L. Marie Adeline- S.E.C.R.E.T

point and whisper. I imagined that they would 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: condent, 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 o 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, aring out at the skirt, leaving o 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. sta 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.