S.E.C.R.E.T.: An Erotic Novel by L. Marie Adeline Page A

pity me. Even I treated
     lone customers at the Café with extra care, like they were a little hard of hearing
     or something. I may even have been guilty of hovering around their tables too much,
     in my attempts to keep them company.
    But maybe sometimes people who went out by themselves
wanted
to be alone. There are people like that: confident, solitary, secure with their own
     company. Tracina, for instance, pays someone to take her fourteen-year-old brother
     for ice cream every Saturday afternoon so she can lie on the couch and watch TV uninterrupted.
     She once told me that going to the movies alone was one of her singular pleasures.
    “I get to watch what I want, eat without sharing, and I don’t have to sit through
     the credits like Will makes me when I’m with him,” she said.
    But it’s easy to be alone when it’s a choice, harder when it’s your default position.
    I was feeling pure terror about entering that jazz club, when Matilda’s Step Two advice
     rang through my head. During a pep talk over the phone, she told me, “Fear is just
     fear. We must take action in the face of it, Cassie, because action increases courage.”
    Damn it. I could do this.
    I called Danica to send the limo.
    “It’s on the way, Cassie. Good luck,” she said.
    Ten minutes later the limo turned the corner at Chartres off Mandeville, stopping
     in front of the Spinster Hotel. Ah! I wasn’t ready! Shoes in hand, I took the stairs
     in twos, running out barefoot past a very puzzled Anna Delmonte.
    “It’s the second time I’ve seen that limousine parked in front of the house,” she
     said as I whizzed by. “Do you know anything about it, Cassie? It’s so odd …”
    “I’ll talk to him, Anna. Don’t worry. Or maybe the driver is a woman, right? You never
     know.”
    “I suppose …”
    Without listening to the rest of her reply, I hopped into the limo and then put on
     my shoes. I had a funny thought: imagine if Anna knew what I was up to! I wanted to
     yell out:
I’m not a spinster! I’m alive for the first time in years!
    As the limo sped me to Canal, I looked down at my dress,a snug black number, tight at the bodice, flaring out at the skirt, leaving off just
     below the knee. The top held me up in the right places and did a few favors for my
     breasts, which even to me looked full and appealing against the black contour of the
     halter. My shoes pinched a bit, but I knew they’d ease up as the night went on. Black
     pumps will go with just about everything, I told myself, rationalizing how much I’d
     spent on them. I had parted my hair to one side and dried it straight, holding the
     front in place with a gold barrette. That was the only piece of jewelry I had on,
     except, of course, my S.E.C.R.E.T. bracelet with its singular charm.
    “You look lovely tonight, Miss Robichaud,” the driver said. I had the impression S.E.C.R.E.T.
     staff members were told to keep a professional distance, something I imagined Danica
     found hard to do. She seemed so irrepressible. My “thank you” barely made it through
     the window opening before it closed between us.
    My heart beat faster as we made turn after turn. I tried to clear my mind as Matilda
     had instructed.
Try not to anticipate. Try to be in the moment
.
    The limo came to a stop in front of The Saint. My hand was so sweaty it slipped on
     the door handle, but the driver was already on the job, getting out and coming around
     to open the door and help me out of the back seat.
    “Good luck, my dear,” he said.
    I nodded my appreciation and then stood for a moment, watching the beautiful people
     of the city stream in and out of the main doors—leggy, bold women, trailing perfumeand confidence, the men, looking so proud to be seen with them. Then there was me.
     I realized I’d forgotten to wear perfume. My hair, pulled straight an hour ago, was
     starting to frizz up. The thought that this fantasy would play out in public made
     my fearful heart drop.