Jesse and I were in a post-sex tangle, an arm and a leg overlapping lazily, each of us lost in our thoughts. I almost fell asleep, completely forgetting the last-minute Committee meeting Matilda had called that afternoon. I soon snapped out of it, launching off Jesse’s bed with a groan. I was so tired, I could have slept straight through the afternoon into the night.
For the past five months, it had been nonstop work, work, work. But it was already paying off. There were lineups at Cassie’s every night, and there was a palpable buzz on the street about the place. We wouldn’t turn a profit that year, but we’d certainly make money next year, if things continued as they were. And we had scored a featured review in New Orleans Magazine: “Don’t miss this new eatery on Frenchmen called Cassie’s. It has the cozy warmth of your best friend’s house, one where you don’t have to take off your shoes and you always know that whatever’s served will be vivid, surprising, yet somehow deliciously familiar.”
I pressed my foot on Jesse’s butt, which was cutely peeking out from the sheets and the only spot on his body not covered in tattoos.
“Jess. You sure you still want to drive me?”
He groaned. It used to require all my effort to keep the emotional intimacy between us at bay. But I was happy with what we had at that moment. I was busy and distracted. So was he. I had great sex when I wanted it. And Jesse remained my stray cat, happy to see me, starved for affection, but ultimately wanting nothing more than to be let out to roam at night, which I was happy to oblige.
I bent to pluck my socks from the floor, but Jesse snatched me back onto his naked lap, where I blithely continued to dress myself. His hands slid between my legs, opening my thighs. I bent to retrieve my bra from the chair. This was our game.
“I’m late.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he whispered into the crook of my shoulder. He began to grind me on his lap, reawakening his barely asleep erection.
“I have to go,” I said flatly, closing my eyes and reaching up and back to rake my fingers through his messy hair.
“Then you should go,” he whispered, sliding his fingers into the front of my panties, finding me, unsurprisingly, very wet. “You should definitely leave.”
With one swift movement, he spun me onto the bed face down, my limbs splayed. He tugged down my panties, leaving them askew across the backs of my thighs. I could feel him hovering over me, taking in the sight of my ass in the air, his knees knocking my thighs apart. Then, without warning, he entered me fiercely, all thrust and muscle, like he was taking something from me, something I was instantly reluctant to hand over. But my resistance didn’t last. I couldn’t help it. I clutched the sheets and arched my back, giving myself over to him, as he plunged deeper and deeper, his hard fingers bruising my hips, his cock pinioning me onto the bed, my whole body tightening around it. My clitoris was perfectly positioned against the coverlet and he knew it, timing his rhythm and thrusts to make me come. Even if this was all I ever got from him, it was everything I wanted in this moment.
“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his fingers entwining my hair and tugging my head back a bit. The intensity of his thrusts increased.
I nodded, mute with pleasure, the build accelerating.
“I love fucking you, Cassie.”
And with that I exploded around him, my body convulsing as I arched to pull pleasure from his thrusting cock. I could see his veined shaft in my mind’s eyes, easing in and out of me as he spurted across my ass and back. Our bodies were moving together, each taking something from the other until we both began to plummet from the heights, back down onto the rumpled bed.
“Holy shit,” I said, collapsing across the sheets. He rolled onto his back next to me, breathless, laughing lightly. “I’m going to be late.”
“No you’re not,” he said, suddenly rising and clapping like a sergeant. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Shower, dress, I’ll start the truck.”
I leapt to my feet, seeing stars in my peripheral vision. The fastest shower on earth was followed by frantic dressing, and Jesse was on the porch by the time I threw my wet hair into a low ponytail. We were quietly distracted as he made his way across the city to the Garden District, taking a detour down Frenchmen. It felt weird to just pass by the restaurant, my neck craning to catch sight of people, my people.
The Café was in its mid-Sunday slump. I saw Maureen’s arm sweeping a table clean. Claire had the day off, too, so she’d be at Will’s, maybe watching TV, maybe reading, hopefully not sad and hopefully on the mend. She’d made the difficult decision to skip summer school, preferring instead to split her time between working at the Café Rose and Cassie’s. She loved helping with the prep, Dell regularly commenting that she was naturally gifted in the kitchen. Will was adamant, though. As long as she wanted to live with him, she had to go back in September to some kind of school. I would never tell Will it was actually Jesse who suggested that Claire enroll at the Culinary School of the Arts. He had even offered to write her a letter of recommendation. When I mentioned it to Claire as an option, her face lit up. She squeezed me breathless, and for a brief moment I could see what she must have looked like as a child—happy, unburdened, her future wide open before her.
