S.E.C.R.E.T.: An Erotic Novel Read Free

of course I remember. Sorry, yes, I could come in on Thursday.”
    “Thursday’s good. How about ten-thirty. I’ll show you the ropes.”
    Forty-eight hours later, I was shaking Will’s hand, and shaking my head at the fact
     that I actually hadn’t rememberedhim—that’s how out of it I’d been that night. We joke about it now (“Yeah, the time
     I completely bowled you over with my first impression,
that you don’t even remember!
”), but I was in such a fog after that fight with Scott that I could have spoken with
     Brad Pitt and failed to notice. So meeting Will again, I was taken aback at how unassumingly
     handsome he was.
    Will didn’t promise I’d make great money; the Café is just a bit north of the hot
     spots, and isn’t open at night. He mentioned something about expanding upstairs, but
     that was years away.
    “Mostly locals hang out and eat here. Tim and the guys from Michael’s bike shop. Lotta
     musicians. Some you’ll find sleeping in the doorway because they’ve played on the
     stoop all night. Local characters who like to linger for hours. But they all drink
     a lot of coffee.”
    “Sounds good.”
    His job training consisted of an unenthusiastic tour where he pointed and mumbled
     instructions on how to use the dishwasher and the coffee grinder and where he kept
     the cleaning supplies.
    “City says you have to wear your hair tied back. Other than that, I’m not too picky.
     We don’t have uniforms, but it’s a fast turnaround at lunch, so be practical.”
    “ ‘Practical’ is my middle name,” I said.
    “I do plan to renovate,” he said, when he saw me noticing a chip in the tile floor
     and, later, a wobbly ceiling fan. The place was run-down but homey and only a ten-minute
     walk from my apartment at Chartres and Mandeville. He toldme he named it Café Rose after Rose Nicaud, an ex-slave who used to sell her own blend
     of coffee from a cart on the streets of New Orleans. Will was distantly related to
     her on his mother’s side, he said.
    “You should see our family reunion pictures. It’s like a group shot from the United
     Nations. Every color represented … So? You want the job?”
    I nodded enthusiastically, and Will shook my hand again.
    After that, my life shrunk to a few essential blocks of Marigny. Maybe I’d go to Tremé
     to hear Angela Rejean, one of Tracina’s friends who worked at Maison. Or I’d wander
     antique or second-hand shops on Magazine. But I rarely went beyond those neighborhoods,
     and stopped going to the Museum of Art or Audubon Park altogether. In fact, it may
     be strange to say, but I could have gone the rest of my life in the city without ever
     seeing the water.
    I did mourn. After all, Scott was the first and only man I’d ever been with. I’d break
     down crying at odd times, while on a bus or in the middle of brushing my teeth. Waking
     from a long nap in a darkened bedroom always triggered tears. But it wasn’t just Scott
     I mourned. I mourned the loss of nearly fifteen years of my life spent listening to
     his constant put-downs and complaints. And that’s what I was left with. I didn’t know
     how to shut off the critical voice that, in Scott’s absence, continued to note my
     flaws and highlight my mistakes.
How come you haven’t joined a gym? No one wants a woman over thirty-five. All you
     do is watch TV. You could be so much prettier if you just made an effort
. Five Years.
    I threw myself into work. The pace suited me well. We served the only breakfast on
     the street, nothing fancy: eggs any way, sausage, toast, fruit, yogurt, pastries and
     croissants. Lunch was never elaborate: soups and sandwiches, or sometimes a one-pot
     dish like bouillabaisse, lentil stew or a jambalaya if Dell came in early and felt
     like whipping something up. She was a better cook than a waitress, but she couldn’t
     stand being in the kitchen all day.
    I only worked four days a week, from nine to four, sometimes later if I stuck