“I’m here because I love you, Tracina,” Carruthers boomed. “I told you it wasn’t going to be so easy to get rid of me. And if that’s my baby, it’s going to be impossible.”
Every woman in the room drew a sharp breath at the same time, emptying it of oxygen. Maybe that’s why Will looked like he was about to faint, his hand feeling for the wall behind him. I wanted to rush to him, but there were too many people between us—real obstacles, not just metaphorical ones.
“What about your wife?” Tracina boomed, still standing, her tiny fists on her hips.
Carruthers’ head fell forward. “I told her. It’s over.”
The rest of the room took this as their cue to examine the floor as well. When I looked back up, Tracina’s eyes were full of wonder. And Will’s face held an expression of unadulterated shock. The whole time, Dell sat stock-still, her fork poised in admiration of a slice of cake in front of her as though this awful business were not happening at all.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tracina muttered.
“Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” Will demanded.
Carruthers turned to him. “I apologize for the public manner in which all of this is coming out. But I believe I am the father of this baby,” he said. Then, to Tracina he added, “And I’m sorry to ruin your lovely party, but you won’t see me and you won’t take my calls, so you left me no choice.”
“Is what he’s saying true?” Will’s voice was now devoid of all emotion.
Tracina’s eyes softened as she gazed at Will, her expression saying it all, even if her words (“I don’t know”) didn’t. As if to punctuate the drama, a sudden stream of water trickled down her legs, pooled at her feet on the pine floors. She peered down, trying to see over her belly.
“Oh my god, I’m peeing myself.”
“No, honey,” said Dell, finally bringing her fork to her mouth and chewing a bite of cake. “That’s your water breaking.”
“My what?”
Angela screamed first. Carruthers scrambled over to Tracina and eased her down into a chair. Will stood motionless watching all of this, while I ran to fetch towels. Water was still cascading down Tracina’s legs when I returned, and Carruthers’ D.A. personality was in high gear.
“We’re not waiting for an ambulance to come to Treme,” he said, pointing at Will’s phone. “My Escalade’s outside. I’ll take you now, baby,” and to me, to me, he yelled, “grab her other arm.” And that’s how I got sucked into the maternal entourage, Tracina barking orders over her shoulder for Kit and Angela to watch Trey, keep Trey, tell Trey not to worry.
As we piled into the back seat, I got a last look at an ashen-faced Will, his whole body shaking as he tried to get his truck door to open, then rushed around to the passenger side and slid across. I should be with him, I thought, helping him through this. That I ended up being the one to hold Tracina’s hand instead of Will’s was the oddest surprise of the day.
A contraction seized Tracina and she dug her fingers into my thigh.
“Am I gonna be okay?”
“Of course. Of course you are! Just breathe,” I said, as calmly as possible, smoothing her hair off her sweaty face.
“Hold on, honey. I’m gonna get you there as fast as I can,” Carruthers said as he pushed on the gas.
Tracina turned to me. “I’m an awful person,” she whispered, tears falling down her cheeks. “I feel so awful.”
“Don’t worry about anything else right now except this baby, okay?” I felt her hand tighten in mine, saw her eyes squeeze shut.
I turned around and spotted Will’s truck behind us, weaving perilously, trying to keep up. Poor Will. If this proved to be true, if he really wasn’t the baby’s father, it’d gut him. Despite all the drama and uncertainty that surrounded the pregnancy, the only thing Will had ever seemed sure of was his devotion to this baby.
Carruthers was driving fast, but every once in a while he checked on Tracina via the rearview mirror. “You’re gonna be okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay.”
Tracina never answered, her clammy hand gripped in mine, nothing registering on her face now except waves of pain.
We made it to the Touro Birthing Center in record time; Carruthers had called ahead on a hands-free phone so a nurse was standing by with an empty wheelchair. Once Tracina was in the chair, she reached up, looking around for me, and grabbed my hand.
“Cassie, stay with Will. He’s gonna need a friend,” she said.
What? Had I heard her right? She let go of my hand, and reached for Carruthers’ as she was wheeled into the center.
I found my way to the delivery area waiting room. A few minutes later Will came huffing in, eyes wild, a line of sweat down the middle of his T-shirt.
“Where’d they go?”
