Ouch. I tried not to look at her, but she was eyeing a cute, sweaty player with his hands on his knees who was catching his breath. He looked about thirty, Latin, maybe South American or Italian. Not too tall, stocky, fit, with a head of messy black hair and teeth so white they flashed brilliant from ten yards away.
“See that one?” she asked.
“He’s kind of hard to miss,” I said. “Do you know him?”
“We’re in the process of recruiting him. Angela was supposed to be my wing girl today. That task has now fallen to you.”
“Now?”
“Get the ball!” Matilda screamed. “Honey, I know what you’re thinking regarding Jesse. You can’t have Will, and you don’t want this young fella, so you’re looking for a little something in the middle. That’s okay. But I’m not sure pulling Jesse off the roster is a great idea. Besides, I have a special trip I’d like you to go on. You know we have to auction off Red Rage?”
“The painting in the Coach House?”
“That’s right. We’ve decided to auction it off in Buenos Aires, in Carolina’s home country. We think we can get the best price there, since there are only two paintings left. We need you to accompany the painting and represent our … consortium. You don’t have to take any photos or answer any questions. You’ll just put on a cute dress and sign a transfer of sale certificate.”
Wow, Buenos Aires. The last trip I had taken was to Canada, where I had my ski instructor fantasy. I was due for a vacation … but with Tracina pregnant and Dell so old, it just wasn’t possible.
“I wish I could, but leaving Will right now … it would devastate the Café.”
“You really care about him, don’t you.”
Before I could answer, a runaway ball rolled close to our bench, followed by the guy Matilda had had her eye on. She smiled at him.
“Hey. Are you our coach now? Or just the ref?” he asked Matilda, breathless from running.
“You guys could use both,” Matilda teased, tilting her head up to get a better look at his face over the brim of her hat. “What’s your name?”
“Dominic. Yours?”
“Matilda Greene. This here’s my friend Cassie.”
“You guys soccer fans?”
“No,” Matilda said.
Dominic laughed while one of his opponents razzed him to put the ball back in play.
“Don’t go anywhere, Matilda Greene,” he yelled, running backwards and folding into the play.
Every few seconds he’d glance over to make sure she was still there.
I was awestruck.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Get the hottest guy in the park to come over and talk to you. Women half your age couldn’t pull that off.”
She shrugged, her eyes still on him.
“I singled him out. Separated him from his pack. Everyone recruits differently. But this is my method.”
Dominic broke away with the ball again, heading fast to the other side of the pitch. “Go! Go! Go!”
“Are we recruiting right now?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. We’re down one since we dropped Pierre. That’s why I’m reluctant to give you Jesse. Did you spot a wedding ring on our Dominic?”
“I wasn’t looking.”
“That’s the first thing you have to look for.”
I made a mental note as the soccer players headed to midfield. At one point, Dominic pulled his shirt up to wipe his face, revealing his muscled stomach.
“Whoa,” I said.
“Yes, he’s really quite beautiful, isn’t he. But they don’t all have to be models to be recruits. They do have to know they’re sexy. They have to be able to hold a conversation, seem interesting, even if they aren’t. Attractiveness is subjective, but we like to stick to the ‘classic’ sexy, confident, masculine trio of attributes. And of course, they need to be in top health. This one is all that. And, what do you know, no wedding ring.”
She glanced at her watch.
“Cassie, I need you to close this deal for me. I have to find someone to go to Argentina.”
“Close what deal?”
“Get Dominic’s number. Maybe he can replace Jesse,” she said, winking.
My panic started at my feet, and traveled all the way to the back of my skull like an ice cream headache.
“But he wants to meet you. He barely looked at me. What if he won’t give me his number?”
Matilda stood and peered across the pitch, like a lioness lazily eyeing a gazelle.
“All you need to do is ask. In the meantime, be kind to yourself. This one-night stand’s got you in a bit of a tumult. Don’t let it derail all the progress you’ve made. You’re coming into your own. I see it.”
Matilda sauntered to the Saint Charles exit, missing Dominic’s assisted goal. He carved a victory lap from the net to center field, where he messed up a redheaded opponent’s hair, made one more circle to slap hands with sitting opponents, then finally landed at my bench.
“Hey,” he said breathlessly. “Where’d your friend go?”
“She had to leave,” I said, quickly adding, “but she did ask me to get your number.”
“What? Very cool.” He beamed.
All you have to do is ask. I was punching his number into my cell phone when his ginger friend came running up behind him.
“Meeting and greeting your fans, Dom? Does this one have a name?”
Was he looking at me? Yep. He was.
“Cassie,” I said, shielding my eyes and squinting into his face, which, upon closer inspection, was cute. Added to that, he had a thick Scottish accent and freckled, muscular forearms.
“I’m Ewan. Listen, lose this bugger’s number and take down mine.”
“How ’bout this,” I said, trying to keep the butterflies in my stomach from affecting my voice. “I’ll give Dominic’s number to my friend, and maybe I’ll keep yours for myself.”
“Can’t imagine a better plan,” he said.
Their numbers safely locked in my phone, I stood to leave.
“Well, fellas, it’s been lovely.”
Walking towards Magazine Street, I marveled at the fact that I had just made contact with two incredibly sexy men whose own fantasies S.E.C.R.E.T. might unlock. And if they were amenable and discreet, they’d be trained by one of the Committee members. Then they’d be lined up with a lucky candidate, perhaps Dauphine. I glanced around the park, now packed and buzzing with fit joggers, cute dads and hot cyclists. Had these men always been here and I’d never noticed them before? Or were they noticing something in me for the first time?
Matilda’s words rang in my mind: You’re coming into your own. I see it.
10
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 out-drinking 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.