By now, I thought, resting my head against the window of Jesse’s truck, Will would be upstairs, running through the menu with the wait staff, replacing the plastic liquor decanter tops that would have soaked overnight. That was about the only business disagreement we’d had in five months, Will being baffled as to why you’d take all the decanters off at night to reseal all the bottles.
“So they don’t gum up,” I said. “So fruit flies don’t get in the booze.”
“Every bar I’ve ever been in my whole life leaves the plastic spouts screwed on.”
“Oh? Which ones? So I can remind myself never to go there.”
He gave in. We gelled at work, Will taking on parts of running a restaurant I didn’t love (marketing, operations, scheduling), leaving me the parts I loved (accounting, customer service, menu planning). And because of our split duties, we really hadn’t spent much time alone. Our interactions often involved a brief schedule handoff, or a meeting in the hallway to finalize a shopping list or one in the kitchen to give a quick verdict over a simmering pot of something amazing Dell was cooking up.
Then yesterday, something weird happened. Will emerged from the staff dressing room having freshly showered. He was on days. I was on the floor that night. But showering at work was something he had never done, even during the messiest renovation days. Dell and I were in the kitchen, perched on stools, flipping through a spice catalogue for fish rub recipes. Normally clad in dark chinos and a plain blue or white dress shirt, this time Will was in all black: black button-down dress shirt with French cuffs, black flat-front slacks and a new pair of black suede shoes. He smelled so good and looked so damn sexy he took my breath away.
To camouflage my reaction, I gave him a pursed, thin-lipped smile, and with as much flatness as I could muster said, “That’s a nicely made shirt.”
“Thanks,” he said, smoothing it down. “It cost enough. By the way, Dell, that seafood gumbo is outstanding. They’re in for a real treat tonight.”
“Thank you muchly,” Dell answered, waving over her shoulder.
Will headed out the back door without saying good-bye and my heart plummeted. He probably had a date. I hadn’t asked. I didn’t want to know. But I knew. He had a date. Or a lover already. The promise of sex was all over him.
But what business was it of mine? None. After all, at that moment, my own lover was driving me to a place where people gather to plan sex fantasies with the same commitment and concentration countries put into hosting the Olympics. Jesse took St. Charles Avenue to Third, instead of the usual route along Magazine Street, something I didn’t notice until I saw the clanging streetcars rolling over the high grass along the boulevard. I had a postcard of an old streetcar pinned to my fridge. I bought it the day Scott and I moved here, now almost a decade ago. Had I really lived in New Orleans that long? I thought owning a business would make me feel more rooted, but there were times I still felt like a tourist in this city.
We pulled up to the Mansion.
“Have fun today at Sex Club,” Jesse said, pulling me in for a kiss. “Call you later.”
“Okay.”
That feeling of nostalgia followed me up to the Mansion’s front portico. How much had changed since I first came through this gate! Back then I had been so scared, shy, completely unsure of myself. Why had I felt discarded? It wasn’t only because I didn’t have a man in my life. It went deeper than that. I had separated from myself and seemed to be running on a different set of rails than the rest of the world. Today, life wasn’t easy or always happy, but it was full and it had purpose.
I pushed the wide doors open just as Angela was exiting the powder room and crossing the checkered-tile foyer, dressed casually in a T-shirt, jeans and pumps.
“Hey, Cassie,” she said, kissing me on both cheeks. Sometimes I forgot how tall she was until I was standing right next to her. “Been meaning to come to the restaurant. How’s it going?”
“Good. We’re having a busy spring. Makes me wish we had a patio.”
“They’re overrated. You know how hot the city gets in summer. Everyone wants the AC.”
“I guess you’re right. But we are thinking of clearing out the bar area and maybe putting a band there. So …?”
“Yes. I’ll do it. And I know a great accompanist who plays on this little portable keyboard, so we wouldn’t take up too much room.”
I was pleased. Will and I had had Angela on our wish list for possible performers. I hadn’t been sure she’d deign to sing at our little joint.
