she added, “if I tell you about my own adventures.”

And that’s when she began to recount her life, how the death of her husband almost seven years earlier had upended her life completely. Not because she loved her husband, but because she realized she hadn’t for a long time, which made her even sadder. For years she’d been numb from head to toe. I knew about that feeling and told her so.

“Yes. Matilda talks about a sort of ‘aura of sadness,’ that settles around people. She says she can see it. She saw a bit of it on you. I don’t have that ability, but I do believe you might know something about feeling stuck.”

I don’t know how to explain why it suddenly felt so easy to pour out my heart to Cassie. Maybe it was her stillness, her compassionate eyes. But I found myself telling her about Luke’s betrayal, his book, and how he and Charlotte broke my heart, making it difficult for me to trust not only men but women too. She listened patiently, and I knew without her even saying so that she understood.

“So, tell me what you’re really here for,” I said.

“I’m here to make you an offer. But to accept it, you’re going to have to place your trust not just in men but in a whole bunch of women.”

And that’s when she said the name—S.E.C.R.E.T.—and described its incredible mandate: to orchestrate sexual fantasies that make women feel great about themselves again, or in some cases, for the first time ever.

“S.E.C.R.E.T.,” she said, “introduced me to part of myself I had never known before. In your case, I think it’s more about reigniting a part of you that’s just been dormant—am I right?”

“Yeah, for about eight years,” I said.

“Oh. That’s a long time. I didn’t have sex for five years and I thought that was bad!”

“What? No! No no no no. I’ve had sex since then, just not very good sex, and not with very good men. I meant that it’s been about eight years since I felt any real passion, any connection with a man.”

Cassie winced and nodded. Then she described exactly how this group of women went about reigniting passion.

“We orchestrate sex fantasies. Yours. Nine of them, which take place over the course of a year, a charm for every step,” she said, holding up her bracelet. “The tenth is also a decision—to remain in S.E.C.R.E.T., as I did, or to go out on your own, maybe try a real relationship if you’re ready. See this?”

She flipped through her charms until she came to one that said Step Ten on one side Liberation on the other.

“I completed my steps, which liberated me from so many things, mainly fear and self-doubt. And staying in S.E.C.R.E.T. was a free choice, and it remains so.”

“Secret sex fantasies? In New Orleans?” I asked, barely stifling a giggle. “Forgive me, Cassie, but it’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Part of me wanted to stand up, call the police and escort her out of the store. The other part was welded to my seat, my eyes, ears and heart wide open.

“I know it sounds ludicrous. But I’m telling you, it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. All that’s required of you is to either accept or decline the offer.”

“And you did this?”

She nodded.

“Last year?”

She nodded again, this time a smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

“You experienced nine different sex fantasies with nine different men?”

“I did,” she said, looking almost as astonished with herself as I was with her.

“And you made the decision to stay in this … group, and to help other women?”

Her features fell slightly and her eyes darkened. “Actually, no. I made the decision to leave S.E.C.R.E.T. because I thought … well, I fell in love. With an old friend. But timing is everything, as they say, and ours was disastrous, really. Things fell apart. Being a member of S.E.C.R.E.T. is really the only thing getting me through.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

The silence that followed was heavy in the room, both of us contemplating the strange words just spoken.

“Holy shit” was all I could eventually mutter. “Why me?”

“Timing. We saw you and met you. And, well, I think we might be right—that you need this.”

I looked around my over-stocked, over-organized office.

“I guess I do,” I admitted. “But why do you think experiencing wild sex fantasies will fix everything?”

“It won’t fix everything. But it does the trick of fixing one thing, which creates a sort of cascade effect in your life. At least, that’s how it has worked for me. I shouldn’t tell you much more than that. You’ll hear more at the Committee meeting, if this intrigues. A year ago, I was barely able to make eye contact with anyone, let alone chat up some cute random guy. And now here I am sharing one of my most intimate secrets with a total stranger.”

She glanced at her watch. “I have to get to work.”

I felt suddenly panicked, like if she left I might never see her again. “Now what? What do I do?”

“Are you interested?”

“Yes! No! A little. Oh … I need to think about it.”

“Take your time. If you decide to accept the offer, call me. I’ll arrange everything. And then … it’ll all begin.”

What would begin, and how, and with whom, and where? And how often? And what time of day? The control freak in me needed to map this out carefully. I had to have all the exits covered and the downsides discussed, everything measured and weighed and balanced out. As a kid I stood on the end of every dock and pool for much longer than the other kids, brow knitted in deep contemplation. Could I see the bottom? Could I touch it? If not, I didn’t leap. And now, here was an offer from this confident, assured woman who claimed to once have been as lost and confused as I was now.

We went to the cash register, passing a flustered Elizabeth, who was manning the floor alone. I mouthed I’m sorry, pointing theatrically to Cassie as she walked in front of me.

“I’m glad you liked the bracelet and earrings, Cassie,” I said, a little too loud, while punching in the purchase. What was I trying to camouflage?

“Think about everything I said,” Cassie whispered, handing me her credit card along with her personal card, her name and number beneath the word S.E.C.R.E.T. At the door, she gave me a quick wave, then disappeared down Magazine Street towards the French Quarter. I pulled my sweater in a tight hug around me.

Did I want to continue working seven days a week, opening up then closing an empty store to go home to an empty apartment and an empty fridge? Did I want to live life with nothing to look forward to? I looked down at her card. For once, I wasn’t going to make an easy decision difficult. First thing tomorrow, I’d call her. Right after I finished with the estate-sale boxes. But before the lunch crowd. Or maybe later, when the store was quieter. Or maybe when Elizabeth started her shift. Or before I opened the store. Yeah. That’s when I’d do it. I’d call her then.