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“You can say no, Cassie. I’m only offering. Ready?” She seemed bemused more than impatient.
“Yes,” I said, and I was. Enough equivocating. I shut off my reluctant mind, or rather, I opened it.
Matilda led. I followed. My eyes were drawn back to the ivy-covered mansion and its riotous garden. April in New Orleans meant vines and flowers in full bloom. Magnolia trees blossomed so quickly it was like they had thrown on ornate ’50s bathing caps overnight. I had never seen a garden this lush, green and vivid.
“Who lives there?” I asked.
“That’s the Mansion. Only members are allowed inside.”
I counted a dozen dormers, ornate ironwork suspended over the windows like lace bangs. The turret was topped with a white crown. Though it was all white, it had an eerie feel, like it was haunted, but perhaps by very attractive ghosts.
After we reached the coach house and Matilda entered yet another security code, we passed through a big red door and were inside. I was hit by a blast of air-conditioning. If the exterior was nondescript and blocky, the coach house interior was a study in mid-century minimalism. The windows were small, but the walls high and white. On them hung several stunning floor-to-ceiling paintings of vivid reds and pinks, dotted with yellows and blues. Tea candles flickered on the windowsills, giving the place the atmosphere of an expensive spa. I relaxed my shoulders, which had been hunched up to my ears. Nothing bad could happen in a place like this, I thought. It was so pristine. At the end of the room stood a set of doors that must have been ten feet tall. A young woman with a sharp black bob and black thick-rimmed glasses stood up from her desk and greeted Matilda.
“The Committee will be here shortly,” she said, rushing around the desk to grab the groceries and flowers from Matilda’s hands.
“Thanks, Danica. Danica, this is Cassie.”
Committee? Was I interrupting a meeting? I felt my heart fall into my stomach.
“So nice to finally meet you,” Danica said. Matilda gave her a stern look.
What did she mean by finally?
Danica hit a button below her desk and a door opened behind her, exposing a small brightly lit room lined in walnut, with a round plush pink rug in the center.
“My office,” Matilda said. “Come in.”
It was a cozy space, facing a lush courtyard, with a glimpse of the street just visible beyond the gate. From her office window I could also see the side door of the imposing Mansion next door, a maid in uniform sweeping the steps. I took a seat in a wide black armchair, the kind that makes you feel like you’re being cradled in King Kong’s palm.
“Do you know why you’re here, Cassie?” Matilda asked.
“No, I don’t. Yes. No, sorry. I don’t know.” I wanted to cry.
Matilda took a seat behind her desk, rested her chin in her hands and waited for me to finish. The silence was painful.
“You’re here because you read something in Pauline’s journal that compelled you to get in touch with me, is that right?”
“I think so. Yes,” I said. I looked around the room for another door, one that could lead me to the courtyard and away from this place.
“What is it that you think compelled you?”
“It wasn’t just the book,” I blurted out. Through the window I noticed a couple of women entering t
he courtyard gate.
“What was it, then?”
I thought of my couple, their arms entwined. I thought of the notebook, of Pauline backing towards the bed, and the man—
“It was Pauline, the way she is with men. With her boyfriend. I’ve never been like that with anyone, not even my husband. And no one has ever been like that with me. She seems so … free.”
“And you want that?”
“I do. I think. Is that something you work on?”
“That’s the only thing we work on,” she said. “Now, why don’t we start with you. Tell me a little bit about yourself.”
I don’t know why it all felt so easy, but my story poured from my mouth. I told Matilda about growing up in Ann Arbor. How my mother died when I was young, and how my dad, an industrial fence contractor, was rarely around, and when he was, he was by turns sour or overly affectionate, especially when he was drunk. I grew up cautious and alert to how the weather in a room could change. My sister, Lila, left home as soon as she could and moved to New York. We barely spoke now.