“Everything good with you and Jesse?” she asked.
It was common knowledge that we were an item of sorts without being an item at all. Still, I wasn’t sure how to reply.
“Jesse’s good. He’s fun.”
“So I hear,” Angela said as she walked ahead of me through the dining room’s double doors.
Ouch.
I watched her make her way around the long oak table to greet Bernice, Michelle and Brenda. Matilda was at the side table talking to Kit, both of them nibbling from the impressive array of food laid out—spring rolls, pakoras, wine and cheese. Amani was refreshing the shrimp platter. I began to wonder who else among the Committee had had sex with Jesse during some training session or another. At Tracina’s baby shower last year, I found out Pauline had “freshened up Jesse’s oral skills.” Even Matilda’s name had come up as a possible partner, though I found that hard to believe—not because she was almost twenty years older than him but because she was so particular, so elegant, so refined … and he was so … Jesse. I could imagine Michelle with her blond curls tumbling across his chest, or bisexual Kit, who could easily lure a third into their bed. Damn, I felt it, that old stream of jealousy coursing toxically through my blood. I had been warned about Jesse. It was never a secret. I knew what this thing was. I understood our limitations. Still, I was shaking as I took a seat between Matilda and Maria, doing my best to hide this sudden bout of insecurity. In two minutes, I’d gone from feeling grateful and hopeful to fraudulent and useless.
Shake it off, Cassie. This isn’t about you.
I nodded hellos to the assembled gals, including Pauline, whose presence could still make me blush a bit.
“Thank you all so much for coming,” Matilda began. “I know this is a last-minute gathering, but we have a couple of things on our agenda. As some of you are aware, Solange’s threesome fantasy did not, as we say, pan out.”
Damn. I had been meaning to ask, but I figured no news was good news.
Matilda turned to me, reading my mind. “Cassie, don’t blame yourself. She changed her mind. It happens.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” I said.
“Me too,” Pauline said, poutily.
“We all are. But remember that this is a process of discovery, and Solange learned something valuable by not following through. Don’t cry for Solange. She has a couple of heady adventures lined up for her. In Paris.”
“And I’m more than happy to help with any of them,” Angela said, raising her hand.
“I’m afraid this one’s Bernice’s,” Matilda said, signaling for Bernice to empty a manila envelope of photos onto the table. Oohs and ahhs for Paris became oohs and ahhs for the pictures, which showed what looked like the first-draft lineup for a team of the Best-Looking Black Men on the Planet.
“Ladies, before you scramble through that pile, take a look at this photo.”
Matilda pushed back a screen on the wall to display a blown-up shot of a handsome black man, older, hands on his hips, standing in what looked to be Jackson Square. He had a light salt-and-pepper goatee and was wearing sunglasses pushed up on his closely shaved head. He was smiling to someone off camera to his left, a dimple in his left cheek. The look on his face suggested he wasn’t aware that this photo was being taken.
“See this man?”
“Indeed we do,” someone muttered, causing a fit of giggles.
“This man is Julius Faraday, Solange’s ex-husband.” There were more oohs and ahhs and Did you say “ex”? and Go, Solange.
“All right, now listen,” Matilda said, trying to scold, but she, too, was having a hard time hiding her grin. “For reasons that might be obvious, we need to find among these headshots the man who best resembles Julius, but Julius as a younger man, the way Solange would have known him when they first met.”
I got up to join the cluster in front of the board and take a closer look at Julius. He was shockingly well assembled in his turtleneck and leather jacket. His front teeth had the barest hint of a gap. Were it not for his connection to Solange, I would have suggested him as a recruit. I also would have offered to train him. But he was her ex, and exes were off-limits. Or so I thought.
“Him,” Michelle said, pinning one of the headshots next to the photo of Julius.
“Nuh-uh,” said Angela. “This dude.”
The man in the photo she indicated had a smile similar to Julius’s, but his hair was longer. After some debate about a smile being more important than eyes, Angela’s pick won in a landslide vote, after which Bernice disappeared with the headshot to “make overseas calls.” The rest of us got up to leave because we thought we’d completed the task of the evening.
“Hold on, ladies. We have one more order of business,” Matilda said, reaching under the table for another manila envelope. “We’re selecting one more recruit this evening. And in an unusual twist, this recruit approached us. Well, he approached me.”
