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DAUPHINE
ELIZABETH WAS THE first to notice a stale petroleum smell wafting around outside the store. You
couldn’t blame Katrina or any of the other famous hurricanes. The infrastructure in New Orleans was
long compromised before those epic storms laid bare its awful issues. But a possible gas leak would
mean wholesale evacuation, and that meant shutting down eleven stores and restaurants in one of the
most pedestrian-heavy parts of town. The Funky Monkey was looking at a month-long shutdown to
replace old gas lines buried under the sidewalks out front.
“You do realize, Cassie, when they say a month in New Orleans, it could mean six. I have not been
unemployed since I was a teenager.”
My whining was taking place over margaritas at Tracy’s. I must have been anxious; I was outdrinking
Cassie two to one. We’d become friends. She had even filled me in on her drama with her
boss, Will, and how she almost ended up with him. Maybe that’s why I so boldly inquired about Mark
Drury. We were talking about men, sex and dating, so it didn’t seem like I was prying about my weird
crush.
“Yeah, we met. His name’s Mark. A musician. Who. Talks. About. Music. Non. Stop,” she said,
rolling her eyes. “We’ve been out once but …”
“But?”
“He’s just … he’s not for me,” she said. “I don’t know why, or what I have to do to get Will out of
my head and my heart for good. But Mark’s not going to help me.”
I hated to admit my relief. Not that I thought I had a chance with Mark. And I certainly wasn’t
interested in pursuing anyone while a stack of fantasies awaited me. But still. Then a look crossed her
face, like a new and singular idea had just taken her brain hostage to the detriment of all other
thoughts.
“Wait one sec. Let me make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”
When she returned a minute later, she was still talking on her cell.
“Yup … yeah … she’s right here. Hold on.” She covered the receiver, her face open and hopeful.
“Matilda wants to talk to you.”
Baffled, I took her phone from her.
“Hi, Matilda. What’s going on?”
“Dauphine, honey, I understand you might have some time on your hands. I have a rather exciting
mission for you to consider, and at the same time, you’d be doing S.E.C.R.E.T. a big favor.”
Then she laid out what to a normal person would be a dream vacation: a free trip to Buenos Aires,
where I’d stay in a five-star hotel and attend the auction of a rare painting, with plenty of time to see
the sights and do some shopping. It sounded heady, glamorous and exciting. Except for the part about
the plane.
“We’d pay your expenses and give you ample spending money, Dauphine. The auction is already
arranged—you just have to show up and sign some papers on behalf of S.E.C.R.E.T.”
I thanked her and told her it all sounded amazing, incredible even, adding I was flattered and
humbled to even be considered. In fact, Buenos Aires was a city I’d always hoped to see. But there
was one small problem.