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“Nonsense,” Matilda said, handing me a tissue. “Have your feelings—they’re normal ones. Pierre’s a powerful man. Any woman would swoon. To be honest, I was almost hoping he wouldn’t participate because there was a part of me that knew he’d have some kind of hold over you. But, Cassie, I can’t stress this enough. This is a fantasy, and men who participate don’t necessarily make great life partners. Cherish the moment and relish it, but let it go after.”
I nodded and blew my nose.
A few weeks later, winter covered the city with a surprise frost. I stepped out into the chilly air, pulling the door to the Spinster Hotel shut behind me. I was going for a quick run before my shift, surprised all over again that New Orleans even had a winter. And this year, it was not a mild one. It was freezing, and featured the kind of chill that gets in your bones and makes you want to sit in a hot bathtub for hours to warm up. I wore a hat, mitts and thermal underwear, but it took me several blocks before the run did its job of heating me up.
I ran down Mandeville to Decatur and took a right to the French Market, avoiding the waterfront and port lands so as not to be reminded of Pierre, who owned almost all of it. I wondered what he’d eventually do with all that vacant land. Build condos? Strip malls? Another casino? Will already grumbled about Marigny becoming “hipster heaven.” Too many tourists flooded Frenchmen, he said, and not the good kind, not the ones with a true appreciation of music and food but rather the kind in the tacky party hats with the take-away plastic drink glasses, who haggled down the prices for artisan jewelry at the open-air market.
I ran past the long line at Café Du Monde. Though it was a major tourist attraction and one that most New Orleanians avoided, I loved ending a run with a Du Monde coffee. The beignets, I skipped. What’s the point of running for forty minutes only to stop and eat a mountain of grease and sugar, Will always said. God, between Will and now Pierre, my mind was echoing with male voices. I had to shake them off.
When I returned home after my run, I was alarmed to find the front door open, even more alarmed to find Anna in the foyer of the Spinster Hotel, this time sifting through a large box wrapped in plain brown paper.
“Oh, Cassie, I’m so sorry,” she said, the look of a nabbed thief on her face. “I accidentally opened your package. When I signed for it, I thought it was for me. I’m getting old. And my eyes … but it’s a beautiful coat. And those shoes! Is this an early Christmas gift, my dear?”
I snatched the heavy box from her lap and examined the contents. Inside was a full-length camel coat with a simple tie. Next to it, a pair of black Christian Louboutin pumps with four-inch heels. I saw that Anna had opened the box, but not the card taped to the outside, thank goodness!
“It is a gift, Anna,” I said, trying to hide my distress at her nosiness. This was no accident. She was increasingly curious about my comings and goings, the limo’s presence a cause for concern every time it pulled up. Beside the coat and shoes there was also a small black velvet drawstring bag. Anna noticed it at the same time I did.
“What’s in there?” she asked, pointing.
“Gloves,” I said. I made up a lie about an assertive guy I had met at work whom I’d gone out with a couple of times and who was trying to woo me, adding in fake protest, “I wish he would stop buying me things. It’s too soon.”
“Nonsense!” she said. “Take it while you can.”
Back in the safe confines of my own apartment, I opened the card attached to the box. Step Seven: Curiosity. How apt, I thought. Anna would pass with flying colors. Next, I opened the velvet bag. Had she seen what was in it, she might have fainted.
The next day, just after sunset, the limo pulled into the U-shaped driveway and deposited me directly in front of the Mansion. The previous time I had been here, the limo had pulled into the side entrance. This time the car came to a full stop at the grand front entrance. I had become accustomed to waiting for the driver to open the limo door for me, something a girl from Michigan could never have imagined before, and again he obliged. I stepped onto the cobblestones wearing the heels, which were, to my surprise, quite comfortable. Perhaps because they had cost a small fortune. Looking up at the house that night, I saw every room was ablaze with that same ocher glow, as though it was waiting for me before it could come alive again. An Arctic chill nipped at my bare ankles, and I was grateful for the full-length coat covering the rest of me.
I slowly ascended the wide marble stairs that lead to the front double doors, my stomach lurching at the thought of what tonight’s fantasy would bring. I hoped that I had attained enough fearlessness, trust and confidence from the previous steps to really go through with this one. Those were the qualities I’d need to muster, Matilda told me. Plus, I needed something fulfilling and heady to push the final thoughts of Pierre out of my body, and Will out of my heart. I felt around in my pocket for the velvet bag. I had a feeling I’d accomplish both tonight.
Two knocks and Claudette greeted me in the foyer like an old acquaintance, falling short of the intimacy you’d use to meet a friend.
“I trust your ride here was comfortable?”
“It always is,” I said, looking around the imposing entrance, taking in its beautifully curved staircase. I was grateful that the room was dim and warm, almost too warm, the heat coming from the parlor to my left where I could see a roaring fire. I noted the gold balustrade and plush red carpet running up the middle of the steps. The black-and-white floor tiles formed a spiral that culminated in a coat of arms inlaid in the center. The design featured a willow tree shading three nude women, each with a different skin tone—white, brown, black—under which were carved the words: Nihil judicii. Nihil limitis. Nihil verecundiae.
“What does that mean?” I asked Claudette.
“Our motto: No judgments. No limits. No shame.”
“Right.”
“Did you bring it?” she asked.
She didn’t have to specify what “it” was. “Yes, I did.” I pulled the velvet bag out of my pocket and handed it to her.
“It’s time,” she said, taking the bag from me and stepping behind me. I could hear her open the drawstring. Seconds later, she was securing a black satin blindfold across my eyes.
“Can you see anything?”
“No.” And I couldn’t. Just utter blackness. Claudette’s hands were on my shoulders, pulling off my coat. And before I could even ask about what I was supposed to do next, I heard her quietly pad away.
For several minutes, I stood there, hardly moving. The only sounds I could hear were the crackling of the fire, the clack of my heels as I nervously shifted my weight from one leg to the other and the tinkle of my bracelet every time I moved my arm. I was grateful the room was so warm, because apart from my blindfold and heels, I wasn’t wearing a thing. The Step card had specified that I should bring the velvet bag in my pocket and arrive wearing only the camel coat and heels. I stood for what felt like forever blindfolded and naked, waiting for the fantasy to begin.
After a while, I found that without sight, my other senses became heightened. At one point I was certain someone was in the foyer with me even though I hadn’t heard anyone enter. I could just sense a presence, one that sent a slight shiver down my spine.
“Is anyone here?” I asked. “Please say something.” There were no words, but a few seconds later, I heard breathing.
“Someone is here,” I said. Despite the intense heat, I began to shiver out of nervousness. “What do you want me to do?”