There was confusion around the table. Matilda rarely accepted applicants who approached S.E.C.R.E.T. because it was usually through an indiscreet recruit who’d broken the rules and told one of his friends. Too much eagerness was frowned upon and it threatened our anonymity.
Matilda placed the envelope in front of me.
“Cassie, would you please open it?”
Why me? Maybe this time I would be chief fantasy facilitator! Maybe I was going to Paris! I snatched the envelope off the table and impatiently ripped it open. Out slid a glossy black-and-white headshot of a handsome new recruit.
What followed happened in a few seconds, five tops, but time seemed to slow. I took in the recruit’s studied stance, and the way he leaned against the rough cement wall. I thought, Hmm, he’s very good-looking. But I know this guy from somewhere. Three seconds in, I realized this man was famous. But for what? Then, in the space of time it took for me to inhale and exhale, it dawned on me: this recruit wasn’t famous. It was just that his face was so deeply familiar, he felt famous.
I was looking at the face of Will, my Will, his brooding features in quiet repose, his dark blue eyes relaxed but serious, a kind smile playing across his lips. He was wearing that black shirt with the French cufflinks from the other day. He stood with his hands in the pockets of those flat-front slacks. He looked sexy. Very, very sexy.
The room was so quiet I might as well have been completely alone with my screaming thoughts. When I went to open my mouth, the only thing that came out was a strangled word that sounded like “No.”
“Let me see that,” Angela said, snatching the photo from my fingers. Seconds later, she slapped a hand over her mouth, her wide eyes meeting mine. She mutely passed the photo to Kit, who did the same thing. The game stopped at Pauline, who had never met Will and didn’t know why everyone was so shocked.
“Who’s this?” she asked.
“This recruit’s name is Will,” Matilda explained to Pauline. “He is … a friend of Cassie’s.”
“Friend?” I said, altogether too loudly. “He’s my ex-boyfriend. And my current business partner.”
Oh my god, am I going to faint? I’m going to faint.
“He’s also a man,” Matilda said to me, evenly, “who I think would suit our Solange perfectly.”
Is this really happening?
“Well, this is interesting,” Pauline said, spinning the photo into the center of the table.
“He came to me a few days ago,” Matilda continued.
Will? Came to her?
Matilda proceeded to tell the story of one man’s awakening, Will’s, which had happened after he almost lost someone he loved because of certain conscious and unconscious prejudices some people held about women and sex. I thought she was talking about Will losing me, but he had meant Claire, whose vicious slut-shaming had been equal parts baffling and infuriating to him. Matilda described how Claire’s victimization had left Will feeling utterly powerless. And it also exposed attitudes he hoped to correct in himself. He came to Matilda, she said, because he wanted help. He wanted to do something constructive, maybe make a donation to some of the charities highlighted at the event at Latrobe’s, the very venue he had stormed out of after fighting with me.
“And that’s when I suggested that he become a recruit, as a way to open his mind and to change his attitudes about women and sex.”
“I did, Cassie. I explained that our organization works to remove sexual stigmas from women, one interlude at a time. And we do that with one another’s help, but also with the help of a few good men who are also changed for the better by their involvement with us.”
“You asked Will to become a recruit?” I repeated, trying really hard to contain my anger.
“Yes, Cassie,” she said, matching my near-hysteria with an enormous amount of gentleness. “I asked him to consider it. And he said yes. If we’d have him.”
I harrumphed, my arms wrapped tightly around my torso, my chin down. I was the physical embodiment of teenaged poutiness.
“He does know that I’d find out, right?”
“Of course. I told him that in order to be considered he’d have to pass muster with the entire group, including you.”
“And he didn’t care?”
“Of course he cares, Cassie. Trust me when I say this, he cares a great deal. Especially about you.”
“Ha!” I said. That outburst was followed by the sickening sense of my own emotional limitations. But it was hard to see the altruism in all this.
And yet, the more Matilda talked about recruiting Will for S.E.C.R.E.T., the more the rational part of my brain began to light up and take over.
“Will made it very clear that if you were against this idea, he’d decline,” Matilda said. “He feels that this might be a way to make … amends. To us, to you, to women in general, I guess. That’s how he put it.”
