Marie Adeline - Secret Shared

I explained the baby shower, the early labor, the dramatic drive, the empty waiting room in maternity where I was now taking over a few seats. I stopped short of saying I was sitting vigil while a delicate paternity question was about to come to a head. A nurse pointed to my phone and then to a sign behind her: CELL PHONES NOT PERMITTED IN EMERGENCY. STEP OUTSIDE TO TALK. I lifted my index finger, the universal symbol for Just one minute.

“So, I guess dinner and a movie are out of the question,” he said.

“I should stay here.”

“You’re a good friend,” he said. “Hey, I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“About you and …”

Oh dear. Why did my heart clench?

“And …?”

“And me. And the fact that I’m glad you got in touch. I didn’t know it until now. But I think I might’ve been waiting for a girl like you.”

I was stunned.

“Too cheesy?” he asked.

“A little. But … I like cheese. What about our ‘no expectations’ plan?”

“You didn’t expect me to follow that plan, did you?”

I laughed. Now was not the time to get into it with him. I told him I’d call him later, and then I hung up and shut off my phone.

Just when you think you have things figured out, a stranger shows up at a stupid baby shower and threatens to change everything. And that’s only what I was feeling. I could only imagine what was going through Will’s and Tracina’s minds. Carruthers, on the other hand, seemed to have made his mind up before he knocked.

I stared at the double doors. The only certainty now was that whoever came bursting out first would tell me something that might change … well, everything. But right now, all I knew was that Jesse Turnbull was in. He was all the way in. Isn’t that what I wanted?

WE PROBABLY SHOULD have left immediately when Mark and I realized that not only that I was leaving S.E.C.R.E.T., but I was taking him with me. There were house phones everywhere, in every room we visited. We could have called someone, anyone. We could have summoned the car or Claudette … or phoned Matilda. Or we could have simply left the Mansion.

Instead, after our tumble in the Domino Suite, we were both hit with a weird, giddy second wind. When he offered to take me on a secret tour of the Mansion, including some of the rooms in which he’d been trained, I threw on a bathrobe, totally game.

“Lead the way, Romeo,” I said.

I saw the lushly decorated Emperor’s Room with its one-way mirror, and something called the Den, with what looked like S & M equipment strewn about.

“Are you into this stuff?” I asked nervously (excitedly?), fingering a table with leather restraints, not sure which answer I wanted to hear.

He shrugged. “I feel like with you I could be into anything,” he said, scooping me up and carrying me out of the room backwards.

“I think you’re right about that.” I dipped down to kiss his mouth—those lips! I didn’t want details about his escapades any more than he wanted details of mine; the only thing we cared about now was how our experiences would benefit each other.

My favorite room in the whole house was the Harem Room in the basement, with its brass stripper pole, massive floor cushions and indoor hot tub.

“What did you learn down here? How to be a sheik?” I teased, spinning around the pole once, twice, until he convinced me to open my robe and do a little bump and grind for him, while he lay back on the cushions stroking himself.

“No touching,” I said, turning around and bending over to agonize him.

It was all so fun with Mark, so silly, so joy-filled!

It’s true, we probably should have let someone know. Instead, we soaked for a half hour in that hot tub; then, wrapped back up in those handy bathrobes, we raided the bar fridge, grabbing water and fruit meant for cocktails (mostly orange and pineapple halves and maraschino cherries) and headed up a different flight of stairs, this one leading to the workers’ quarters on the third floor. At the end of that hall, we came upon a cozy, pretty bedroom with exposed brick walls, its pine floors painted white, and wicker furniture placed strategically about. It reminded me of a guest room in a lovely seaside cottage. We climbed into the high bed, pulled the heavy eyelet duvet over our sex-battered bodies and talked. I told him a little about my past, my fears, and how Luke and his stupid book had put such a dent in my confidence.

Instead of offering to punch Luke in the face, he said he’d write a song to set the record straight.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I am so seriously over it.”

“Then that’s what the song’s gonna be about.”

And then we slept deeply, surrounded by downy pillows, orange peels and at least four empty bottles of water.

In the morning, we had sex one more time, tenderly, slowly, my legs covered in tiny bruises from his hands. He lifted them this way and that, his hip bones thrusting, but tenderly, moving so beautifully, our bodies made for each other. Entwining his fingers with mine, he flipped me on top of him as my head dropped back, and I rode him as carefully as I could, as his fingers traveled over my breasts, down my stomach, his face marveling at the way the sun must have danced through my hair, turning it a blazing golden red. I came like that, so easily, his ability to stroke me perfect—a miracle for only knowing my body one night.

After that, there was no hesitation, no long discussion, no doubt, no fear.

The first call I made was to Elizabeth. I told her I was too sick to come into work, a lie that thrilled her because she saw right through it: it meant my date had gone well.

“How well did it go?”

“I can’t talk right now.”

“Because he’s still there! Okay! That is so good!”

The second call was to Cassie, which went straight to voice-mail, and the next, to Matilda.

She now sat on the other side of her desk in the Coach House, where she had told us to meet her when we dressed. Mark was in the seat next to mine, holding my hand tenderly between his.

I couldn’t believe, still, that this was happening.

“You both look like guilty dogs,” she said. “Why? And Mark? You’re leaving us too, then.”

I looked at his profile. My rock star, so bold on the stage, looked so sheepish in front of Matilda.

“I feel the same way as she does, ma’am. Lightning doesn’t always strike like this. I just want to be with her,” he said, seeming as surprised to say the words as Matilda was not to hear them.

“Why wouldn’t you feel this way, my dear? You’re not a complete idiot. Maybe I’m even a little envious. Because you’re right, what’s happened between you two doesn’t happen often. But it’s quite special when it does.” She paused.

Not just special, I wanted to say—momentous, life-changing, mind-blowing. I had worried she’d try to talk me out of this, that she’d caution me not to confuse great sex for true love. But we were getting a ringing endorsement.

“This means finding your replacement, Mark, and looking for another S.E.C.R.E.T. candidate, Dauphine, but that’s what we do. Now Mark, I’d like to have a quiet word with Dauphine. Why don’t you wait for her in the courtyard? We won’t be a minute. And thank you for your service, however brief. Clearly, you were … revelatory.”

“The pleasure was all mine, ma’am.”

He stretched to standing and looked at my face, his hand reaching for my chin.

“And Mark—” Matilda added, sweetly, as he got to the door. “Never call me ma’am again.”

He nodded, embarrassed, as our eyes followed him out the door. When we were alone, I turned to her.

“I tried to reach Cassie, but her phone’s off,” I said.

“She’s at the hospital. Her colleague went into labor last night. I’ll tell her,” she said, placing a hand over mine. “Listen, you should know the Committee voted yesterday to donate the money we received from Castille Industries, all of it, to various causes that help women. Pierre won’t give us the painting back, but we decided that we cannot operate an organization dedicated to liberating women by taking money from a man dedicated to manipulating them.”

“But what about all the women you could help with his money?”

“S.E.C.R.E.T. has had a marvelous run. Almost forty years. We have another few years in us, I think. We’ll make them really count. And if needed, we have one more painting, though it’s one I hope not to part with.”