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“Yeah, we met. His name’s Mark. A musician. Who. Talks. About. Music. Non. Stop,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We’ve been out once but …”
“But?”
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p; “He’s just … he’s not for me,” she said. “I don’t know why, or what I have to do to get Will out of my head and my heart for good. But Mark’s not going to help me.”
I hated to admit my relief. Not that I thought I had a chance with Mark. And I certainly wasn’t interested in pursuing anyone while a stack of fantasies awaited me. But still. Then a look crossed her face, like a new and singular idea had just taken her brain hostage to the detriment of all other thoughts.
“Wait one sec. Let me make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”
When she returned a minute later, she was still talking on her cell.
“Yup … yeah … she’s right here. Hold on.” She covered the receiver, her face open and hopeful. “Matilda wants to talk to you.”
Baffled, I took her phone from her.
“Hi, Matilda. What’s going on?”
“Dauphine, honey, I understand you might have some time on your hands. I have a rather exciting mission for you to consider, and at the same time, you’d be doing S.E.C.R.E.T. a big favor.”
Then she laid out what to a normal person would be a dream vacation: a free trip to Buenos Aires, where I’d stay in a five-star hotel and attend the auction of a rare painting, with plenty of time to see the sights and do some shopping. It sounded heady, glamorous and exciting. Except for the part about the plane.
“We’d pay your expenses and give you ample spending money, Dauphine. The auction is already arranged—you just have to show up and sign some papers on behalf of S.E.C.R.E.T.”
I thanked her and told her it all sounded amazing, incredible even, adding I was flattered and humbled to even be considered. In fact, Buenos Aires was a city I’d always hoped to see. But there was one small problem.
“The thing is, Matilda, I don’t fly. Ever.”
Cassie was listening to our conversation, and when she heard that, her eager smile turned to a frown.
“Oh, honey,” Matilda said, laughing. “Is that all that’s holding you back? Once a fear is exposed it’s no longer a fear. It’s an opportunity for a decision—to stay stuck or to go forward.”
I protested further, trying to explain.
“I hate being a passenger. I need to be at the wheel of things. I just … I can’t give up that control.”
“But you’ve let folks drive you around in a car, haven’t you?”
I told her at least with a car, I knew I could force it to the side of the road and get out. “A plane ride is not only a full-on commitment, it’s an act of faith, both in the plane’s ability to remain aloft and in my ability to trust a pilot to keep it there. And as silly as it sounds, I don’t have a lot of faith in either of those things, Matilda.” I added, “I don’t even have a passport.”
“Pfft. Details. We can get you one in twenty-four hours. Trust me when I tell you, Dauphine, that you can and will transform this fear into faith. Trust us. Trust this process.”
While Matilda continued to underscore the principles of flight, highlighting its best features and those also of Buenos Aires in the fall, Cassie carefully turned her paper coaster into an airplane, which she proceeded to fly over the top of my head. With sound effects.
What can I say? They wore me down, reminding me that I had told the Committee to surprise me.
After I accepted the trip and hung up, Cassie gave me a standing ovation in the middle of Tracy’s. Later, when I told Elizabeth I was getting on a plane, she was so proud of me she dragged a piece of vintage luggage, the kind without wheels, to my apartment to help me pack. In my preemptive terror I told her where all the important papers were, with strict instructions that if the plane went down, the store and all its assets would go to her, not to my sister, Bree.
“She can have a fur,” I said. “But not one of the minks.”
“Okay,” Elizabeth said. “But I’m sure it won’t come to divvying up your estate.”
“You never know. Life is weird. It throws things at you,” I said, tossing a pair of kitten heels into the suitcase. Indeed, I’d traveled from my initiation into S.E.C.R.E.T. to this, packing for a transcontinental flight. My eventual “yes” to Matilda came from the same place I found my yeses for my fantasy men so far, on a shelf below my doubt, in front of all my fears. Hopefully, there were a few more yeses left before boarding time.
Having never flown before, I so far hadn’t found much about travel to recommend it. The airport was both chaotic and bovine, generating this awful “hurry up and wait” syndrome that triggered stress sweats and the jitters.
“Heading to Buenos Aires?” a deep, accented voice asked, poking through my trance and startling me.