I had to laugh. And so I did.
“The way he makes amends to me is by fucking some other woman? That is amazing.”
The approbation came swift and sure.
“Cassie Robichaud, that is not a reaction befitting a member of S.E.C.R.E.T. The ‘some other woman’ you speak of is our Solange, our sister in S.E.C.R.E.T. And last I checked, your romantic and sexual ties with Will were no more. And you, my dear, seem to be enjoying the many benefits of S.E.C.R.E.T. membership. Are you not? Besides, Will is going to start having sex again with other women regardless. What’s wrong with him starting here, where it’s just his body in the game and not his heart?”
I kept looking around the table for someone to side with me, but Kit, Pauline, Angela and the rest of them had slowly sunk in their seats, watching this like it was a tennis match on a big screen. My mind spun wildly, careening from anger to fear, to those darker places where rancid jealously brewed. Then clouds began parting on reason and a different thought occurred to me: If Will participated in S.E.C.R.E.T., saw all the wonderful things this crazy little institution offered, maybe he’d see that he’d been acting like a knucklehead all along. He’d see what sexual expression and liberation could mean to the soul. To be angry with Will was to be the hypocrite I accused him of being. To prevent his participation in S.E.C.R.E.T. because of some old fears was to admit I’d learned nothing. And it would be tantamount to admitting I still held out hope that there was a future for us. In fact, allowing him entry into S.E.C.R.E.T. fixed so many things between us: it evened out the playing field, it gave us a common experience, and it acknowledged that S.E.C.R.E.T. was a place that helped, even healed, not just women, but men as well.
I gathered up Will’s photo in my hand.
“Matilda. Everyone … I won’t, I can’t offer any objections to this recruit. This recruit is, in fact, ideal for S.E.C.R.E.T. He’s a good man. He’s incredibly sexy. He is an amazing lover. And he truly adores women. So if there are no other concerns, then I see no reason to prevent moving this to a vote. You have mine.”
“Wonderful. I knew you’d see reason. Any other objections? Can I get a vote?” Matilda said.
One by one, hands shot up in a counterclockwise display of yes.
“Great. We will move forward with this recruit,” Matilda said.
That wave of nausea had barely subsided when another potent question surfaced, this time from Pauline.
“Who’s going to train Will?”
The room fell silent again.
“Any suggestions?” Matilda asked.
Crazy how a good idea can quickly become a bad one. Angela’s hand rose. Of course she would volunteer! And Will would find out what great sex really was! My blood roiled beneath the surface of my skin.
“Um,” said Angela, “I would like to excuse myself from volunteering.”
What? Did I hear her correctly?
“Why is that, Angela?” Matilda asked.
“Well, like, I know Will. And also, because … Cassie.” She winced.
“I can’t do it either!” Kit blurted.
“Me neither!” said Michelle, Brenda adding, “I really can’t.”
Maria, Pauline and Amani’s tight expressions said everything.
“So, let me get this straight,” Matilda said. “We all agree Will is a perfect recruit. We are overwhelmingly unanimous on that front. And yet no one wants to train him?”
More silence. I felt my nails dig into the tops of my thighs. Were they exhibiting loyalty or fear?
“Well, in that case, I guess we can’t go forward with—”
“I will!” I said, a little too loudly. “I’ll do it. I’ll train him.”
Matilda looked at me. “Pardon me?”
“I can do it, Matilda,” I said.
Matilda glanced around the table once more. Everyone had turned into owls, sitting still, eyes wide.
“Will might object, Cassie.”
“I’ll deal with that then.”
Matilda eyed me carefully. “You can’t keep him, Cassie. After you train him, you have to let him go.”
“I know. I’ve done it before. I can do it again.”
Matilda sighed. “Okay then. Will Foret is our unanimous choice. And Cassie Robichaud will be his trainer. We’ll discuss the scenario at a later date,” she said, placing the folder back into her bag.
I glanced around the table. The women looked variously impressed, worried and a little stunned. Of course it was risky; isn’t it always when it comes to sex? But deep down in the most secret part of my heart, the part I wouldn’t even reveal to myself, I hoped that by giving Will permission to join S.E.C.R.E.T., by showing him how to please another woman, then setting him free to do just that, maybe, just maybe, it would bring him back to me.