“Down there,” I said, “but I don’t think—”
He didn’t wait for me to finish. He busted through the doors and disappeared down the hall. I was so jangly already that the vibrating in my purse didn’t register at first as a phone call. I answered over the sound of a loud and braying intercom announcement, plugging my ear to hear better.
“Hey, lady. Where y’at? Sounds like the racetrack. Don’t bet your whole paycheck.”
It was Jesse, his voice mellow and grounding.
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?
DAUPHINE
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.”
She shook off the sad turn of events, then gave me a genuine smile.
“You’d have made a terrific Guide, Dauphine. But we’ll be in touch. I want to know how you’re doing, how every little thing’s going. I’m sure Cassie will want that too.”
“You don’t know what y’all have done for me, Matilda. You’ve given me back my spirit, my joy. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that this organization exists.”
I came around the desk to squeeze her tight. As much as I loved this place and all its magic, I couldn’t wait to get back to my dusty hovel and my tidy store and my wonderful customers and the lovely Elizabeth.
And Mark.
My man was waiting for me outside in the sun, his hair a wreck, his smile delicious, his arms warm, his stomach growling madly.
“Baby, I need a big fat greasy omelette, I need home fries, I need bacon, I need toast,” he said, kissing my neck. “And I need you.”
This wasn’t a fantasy. This was real. Look what happens when you let go of control and make a little room, I thought. The whole wide world rushes to you.
“You read my mind. Let’s get out of here.”
CASSIE
TRACINA PICKED OUT the baby’s name—Rose Nicaud—in honor of the Café, which itself was named after one of the first African-American female entrepreneurs in New Orleans.
“We’ll nickname her Neko,” she said, cooing into the baby’s tiny forehead, no bigger than a silver dollar.
To say the baby was small would be to describe only a part of what made her so extraordinary to look upon. She was almost translucent; a network of teeny pink veins covered her whole face and body like a pale web, giving her a light purplish hue. When she wasn’t being held, she was splayed in a portable incubator next to Tracina’s bed, a diaper—the size of a coffee mug—completely swallowing the lower part of her body, her fists no bigger than rosebuds. Tracina had a private room, courtesy of her baby’s wealthy father.
“The doctor says she’s going to be fine,” Tracina whispered to me, not because she wanted to keep the noise down, but because her voice was nearly gone from the screaming during the birth, at Carruthers and at Will, both of whom she allowed in the delivery room,
just in case.
Now Carruthers, the seeming victor, in hospital greens and a cap, had clearly made a home for himself in the giant armchair, his suit, vest and tie strewn about the place. He slept with his hand resting protectively on the incubator’s glass cover.
“I might have to stay here for a few more days, but there shouldn’t be any complications,” Tracina said.
Medical complications, at least.
Everything else I would learn came later, when Tracina and I inched towards a kind of friendship in the weeks and months that followed the dramatic birth, when I would discover I had a lot more in common with her than I thought.
She told me her insistence on waiting as long as possible before a cesarean was because she knew there’d be a test and she wanted to delay Will’s heartache as long as possible. No one doubted she cared about Will a lot, but it became clear during the delivery and after that Carruthers was the man she loved. Still, she felt that Will would have made a better father—more reliable, more hands-on, less complicated with his love for the baby. Carruthers was a high-powered politician; he had a wife (now soon-to-be-ex) and two college-aged children. And yet, it was touching the way he stayed by Tracina’s side all night, ducking out to take and receive phone calls, even trying his best to treat Will with some kindness, though Will struggled to return the gesture.
That’s why she told all those lies. Like me, Tracina didn’t want to be a wedge in someone else’s relationship. Even though Carruthers had been ardent from the beginning, he just wasn’t ready to leave. Tracina knew how easy it would be to fall into the role of mistress and she wasn’t having it, never wanting to hide and lie, especially when Trey was getting so smart, and a good man like Will was so available. She broke it off completely. Then she discovered she was pregnant. Not having had a father around herself when she was growing up, she wanted to do everything in her power to make sure her baby had one who was. And she felt that as long as she kept her mouth shut, only someone ignorant of her and Will’s family trees would question the paternity just because the baby’s skin might not perfectly match Will’s. He had two African-American grandmothers; Tracina had white relatives on both sides. The baby’s skin color, like her parents’ before her, was always going to be the result of a spin on a blessedly infinite wheel of hues.
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