SECRET Revealed by L. Marie Adeline

drove into me again and again, calling my name, “Solange,” and saying, “Yes, oh yeah, oh god, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come now” … and he did. And so did I—again—falling back into the pillows of my bed in my own home, my eyes rolling back again in utter bliss. I froze the shot on Erik collapsing across my back, his arms wrapped around my waist, because there it was, evidence of my courage to do something I had never thought I’d do.
    And it was all kind of beautiful.
    In the morning, before I headed to work, I watched that video one more time, while the dishwasher hummed and the coffee brewed. Then I smashed that lovely USB stick into a thousand pieces in the backyard, burying the shards under an old pine.

CASSIE
    W hen Matilda finally called and explained the dilemma, I just couldn’t say no.
    “Cassie, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency,” she said. “We need someone who wasn’t at the induction.”
    She explained how Bernice was facilitating a very elaborate fantasy involving a photo shoot for S.E.C.R.E.T.’s new participant but she fell ill. They desperately needed a volunteer to be there, someone whom the new candidate didn’t know and wouldn’t recognize. And just like that, I was back in S.E.C.R.E.T., this time not as a guide but as a fantasy facilitator. I didn’t have time to be a full-on Committee member, not yet. Maybe once the restaurant was up and running, and I had more time on my hands. It was the least I could do after all that S.E.C.R.E.T. had done for me.
    My instructions for my first fantasy were to go to the Warehouse District that following Sunday. Matilda suggestedI wear a blond wig and heavy makeup just to make sure I wouldn’t be recognized. The task: act as a photographer’s assistant. I was excited, thrilled for the distraction, though I had to admit, when Matilda told me the new S.E.C.R.E.T. participant was
the
Solange Faraday from Action News Nightly, I was gob-smacked. She was someone you’d never think would need an organization like S.E.C.R.E.T., but I had to remind myself that she was a woman just like the rest of us—like me, like Dauphine, like Kit and Angela once, too, a woman who needed a little sexual boost.
    This fantasy indeed had been an elaborate undertaking. First, S.E.C.R.E.T. had to convince the network to hire a new photographer named Erik Bando to shoot its billboards, without giving away the ruse. Angela recruited and trained him. Erik charged the network nothing, S.E.C.R.E.T. covered Erik’s costs, and the network photos, in the end, were stunning. Plus, Matilda was right. Helping with Solange’s fantasy was a total trip and it (mostly) took my mind off Will. There was just one problem. I had to do her makeup! What a mess I made of that! I was grateful Solange took charge and slapped my hands away.
    In fact, she impressed the hell out of me. And playing the part of a bossy blond, becoming this other person, someone more daring, sexier and more confident than I really was, was not just thrilling; it inspired an idea, one I desperately needed to run by Will before the opening night of Cassie’s.
    We had decided to open on New Year’s Eve. And the weeks leading up to the big night were a blur of menuplanning, food testing, equipment buying, plus hiring and training new floor and kitchen staff. And somehow, through it all, Will and I were mostly able to avoid each other, communicating almost entirely by text. Many of the tasks we did separately: Will purchased the steamers and fryers, I interviewed chefs, hired the sous chef and the bartender. Will negotiated discount parking at the lot up the street; I made batches and batches of homemade praline ice cream, trying to perfect a unique house recipe, until Dell thankfully stepped in to help. All the while I worked a few shifts at the Café training Maureen, Claire filling in here and there.
    I was so busy I forgot to make plans for Christmas. I would have been happy spending it