I backed out of my bedroom wearing it, so Will could pull up the zipper—a bad idea. No sooner had he secured his fingers to the clasp than the damn thing was around my ankles and I was being carried, naked again, kicking and screaming to my bed. “Pick up the dress, don’t leave it on the floor like that, Will! It’ll wrinkle! That cost me a fortune!” I laughed as he collapsed on top of me, telling me, “Fuck that dress,” while bunching his own beautifully tailored tuxedo pants down around his ankles, sheathing himself, then entering me sharply enough to stop the giggling altogether. God, the look in his eyes that night, burning and fierce while he drove into me again and again, my head cradled in his strong hands; I never wanted to lose that gaze.
Yet I was also looking forward to a time when just being alone with him didn’t make me want to rip my clothes off. I actually longed in some strange way to be a little bored by all this, for a time when his skin brushing mine in the Café wouldn’t make me damp with desire.
It was love, yes, but it was more than that. He was my deepest, closest friend. I felt like he was the only person on the planet (besides Matilda) who really, truly knew me. And now, moving on top of me with the grace of a man who understood my body as well as his own, searching my face, almost studying it, smoothing my hair back and thrusting, thrusting, my nails digging into his skin, his eyes closing, I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. I couldn’t remember other men. He pressed my knees back and up, pushing both our limits, mine of exquisite pain, his of pleasure, his body clenched and straining, on the verge of another orgasm that I was giving him, while I tightened and writhed beneath him, finding my perfect spot, until, pleasure undulating through us and over us, we finally brought each other over the edge, calling each other’s name, both our bodies a greedy blur, and we were left gasping and laughing—because that’s what you do when you’re utterly astonished by love.
“Holy hell, Cassie,” he said, lying beside me, clasping my hand until his breathing steadied.
I rose to take a quick shower, but he held my hand down into the bed, rolling up on an elbow next to me.
“You know what? It’s all been worth it.”
“What’s been worth it?”
“All the bullshit of the past year, all that stuff, the lies that kept us apart. It’s been worth it. A few weeks ago I was so fucking angry. I said to myself no more women. I wanted nothing to do with love. I was going to take a good long break. And today, now … now I feel like I’m out of some long tunnel. I feel light. I feel brand-new. Like my faith’s been restored.”
“Me too,” I said, pulling his face in for a kiss.
He fondled my bracelet. “I haven’t seen this on you in a while.”
“I wear it only on special occasions,” I said, letting him examine it, knowing there was nothing to hide anymore.
“So let me get this straight—for every sort of good deed or challenge, or whatever, you get one of these charms?” he asked, reading some of the Steps under his breath, Generosity, Bravery, Trust. “Reminds me of Girl Scouts.”
“Ha. Sort of,” I said, sliding out of bed.
“What kind of charm do you get for having a restaurant named after you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I’ve decided to call the new place Cassie’s. A sign’s going to be delivered tomorrow—and here,” he said, fishing a piece of paper from his jacket, which he’d retrieved from the floor where it was tossed with the rest of our clothes. He presented me with a folded-up prototype of the new menu, Cassie’s printed on a pretty scroll across the top. I gasped, speechless, fat tears falling down my cheeks.
“Are you serious?”
“Never more so,” he said, kissing me.
“I don’t … I can’t … no one has ever …”
“Cassie, just say thank you. And let’s get dressed and get this event over with.”
“I’m not going to say thank you now. I’m going to say thank you later, when I get you back here alone.”
“So I take it we’re not staying late?”
“Hell no.”
We showered, one after the other as my tub was too small for two, and later as he zipped me tenderly into my dress. I felt blessed, and, dare I say it … very loved. Had I known it would be the last time we’d be together, I would never have left that bed or that apartment, and I certainly wouldn’t have washed him off my body so quickly, before slipping back into that beautiful, cursed dress.
Latrobe’s was an intimate corner building, made of cream stucco, tucked in the heart of the French Quarter. With its curved Moorish ceilings and dim interiors, it was the perfect place to hold a private party or a small elegant wedding, something discreet and un-showy. So it was unusual to see a boisterous crowd of reporters lining the entrance. But fifteen million dollars was going to be donated to at least eight different local charities that worked to help women and children who were abused, hungry, neglected or who were in any other way disadvantaged. It was the kind of money that could change lives. So it was a big deal, deserving of big coverage.
Matilda was handling all the press, all the questions and all the follow-up. We were told to relax, mingle and eat. A Committee meeting was struck for the following day. That’s when we’d find out how much money was left in the S.E.C.R.E.T. coffers. That’s also when I planned to formally resign, but not before profusely thanking each and every one them for my good fortune and my lovely life.
We ducked past a throng with clacking cameras and into the narrow foyer that led to the main dining area. The room was filled with the highest echelons of New Orleans society, including, much to our shock, a very solo and newly re-elected District Attorney Carruthers Johnstone, mopping his brow and greeting guests in a too-snug tux, his PR person hovering close by, fielding questions.
“Are you going to be okay with him here?” I asked, pulling Will away from the greeting line, avoiding Carruthers. It had been almost a month, and while I’d been several times to see the sweet baby, and a very humbled Tracina, Will still felt like a chump. He still harbored some ill feelings I hoped would fade soon so Tracina could freely bring the baby to the café she was named after.
Eyeing Carruthers, Will said, “It’s okay. Mostly I feel sorry for the poor bastard. He has to take on all that crying and screaming … and a new baby on top of it all.”
News of Carruthers’ dalliance had come too late to affect his re-election, but its consequences were trickling in. There were a lot of questions, of course, most of which he was avoiding while his wife moved his things out of their mansion in the Garden District and into a lovely cottage on Exposition Boulevard, facing Audubon, where he and Tracina could raise the baby in relative privacy until the worst of the scandal blew over.
City councilwoman Kay Ladoucer was also there. She had chaired last year’s Revitalization Ball, and tonight she was behaving like a queen bee, greeting guests and posing for pictures, even though this was Matilda’s event. Will made a point of saying hello to her, knowing his final building inspection was soon, after which, assuming he’d pass with flying colors, the only things stopping us from opening Cassie’s (Cassie’s!) were securing the liquor license and cutting the ribbon. Kay had blocked every attempt he’d made in the past to expand upstairs, citing too much growth on Frenchmen Street. So he was taking no chances now, and even went so far as to compliment her hair and her dress, feeling my elbow in his side when he started in on her shoes.